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

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

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

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

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

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

He was again proceeding to sing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

JOHN SCANLAN, ESQ., AND STEPHEN SULLIVAN.

EXECUTED FOR THE MURDER OF MRS. SCANLAN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Assassin disarmed by a smile.
P. 02.

JAMES NESBETT.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

JAMES MACKCOULL, alias MOFFAT.

CONVICTED OF BURGLARY.

James Mackcoull received a very limited education, and could just read and write. At school he was frequently detected purloining the playthings of other boys; and at a very tender age he robbed a poor man who sold cats’-meat through the streets. The young villain saw the vender of offal put his money, as he received it, into a bag which hung on the handle of his barrow, and, watching his opportunity, when the owner’s back was turned, he cut the cord, and carried off the booty. Emboldened by success, he ventured again and again, and soon associated himself with gangs who were known to infest the entrances to theatres and places of amusement.

The father, ignorant of the vicious habits of the son, bound him apprentice to a leather-stainer, in Clerkenwell; but James, encouraged by his mother, adhered to his former comrades, and soon gave occasion to his master to discharge him.

He now became a notorious thief, and, by shifting his quarters, continued to elude detection; but, having been engaged with another in snatching the seals of a gentleman’s watch in St. James’s Park, they were pursued. Mackcoull’s companion was apprehended; and he only escaped detection by going at night on board the Tender, at Tower Hill, and entering as a volunteer.

For two years he remained on board the Apollo frigate, in the character of an officer’s servant, and afterwards on board the Centurion, in the same capacity. In the absence of temptation even a rogue may be honest; and Mackcoull acquired so good a character in the navy, that he was in a few years appointed purser’s steward, and in the course of nine years saved a considerable sum of money. In 1785 he returned to London, where, in a short time, he dissipated all his earnings in the society of the dissolute and abandoned, and to repair his finances had recourse to his former habits of dishonesty. He soon eclipsed all his companions in iniquity, and shone pre-eminent as a pugilist, horse-racer, cock-fighter, gambler, swindler, and pickpocket. To carry on his depredations with success he assumed various characters, and succeeded in all. Not even the sanctuary of religion was free from his desperate villany; for he frequently went there to pick pockets, and on one occasion deprived the preacher of his watch, on his way from the pulpit. The knowledge and acuteness he displayed, as well as the successful manner in which he avoided discovery, procured him among his associates the appellation of “The Heathen Philosopher.”

His fortunes, like those of more celebrated individuals, were precarious; and after various successes and disappointments, in his twenty-eighth year he married the mistress of a brothel, and assisted her in furnishing her house in Clifford’s Inn Passage, which, in addition to its being a receptacle for unfortunate women, he made a depot for stolen property. He was not destined to remain long unknown in his new avocation, however; and his secret depository having been discovered, he was compelled to quit London to avoid his being taken into custody. He subsequently, in 1802, went to Germany, where he passed as an English merchant named Moffat; but being compelled to have recourse to his original trade of picking pockets, as the only means of obtaining a living, he was suspected and at length, in 1805, after having visited most of the continental towns, was obliged to make a precipitate retreat home again. London, however, he soon found was no stage for him to act upon, and he proceeded to Scotland, where for a long time he carried on his “profession” under the mask of his being a leather-seller. The idea of the possibility of the robbery of the Scotch bank having struck him, it was carried out, with the aid of White and a man named French, in the manner which we have already detailed; and having by his ingenuity succeeded in securing his own safety, as well as the possession of 8000l. of the stolen money, he retired into private life. By many it was supposed that he was now gone to the West Indies; but, in fact, he was industriously employed in Scotland in passing the notes of which he had retained possession. In 1812 he again visited London, but having broken faith with the bank in retaining the 8000l., he was apprehended and sent to Glasgow, where he arrived on the 8th of April 1812, and was committed to jail. While here he did not seriously deny the robbery, but offered to make restitution to the bank, and promised their agent 1000l., and gave them a bill for 400l. The bank not being at this time prepared to substantiate his guilt, he was discharged in the following July, and the agent of the bankers absolutely received from Mr. Harmer, of London the 1000l., which however Mackcoull subsequently recovered by suit at law from that able solicitor, he having paid it without sufficient authority.

