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.

“I next made application to his royal highness the Prince Regent to have my affairs laid before parliament, explaining anew the disgraceful conduct of the consul and ambassador at Russia, who, by suffering me to be so persecuted, had been guilty of an act which brought eternal disgrace on the country. (Here he read documents similar to the former, and repeated all the statements respecting the manner in which he had been treated in Russia.) The answer I received was as follows:

“After this I made application to the privy council office, and had communications with Lord Chetwynd and Mr. Duller, the two clerks of that council, who informed me that I had nothing to expect from their decision. I then applied to know the reason in writing, why the privy council declined to act in obedience to the instructions of his royal highness the Prince Regent; which request I was informed by Mr. Litchfield could not be complied with.

“Under these circumstances, I communicated the whole to his royal highness, and enclosed to him a petition to be laid before parliament. (The petition was here read, and the answer of Mr. Beckett, dated March 9, 1812, stating that his royal highness had signified no commands thereupon, and returning the petition accordingly.) So baffled (he pursued), what could a man do? Reduced to the last extremity of distress without having been guilty of a single political crime which could call for reprehension, here I was forced to the commission of that melancholy act (bursting into tears) which I, as well as my country, have so sincerely to regret. My wife and my poor children crying for the means of existence, what alternative had I but to seek redress by some such dreadful act as that for which I have now to answer? His majesty’s ministers, referring me backwards and forwards like a shuttlecock, without showing the slightest disposition even to regard my wrongs as deserving of the smallest consideration, in duty to myself, I was forced to seek justice, and avenge my own cause. I was told I could not get my case before parliament without the sanction of his majesty’s ministers. To General Gascoigne, for the politeness and attention with which he heard my statement, and the disposition he evinced to relieve me were it in his power, I have to express my gratitude. He informed me, if any of his majesty’s ministers would sanction my claims, and that I was able to authenticate the particulars I had related, he should be happy to meet my wishes by laying my petition before the house. Supposing now that I should feel little difficulty in obtaining such sanction, and satisfied that by a journey to Liverpool I should be able to produce documents which would fully establish the truth of every word I had uttered, I began to hope that the goal of my long-hoped-for wishes was now in view. I, therefore, directed a letter to Mr. Ryder, requesting the permission I understood to be essential to my purpose. Here, however, my expectations were again blasted, and those flattering dreams of success which had filled my mind with joy were dashed for ever from my reach; and this letter at once showed me that I had no justice to look for.” Here he read the letter as follows:—

“At last, then, I was told I had nothing to expect, and was forced reluctantly to notice in a more determined manner the ill-treatment I had received. To this end I enclosed the particulars of my case to the magistrates of Bow Street. (The prisoner then read the letter which we have already given.)

“In the course of two days I called again at Bow Street for an answer to this letter, when I received a little memorandum, in Mr. Reid’s writing, in which he states that he cannot interfere in my affairs, and that he had felt it his duty to communicate the contents of my packet to the secretary of state. Had he done otherwise he would have been extremely reprehensible, as events have turned out so calamitously—events which go to my heart to allude to. (Much affected.) At last, in reply to a letter of the 18th of April, I received a final and direct answer, which at once convinced me that I had no reason to expect any adjustment whatever of those claims which I had on his majesty’s government, for my criminal detention in Russia. It was in these terms:—

“After this, on personal application at the office of the secretary of state, and intimating my intention to take justice in my own hand, I was told, by the mouth of Mr. Hill, that I was at liberty to take such measures as I thought proper. Who then is to be reprobated in this case?—those who were regardless of every feeling of honour and of justice, or him who, spurred on by injury and neglect, and with a due notice of his intentions, pursued the only course likely to lead to a satisfactory termination of calamities which had weighed him down to the lowest ebb of misery! I will now only mention a few observations by way of defence. You have before you all the particulars of this melancholy transaction. Believe me, gentlemen, the rashness of which I have been guilty has not been dictated by any personal animosity to Mr. Perceval, rather than injure whom, from private or malicious motives, I would suffer my limbs to be cut from my body. (Here the prisoner seemed again much agitated.)

“If, whenever I am called before the tribunal of God, I can appear with as clear a conscience as I now possess in regard to the alleged charge of the wilful murder of the unfortunate gentleman, the investigation of whose death has occupied your attention, it would be happy for me, as essentially securing to me eternal salvation; but that is impossible. That my arm has been the means of his melancholy and lamented exit, I am ready to allow. But to constitute murder, it must clearly and absolutely be proved to have arisen from malice prepense, and with a malicious design, as I have no doubt the learned judge will shortly lay down, in explaining the law on the subject. If such is the case, I am guilty; if not, I look forward with confidence to your acquittal.

“That the contrary is the case has been most clearly and irrefutably proved; no doubt can rest upon your minds, as my uniform and undeviating object has been an endeavour to obtain justice, according to law, for a series of the most long-continued and unmerited sufferings that were ever submitted to a court of law, without having been guilty of any other crime than an appeal for redress for a most flagrant injury offered to my sovereign and my country, wherein my liberty and property have fallen a sacrifice for the continued period of eight years, to the total ruin of myself and family (with authenticated documents of the truth of the allegations), merely because it was Mr. Perceval’s pleasure that justice should not be granted, sheltering himself with the idea of there being no alternative remaining, as my petition to parliament for redress could not be brought (as having a pecuniary tendency) without the sanction of his Majesty’s ministers, and that he was determined to oppose my claim, by trampling both on law and right.

“Gentlemen, where a man has so strong and serious a criminal case to bring forward as mine has been, the nature of which was purely national, it is the bounden duty of government to attend to it; for justice is a matter of right, and not of favour. And when a minister is so unprincipled and presumptuous at any time, but especially in a case of such urgent necessity, to set himself above both the sovereign and the laws, as has been the case with Mr. Perceval, he must do it at his personal risk; for by the law he cannot be protected.

