The Chronicles of Crime or The New Newgate Calendar. v. 1/2 / being a series of memoirs and anecdotes of notorious characters who have outraged the laws of Great Britain from the earliest period to 1841.

LEWIS JEREMIAH AVERSHAW.

EXECUTED FOR MURDER, IN SHOOTING A PEACE-OFFICER.

Avershaw was an old offender, and had committed numerous crimes which called aloud for justice. He was at length brought to trial at Croydon, in Surrey, on the 30th of July, 1795, charged on two indictments; one for having, at the Three Brewers’ public-house, Southwark, feloniously shot at, and murdered, David Price, an officer belonging to the police-office, held at Union Hall, in the Borough; the other, for having, at the same time and place, fired a pistol at Bernard Turner, another officer attached to that office, with intent to murder him. Mr. Garrow, the leading counsel for the prosecution, opened the case by stating, that the prisoner at the bar, being a person of ill-fame, had been suspected of having perpetrated a number of felonies; and the magistrates of the police-office in the borough of Southwark, having received information against him, sent, as was their duty, an order for his apprehension. To execute the warrant, the deceased, Price, and another officer, went to the Three Brewers, a public-house, where they understood he was drinking in company with some other persons. At the entrance of a parlour in the house the prisoner appeared in a posture of resistance; and holding a loaded pistol in each of his hands he, with threats and imprecations, desired the officers to stand off, as he would otherwise fire at them. The officers, however, attempted to rush in and seize him; on which he discharged both the pistols at the same instant, lodging the contents of one in the body of Price, and with the other wounding Turner very severely in the head. Price, after languishing a few hours, died of the wound. Mr. Garrow was very pathetic and animated in his description of the several circumstances composing the shocking act of barbarity. To prove it, he would call four witnesses, whose evidence, he said, would clearly establish the prisoner’s guilt. He accordingly called Turner, the landlord of the house, a surgeon, and a fourth witness; but, as the substance of their evidence is comprised in the opening of the indictment, it would be superfluous to repeat it. Turner said positively, that he saw the prisoner discharge the pistols, from one of which he himself received his wound, and the contents of the other were lodged in the body of Price, who died very shortly after. The surgeon proved that the death was in consequence of the wound. Mr. Knowlys and Mr. Best were counsel for the prisoner; but the weight of the evidence against him was too strong to be combated by any exertions.

Mr. Baron Perryn summed up the evidence; and the jury, after a consultation of about three minutes, pronounced the verdict of guilty. Through a flaw in the indictment for the murder, an objection was taken by counsel. This was urged nearly two hours, when Mr. Baron Perryn intimating a wish to take the opinion of the twelve judges, the counsel for the prosecution, waving the point for the present, insisted on the prisoner’s being tried on the second indictment, for feloniously shooting at Bernard Turner. He was accordingly tried; and, upon the testimony of one witness, found guilty on a second capital indictment. The prisoner, who, contrary to general expectation, had in a great measure hitherto refrained from his usual audacity, now began with unparalleled insolence of expression and gesture, to ask his lordship if he “was to be murdered by the evidence of one witness?” several times repeating the question, till the jury returned him—guilty. When Mr. Baron Perryn put on the black cap, the prisoner, regardless of his dreadful situation, at the same time put on his hat, observing the judge with contemptuous looks while he was passing the sentence.

When the constables were removing him from the dock to a coach, he continued to vent torrents of abuse against the judge and jury, whom he charged with, as he styled it, his murder. As his desperate disposition was well known, he was, to prevent resistance, handcuffed, and his thighs and arms also bound strongly together; in which situation he was conveyed back to prison. So callous was this ruffian to every degree of feeling, that on his way to be tried, as he was passing near the usual place of execution on Kennington Common, he put his head out of the coach window, and, with all the sang froid imaginable, asked some of those who guarded him, if they did not think he would be twisted on that pretty spot by Saturday? After receiving sentence of death, he was conducted back to prison; where having got some black cherries, he amused himself with painting on the white walls of the room in which he was confined, various sketches of robberies which he had committed; one representing him running up to the horses’ heads of a post-chaise, presenting a pistol at the driver, and the words,—“D—n your eyes, stop,” issuing out of his mouth; another exhibited a scene, where he was firing into the chaise; a third, where the parties had quitted the carriage, and several others, in which he was described in the act of taking the money from the passengers, being fired at, where his companions were shot dead, &c.

At the place of execution, he appeared entirely unconcerned. He had a flower in his mouth, his bosom was thrown open, and he kept up an incessant conversation with the persons who rode beside the cart; frequently laughing and nodding to others of his acquaintance, whom he perceived in the crowd.

He suffered August 3, 1795, at Kennington Common.

WILLIAM TILLEY, JOHN CROSSWELL, GEORGE HARDWICK, JAMES HAYDEN, JOHN HAWDEN, SIMON JACOBS, JOHN SOLOMONS, JOHN PHILLIPS, AND JOHN HENLEY.

CONVICTED OF A CONSPIRACY.

He proposed, therefore, that if they would let him out, and accompany him to the place, he would give them fifty guineas each for their trouble: and suggested that the matter might be effected without the knowledge of the keeper of the prison, or any other person, they having the keys of it at night, and the time required being very short. To this proposal the turnkeys agreed; and accordingly, about one o’clock in the morning, the gates were opened, and Isdwell, with his irons on, was conducted in a hackney-coach by one of them, armed with a blunderbuss, to the house in Artillery-lane, Bishopsgate-street, where, inquiring for the sick lady, they were ushered up stairs.

Isdwell entered the room first, on which several fellows rushed forth, and attempted to keep the turnkey out; but, not succeeding, they put the candles out, wrested the blunderbuss out of his hand, and discharged it at him. At this instant Isdwell was endeavouring to make his escape out of the window, but he received the whole charge in his body, and fell dead on the spot. A desperate conflict then took place, in the course of which the jailor was very severely beaten, but some persons being attracted to the spot by the uproar, the officer was rescued, and the prisoners were apprehended, and lodged in safe custody.

The prisoners were tried for the murder of their companion, to which their offence in reality amounted, his death having been caused by them in executing an unlawful deed, on the 21st April; but the prosecution failed in consequence of the absence of any proof to establish the fact distinctly, the occurrence having happened in the dark; but, being detained to be tried for the conspiracy to procure the liberation of the deceased Isdwell, they were convicted, and received sentence of transportation.

CHARLES SCOLDWELL.

CONVICTED OF STEALING.