Mackcoull now considered himself beyond all danger, and in company with one Harrison, made several trips to Scotland, and purchased commercial bills in the name of James Martin, a merchant, and everywhere introduced his friend Harrison as a most respectable person. In 1812 he opened a deposit account with Messrs. Marsh and Co. bankers, in the name of James Ibel, and had in their hands at one period above 2000l.

In March 1813, he again visited Scotland to vend more of the stolen notes, but was taken into custody, and bills and drafts, in favour of James Martin, to the amount of 1000l., which he had purchased, taken from him.

He was, however, soon afterwards again discharged out of custody, the money being retained in the hands of the bankers.

In 1815 he resolved to recover the bills and drafts from the magistrates, by whom they had been taken from him; and as they refused compliance with his request by letters, he visited Glasgow in person, and demanded, in the most insolent manner, the restitution of what he called his property. This being refused, he commenced an action against them, which, more than any other case that ever came before a court of justice, proves the glorious uncertainty of the law; for it continued to be litigated for five years; and, the bankers having become the defendants, the country, for the first time, witnessed the singular fact of an acknowledged thief contending with persons for the property he had actually stolen from them.

During the progress of this protracted case, Mackcoull attended the courts of law in person, and gave instructions to his agent. He always conducted himself with the greatest sang froid, and treated with contempt and derision the allusions made by counsel to his character. At length it was ruled that Mackcoull should be interrogated in person before the court; and after some hesitation he consented. This circumstance was no sooner known, than crowds flocked to hear his examination, which lasted for several days. He behaved in the most cool and determined manner; and when his absurd replies elicited a laugh in court, he always smiled with seeming self-approbation. The account he gave of himself was that he traded as a merchant, and that he chiefly transacted business with one James Martin, whose residence he could not tell. He objected to many questions put to him with the acuteness of a lawyer, and at length the session rose without having come to any decision; and Mackcoull returned to London in great spirits, to arrange with his brother John with respect to his future proceedings.

The bank was at this time in a critical situation: unless they proved Mackcoull’s participation in the robbery, and that the bills &c. were purchased with notes stolen from the bank, they would have to deliver up to Mackcoull not only the bills, &c., but to pay all attendant expenses, besides incurring the disgrace of losing the action—an action unparalleled in the annals of any court of Europe, brought by a public depredator—a convicted rogue and vagabond—who was at large, and who was prosecuting with their own money a respectable banking company, for attempting to keep part of the property of which he had robbed them. But this was not all. Mackcoull’s intention, if successful, was to follow up the decision with an action for damages, in which it was the opinion of many that he would also succeed.

In December 1819, Mackcoull and his agent urged the matter so strenuously, that the trial was fixed for the 20th of February 1820; and the issue to be tried was, whether Mackcoull was concerned in the robbery.

To prepare for the trial, the bank sent Mr. Donovan, an intelligent officer in Edinburgh, from Glasgow to London, to trace the route the robbers had taken nine years before, and to procure witnesses. Donovan was successful, and brought down with him Scoltop, who had prepared the instruments by means of which the robbery was effected, Mrs. Huffey White, several waiters at inns, and even Mrs. Mackcoull, who consented to give evidence against her husband. The most eminent lawyers at the Scotch bar were engaged on each side; and on the morning of the trial, May the 11th 1820, every avenue to the court was crowded to excess, so intense was the interest excited by the case. The result was against Mackcoull, for the witnesses completely established his guilt; and so unexpected was the appearance of some of them to him, that he frequently ran out of court, and on seeing Scoltop actually swooned away.

Mackcoull’s career of villany was now near its end. On the 19th of June he was indicted for the robbery, in the High Court of Justiciary; and the same witnesses being again examined, the jury returned a verdict of Guilty—Death. Towards the conclusion of the trial Mackcoull often looked about him with a kind of vacant stare, and was observed frequently to mutter and grind his teeth. When the verdict was announced he gave a malignant grin; and when sentence was passed, he bowed respectfully to the court. On being carried back to jail his fortitude forsook him, and he appeared overwhelmed with despair. At this moment he said with emotion, “Had not the eye of God been upon me, such a connected chain of evidence never could have been brought forward!” His spirits, however, soon returned, and he received the number of visitors, who were led by curiosity to see him, with great cheerfulness.