“Gentlemen, if this is not fact, the mere will of a minister would be law; it would be this thing to-day and the other thing to-morrow, as either interest or caprice might dictate.—What would become of our liberties? Where would be the purity and the impartiality of the justice we so much boast of?—To government’s non-attendance to the dictates of justice is solely to be attributed the melancholy catastrophe of the unfortunate gentleman, as any malicious intention to his injury was the most remote from my heart. Justice, and justice only, was my object, which government uniformly objected to grant; and the distress it reduced me to, drove me to despair in consequence; and, purely for the purpose of having this singular affair legally investigated, I gave notice at the public office, Bow Street, requesting the magistrates to acquaint his majesty’s ministers, that if they persisted in refusing justice, or even to permit me to bring my just petition into parliament for redress, I should be under the imperious necessity of executing justice myself, solely for the purpose of ascertaining, through a criminal court, whether his majesty’s ministers have the power to refuse justice to a well-authenticated and irrefutable act of oppression, committed by the consul and ambassador abroad, whereby my sovereign’s and country’s honour were materially tarnished, by my person endeavouring to be made the stalking-horse of justification, to one of the greatest insults that could be offered to the crown. But in order to avoid so reluctant and abhorrent an alternative, I hoped to be allowed to bring my petition to the house of commons—or that they would do what was right and proper themselves. On my return from Russia, I brought most serious charges to the privy council, both against Sir Stephen Shairp and Lord Granville Leveson Gower, when the affair was determined to be purely national, and consequently it was the duty of his majesty’s ministers to arrange it by acting on the resolution of the council. Suppose, for instance, the charge I brought could have been proved to be erroneous, should not I have been called to a severe account for my conduct? But, being true, ought not I to have been redressed?

“After the notice from the police to government, Mr. Ryder, conscious of the truth and cruelty of the case, transmitted the affair to the Treasury, referring me there for a final result. After a delay of some weeks, the Treasury came to the resolution of sending the affair back to the secretary of state’s office; at the same time I was told by a Mr. Hill, that he thought it would be useless my making further application to government, and that I was at liberty to take such measures as I thought proper for redress.

“Mr. Beckett, the under-secretary of state, confirmed the same, adding that Mr. Perceval had been consulted, and could not allow my petition to come forward. This direct refusal of justice, with a carte blanche to act in whatever manner I thought proper, were the sole causes of the fatal catastrophe—and they have now to reflect on their own impure conduct for what has happened.

“It is a melancholy fact, that the warping of justice, including all the various ramifications in which it operates, occasions more misery in the world, in a moral sense, than all the acts of God in a physical one, with which he punishes mankind for their transgressions; a confirmation of which, the single, but strong, instance before you is one remarkable proof.

“If a poor unfortunate man stops another upon the highway, and robs him of but a few shillings, he may be called upon to forfeit his life. But I have been robbed of my liberty for years, ill-treated beyond precedent, torn from my wife and family, bereaved of all my property to make good the consequences of such irregularities, deprived and bereaved of everything that makes life valuable, and then called upon to forfeit it, because Mr. Perceval has been pleased to patronize iniquity that ought to have been punished, for the sake of a vote or two in the House of Commons, with, perhaps, a similar good turn elsewhere.

“Is there, gentlemen, any comparison between the enormity of these two offenders? No more than a mite to a mountain. Yet the one is carried to the gallows, while the other stalks in security, fancying himself beyond the reach of law or justice; the most honest man suffers, while the other goes forward in triumph to new and more extended enormities.

“We have had a recent and striking instance of some unfortunate men who have been called upon to pay their lives as the forfeit of their allegiance, in endeavouring to mitigate the rigours of a prison. But, gentlemen, where is the proportion between the crimes for which they suffered, and what the Government has been guilty of, in withholding its protection from me? Even in a Crown case, after the years of sufferings, I have been called upon to sacrifice all my property, and the welfare of my family, to bolster up the iniquities of the Crown; and then am prosecuted for my life, because I have taken the only possible alternative to bring the affair to a public investigation, for the purpose of being enabled to return to the bosom of my family with some degree of comfort and honour. Every man within the sound of my voice must feel for my situation; but by you, gentlemen of the jury, it must be felt in a peculiar degree, who are husbands and fathers, and can fancy yourselves in my situation.—I trust that this serious lesson will operate as a warning to all future ministers, and lead them to do the thing that is right, as an unerring rule of conduct; for, if the superior classes were more correct in their proceedings, the extensive ramifications of evil would, in a great measure, be hemmed up—and a notable proof of the fact is, that this court would never have been troubled with the case before it, had their conduct been guided by these principles.

“I have now occupied the attention of the court for a period much longer than I intended; yet, I trust, they will consider the awfulness of my situation to be a sufficient ground for a trespass, which, under other circumstances, would be inexcusable. Sooner than suffer what I have suffered for the last eight years, however, I should consider five hundred deaths, if it were possible for human nature to endure them, a fate far more preferable. Lost so long to all the endearments of my family, bereaved of all the blessings of life, and deprived of its greatest sweet, liberty, as the weary traveller, who has long been pelted by the pitiless storm, welcomes the much desired inn, I shall receive death as the relief of all my sorrows. I shall not occupy your attention longer; but, relying on the justice of God, and submitting myself to the dictates of your conscience, I submit to the fiat of my fate, firmly anticipating an acquittal from a charge so abhorrent to every feeling of my soul.”

Here the prisoner bowed, and his counsel immediately proceeded to call the witnesses for the defence.

Anne Billet, who appeared under the strongest impressions of grief, being sworn, deposed, that she lived in the county of Southampton; she came to London in consequence of having read in the newspapers of the prisoner having been apprehended for the murder of Mr. Perceval. She was induced to come to town, from a conviction that she knew more of him than any other friend. She knew him from a child. He resided latterly at Liverpool, from whence he came at Christmas last. She knew him to be a merchant. His father died insane in Titchfield-street, Oxford-road; she firmly believed that, for the last three or four years, the prisoner was in a state of derangement, respecting the business which he had been pursuing. She had not seen him for twelve months until the present moment. She always thought him deranged when his Russian affairs were the subject of conversation.