From the evidence which was adduced, it appeared that Mr. Spurling was a baker at Bedfont, and that the prisoner was a bailiff. On the 22nd June, the latter was entrusted with a writ of execution against Mr. Spurling; and accompanied by his follower, a man named Taylor, he proceeded to Bedfont, to secure his person. The debt amounted to 16l. 7s.; and at two o’clock at night the prisoner made his appearance at the prosecutor’s house. Upon his being required to explain his business, he said that he had a writ, and that Mr. Spurling must accompany him to Newgate. Mr. Spurling demurred at proceeding to prison at so late an hour at night, and suggested that he might settle the demand; but the prisoner, with all the insolence usually assumed by persons holding similar situations, declared that there was no use in talking, and that the prosecutor must hire a post-chaise, and go off with him at once. This new demand of a post-chaise was looked upon as a hardship, almost equal to that of going to prison, by Mr. Spurling, and he offered his own one-horse chaise for the purpose of his transportation to town, but all was of no avail; the bailiff and the bully were united in the person of Mr. Scoldwell, and nothing but a post-chaise and an immediate visit to Newgate would suit his pleasure. At length, however, Mr. Taylor, his follower, whose caution was rather greater than that of his master, ventured to inquire what sort of a settlement could be tendered by Mr. Spurling, and the latter immediately offered to pay 15l., which he had in the house, and to give security for the remainder of the debt. “Have you a watch?” peremptorily demanded Mr. Scoldwell, “if so, I must have it;” and the poor baker was compelled to give up his watch, worth four times the amount of the balance of the demand. The officer, however, was not yet satisfied. “Such gentlemen as we,” said he, “cannot come into the country without something to cover our expenses. You must pay us for our trouble and time;” and ten shillings in halfpence, the amount of the day’s earnings in the shop, were handed over to him. His wife was as much an object of consideration as himself, he next suggested. She had been deprived of his company, and he must carry something to her by way of a recompense. Were there no fowls in the house? Mr. Spurling had none. A goose would do;—Mrs. Scoldwell was very fond of goose, and Mr. Spurling being entitled to a goose which was feeding on the common, Taylor was despatched to take possession of it on behalf of his master. Still, however, the bailiff was dissatisfied; and he demanded that some additional security should be given for the debt; and having discovered that the baker had a lease of his house, he procured that also to be delivered to him, together with a note for forty pounds, with a condition, that unless the debt and costs were paid within twenty-one days all should be his. Thus pretty well secured, the prisoner, between four and five o’clock in the morning, proposed to depart, and the baker proceeded to his oven. While there, however, he saw the prisoner go to his stable where his ducks were confined, and in the morning the two ducks, mentioned in the indictment, were found to have been carried off. On his way to London, the prisoner joked with the stage-coachman about his having done the baker out of his watch, and having carried off his ducks without his knowledge; and Mr. Spurling having subsequently redeemed his watch, lease, and the note of hand for 40l., by paying the balance of the debt and the costs, he immediately gave the prisoner into custody.

These facts being clearly proved in evidence, the Recorder summed up the case to the jury, and a verdict of guilty was returned.

The prisoner was afterwards sentenced to seven years transportation a punishment which he richly deserved.

JOSEPH HODGES AND RICHARD PROBIN.

CONVICTED OF CROSS DROPPING.

The dupe, in this instance, was William Headley, an ironmonger at Cambridge, who, on the trial of these robbers, deposed that on the 7th of July 1796, he was in town, going from Shoe-lane to the Angel Inn, St. Clement’s, to take a place on the outside of the coach to go into Wiltshire; when he met Hodges who was a stranger in Butcher-row, and left him to take his place. He went on to Clare Market, where Hodges overtook him, and they walked together through Portugal-street. While in that street Hodges suddenly stopped, and clapping his cane on a parcel which was lying on the ground, said that he had a “finding.” He picked up the parcel, and opened the outer covering, and the witness saw in it something like a red pocket-book. He inquired what it was? but the prisoner refused to show him in the street, and they, in consequence, went into a public-house in order to open it. Having called for some liquor, the prisoner opened the parcel, and produced from it what looked like a diamond cross, and a receipt in the following terms:—

“London. 20th June, 1796. Received of John King, Esq. the sum of three hundred and twenty pounds, for one brilliant diamond cross, by me, William Smith.”

The prisoner seemed much alarmed and confused on seeing this, but the witness having read the receipt, suggested that the parcel should be taken to Mr. Smith. This, however, was opposed by Hodges, who asked whether they had not better inquire of the gentleman sitting by (the prisoner Probin) what his opinion was? This was assented to, and upon his being addressed, he suggested that Hodges ought to give the witness a present, as having been by when the cross was found, and that he should keep it. The cross was then taken out and examined, and Hodges said that he did not mind giving the witness something, but he must go to his banker’s first, and get some drafts changed. He then went out, leaving the cross with the witness and Probin, but returned, saying that his banker was out, and could not be seen until four o’clock, and a meeting at that hour was eventually appointed to take place at the Angel Inn, St. Clement’s. Each party then gave his name. Hodges said that he came from Worcester, and was a hop-merchant; and Probin said that his name was William Jones, and that he lived at No. 7, Charing-cross. A discussion now took place, to whom the care of the cross should be entrusted; and Probin suggested, that the witness perhaps would be better satisfied if it were left in his hands, and that if he deposited something he might carry it away until four o’clock. He asked what would be required, and they said that he ought to leave one hundred pounds at least. He then produced a Bank bill, payable on demand, for that amount from his stocking, where he had concealed it, and handing it to Hodges, he said that that would do. The witness then went away, but subsequently showing the cross to a friend, he found that it was quite valueless. Information was, in consequence, given at Bow-street of the robbery, and both prisoners were apprehended in the course of the ensuing day, money to the amount of nearly fifty pounds being found on each. It afterwards turned out, that the prisoner Hodges changed Mr. Headley’s Bank bill almost immediately after he had received it. In his possession was found a second cross, precisely similar to that palmed off upon the prosecutor.

The prisoners being found guilty, were sentenced to be transported for seven years.

THE MUTINY AT THE NORE.
RICHARD PARKER.

EXECUTED FOR MUTINY.