Although he had treated his wife with great unkindness, she now came forward and supplied him during his imprisonment with every luxury in profusion. She also made application for a reprieve; and whether from her exertion or not, on the 14th of July a respite arrived, and in three weeks after a reprieve during his majesty’s pleasure.

In the month of August, the wretched prisoner fell into a natural decline, and his mental faculties completely forsook him. In the course of a short time his hair, which had been previously nearly jet black, became a silver gray, and at length he died in the county jail of Edinburgh on the 22nd day of December 1820, and was decently interred at the expense of his wife, in the Calton burying-ground.

DAVID HAGGART, alias JOHN WILSON, alias JOHN MORRISON, alias BARNEY M‘COUL, alias JOHN M‘COLGAN, alias DANIEL O’BRIEN, alias THE SWITCHER.

EXECUTED FOR MURDER.

In January 1818, on their way to Durham, to attend a fair, they came to a house in a lonely place, and determined to break into it. They entered it by a window, and met a strong resistance from the master of the house; but, having knocked him down, they succeeded in binding him hand and foot, and gagging him with a handkerchief. The rest of the family were females, and were too much terrified to interrupt them, and they proceeded to rifle the house. Having taken about thirty pounds, they went to Durham, where Haggart was apprehended the next day; but having changed his clothes, and considerably disguised himself, the man whose house they had entered could not identify him; and he was liberated, and returned to Newcastle.

In two or three days they were both apprehended, and carried back to Durham, having on the same clothes in which they had committed the burglary; and the man whom they had robbed having then immediately recognised them, he was bound over to prosecute. They were tried under the feigned names of Morrison and Arkinson, and were found guilty, and sent back to prison, in order to be brought up for sentence of death at the end of the assizes.

They, however, lost no time in contriving their escape, and after long deliberation with their fellow-prisoners, they resolved on the attempt. They set to work on the wall of their cell, and had got out to the back passage, when the turnkey made his appearance. They seized him, took his keys, bound and gagged him; and having gained the back yard they scaled the wall, but Barney and another prisoner fell, after gaining the top: by this time the alarm was given, and the two latter were both secured; but Haggart having made his escape, returned to Newcastle, in company with a Yorkshireman, where he obtained a tool with which to assist M‘Guire in making his escape; and they were returning to Durham when they were pursued by two officers, who got close to them on a wild part of the road unobserved. Just as they were springing on Haggart, he laid one of them low with his pistol, and left him, uncertain whether he had his murder to answer for. The Yorkshireman knocked down the other, and they then proceeded to Durham; where, in the night-time, Haggart, by means of a rope-ladder, got over the back wall of the jail, and conveyed a spring saw to M‘Guire, who made his escape that same night, by cutting the iron bars of his cell window, and followed Haggart to Newcastle, and thence accompanied him to Berwick-on-Tweed, Dunse, and Coldstream. At these places they lost no opportunity of plying their trade; but on their reaching Kelso, M‘Guire was secured while in the act of picking a farmer’s pocket, and sentenced to three months’ imprisonment.

Being now left without an associate, Haggart returned to Newcastle, where he resided for four months, in the house of his old friend, Mrs. A——. During his stay there, one of the young ladies was married to a respectable shopkeeper, when Haggart took the lead in conducting the festivities of the wedding. One evening, having accompanied one of the Miss A——’s to the theatre, on their return, a gentleman much in liquor attempted to insult the young lady; struggling in her defence, Haggart contrived to pick the pocket of his antagonist of nineteen guineas, with which he escaped unsuspected. At length having, as he conceived, remained as long as was expedient in this place, he took his departure in the month of June, and he then proceeded to Edinburgh, where he pursued the occupation of a shop-lifter. At this time, it appears, that he was suddenly seized with a severe and dangerous fit of illness, and being struck with remorse at his past conduct, he returned to the house of his parents; but he was soon after apprehended on a charge of shop-lifting, of which he had been previously guilty, and being sent to jail, all his determinations to be more circumspect and honest, were put to flight. On his release he joined one of his fellow prisoners, named Graham, and with him recommenced the system of plunder, by means of which he had before supported himself.