When cross-examined by Mr. Garrow, she deposed, that when in London with the prisoner about twelve months since, he was going to different government offices to seek redress of his grievances. He was then in a state of derangement, as he had been ever since his return from Russia. There was one instance which occurred at the period to which she was alluding, which strongly confirmed her in the opinion of his insanity. About Christmas he told his wife and witness, that now he was come from Russia he had realised more than 100,000l., with which he intended to buy an estate in the west of England, and to have a house in London.—He admitted that he had not got the money, but said it was the same as if he had, for he had gained his cause in Russia, and our government would make good all the loss he had sustained. He repeatedly said to her and to his wife that this was assuredly the fact. Upon one occasion he took Mrs. Bellingham and the witness to the secretary of state’s office, where they saw Mr. Smith, who said if he had not ladies with him he would not have come to him at all.—The prisoner told Mr. Smith, that the reason why he brought them was, to convince them that his claims were just, and that he would very shortly receive the money. Mr. Smith told him he could say nothing upon this subject; he had already sent him a letter alleging that he had nothing to expect. The prisoner then requested Mr. Smith would answer him one question—“My friends say I am out of my senses; is it your opinion that I am so?” Mr. Smith said it was a very delicate question, and one he did not wish to answer. Having then departed, when they got into the carriage which waited for them, he took hold of his wife’s hand and said, “I hope, now, my dear, you are convinced all will now end as we wish.” Since that period she knew that he had been pursuing his object alone, his wife remaining at Liverpool.

Other witnesses were called, who deposed to like facts and to their belief in the insanity of the prisoner, but Lord Chief Justice Mansfield having summed up the case, the jury, after a consultation of two minutes and a half in the box, expressed a wish to retire; and an officer of the court being sworn, accompanied them to the jury-room. As they passed out, the prisoner regarded them separately with a look of mingled confidence and complacency. They were absent fourteen minutes; and, on their return into court, their countenances, acting as indices to their minds, at once unfolded the determination to which they had come. The prisoner again directed his attention to them in the same manner as before.

The names being called over, and the verdict asked for in the usual form, the foreman in a faltering voice, announced the fatal decision of—Guilty.

The prisoner’s countenance here indicated surprise, unmixed, however, with any demonstrations of that concern which the awfulness of his situation was calculated to produce.

The Recorder then passed the awful sentence of death on the prisoner in the most feeling manner, and he was ordered for execution on the following Monday, his body to be anatomised. He received the sentence without any emotion.

From the time of his condemnation, the unfortunate convict was fed upon bread and water. All means of suicide were removed, and he was not allowed to be shaved; a prohibition which gave him much concern, as he feared he should not appear as a gentleman. He was visited by the ordinary on Saturday, and some religious gentlemen called on him on Sunday, with whose conversation he seemed greatly pleased. He appeared naturally depressed by his situation; but persisted in a resolute denial of his guilt. He frequently said that he had prepared himself to go to his Father, and that he should be pleased when the hour came.

Being informed, by Mr. Newman, that two gentlemen from Liverpool had called, and left word that his wife and children would be provided for, he seemed but little affected; but, having requested pen, ink, and paper, he wrote the following letter to his wife:—

“My Blessed Mary,—It rejoiced me beyond measure to hear you are likely to be well provided for. I am sure the public at large will participate in, and mitigate, your sorrows; I assure you, my love, my sincerest endeavours have ever been directed to your welfare.—As we shall not meet any more in this world, I sincerely hope we shall do so in the world to come. My blessing to the boys, with kind remembrance to Miss Stephens, for whom I have the greatest regard, in consequence of her uniform affection for them. With the purest intentions, it has always been, my misfortune to be thwarted, misrepresented, and ill-used in life; but, however, we feel a happy prospect of compensation in a speedy translation to life eternal.—It’s not possible to be more calm or placid than I feel, and nine hours more will waft me to those happy shores where bliss is without alloy.—Yours ever affectionate,—John Bellingham.”

That the unfortunate man was afflicted with a strange malady, which occasionally rendered him incapable of correct conclusions, must be evident from the following note, which he wrote the night preceding his execution:—“I lost my suit solely through the improper conduct of my attorney and counsel, Mr. Alley, in not bringing my witnesses forward (of whom there were more than twenty): in consequence, the judge took advantage of the circumstance, and I went of [on] the defence without having brought forward a single friend—otherwise I must inevitably have been acquitted.”

On the Monday morning at about six o’clock he rose and dressed himself with great composure, and read for half an hour in the prayer-book. Dr. Ford being then announced, the prisoner shook him most cordially by the hand, and left his cell for the room allotted for the condemned criminals. He repeated the declaration which he had frequently before made, that his mind was perfectly calm and composed, and that he was fully prepared to meet his fate with resignation. After a few minutes spent in prayer, the sacrament was administered to him, and during the whole of the ceremony he seemed to be deeply impressed with the truths of the christian religion, and repeatedly uttered some pious ejaculations. After the religious ceremony was ended, the prisoner was informed that the sheriff’s were ready. He answered in a firm tone of voice, “I am perfectly ready also.”