It was in the beginning of May 1797 that Parker reached the Nore, or point of land dividing the mouths of the Thames and the Medway. Probably on account of his former experience and station as a seaman, he was drafted on board the Sandwich, which was the guard-ship, and bore the flag of Admiral Buckner, the port-admiral. The mutinous spirit which afterwards broke out, certainly existed on board of the Nore squadron before Parker’s arrival. Communications were kept up in secret between the various crews, and the mischief was gradually drawing to a head. But though he did not originate the feeling of insubordination, the ardent temper, boldness, and superior intelligence of Parker, soon became known to his comrades, and he became a prominent man among them. Their plans being at length matured, the seamen rose simultaneously against their officers, and deprived them of their arms, as well as of all command in the ships, though behaving respectfully to them in all other respects. Each vessel was put under the government of a committee of twelve men, and, to represent the whole body of seamen, every man-of-war appointed two delegates, and each gun-boat one, to act for the common good. Of these delegates Richard Parker was chosen president, and, in an unhappy hour for himself, he accepted the office. This representative body drew up a list of grievances, of which they demanded the removal, offering to return immediately afterwards to their duty. It is unnecessary to specify these demands further, than that they related to increase of pay and provisions, a more equal division of prize-money, liberty to go on shore, proper payment of arrears, and other points of naval discipline. A committee of naval inquiry subsequently granted almost all that was demanded, thereby acknowledging the general justice of the complaints made. Parker signed these documents, and they were published over the whole kingdom with his name, as well as presented to Port-admiral Buckner, through whom they were sent to government.

When these proceedings commenced, the mutineers were suffered to go on shore, and they paraded about Sheerness, where a part of the fleet lay, with music, flags (red in colour—the customary hue of insubordination), and other appendages of a triumphal procession. But, on the 22d of May, troops were sent to Sheerness to put a stop to this indulgence. Being thus confined to their ships, the mutineers, having come to no agreement with Admiral Buckner, began to take more decisive measures for extorting compliance with their demands, as well as for insuring their own safety. The vessels at Sheerness moved down to the Nore, and the combined force of the insurgents, which at its greatest height consisted of twenty-four sail, proceeded to block up the Thames, by refusing a free passage, up or down, to the London trade. Foreign vessels, and a few small craft, were suffered to go by, first receiving a passport, signed by Richard Parker as president of the delegates. In a day or two the mutineers had an immense number of vessels under detention. The mode in which they kept these was as follows:—The ships of war were ranged in a line, at considerable distances from each other, and in the interspaces were placed the merchant-vessels, having the broadsides of the men-of-war pointed to them. The appearance of the whole assemblage is described as having been at once grand and appalling. The red flag floated from the mast-head of every one of the mutineer ships. It may be well imagined that the alarm of the citizens of London was extreme. The government, however, though unable at the period to quell the insurgents by force, remained firm in their demand of “unconditional submission as a necessary preliminary to any intercourse.” This, perhaps, was the very best line of conduct that could have been adopted. The seamen, to their great honour, never seemed to think of assuming an offensive attitude, and were thereby left in quiet to meditate on the dangerous position in which they stood in hostility to a whole country. They grew timorous; the more so, as the government had caused all the buoys to be removed from the mouth of the Thames and the adjacent coasts, so that no vessel durst attempt to move away for fear of running aground. The mutineering vessels held together, nevertheless, till the 30th of May, when the Clyde frigate was carried off through a combination of its officers with some of the seamen, and was followed by the St. Fiorenzo. These vessels were fired upon, but escaped up the river.

On the 4th of June, the king’s birth-day, the Nore fleet showed that their loyalty to their sovereign was undiminished, by firing a general salute. On the 5th, another frigate left the fleet, but its place was supplied by a sloop and four men-of-war, which had left Admiral Duncan’s fleet at the Texel to join the mutiny. On the 6th, Lord Northesk met the delegates by desire on board the Sandwich, and received from them proposals for an accommodation, to which the unfortunate Parker still put his name as president. The answer was a direct refusal, and this firmness seems to have fairly humbled the remaining spirit of the mutineers. From that time one vessel after another deserted the band, and put themselves under the protection of the fort at Sheerness. On the 10th, the merchantmen were allowed by common consent to pass up the river, and such a multitude of ships certainly never entered a port by one tide. By the 12th, only seven ships had the red flag flying, and on the 16th the mutiny had terminated, every ship having been restored to the command of its officers. A party of soldiers went on board the Sandwich, and to them the officers surrendered the delegates of the ship, namely, a man named Davies, and Richard Parker.

Richard Parker, to whom the title of Admiral Parker had been given by the fleet and by the public during the whole of this affair, was the individual on whom all eyes were turned as the ringleader of the mutineers. He was brought singly to trial on the 22d of June, after being confined during the interval in the black-hole of Sheerness garrison. Ten officers, under the presidency of Vice-Admiral Sir Thomas Paisley, composed the court-martial, which sat on board the Neptune, off Greenhithe. The prisoner conducted his own defence, exhibiting great presence of mind, and preserving a respectful and manly deference throughout for his judges. The prosecution on the part of the Crown lasted two days, and on the 26th, Parker called witnesses in his favour, and read a long and able defence which he had previously prepared. The line of argument adopted by him was—that the situation he had held had been in a measure forced upon him; that he had consented to assume it chiefly from the hope of restraining the men from excesses; that he had restrained them in various instances; that he might have taken all the ships to sea, or to an enemy’s ports, had his motives been disloyal, &c. &c. Parker unquestionably spoke the truth on many of these points. Throughout the whole affair, the injury done to property was trifling, the taking of some flour from a vessel being the chief act of the kind. This was mainly owing to him. But he had indubitably been the head of the mutineers. He was proved to have gone from ship to ship giving orders, and haranguing the men—to have been cheered as he passed along, and treated with the honours of a chief. Nothing could save him. He was sentenced to death. When his doom was pronounced, he stood up, and uttered these words in a firm voice: “I shall submit to your sentence with all due respect, being confident of the innocence of my intentions, and that God will receive me into favour; and I sincerely hope that my death will be the means of restoring tranquillity to the navy, and that those men who have been implicated in the business may be reinstated in their former situations, and again be serviceable to their country.”

On the morning of the 30th of June, the yellow flag, the signal of death, was hoisted on board of the Sandwich, where Richard Parker lay, and where he was to meet his fate. The whole fleet was ranged a little below Sheerness, in sight of the Sandwich, and the crew of every ship was piped to the forecastle. Parker was awaked from a sound sleep on that morning, and after being shaved, he dressed himself in a suit of deep mourning. He mentioned to his attendants that he had made a will, leaving his wife heir to some property belonging to him. On coming to the deck, he was pale, but perfectly composed, and drank a glass of wine “to the salvation of his soul, and forgiveness of all his enemies!.” He said nothing to his mates on the forecastle but “Good bye to you,” and expressed a hope that “his death would be deemed a sufficient atonement, and save the lives of others!” He was strung up to the yard-arm at half-past nine o’clock. A dead silence reigned among the crews around during the ceremony. In closing their account of this affair, the journals of the day state that the body of Parker was put into a shell, and interred, within an hour or two after the execution, in the New Naval Burying Ground at Sheerness. A curious sequel to this account, however, it is now in our power to present to the reader.