Having stolen a pedlar’s pack, and several articles of linen drapery and hosiery, Haggart assumed the character of a pedlar, and travelled the country to dispose of his ill-gotten goods. After this he returned to Edinburgh, where he remained till January 1820, committing depredations of every description. On the 1st of March he was arrested at Leith, in company with an accomplice named Forest. The offenders made a desperate resistance, but were at length secured and committed for trial. The confinement was too much for our hero, however, and on the evening of the 27th of March, having obtained a small file, he cut the irons from his legs, and then forced up the door of his cell, and got into the passage. He next set to work upon a very thick stone wall, through which he at length made a hole, and got on the staircase just as the clock struck twelve. He had still the outer wall to penetrate, on which he fell to work with great caution, lest he should be heard. Having made considerable progress, he returned to the room where his companion Forest was, and brought him to his assistance; he also awoke one of the debtors whom he knew, and obtained his assistance in removing his handcuffs, having all along been working with them upon him. After great labour and violent pain they succeeded in wrenching the chain in two pieces. He then renewed his operations on the outer wall, and, having removed a large stone, got out a few minutes before five o’clock in the morning. When he gained the outside stair he saw a man coming towards him, and, supposing him to be an officer in pursuit of him, he leaped over the back of the stair; but recollecting that Forest had yet to get out, he prepared to give the man battle, lest he should attempt to seize Forest; but the man said to him, “Run, Haggart, run; I won’t touch you.” Forest then came out, and he took hold of his hand, and ran off at full speed, pulling him along with him.

Although he had thus extraordinarily succeeded in escaping from jail, it was not long before he was again secured for a new offence, committed in company with his old companion M‘Guire, whom he had met at Dumfries. While the latter, however, was again convicted and received sentence of transportation for fourteen years, the former again obtained his liberation from prison, but under circumstances which eventually cost him his life. He was detained in the jail of Dumfries, and a fellow named Laurie, who was confined in the adjoining cell, suggested to him the possibility of their making their escape, by knocking down the jailor and taking the keys from him. Haggart, however, opposed a scheme, which he deemed unnecessarily violent, for he had already made arrangements, by which he hoped to secure his own safety; but another prisoner, named M‘Grory, who was under sentence of death, urging the absolute necessity of violent means, he consented to seize and gag Thomas Morrin, the head turnkey, and to take his keys from him, and then to open the doors for all the prisoners to fly. Laurie, however, still persisted that they should use violence, and he employed a debtor, who was in the same jail, to procure him a large stone, with which he expressed an intention of attacking the jailor; and it appears that Haggart now agreed to his proposition. Hunter, the keeper of the jail, having gone to the races, it was determined to seize the earliest opportunity, and Simpson and Dunbar, two other prisoners, were made acquainted with the plot. M‘Grory’s irons having been removed, Morrin was called up on some pretended errand, and Haggart immediately burst upon him. He struck him one blow with the stone, dashed him down stairs, and without the loss of a moment, took the key of the outer door from his pocket. Dunbar picked up the stone, but it appears that no more blows were given, although Morrin received some other wounds in falling.

Dunbar was standing over him, apparently rifling for the key which Haggart had already secured, Simpson had hold of Morrin’s shoulders, and was beating his back upon the stairs, when Haggart rushed past them, crossed the yard as steadily as he could, took out the key, and opened the door. On getting out he ran round great part of the town; Dunbar overtook him, and at that moment they saw an officer coming directly up to them. They wheeled round and ran, but in a moment Haggart had the mortification of seeing his fellow-adventurer secured. He at first thought of rushing in to rescue him, but the crowd was too great to allow him to make the attempt; so he consulted only his own safety, and ran nearly ten miles in less than an hour. He then got on the high road to Annan, when he saw a post-chaise at full gallop almost within twenty yards of him; upon this he threw off his coat, and leaped a hedge into a field where some persons were employed in digging potatoes. They all joined the officers who had got out of the chaise in pursuit of him; but he fled across the field with amazing speed, and made for Cumlangan wood. The pursuers followed him into the wood, but he kept concealed close to the edge, and although they were very near him, he thus eluded their pursuit.