The executioner then proceeded to fasten his wrists together, and the prisoner turned up the sleeves of his coat, and clasped his hands together, presenting them to the man, who held the cord, and said, “So.” When they were fastened, he desired his attendants to pull down his sleeves so as to cover the cord. The officer then proceeded to secure his arms behind him; and when the man had finished, he moved his hands upwards, as if to ascertain whether he could reach his neck, and asked whether they thought his arms were sufficiently fastened; saying, that he might struggle, and that he wished to be so secured as to prevent any inconvenience arising from it. He was answered that the cord was quite secure, but he requested that it might be tightened a little, which was accordingly done. During the whole of the awful scene he appeared perfectly composed and collected; his voice never faltered, but just before he left the room to proceed to the place of execution, he stooped down his head, and appeared to wipe away a tear. He was then conducted by the lord mayor, sheriffs, under-sheriffs and officers (Dr. Ford walking with him) from the room, in which he had remained from the time his irons were taken off, through the press-yard and the prison to the fatal spot, before the debtors’ door at Newgate.

He ascended the scaffold with rather a light step, a cheerful countenance, and a confident, a calm, but not an exulting air. He looked about him a little, lightly and rapidly, which seems to have been his usual manner and gesture, but made no remark.

Before the cap was put over his face, Dr. Ford asked if he had any last communication to make, or anything particular to say. He was again proceeding to talk about Russia and his family, when Dr. Ford stopped him, calling his attention to the eternity into which he was entering; and praying, Bellingham prayed also. The clergyman then asked him how he felt; and he answered calmly and collectedly, that “he thanked God for having enabled him to meet his fate with so much fortitude and resignation.” When the executioner proceeded to put the cap over his face, Bellingham objected to it, and expressed a strong wish that the business could be done without it; but Dr. Ford said that was not to be dispensed with. While the cap was being fastened on, it being tied round the lower part of the face by the prisoner’s neckerchief, and just when he was tied up, about a score of persons in the mob set up a loud and reiterated cry of “God bless you!” “God save you!” This cry lasted while the cap was fastening on; and, though those who raised it were loud and daring, it was joined in by but very few. The ordinary asked Bellingham if he heard what the mob were saying. He said he heard them crying out something, but he did not understand what it was, and inquired what. The cry having by this time ceased, the clergyman did not inform him what it was. The fastening on of the cap being accomplished, the executioner retired, and a perfect silence ensued. Dr. Ford continued praying for about a minute, while the executioner went below the scaffold, and preparations were made to strike away its supporters. The clock struck eight, and while it was striking the seventh time, the clergyman and Bellingham both fervently praying, the supporters of the internal part of the scaffold were struck away, and Bellingham dropped out of sight down as far as the knees, his body being in full view, and the clergyman was left standing on the outer frame of the scaffold. When Bellingham sunk, the most perfect and awful silence prevailed; not even the slightest attempt at a huzza or noise of any kind whatever was made.

The body was afterwards carried in a cart, followed by a crowd of the lower class, to St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, and privately dissected.

The greatest precautions were adopted to prevent accidents among the crowd.—A large bill was placarded at all the avenues to the Old Bailey, and carried about on a pole, to this effect:—“Beware of entering the crowd!—Remember thirty poor creatures were pressed to death by the crowd when Haggerty and Holloway were executed,” and no accident of any moment occurred.

To prevent any disposition to tumult, a military force was stationed near Islington, and to the south of Blackfriars Bridge; and all the volunteer corps of the metropolis received instructions to be under arms during the whole of the day.

THE LUDDITES.

On Tuesday, the 5th, the business of the court commenced with the trial of John Swallow, John Batley, Joseph Fletcher, and John Lamb, for a burglary and felony in the house of Mr. Samuel Moxon, at Whitley Upper: the jury pronounced them all guilty.

It would be useless to go into a detail of all the cases tried before the learned judges, all of which partook strongly of the same character, and we shall therefore confine ourselves to the recital of those instances which were marked by the spilling of blood.

On the Wednesday, George Mellor, of Longroyd Bridge, and William Thorp and Thomas Smith, of Huddersfield, were indicted for the wilful murder of William Horsfall, of Marsden, merchant and manufacturer, at Lockwood, in the West Riding of Yorkshire.

From the evidence of Benjamin Walker, an accomplice of the prisoners and others, it appeared that a conspiracy was entered into to attack the mill of Mr. Cartwright, in which Mellor was one of the principals. While they were in conversation upon this subject on the 28th April, however, the same prisoner produced a loaded pistol, and said that he was going to shoot Mr. Horsfall, and that the other prisoners and Walker must accompany him. They accordingly proceeded together to a plantation near an inn called the Warren-house, at Crossland Moor, near Huddersfield, where it was arranged that they should station themselves in a line by the road, and when Mr. Horsfall came, Mellor was to fire first; and in case of his missing his aim Smith and Walker were to fire. At a quarter past six o’clock in the evening, Mr. Horsfall called at the Warren-house, on his way home from Huddersfield market, and had some rum and water, and after about twenty minutes he proceeded on his way, unconscious of the fate which awaited him. He had entered the road, which ran through the plantation, and which was only a quarter of a mile from the Warren-house, when the prisoner Mellor fired and shot him. The unfortunate gentleman on his being wounded fell on his horse’s chine, and a Mr. Parr, hearing the report and seeing him fall, rode up to him, in order to assist him. Mr. Horsfall, having quitted his horse, sat down by the road side, and despatched Mr. Parr for assistance, but he died very soon afterwards.

The prisoners attempted to prove an alibi, but the jury withdrew about twenty minutes, and returned a verdict of guilty against them all. They were immediately sentenced to death.

On Friday these wretched men were brought to the place of execution, behind the Castle at York. Every precaution had been taken to render a rescue impracticable. Two troops of cavalry were drawn up near the front of the platform, and the avenues to the Castle were guarded by infantry.

A few minutes before nine o’clock the prisoners came upon the platform. After the ordinary had read the accustomed forms of prayer, George Mellor prayed for about ten minutes, William Thorp also prayed; but his voice was not so well heard. Smith said but little, but seemed to join in the devotions with great seriousness.

The prisoners were then moved to the front of the platform; and, after saying a few words, the executioner proceeded to perform his fatal office, and the drop fell.