Richard Parker’s unfortunate wife had not left Scotland, when the rumour came to her ears that the Nore fleet had mutinied, and that the ringleader was one Richard Parker. She could not doubt that this was her husband, and immediately took a place in the mail for London, to save him if possible. On her arrival, she heard that Parker had been tried, but the result was unknown. Being able to think of no way but petitioning the king, she gave a person a guinea to draw up a paper, praying that her husband’s life might be spared. She attempted to make her way with this to his majesty’s presence, but was obliged finally to hand it to a lord-in-waiting, who gave her the cruel intelligence that all applications for mercy would be attended to, except for Parker. The distracted woman then took coach for Rochester, where she got on board a king’s ship, and learnt that Parker was to be executed next day: she sat up, in a state of unspeakable wretchedness, the whole of that night, and at four o’clock in the morning went to the river-side, to hire a boat to take her to the Sandwich, that she might at least bid her poor husband farewell. Her feelings had been deeply agonised by hearing every person she met talking on the subject of her distress, and now, the first waterman to whom she spoke exclaimed, “No! I cannot take one passenger. The brave Admiral Parker is to die to-day, and I will get any sum I choose to ask for a party.” Finally, the wretched wife was glad to go on board a Sheerness market-boat, but no boat was allowed to come alongside the Sandwich. In her desperation she called on Parker by name, and prevailed on the boat-people, by the mere spectacle of her suffering, to attempt to go nearer, when they were stopped by a sentinel threatening to fire at them. As the hour drew nigh, she saw her husband appear on deck between two clergymen. She called on him, and he heard her voice, for he exclaimed, “There is my dear wife from Scotland.” Immediately afterwards, she fell back in a state of insensibility, and did not recover till some time after she was taken ashore. By this time all was over, but the poor woman could not believe it so. She hired another boat, and again reached the Sandwich. Her exclamation from the boat must have startled all who heard it. “Pass the word,” she cried, in her delusion, “for Richard Parker!” The truth was now told to her, and she was further informed that his body had just been taken ashore for burial. She immediately caused herself to be rowed ashore again, and proceeded to the churchyard, but found the ceremony over, and the gate locked. She then went to the admiral and sought the key, which was refused to her. Excited almost to madness by the information that the surgeons would probably disinter the body that night, she waited around the churchyard till dusk, and then, clambering over the wall, readily found her husband’s grave. The shell was not buried deep, and she was not long in scraping away the loose earth that intervened between her and the object of her search. She got the lid removed, and then she clasped the cold hand of her husband in her own!

Her determination to possess the body aroused the widow from the enjoyment of this melancholy pleasure. She left the churchyard, and communicated her situation to two women, who, in their turn, got several men to undertake the task of lifting the body. This was accomplished successfully, and at three o’clock in the morning, the shell containing the corpse was placed in a van, and conveyed to Rochester, where, for the sum of six guineas, Mrs. Parker procured another waggon to carry it to London. On the road they met hundreds of persons all inquiring about and talking of the fate of “Admiral Parker.” At eleven P.M. the van reached London; but here the poor widow had no private house or friends to go to, and was obliged to stop at the Hoop and Horse-Shoe on Tower-Hill, which was full of people. Mrs. Parker got the body into her room, and sat down beside it; but the secret could not long be kept in such a place, more particularly as the news of the exhumation had been brought by express that day to London. A great crowd, by and bye, assembled about the house, anxious to see the body of Parker, which, however, the widow would not permit. The Lord Mayor heard of the affair, and came to ask the widow what she intended to do with her husband’s remains. She replied, “To inter them decently at Exeter or in Scotland.” The Lord Mayor said that the body would not be taken from her, but prevailed on her to have it decently buried in London. Arrangements were made with this view, and finally the corpse of the unfortunate Parker was inhumed in Whitechapel churchyard; although not until it had to be removed to Aldgate workhouse, on account of the crowds attracted by it, and which caused some fears lest “Admiral Parker’s remains should create a civil war.” After the closing ceremony was over, Mrs. Parker, who had in person seen her husband consigned to the grave, gave a certificate that all had been done to her satisfaction. But, though strictly questioned as to the parties who had aided her in the disinterment, she firmly refused to disclose their names.

Parker, as has been said, made a will, leaving to his wife a small property on which he had claims near Exeter. This she enjoyed for a number of years, but ultimately her rights, whether erroneously or not, were decided to be invalid, and she was deprived of the pittance which had formed her maintenance. She was thrown into great distress, and was compelled to solicit assistance from the charitable, having become nearly if not entirely blind. The late King William gave her at one time 10l., and at another 20l. In 1836, the forlorn and miserable condition of poor Parker’s widow was made known to the London magistrates, and a temporary refuge was provided for her. But temporary assistance was of little avail to one whose physical infirmities rendered her incapable any longer of helping herself, and again her miserable condition came under the cognizance of the public authorities. An appeal to the charitable has recently been made, by a portion of the daily press, in her favour, but with what success we are unable to say. She is now seventy years of age, blind, and friendless. Time and misfortune have not quenched her affection for the partner of her early days. Of him she yet speaks with all the enthusiasm of youthful affection, and still mourns his fate.

MARIA THERESA PHIPOE, alias MARY BENSON

EXECUTED FOR MURDER.

In the first case, the indictment charged that she had feloniously assaulted Mr. John Cortois, with intent to kill and murder him. Her trial came on at the Old Bailey in the month of January 1795, when it was proved in evidence that the prisoner was a person of abandoned character, and that she kept a house, where she was in the habit of receiving visits of a certain character from gentlemen. Among her other patrons was Mr. John Cortois, a gentleman of considerable property; and it appears that Mr. Cortois having called upon her one evening, he was alarmed at finding himself suddenly seized from behind by his paramour, and her servant, a woman almost as powerful as herself, by whom he was speedily overpowered, and bound to his chair with strong cords. His person being thus secured, Mrs. Phipoe immediately, with horrid imprecations, demanded that he should sign a note or bill in her favour for 2000l., threatening that, in the event of his refusal, she would instantly cut his throat; and even enforcing her demands by holding a knife at his throat in such a position as that on the smallest movement on his part would have procured the infliction of a wound. In a state of the utmost terror and alarm, he consented to attach his name to the instrument which was produced, ready drawn by Mrs. Phipoe, and then he imagined, as a matter of course, that he should be at liberty. But Mrs. Phipoe by this time had begun to consider the possibility of his preventing the negotiation of the note, and determining that “Dead men tell no tales,” she had made up her mind that he should have no opportunity of disclosing the means by which it had been obtained. For this diabolical purpose, she now made a violent attack upon him with a knife, and wounded him in many places; but Mr. Cortois, becoming desperate in his turn, burst the bonds by which he was confined with a violent effort, and attacked his assailant. A struggle took place, in which Mr. Cortois was again mastered by the united efforts of Mrs. Phipoe and her servant; and then a choice was tendered to him whether he would die by poison, by being shot, or by the knife which Mrs. Phipoe brandished in a threatening manner over his head. The unfortunate gentleman was now much weakened by loss of blood, and was almost prevented from opposing the further violence of his demoniac assailants, when, luckily, the cries which he had raised brought him assistance in the shape of a watchman, through whose instrumentality Mrs. Phipoe was secured.