He then made for Annan, and reached that place before the alarm had spread so far; but while lying concealed in a haystack, where he slept during the night, he learned from a woman, who was conversing with a boy, that Morrin was dead. He proceeded on his flight, as soon as he conceived that a good opportunity was afforded, and disguised in some clothes, which he took from a scarecrow, he at length succeeded in reaching Newcastle, where he considered himself safe. Having there seen, and narrowly escaped being apprehended by a police-officer, who he knew was acquainted with his person, he again set out on his way from detection and reached Edinburgh in safety. Here he continued during a considerable period, and never ventured out unless in disguise; but having at length attracted the attention of a constable, who he was persuaded recognised him, he determined to quit so dangerous a vicinity; and, having gone round by the north and west of Scotland, to go to Ireland. The attraction of Edinburgh was too strong for him, however, and he once again entered that city before paying his proposed visit to the sister Kingdom; but he was again scared away, by his seeing bills posted up offering a large reward for his apprehension. At Dunkeld, Dundee, Kenmore, and Cupar-Fife, which he visited in succession, he was successful in obtaining considerable booties, and he at length prosecuted his intended journey to Ireland; but having landed at Belfast, he was there seized on suspicion of being the escaped murderer from Dumfries, upon the information of one Robert Platt, who had been in that jail at the same time with him. Assuming a rich brogue, and asserting that he was a native of Armagh, he somewhat puzzled the magistrates, but notwithstanding his deceit, they were little disposed to part with him so easily. He was therefore committed to the custody of two yeomen, but having plied them plentifully with drink, he watched his opportunity, and giving them the slip, he jumped out at the window and once again obtained his liberty. Dublin was his next point, and there he fell in with a pickpocket, named O’Brien, and they agreed to go in company. On the quay of Dublin they saw some persons looking at a number of horses just arrived in a vessel from England; and amongst others, a man whose dress and appearance bespoke poverty and meanness. Haggart was not a little surprised to hear him offer eighteen guineas for a horse, and immediately began speculating on what part of his person this sum might be deposited. After some experiment, he found it in a greasy coat pocket, which hung behind unprotected, the frail duffle of his coat having given way to the rough hand of time, and having made prize of the purse, it proved to contain ninety-five guineas in gold, beside bank-notes. A few days afterwards, they took fifty-four pounds at the theatre door; after which they changed their dress, and, in company with two girls, hired a jaunting car, and a boy to drive them, and took a tour through the counties of Fermanagh, Cavan, and Derry. They were a month on their excursion, and spent upwards of 190l. On their return, being much reduced, Haggart started for King’s county on foot, leaving his clothes in Dublin.

At Mullinger market he picked a farmer’s pocket, and would have been apprehended, but for the connivance of a constable. At Tullamore fair he picked the pocket of a pig-drover, who afterwards accused him of the fact, but Haggart having concealed the property very securely, took a high ground, and insisted on his going before a magistrate for the accusation and assault. The poor drover was outwitted, and, alarmed lest he should get into further trouble, he apologised and was permitted to go.

It was Haggart’s fate to commit only one more robbery, which was at a fair near Downpatrick, for which he was instantly apprehended and committed to the county jail to await his trial at the next assizes. The society and practices of this place it appears were horrible beyond description. Having received their supply of provisions for three days, the male prisoners blocked out the jailors, by digging up the stones of the floor, and placing them against the door, and then they broke their way to the wretched women in confinement, with whom they remained two days, giving way to every kind of wickedness. After spending this time in the most riotous manner, they were secured. Haggart was locked up closely in his cell, and kept in confinement till the day of trial. On the 29th March he was arraigned, and after a trial, in which it is evident that he was mistaken by the learned judge for some other person, and in which the judge himself offered to give evidence, that he had been before convicted before him; he was found guilty and sentenced to seven years’ transportation. On his being carried back to the jail, he was recognised to be the man who had escaped from Belfast, and removed to Kilmainham jail, and there loaded with fetters. He soon thought of making his escape by digging through the back wall, with the assistance of several others, having first secured the entrance of their apartment; but some of the prisoners gave information, and Haggart being the first man who made his appearance through the hole, he got a severe blow; the others rushed after him, but having still a high wall to get over, they were all secured by a party of soldiers, and locked up in their cells. He was subsequently guilty of some other misconduct in being insolent, and otherwise infringing upon the rules of the prison, in consequence of which he was handcuffed, and confined with a horrible iron instrument fitted on his head, from the front bar of which an iron tongue entered his mouth and prevented his speaking. This, which was certainly an arbitrary and cruel exercise of power, excited only opposition, and the moment it was removed, the prisoner took his seat on the window of his cell, and remained there during the rest of the day, singing the most profane songs he could think of. Even the fear of the iron helmet of Kilmainham could not keep him quiet.