On the 8th John Baines the elder, John Baines the younger, Zachary Baines of the same family, the elder near seventy years of age, and the latter scarce sixteen, John Eadon, Charles Milnes, William Blakeborough, and George Duckworth, all of Halifax, were tried for administering an unlawful oath to John Macdonald; and all, except the boy, were found guilty

The Luddites shooting Mr. Horsfall.

On the 9th January, James Haigh of Dalton, Jonathan Deane of Huddersfield, John Ogden, James Brook, Thomas Brook, John Walker of Longroyd Bridge, and John Hirst of Liversedge, were tried for attacking the mill of Mr. William Cartwright at Rawfolds. Mr. Cartwright being apprehensive of an attack being made upon his mill, procured the assistance of five soldiers, and retired to rest about twelve o’clock, but soon afterwards heard the barking of a dog. He arose; and while opening the door, heard a breaking of windows, and also a firing in the upper and lower windows, and a violent hammering at the door. He and his men flew to their arms; and a bell placed at the top of the mill, for the purpose of alarming the neighbours, being rung by one of his men, the persons inside the mill discharged their pieces from loop-holes. The fire was returned regularly on both sides. The mob called, “Bang up, lads! in with you! keep close! damn that bell! get to it! damn ’em, kill ’em all!” The numbers assembled were considerable. The attack continued about twenty minutes; but at length the fire slackened from without, and the cries of the wounded were heard. The men that were wounded were taken care of, but afterwards died. One of the accomplices, W. Hall, stated that he was one of those connected with Mellor and Thorp, and assembled with many other persons by the desire of Mellor, in a field belonging to sir George Armitage, Bart., on the night of the 11th of April. They called their numbers, remained there some time, and then marched off to the mill. Mellor commanded the musket company, another the pistol company, and another the hatchet company: they were formed in lines of ten each. Two of the men were to go last and drive up the rear.—Some had hatchets, some hammers, some sticks, and others had no arms.

The jury found James Haigh, J. Deane, J. Ogden, T. Brook, and J. Walker guilty, but acquitted the rest.

Several prisoners were on the two following days convicted of robberies, but many others were, through the lenity of the government, admitted to bail. On the Thursday, on the grand jury coming into court and declaring that they had disposed of all the bills of indictment preferred before them, Mr. Parke, who appeared as counsel for the crown, said that it was not intended to present any more indictments: he and those learned gentlemen who had assisted him had examined the various cases, which might have formed the subjects of prosecution; but in that discretion, with which they had been intrusted, they had determined to exercise a lenity, which he hoped would produce its proper effect with the prisoners and their associates.

The grand jury then retired, and sentence of death was passed upon fifteen prisoners by Mr. Baron Thompson.

On Saturday at eleven o’clock, John Hill, Joseph Crowther, Nathaniel Hayle, Jonathan Deane, John Ogden, Thomas Brook, and John Walker, were brought out on the scaffold to undergo the last sentence of the law. They appeared to be fully sensible of the awful situation in which they were placed; and having hung till twelve o’clock, they were cut down, in order to make way for those prisoners who were to be executed subsequently on the same day.

In about an hour and a half after they had been removed, John Swallow, John Batley, Joseph Fisher, William Hartley, James Haigh, James Hey, and Job Hay, were also executed. The crowd of persons assembled was immense.

HUFFEY WHITE AND RICHARD KENDALL.

EXECUTED FOR ROBBING THE LEEDS MAIL.

On their reaching the scene of their intended depredation, they took lodgings in the house of a Mrs. Stewart; and although they appeared to be persons engaged in no particular business, they were nevertheless actively employed in maturing their plans for the burglary. In this way nearly six weeks passed away, the most anxious care being taken that no circumstance should occur which could excite suspicion. The exact position of the banking-house, and of all the apartments in which money was kept, was ascertained and accurately noted down; and that no chance of success should be lost, the thieves actually made themselves acquainted with the persons who had charge of the banking-house, through whose innocent instrumentality they procured much of the information which they required. Their implements having reached them, however, from London, they found that none of them were calculated for the purpose which they had in view, and White, who had assumed the name of Down, was despatched to the metropolis with the necessary instructions to procure fit instruments. On his return he was amply provided; and at length, on Sunday evening, when the honest bank-keepers were gone to church, the burglary was effected, and 20,000l., in Scotch bank-notes, were carried off. The party judged rightly, that Glasgow was no place for them to remain in any longer, and they immediately set off in a post-chaise for London, changing a 20l. note at every stage. From the able manner in which the robbery had been effected, and from all the doors and cupboards being found locked as they had been left, it was not discovered, nor indeed suspected, until the following day, when pursuit, with a chance of catching the thieves, was of course hopeless; but information being conveyed to London, the fugitives were traced to have proceeded thither, and White was apprehended in the house of his old ally, Scottock, with a number of housebreaking implements in his possession. All search for money proved of no avail however, the notes having been duly lodged in the hands of an experienced “banker;” and the exertions of the officers to apprehend the other offender were equally futile. In accordance with a system then existing to a very great extent, but now, happily, put an end to, negotiations were commenced by the thieves with the banking company for the restoration of the notes upon certain terms, one of which was, that no prosecution should take place; and Sayer, the officer, being employed, matters were at length satisfactorily adjusted; but upon the notes being restored, it was found, that instead of the sum stolen, 11,041l. only were given up, and the gulled agent returned to Scotland, compelled to put up with what he could get.