Upon this testimony a verdict of guilty was returned; but a point of law being subsequently raised in favour of the prisoner, it was declared that the judgment must be arrested.

Mrs. Phipoe was, however, subsequently, on the 23rd of May, indicted for the common assault upon Mr. Cortois, and a verdict of guilty having been a second time returned, she was subjected to twelve months’ imprisonment in Newgate.

A year had scarcely elapsed after the termination of the period of her incarceration, before Mrs. Phipoe, or Mrs. Benson, as she was now called, was again in custody on a charge of murder.

She was indicted on the 8th of December 1797, for the wilful murder of Mary Cox; and it appeared that at the time of the commission of this offence, the prisoner lived in lodgings in Garden-street, St. George’s in the East. On the night of the murder, Mrs. Cox called upon her; but within a short time after she had entered her room, a scuffle was heard, followed by loud groans. The mistress of the house demanded to know the cause of the disturbance, but the prisoner declared that it was only Mrs. Cox in a fit. The door being opened, however, Mrs. Benson was observed to be covered with blood, and Mrs. Cox was found lying on the ground desperately wounded. Two persons immediately went for a doctor, while a constable was also sent for, by whom the prisoner was taken into custody. Mrs. Cox, on being examined, was found to have sustained some severe wounds, from which there was no prospect of her recovering; and she pointed out Mrs. Benson as the person by whom they had been inflicted. A large clasp-knife, covered with blood, was found on the table in the room; and by its side lay a part of a finger; and on Mrs. Benson being questioned, she admitted that that was the knife with which “she had done the woman’s business;” and said that her own finger had been cut off in the scuffle. Mrs. Cox subsequently died in the hospital, from the effects of the stabs she had received, having previously made a declaration before a magistrate as to the circumstances attending her murder. She said that having purchased a gold watch of the prisoner for 11l., she asked that a coffee-cup, which she pointed out, might be given to her into the bargain. The prisoner bade her take it; but on her raising her hand to remove it from the shelf, she received a stab in the neck, which was followed by many others in the same place and on different parts of her body. The prisoner subsequently got her on the bed, and swore that she would murder her outright, that she should not tell her own tale; but she was interrupted by the entrance of the landlady.

The prisoner in her defence declared that Mrs. Cox had abused her, and had violently wounded her, so as to cut off part of her finger before she offered any violence to her; but that then, being maddened with pain and rage, she admitted she had attacked her. She knew nothing of what subsequently occurred, until she was found by her landlady in her own room covered with blood.

The jury having returned a verdict that the prisoner was guilty, she behaved with great hardihood, frequently interrupting the learned judge (Mr. Baron Perryn) in his observations, while condemning her to death.

Sentence having been passed, however, that she should be hanged and subsequently dissected, she was removed from the bar, and then she appeared to be fully sensible of her guilt, and of the nature of her present position.

She was executed before Newgate, December the 11th, 1797; and after hanging an hour in the view of a great number of spectators, one-third of whom were females, the body was cut down, and delivered to the surgeons for dissection.

In her last moments she confessed the justice of her sentence, but denied having cut off her own finger, saying it was done in the scuffle with the woman she murdered. She owned to have been guilty of many enormities, and attributed her frequent gusts of passion to the use of laudanum.

Her body was publicly exhibited in a place built for the purpose in the Old Bailey.

JAMES O’COIGLEY, alias FAVEY.

EXECUTED FOR HIGH TREASON.

“It is impossible for me to prove a negative; but it is a duty I owe to you, and to myself, solemnly to declare that I never was the bearer of any message or paper of this kind to France in the course of my life. That paper is not mine: it never belonged to me. It states that it was to be carried by the bearer of the last: this is something which might have been proved, but it is impossible for me to prove a negative. There is also in this paper an allusion to secret committees and political societies. I declare that I never attended any political society whatever. With these considerations I consign my life to your justice; not doubting but that you will conduct yourselves as English jurymen ever do, and that your verdict will be such as shall receive the approbation of your own conscience, your country, and your God.”

The jury, after about half-an-hour’s consideration, found O’Coigley Guilty.

Mr. Justice Buller, in an address to the prisoner, which he read from a written paper previously to his passing the sentence, observed that he had been clearly convicted of the most atrocious crime which could be committed in any country—that of meditating the destruction of a sovereign, who was one of the best, the most just, upright, and amiable of princes that ever graced a throne; and he could not conceive what were the motives which could actuate any man even to wish for the death of one who had ever been the father of his people.

The prisoner was also found guilty of conspiring to overturn the constitution of these kingdoms—a constitution which, from the experiment of years, had been found to be the best calculated of any that ever existed in the world to ensure the liberty, security, and happiness of the people who lived under it.

These atrocious crimes became still greater from the manner in which they were intended to be perpetrated—that of inviting a foreign enemy to come and invade and conquer these countries.

Those people who had fancied such an event to be a desirable one ought to think seriously what the consequences of it would be, provided it was possible to be accomplished. Did they suppose that (desperate as their present situation might be) their condition would be bettered by having their country put into the possession of people who were holding out the delusive hopes of what they call liberty to other nations? Could such persons hope that they themselves should enjoy liberty, even supposing the conquerors to have enjoyed as free a constitution as any in the world? No; they would become suspected, be despised, and destroyed by them.

A celebrated writer (Montesquieu) very justly observed upon this subject, that a country conquered by a democratic nation always enjoyed less liberty, was more miserable, and more enslaved, than if that country happened to have been conquered by a nation whose government was monarchical. But if there was any illustration of this observation wanting, one had only to look to the conduct of the French at this moment towards Holland, Italy, Switzerland, and every other country they had conquered. His lordship believed that the prisoner might have been actuated by motives similar to those which used formerly to induce many people to think that the killing of men of a different religion would give them a claim to canonization. But, though the motives might be similar, the subjects connected with them were very different. In the present times he did not believe that any person entertained such sentiments about religion. On the contrary, he was sorry to find that religion was too much neglected, and that the peace and tranquillity of numbers of people were destroyed in consequence of their having lost all belief of the existence of a Divine Providence, and totally abandoned all hopes of a future state. He was afraid that the prisoner had been infected with this infidelity; and if he was, he (the judge) prayed that the Almighty God, in his infinite mercy and goodness, would change his heart, and cause him to repent of his sins.