But something awaited him far worse, and which, had he known, would have made his heart tremble, hard and wicked as it was. Next morning the prisoners, consisting of some hundreds, were taken down into a yard, and ranked in companies of twenty each. In a few minutes, John Richardson, the police officer from Scotland, made his appearance, accompanied by the two jailors and turnkey; a terrific sight to Haggart! He passed through all the ranks, and the second time stopped, and taking Haggart’s hand, said, “Do you know me, David?” He again attempted to escape by the assumption of the Irish brogue, but it was of no avail. He was too well known, and being taken to the condemned cell, he was there loaded with irons, and subsequently carried off to Scotland. An iron belt was fixed round his waist, with his wrists pinioned to each side of it; a chain passed from the front of the belt, and joined the centre of a chain, each end of which was padlocked round his ancles, and a chain passed from each wrist to each ancle. In this dreadful (but by his own hardened and daring conduct necessary) state of torture and confinement, he was conducted to Dumfries. The officers treated him with the utmost tenderness and humanity, but he obstinately kept up his pretended ignorance for a considerable time.

On their approach towards Dumfries, which was in the dark, there were many thousands of people on the road, many of them with torches in their hands, waiting his arrival; and at the jail it was scarcely possible to get him out of the coach for the multitude, all crowding for a sight of Haggart, the murderer. Some discovered sorrow, and some terror; but whose could equal his own? He plunged through them all, rattling his chains, and making a great show of courage, but he afterwards owned that his heart was shaken at the thought of poor Morrin. As he went up the stairs to the cells, he had to pass the very spot where he struck him; “and oh!” confessed the guilty murderer, “it was like fire to my feet!”

After remaining at Dumfries three weeks, where the greater part of his Irish irons were removed, he was carried to Edinburgh, to be tried for the murder, with which he stood charged. He was immediately found guilty upon satisfactory evidence, and ordered for execution. During the next fortnight he exhibited the utmost indifference for his condition; but at length he was brought to a just sense of the manifold wickednesses of which he had been guilty; and he declared on the morning of his execution that he would not wish to escape, if the prison doors were open, as his death was the only atonement he could make in this world for his violations of the laws of God and man.

Early on the morning of his execution, Haggart joined earnestly in devotional exercise with his ministerial attendant. After the chaplain of the jail had prayed, one of the officers of justice appeared, and requested all strangers to retire, as he had something to communicate to the unhappy prisoner. Haggart immediately exclaimed, in a hurried tone, “Oh! I suppose it is the executioner.” His firmness for a moment abandoned him, and he walked rapidly across the cell with his arms folded, and with deep despair strongly painted on his countenance. He speedily, however, regained his composure; and when the executioner did appear, at once allowed his arms to be bound. He was then removed to a hall in the lower part of the lock-up-house, where he was received by two of the clergymen of Edinburgh and the magistrates. After prayers the procession proceeded to the scaffold. The conduct of the unfortunate youth there was in the highest degree becoming. While the beneficial influence of religion was apparent in his whole demeanour, his natural firmness of character never for a moment forsook him. He kneeled down, and uttered an earnest prayer; and after addressing a few words of deep and anxious exhortation to the great multitude by whom he was surrounded, he met his fate with the same intrepidity which distinguished all the actions of his short, but guilty and eventful life, having just completed his twentieth year. He was executed at Edinburgh, July the 18th, 1821.

Haggart, after his condemnation, wrote the history of his short and wicked life, which was subsequently published for the benefit of his father, who he requested might receive any profit arising from it, for the purpose of educating his younger brothers and sisters. The foregoing particulars are taken from this singular auto-biography, which evinced a strong, though uncultivated mind, which, if it had been directed to laudable pursuits, could not have failed to place the writer in an honorable station in society.