In the mean time, however, White was conveyed back to the hulks to serve out the remainder of his sentence, but he soon contrived again to escape; but he now confined his depredations to the country, where he committed various burglaries. While at large, he contrived, by skeleton keys, &c., to open the doors of the Kettering bank; and such was the masterly manner in which he effected his entrance, and conducted the business, that the bankers, Messrs. Keep and Gotch, remained ignorant of the attempted robbery, until an accomplice subsequently detailed the transaction. It was conceived to be impossible for such a thing to take place without, at least, exciting suspicion; and the information was treated as untrue, until the number of the page in which the London banking account was kept was told, which it was known could only have been learned by an inspection of the private ledger. It appears, however, that in this instance “ignorance was bliss;” for although the thieves had carried off nothing, because the state of the exchequer did not present a sufficient temptation, they had fully made up their minds to pay the house a second visit, in the hope of making a more successful “haul.” But from this they were prevented by the apprehension of White, who was the prime mover of these proceedings, and his execution on a charge of robbing the Leeds mail at Higham Ferrers, in Northamptonshire, on the 29th of October, 1812.

The circumstances of this case are as follow:—The guard having gone to the coach-box on the night in question from his accustomed seat at the back of the mail, the robbers contrived during his absence, and without exciting his suspicion, to open the lock, and carry off the mail-bags. Information of the robbery having been conveyed to London, Richard and John Limbrick, two Bow-street officers, were despatched in search of the thieves; and hearing that White was at Bristol, they proceeded thither, having little doubt that he was one of the parties concerned. On their arrival they found that he was living with two fellows named Ned Burkitt and John Goodman, both well-known thieves; and it was determined to watch them, in order that a favourable opportunity might be seized to secure their persons. Several days passed before they were able to attempt the capture of their prey; but at length, Goodman and his wife having been taken into custody upon a charge of robbing the Canterbury bank, of which they were suspected, a favourable opportunity presented itself. The officers in consequence went boldly to the house occupied by the thieves, and having given a loud knock at the door, they were answered by Burkitt. They immediately rushed in, but were met with a most violent opposition, in the course of which White managed to make his escape over a shed at the back.

His career was, however, drawing to a close, and information having reached the officers that Liverpool was to be favoured by his presence, they were soon on the look out for him in that city. Early in the month of April 1813, he was found to have entered Liverpool, and inquiries being made, he was traced to the house of an old woman named Mary Howes, alias Taylor, in the Scotland Road there. The Limbricks in consequence proceeded thither, when their entrance was opposed by the old woman; but some force being applied, the door was opened, and they proceeded directly to the cellar. They there found White and a man named Haywood, evidently prepared to make a desperate resistance, but the officers being equally resolute, after a violent conflict, in the course of which a pistol was fired by one of the constables, the thieves were secured. Upon the house being searched a great variety of house-breaking implements was found, concealed under a flag in the cellar, and Mrs. Howes was also taken into custody.

At the ensuing summer assizes at Northampton, White, Kendall, and the woman Mary Howes, were indicted for the robbery of the Leeds mail; and it was proved that on the evening on which the robbery was effected, the two first-named prisoners were seen on the road in a gig near Higham Ferrers, and subsequently on the same night at the house of Mrs. Howes, who then lived very near. It was also shown that no other gig but that in which the prisoners rode passed through the turnpike on that evening, and the prisoners were afterwards seen together, and were traced to London, where White offered to negotiate some of the bills and notes, the produce of the robbery, with one Richardson, who had been before this time convicted of robbing the house of the Marchioness of Downshire.

Forty witnesses were examined on this trial, which lasted fourteen hours; and such was the interest produced, that the court was crowded to excess. The judge having charged the jury, they retired, and soon afterwards returned, finding White and Kendall guilty, but they acquitted the woman, in accordance with the direction of the Court; it appearing that her offence did not take place in the county in which she was arraigned.

The night preceding the execution of these convicts, White attempted to make his escape, and had succeeded so far as to cut off his irons, and break through several doors; but he was stopped at the outward gate, and reconducted to his cell. At nine o’clock, August the 13th, 1813, the procession approached the place of execution at Northampton. Kendall appeared deeply impressed with a sense of the awful fate that awaited him; but uniformly persisted in declaring his innocence, and said that he fell a victim in consequence of his having had the misfortune to be in company with his fellow-sufferer on the night of the robbery. He declared, on the gallows, that he was a murdered man, and appealed to the populace, in a speech of some length, in which he endeavoured to convince them of his perfect innocence.

White’s deportment was such as to exhibit his extreme carelessness of life. Hardihood never forsook him, and he more than once found fault with the manner in which the chaplain performed his duty. From the time of his conviction he disregarded the gallows; and, being humanely asked by a clergyman if he could administer any sort of comfort to him, answered, “Only by getting some other man to be hanged for me.” He declared Kendall innocent a few minutes before they were launched into eternity.

PHILIP NICHOLSON

EXECUTED FOR MURDER.

During the night no noise or disturbance of any kind was heard by the servants, and at half-past six o’clock in the morning one of the garden labourers called up Nicholson and remarked to him that the hall door and window-shutters were open, a circumstance of which he declared he was unaware. At seven o’clock the servant-women got up, and one of them on going into the ante-room of her mistress’s bed-room observed foot-marks of blood plainly visible on the floor. In great agitation she communicated what she had seen to her fellow-servants, and on their all going up to ascertain the truth of what they had been told, they became alarmed lest murder had been committed, and determined to ascertain the truth of their surmises. Upon their entering Mr. Bonar’s apartment, they found their master and mistress lying dead, the former on the floor, literally swimming with blood, while the latter lay on the bed, in a similar condition. A kitchen poker, the instrument with which the murders had evidently been committed, lay on the floor, and the state of the room exhibited the utmost confusion. Nicholson was amongst those who entered the room, and he was observed to be much agitated, and to be very active in moving the bed-clothes, by which, if by no other means, his own attire became stained with blood. One of the servant-women having swooned, he roused her, and told her to attend to her mistress, who still breathed, and upon examination this proved to be the case, and he directly insisted that he should go to town for a surgeon.