His lordship then, in a solemn and awful manner, passed the following sentence:—

“That the prisoner be taken from the bar to prison, and from thence to the place of execution; there to be hanged, but not until he be dead, to be cut down while yet alive, and then to have his heart and bowels taken out and burnt before his face; his head to be severed from his body, and his body to be divided into four quarters.”

Mr. O’Coigley listened to this address and sentence with attention, but at the same time with the greatest coolness. He bowed his head when the judge concluded, his countenance expressing at once resignation and firmness.

Thursday, 7th June, being fixed upon for the execution, on the previous day, the unhappy prisoner received an intimation to that effect without emotion. He spent the evening very calmly. He had but one thing, he said, on his mind which created any anxiety; that was, an apprehension that he might be misrepresented after his death. He was anxious to be faithfully reported, and that was all he wanted. On Thursday, at a quarter past eleven o’clock, O’Coigley left the jail. He was dressed in black; his hair was cropped and powdered, his shirt-collar open, and he wore no neckcloth. His elbows were tied behind with ropes, and over his shoulders was the rope with which he was to be executed. He stepped into the hurdle; and on his sitting down, a chain was put round his waist to fasten him. The executioner sat opposite to him. The cavalcade was well guarded by a large body of the Kent Volunteers; and throughout the journey to Pennenden Heath, the prisoner was engaged in reading from a book of devotions.

Upon their arrival at the place of execution, the military formed a square. The prisoner being unchained, he rose up and stood in the hurdle, and read two prayers, one of them aloud in Latin. He then took out of his pocket an orange, and also a penknife; but being unable to cut the orange, from his hands being bound, he gave it to a friend, whom he beckoned to come near him, saying, “Open this orange with my penknife; it has been said they would not trust me with a penknife, lest I should cut my throat; but they little knew that I would not deprive myself of the glory of dying in this way.” He desired his friend to keep the penknife for his sake, and to hold the orange, several pieces of which he ate.

After finishing his devotions, the clergyman gave him absolution; and having ascended the platform, he bid farewell to the jailor, thanking him for the many civilities he had shown him. On his being tied up to the gallows, he made the following speech:—

“I shall only here solemnly declare, that I am innocent of the charge for which I suffer. I never was in my life the bearer of any letter, or other paper or message, printed, written, or verbal, to the Directory of France, nor to any person on their behalf; neither was I ever a member of the London Corresponding Society, or of any other political society in Great Britain; nor did I attend any of their meetings, public or private, so help me God! I know not whether I shall be believed here in what I say, but I am sure I shall be believed in the world to come. It can scarcely be supposed that one like me, in this situation, going to eternity, before the most awful tribunal, would die with a falsehood in his mouth; and I do declare, by the hopes I confidently feel of salvation and happiness in a future state, that my life is falsely and maliciously taken away by corrupt and base perjury, in some cases proceeding from mistake, no doubt, but in others from design. Almighty God, forgive all my enemies. I beg of you to pray that God will grant me grace—for I have many sins to answer for; but they are the sins of my private life, and not the charge for which I now die. (Raising his voice.) Lord have mercy on me, and receive my soul.”

A white nightcap was then drawn over his face, and he made a signal by dropping a handkerchief. The board was then let down, and he remained suspended for twelve or thirteen minutes. Upon his being taken down, his head was taken off by a surgeon, and the executioner held it up to the populace, saying “This is the head of a traitor.” Both head and body were then put into a shell, and buried at the foot of the gallows.

GEORGE WALDRON, alias BARRINGTON.

TRANSPORTED FOR PICKING POCKETS.

These advantages he enjoyed but a short time, for the impetuosity of his passions hurried him into an action by which he lost his patron’s favour for ever. When he had been about half a year at the grammar-school, he was involved in a quarrel with a lad much older and stronger than himself. Some blows passed, in which George suffered considerably; but in order to be revenged, he stabbed his antagonist with a penknife; and had he not been prevented, would probably have murdered him. For this atrocious offence the discipline of the house was inflicted with proper severity, which irritated the youth to such a degree, that he formed the resolution of abandoning not only the school, but also his family and friends. His plan of escape was no sooner formed than it was carried into execution; but before his departure he found means to steal ten or twelve guineas from the master, and a gold repeating-watch from his sister. With this booty he safely effected his escape from the school-house in the middle of a still night in the month of May 1771; and pursuing the great north road from Dublin all that night and the next day, he arrived late in the evening at Drogheda without interruption.

Having reached this town, where he thought that he should be safe from the chances of pursuit and discovery, by a species of forced march, without rest or refreshment, he entered a small public-house in order to procure the one and the other; but the following morning introduced to his notice a band of strolling players, whose acquaintance he immediately made. A friendship commenced under such unfavourable circumstances, it might be thought would scarcely last many days, but it was nevertheless maintained through choice and affection for several years; and it appears that whilst engaged as a member of the company, he picked up much information which was exceedingly useful to him in his subsequent career.

Price, the manager of the company, having lived some time in London, in the capacity of clerk to a pettifogging attorney, was intimately acquainted with the town, and all the arts of fraud, deception, or violence, which are practised in it by the most unprincipled classes to procure money. For indulging these vicious propensities, he subjected himself to the lash of the law, and was at this time an involuntary exile in Ireland till the expiration of the term for which he was to be transported; and this man soon became the confidant and counsellor of the young fugitive. By his advice he renounced his paternal name, assumed that of Barrington, and entered into the company; and in the course of four days he became so well initiated in the mysteries of his profession as to be able to perform the part of Jaffier in “Venice Preserved,” without the aid of a prompter, in a crowded barn in the neighbourhood of Drogheda with the most flattering demonstrations of applause.

His success, however, was by far too great to render it at all desirable that he should continue his performances so near the scene of his late depredations; and in obedience to the dictates of prudence, lest our hero might be called upon to make his last appearance on a “stage” fitted up with a drop, before his character as a player was fully established, it was resolved that the whole company should, without delay, move northwards with all speed, so as to get out of the way, with the anticipation of their being able to reach sixty or eighty miles from Dublin without any long bait. In order to carry this resolution into effect, however, it was recollected that some means must be found to feed the strollers, as the produce of their late performances was not so weighty as to require any great exertion on the part of the treasurer to squeeze it into his waistcoat pocket; and the gold repeater being remembered, it was immediately given up by our hero, pro bono publico, with a degree of liberality which procured for him a burst of applause from his companions in the search of histrionic fame. The watch being disposed off, its proceeds were equally divided, and the party set out on its march; but when they arrived at Londonderry, it was found that the Belvidera of the company had surrendered her heart to the new Jaffier. A reciprocal attachment was found to exist, and the connexion was only dissolved by the death of the lady. It appears that she was the daughter of a respectable tradesman at Coventry; and having eloped from her father’s house, at the age of sixteen years, with a lieutenant of marines, conducted by him to Dublin, and there, in less than three months, was infamously abandoned to all the horrors of penury and want. Reduced to this extremity, she readily embraced a proposal made to her by Price, to join his company, as her only resource; and being young and beautiful, it is not extraordinary that she should have excited a flame in the bosom of her new admirer. She was unfortunately drowned, in her eighteenth year, in crossing the Boyne, through the negligence of the ferryman.

To return, however, to the Company. The money which had been raised was found to be quite expended on their arrival at Londonderry, and some means, it was determined, must be found to recruit their bank. In this dilemma, Price insinuated to our adventurer that a young man of his address and appearance might easily introduce himself into the public places, to which the merchants and dealers of the town resorted, and that he might, without difficulty, find opportunities of picking their pockets, and escaping unseen and undiscovered. The idea pleased Barrington, and the fair coming on, offered a favourable juncture at which to commence his new profession. The design was carried into execution in the course of the ensuing day with very great success, their acquisitions amounting to about forty guineas in cash, and one hundred and fifty pounds in Bank notes. The circumstance, it may readily be supposed, excited no small alarm among the honest traders, on its becoming generally known that robberies to so large an amount had been effected; but the players remaining in the town, suspicion did not rest upon them, and the depredation was put down to the score of some of the ordinary scamps who then, as well as now, followed the fairs, in Ireland and England. It was resolved, however, that the company should quit Derry, and after having played a few nights with more applause than profit, they removed to Ballyshannon, where our hero may be said to have commenced the business of a professed pickpocket in the summer of the year 1771, in the 16th year of his age.

At Ballyshannon he passed the autumn and winter of 1771 with the company to which he belonged, playing two days in the week, and picking pockets whenever opportunity offered; and this business, though attended with some danger and certain infamy, he found so much more lucrative than that of the theatre, where his fame and his proficiency by no means kept pace with the expectations raised by his first appearance, that he determined to quit the stage.

He now commenced what is called a “gentleman pickpocket,” by affecting the airs and importance of a man of fashion; but he was so much alarmed at the detection and conviction of his preceptor, Price (who was sentenced to transportation for seven years), that he hastened to Dublin, where he practised his pilfering art during dark evenings only. He soon made his own country too hot to hold him, for at one of the races in the county of Carlow he was detected picking the pocket of a nobleman; but, upon restoring the property, his lordship declined any prosecution, and he therefore left Ireland, and for the first time appeared in England in 1773. On his first visit to Ranelagh with a party, he quitted his friends, and picked the pockets of the Duke of Leinster and Sir William Draper of a considerable sum; and he also took from a lady a watch, with all which he got off undiscovered, and rejoined his friends.

In 1775 he visited the most celebrated watering-places, particularly Bath; and, being supposed to be a gentleman of fortune and family, he was noticed by persons of the first distinction. On his return to London he formed a connexion with one Lowe, and became a most daring pickpocket. He went to court on the queen’s birthday, as a clergyman, and not only picked several pockets, but found means to deprive a nobleman of his diamond order, and retired from the palace without suspicion.

In the course of the winter of 1775 the celebrated Russian Prince Orloff visited England. The various circumstances of his history, the high favour he enjoyed at the court of his sovereign, and the valuable presents he had received from her, were frequently mentioned in the public prints. Among the rest, a gold snuff-box, set with brilliants, and valued at the enormous sum of thirty thousand pounds, particularly attracted the attention of Barrington. It was not long before he formed a plan for obtaining possession of it. A favourable opportunity one night presenting itself at Covent-garden Theatre, he contrived to get near the prince, and found means to convey the precious trinket out of his excellency’s waistcoat pocket into his own. This operation, however, was not performed with such dexterity as to escape detection. The prince felt the attack so impudently made upon him, and immediately seized the depredator by the collar. During the confusion that ensued, Barrington slipped the box into the hand of the owner, who was doubtless well pleased at having recovered it so easily; but the delinquent was, nevertheless, secured, and committed to Tothill-fields Bridewell, previous to his examination at Bow-street for the offence. On this occasion he represented himself as belonging to an affluent and respectable family in Ireland, adding that he had been educated for the medical profession, and had come to London to improve himself in it; and having accompanied this plausible representation with many tears, and seeming to rest so much on his being an unfortunate gentleman rather than a guilty culprit, Prince Orloff declined to prosecute, and he was dismissed by the magistrate, with some wholesome admonition.

This adventure, however, had no effect with our hero. He had gone too far to recede, and he was compelled to continue his depredations upon the public, in order to obtain a living.

In pursuit of his business, it was his custom to attend the sittings of the two Houses of Parliament; but being one day in the House of Peers, he was recognised by a stranger who was present, and turned out by one of the ushers, who was made acquainted with his character. A threat of vengeance was heard to slip from the lips of the thief, and he was taken into custody, and being unable to give security for his future good behaviour, he was committed to Tothill-fields Bridewell, and remained there during a considerable period of time. On his discharge, his only refuge was his old profession: but he had not pursued it long before he was detected in picking the pocket of a woman in Drury-lane Theatre, for which he was indicted and convicted at the Old Bailey in the year 1777, and was sentenced to three years’ hard labour on board the hulks at Woolwich. The excellence of his deportment there, however, procured for him a mitigation of his punishment, and at the termination of a year he was set at liberty, in obedience to the recommendation of the superintendants of his gang.

Within six months after his release, he was detected in picking the pocket of a lady during divine service in St. Sepulchre’s church, and being convicted of this offence, he was again sentenced to hard labour on the river; but for a period of five years, and in pursuance of his sentence, he was removed to the hulks a second time, in the year 1778.

During this second confinement, he either found that his sufferings were more severe or his situation more desperate than in his former imprisonment, and, wearied out with labour and disgusted with life, he determined to commit suicide. With this view he stabbed himself in the breast with a penknife; but the wound, though deep and dangerous, did not prove mortal, and it healed slowly, although it left the unfortunate prisoner in a state of the greatest weakness. While he was in this state, he had the good fortune to attract the attention of a gentleman of rank, who happened to visit the hulks for the purpose of inquiring into the state of the convicts, and who, commiserating his wretched plight, exerted his influence and procured for him a pardon, on condition of his quitting the kingdom. The condition was eagerly accepted, and having been provided with money by his benefactor, he proceeded at once to Dublin.