On the road he was seen to drink copiously of brandy, and a little after eight o’clock he arrived at the house of Mr. Astley Cooper, who instantly set off for Camden Place, in the hope of affording surgical assistance to the murdered lady. Nicholson went next to the Red Lion, near Bedlam, where he saw a man named Dale, who had been only a few weeks discharged for improper conduct from Mr. Bonar’s service; and to whom he used this remarkable expression: “The deed is done, and you are suspected; but you are not in it.” He then proceeded to the office at Bow-street, in a state of intoxication, to give information of the murder, and having mentioned his interview with Dale, that person was brought to the office; but he established a most satisfactory alibi, and was discharged. Three officers immediately set off for Chiselhurst, and Mr. Cooper arrived with all possible despatch at Camden Place, but was too late; the wound was mortal, and Mrs. Bonar expired at eleven minutes past one o’clock, having been through the whole previous time insensible, and having only once uttered the exclamation of “Oh dear!”

“We never witnessed,” says one who saw it, “such a scene of horror as the bed-room presented. Almost the first object which met the eye on entering was the dead body of Mr. Bonar, with the head and hands steeped in blood: the skull was literally broken into fragments in two or three places; and there was a dreadful laceration across the nose, as if effected by the edge of a poker. His hands were mangled in several places, apparently by the same instrument: there was also a severe wound on the right knee. From the numerous wounds on the body of Mr. Bonar, the swollen state of his mouth, and the convulsive contraction of his hands and knees, it is clear that he had struggled with all his force against his horrid murderer. The most shocking circumstance connected with this spectacle was the appearance of the night-cap, which lay a few paces from the head, drenched in blood, with a lock of grey hair sticking to it, which seemed to have been struck from the skull by the violence of the blow of the poker. The pillows of his bed lay at his feet, completely dyed in blood. The manly athletic person of Mr. Bonar—for, though advanced in life, he seems to have been a powerful man—gave an increase of horror to this afflicting sight. The view of Mrs. Bonar, though equally distressing, excited more pity than terror: though her head had been fractured in a dreadful manner, yet there was a calm softness in her countenance, more resembling a healthy sleep than a violent death; it might have been supposed that her life had parted from her without one painful effort. The linen and pillow of the bed in which she lay were covered with blood, as was also the bed of Mr. Bonar. They slept in small separate beds, but placed so close together that there was scarce room for a person to pass between them. The interval of floor between the beds was almost a stream of blood. No slight additional horror arose from the contrast of the spacious handsome apartment in which this scene of death was exhibited. The most heart-moving spectacle yet remained. About seven o’clock in the evening, Mr. Bonar, jun., arrived from Faversham, where he was on duty as Colonel of the Kent local militia. In spite of the efforts of Mr. Angerstein, jun., and some other gentlemen, he rushed up stairs exclaiming, ‘Let me see my father! indeed I must see him.’ It was impossible to detain him: he burst into the bed-chamber, and immediately locked the door after him. Apprehensions were entertained for his safety, and the door was broken open, when he was seen kneeling with clasped hands over the body of his father. His friends bore him away, and hurried him, tottering and fainting, into an adjoining chamber.”

The officers proceeded, immediately on their arrival, to investigate all the circumstances attending this horrid deed, and an examination of the house clearly exhibited the fact that no stranger had been guilty of the murder. They were at a loss to know on whom to fix their suspicions; when the discovery of a pair of shoes belonging to Nicholson, marked with blood, and which corresponded with the bloody footprints in the ante room, tended to produce a belief that he was the guilty man. He had not returned to his master’s house since he had first quitted it in search of surgical aid; and Forrester, one of the City officers, was in consequence despatched in quest of him. After a lengthy and diligent inquiry, he was traced to Whitechapel, and he was there found drinking at the door of the Three Nuns Inn. He was immediately seized, and in spite of great resistance was conveyed in custody to Giltspur-street Compter; but he persisted in denying all knowledge of the murder. On the Tuesday he was sent down to Chiselhurst, where the coroner’s inquest sat on the bodies of the unhappy deceased lady and gentleman, and the evidence being gone through before the coroner, Mr. Martyr, he was reading over the depositions of the several witnesses for their assent and signature, when an alarm was given that Nicholson had attempted his own life. He had been in custody of two officers, and requested leave to go into the yard, which was refused; but he was permitted to enter a water-closet in the passage leading to the servants’ hall; while there he cut his throat with a razor, which, it appeared, he had concealed in the front of his breeches. The gash was so deep, and it bled so profusely, that it was supposed he could not live many minutes. The head seemed almost severed from his body. Two surgeons from Bromley being fortunately present, they took the necessary steps to prevent his death, and after a short time he was sufficiently recovered to speak; but he persisted in declaring his innocence.

In the course of the evening, the coroner’s jury returned a verdict of “Wilful Murder against Philip Nicholson,” and he was committed to the custody of proper officers. He was subsequently visited by many persons of distinction, whose attention was attracted by the horrible and atrocious nature of the murder; and on Monday the 7th June, in consequence of the annoyance and pain to which he was subjected, his wound began bleeding afresh. In a few minutes the hæmorrhage increased to a most alarming extent, and fears being entertained for his life, Mr. Astley Cooper was sent for. The wretched prisoner became alarmed, believing that he was at the point of death; and he, in consequence, sent for Mr. Bonar, junior, to whom he made an ample confession of his guilt, but assigned no reason for the commission of the diabolical act. In consequence of the statement he made the garden was searched, and concealed in a laurel bush was found his body linen deeply stained with blood, the neck and front of his shirt being much torn, in consequence, evidently, of the resistance made by the victims to his attack.

The wretched prisoner subsequently conducted himself more calmly than he had hitherto done; he declared his repentance for the attempt which he had committed upon his life, and, as much apprehension was entertained of his death, everything that could disturb him was studiously kept out of his way.

In consequence of the great care which was paid to him, he was at length pronounced out of danger, and was then committed to the house of correction, Coldbath-fields, where he remained until the 17th of August, on which day he was conveyed to Maidstone jail for trial.