He had scarcely arrived in this city, however, before he was apprehended on a charge of picking the pocket of a nobleman of his gold watch and money at a theatre; but the evidence being defective, he was acquitted and discharged. Upon his defence to this charge he displayed considerable powers of oratory, and having been addressed by the Judge in terms of suitable admonition, he spoke with great animation, and enlarged upon what he termed the force of prejudice, insinuating that the calumnies which, he contended, had been uttered against him in England, had followed him to his native country.

He then quitted the bar, and as soon as he had obtained his liberty, he deemed it prudent to retire from Dublin, and he proceeded to Edinburgh. Suspicions were, however, soon entertained of his character there, and, braving all danger, he returned to London, and there frequented the theatres, the Opera House, Pantheon, and other places of public resort, but was at length taken into custody. Having been acquitted for want of evidence of the charge brought against him, he was unexpectedly detained for having returned to England in violation of the condition on which his majesty was pleased to grant him a remission of his punishment, and was accordingly confined in Newgate during the remainder of the time that he was originally to have served on the river Thames.

On the expiration of his captivity he returned to his former practices, but with greater caution: but in spite of all his cares, he was at length apprehended for picking the pocket of Mr. Le Mesurier, at Drury-lane playhouse, but effected his escape from the constable; and while the lawyers were outlawing him, and the constables endeavouring to take him, he evaded detection by travelling in various disguises and characters through the northern counties of the kingdom.

The appearances of a clergyman, a quack doctor, and a rider or traveller, were in turn assumed; but going to Newcastle-upon-Tyne, he was secured and removed to London by a writ of habeas corpus. He now employed counsel, and had the outlawry against him reversed; and being then tried for stealing Mr. Le Mesurier’s purse, was acquitted in consequence of the absence of a material witness.

Being once more enlarged, he had the presumption to visit Dublin again, where having been soon suspected, he with difficulty escaped to England; but, soon after his arrival, he was taken into custody for picking the pocket of Henry Hare Townsend, Esq. at Epsom Races. For this he was tried at the Old Bailey, September 1, 1798, and found guilty, notwithstanding he made an ingenious defence. On September 22d the Recorder pronounced the sentence of transportation on him for seven years, when Barrington addressed the Court to the following effect:—

“My Lord,—I have a great deal to say in extenuation of the cause for which I now stand convicted at this bar; but, upon consideration, I will not arrest the attention of the honourable Court too long. Among the extraordinary vicissitudes incident to human nature, it is the peculiar and unfortunate lot of some devoted persons to have their best wishes, and their most earnest endeavours to deserve the good opinion of the most respectable part of society, entirely frustrated. Whatever they can say or whatever they can do, every word and its meaning, every action and its motive, is represented in an unfavourable light, and is distorted from the real intention of the speaker or the actor. That this has been my unhappy fate, does not seem to stand in need of any confirmation. Every effort to deserve well of mankind, and my heart bore witness to its rectitude, has been thwarted by such measures as those, and consequently has been rendered abortive. Many of the circumstances of my life I can, without any violation of truth, declare to have, therefore, happened absolutely in spite of myself. The world, my lord, has given me credit for abilities, indeed, much greater than I possess, and therefore much more than I deserved; but I have never found any kind hand to foster these abilities. I might ask, where was the generous and powerful hand that was ever stretched forth to rescue George Barrington from infamy? In an age like this, which, in several respects, is so justly famed for liberal sentiments, it was my severe lot that no noble-minded gentleman stepped forward, and said to me, ‘Barrington, you are possessed of talents which may be useful to society. I feel for your situation; and as long as you act the part of a good citizen, I will be your protector: you will then have time and opportunity to rescue yourself from the obloquy of your former conduct.’ Alas, my Lord, George Barrington never had the supreme felicity of having such comfort administered to his wounded spirit. As matters have unfortunately turned out, the die is cast,—and as it is, I bend resigned to my fate, without one murmur or complaint.”

Having concluded this address, rendered more forcible by his pathetic manner, he left the bar with a respectful bow, and thus retired from public life in Europe, to act his part in a new hemisphere.

From the period of his conviction Barrington’s conduct was such as to retrieve his character from the disgrace with which he had loaded it during the former portion of his life. Soon after the ship in which he, with many other culprits, embarked for Botany Bay, had left England, a circumstance occurred which may justly be asserted to have laid the foundation of his subsequent good fortune.

The humanity of the captain had induced him to release many of the convicts who were in a weakly state from their irons, and to permit them alternately, ten at a time, to walk upon deck. Two of them, who were Americans, formed the design of seizing the ship, and prevailed on the majority of their comrades to enter into the plot. It was agreed, that on the first favourable opportunity, part of those who were on deck should force the arm-chest, overpower the sentinels, and then give a signal for those below to join them. This design was planned with great secrecy, and executed with equal spirit and audacity. One day, the captain and most of the officers being below, Barrington, who was the only man on deck except the man at the helm, heard a noise on the main-deck, and going forward to ascertain its cause, was met by one of the Americans and another convict, who presented a sabre at his breast, which they had just wrenched from one of the sentinels, and commanded him instantly to stop, and to make no noise. The sentinel at the moment came up, and with a pistol which he had just snapped at the villain’s head, knocked up the weapon; and Barrington, seizing the opportunity, snatched up a hand-spike, and felled his assailant to the ground. The man at the helm was a witness to this scene of violence, and gave the alarm, while Barrington meanwhile kept his situation, guarding the passage of the quarter-deck. His antagonists now retreated a few paces, but, being joined by many others, were rushing upon him, when the discharge of a blunderbuss from behind our hero wounded several, and they retreated; and Barrington being by this time aided by the captain and the rest of the officers, the mutineers were in a few minutes driven below. An attempt of this kind required the most exemplary punishment; and, accordingly, two of the ringleaders were immediately hanged at the yard-arm, and several others severely flogged.

Order being restored, the captain paid Barrington many handsome compliments for his conduct, to which he attributed the salvation of the ship, promised him a recompense for his services, and directed his steward to supply him with everything he wanted during the voyage. Accordingly, on the arrival of the ship at the Cape of Good Hope, he gave Barrington a draft on a merchant there for one hundred dollars, with permission to go on shore as often as he pleased. Nor was this all; for, when they reached the place of their final destination, the captain made such a favourable report of Barrington’s character and merits to the governor of Port Jackson, that he immediately appointed him superintendant of convicts at a kind of colony from the parent settlement, called Paramatta, where a convenient habitation was assigned him.