On the 20th of the same month he was arraigned upon the indictment preferred against him, to which he pleaded not guilty. The case was fully made out against him; and the prisoner declared that he had only traversed the allegations in the indictment because he had been advised to do so by his friends. The jury therefore found him guilty, and he was immediately sentenced to death by Mr. Justice Heath in the usual form.

Immediately after the sentence, the prisoner put in a paper, and desired it to be read. The judge said that this was irregular, but looked at the paper, and told the jury that it contained a confession of crime, which was imputed to excessive drinking.

The paper which he put in and desired to be read was as follows:—

“I acknowledge with the deepest contrition the justice of the sentence unto death which has been just passed upon me. My crimes are, indeed, most heavy; I feel their weight, but I do not despair; nay, I humbly hope for mercy, through the infinite mercy of my Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, who bled and died for me. In order to have a well-grounded hope in him, my all-merciful Redeemer, I know that it is my bounden duty not only to grieve from my heart for my dire offences, but also to do my utmost to make satisfaction for them. Yet, alas! what satisfaction can I make to the afflicted family of my master and mistress, whom without any provocation I so barbarously murdered? I can make none beyond the declaration of my guilt and horror of soul that I could perpetrate deeds so shocking to human nature, and so agonising to the feelings of that worthy family. I implore their forgiveness, for God’s sake; and fully sensible of their great goodness, I do hope that, for His sake, they will forgive me. I freely give up my life as a just forfeit to my country, whose laws I have scandalously outraged. Departing this tribunal, I shall soon appear before another tribunal, where an eternal sentence will be passed upon me. With this dread sentence full in my view, I do most solemnly declare, and I desire this declaration to be taken as my dying words, that I alone was the base and cruel murderer of my master and mistress; that I had no accomplice; that no one knew or possibly could suspect that I intended to perpetrate those barbarities; that I myself had no intention of committing those horrid deeds, save for a short time, so short as scarcely to be computed, before I actually committed them; that booty was not the motive of my fatal cruelties; I am sure the idea of plunder never presented itself to my mind: I can attribute those unnatural murders to no other cause than, at the time of their commission, a temporary fury from excessive drinking; and before that time to the habitual forgetfulness, for many years, of the great God and his judgments, and the too natural consequence of such forgetfulness, the habitual yielding to the worst passions of corrupted nature; so that the evil that I was tempted to do, that I did: the Lord in his mercy has, nevertheless, spared until now my life—that life which I, in an agony of horror and despair, once most wickedly attempted to destroy: He has most graciously allowed me time for repentance; an humble and contrite heart must be His gift; that gift I hope He has granted to my most ardent supplications: in that hope, and bearing in mind His promise that an humble and contrite heart He will not despise, I, freely offering up to Him my sufferings, and my life itself, look forward, through his most precious blood, to the pardon of all my crimes, my manifold and most enormous crimes, and most humbly trust that the same mercy which He showed to the penitent thief who was crucified with him He will show to me: thus meekly confiding in thee, O Jesus! into thy hands I commend my spirit. Amen.

“Philip Nicholson.

“This 20th August, 1813.”

The signature was in Nicholson’s own hand-writing: the rest appeared written by another hand.

After sentence of death was passed, the wretched culprit was placed in the condemned cell, which in the Maidstone jail is underground. In this cell Mr. Bonar had an interview with him, at half-past five on Monday morning, 22nd August, the day fixed for his execution. On his approaching the cell, he found Nicholson on his knees at prayer.

At about twelve o’clock, the preparations for the removal of the prisoner being nearly completed, Mr. Bonar, accompanied by his brother, and Mr. Bramston, the Catholic clergyman, had another interview with the unfortunate man, soon after which, the hurdle or sledge, which was in the shape of a shallow box, about six feet by three, was drawn up to the jail door; at each end was a seat just capable of holding two persons. Nicholson, double ironed, was first placed in it, with his back to the horses; he was also pinioned with ropes, and round his shoulders was coiled the fatal cord; by his side sat the executioner; opposite to the prisoner the Rev. Mr. Bramston took his seat, and by his side sat one of the Maidstone jailors with a loaded blunderbuss. Everything being in readiness, the procession advanced at a very slow pace towards Pennenden Heath, which is distant from Maidstone nearly a mile and a half, on which was erected a temporary drop, which had a platform raised seven feet from the ground, and was large enough to contain about a dozen persons. A little before two o’clock the hurdle arrived, and stopped immediately under the gallows, when Mr. Bramston and Nicholson knelt down on it, and remained for a while in prayer. Some time previous to this, Mr. Bonar arrived on the ground in a post-chaise, and took his stand within twelve yards of the fatal spot, with the front windows full on the gallows, which he kept open during the whole time; but each of the side windows was closed by blinds. So anxious was Mr. Bonar to get from the unfortunate wretch his very dying words, as to whether he had either motive or accomplice, that a person was deputed to ascend the platform after the cord was round the prisoner’s neck, and to ask him questions upon the subject of the murder. The wretched being repeatedly declared that he had no accomplice in the diabolical deed; and in answer to the last question put to him,—“Had you any antipathy to either your master or mistress before you committed the horrid murder?”—clasping his hands together as well as his close bonds would permit him, he answered, “As God is in heaven it was a momentary thought, as I have repeatedly declared before.”

The above were the last words of this unhappy man; and in a few minutes after they were uttered, the bottom of the platform was let fall, and Nicholson was launched into eternity. He died unusually hard, being greatly convulsed. It appeared from the account he gave of himself, that he was a native of Ireland, and had been discharged from the thirteenth dragoons in consequence of a broken wrist. He subsequently lived three years with the city remembrancer, and had been only three weeks in the employ of his late master, Mr. Bonar. Among the servants at Camden Place he was looked upon as a man of harmless disposition and good nature, with no discernible failing but one, drunkenness, to which he was so greatly addicted, that he was seldom sober when he could procure any spirits.

The sensation which the murder produced throughout the country was amazing.