Part 13

Upon the box he tied him then, With the reins behind his back, Put a pipe in his mouth, the whip in his hand, And set off the horses, smack! Then whisper'd in his black mare's ear, Who luckily wasn't fagg'd, "You must gallop fast and far, my dear, Or I shall be surely scragg'd."

He never drew bit, nor stopp'd to bait, Nor walk'd up hill or down, Until he came to Gloucester's gate, Which is the Assizes town. Full eighty miles in one dark night, He made his black mare fly, And walk'd into Court at nine o'clock To swear an Alibi.

A hue and cry the Bishop raised, And so did Sheriff Foster, But stared to hear that Turpin was By nine o'clock at Gloucester. So all agreed it couldn't be him, Neither by hook nor crook; And said that the Bishop and Chaplain was Most certainly mistook.

Here we certainly find Black Bess, not treated to two capital letters, and only referred to as "his black mare Bess" (it was reserved for Ainsworth to discover the worth of the alliteration and the demand it made for two capital B's), but we thus have traced the invention of that coal-black steed one remove further back, and there it must rest, for a time, at any rate.

It seems pretty clear that Smith was acquainted with the exploit of Swiftnicks, but why he transferred the ride to Turpin, and the purpose of establishing an _alibi_ to Gloucester, does not appear, unless indeed he wanted a rhyme to "Foster."

[Illustration: INNKEEPER.

(_Skelt._)]

Dickens, who wrote _Pickwick_ in 1836, eleven years after _Gaieties and Gravities_ was published, had evidently read Smith's book, for in Chapter XLIII. we find Sam Weller represented as singing to the coachman a condensed and greatly altered version, beginning:

Bold Turpin vunce, on Hounslow Heath His bold mare Bess bestrode—er; Ven there he see'd the Bishop's coach A-coming along the road—er.

That Swiftnicks actually performed the famous ride was generally believed, as elsewhere described in these pages; and unless any later evidence can be adduced to deprive him of the credit, he must continue to enjoy it. But it is curious to note that riding horseback between York and London under exceptional circumstances has often been mentioned. A prominent instance is the wager accepted by John Lepton, esquire to James the First, that he would ride six times between London and York on six consecutive days. Fuller, in his _Worthies_, tells us all about it. He first set out on May 20th, 1606, from Aldersgate, London, and completed the journey before nightfall, returning the next day; and so on until he had won the wager, "to the great praise of his strength in acting, than to his discretion in undertaking it," says Fuller, with an unwonted sneer.

Turpin was certainly described in his own lifetime as "the noted," "the renowned," "the famous," but those were merely newspaper phrases, and the notability, the renown, or the fame commented upon in to-day's paper is, we are by way of seeing in our own age, the oblivion of next week. The _London Magazine_, commenting briefly on his execution, styles him a "mean and stupid wretch," and that estimate of him is little likely ever to be revised, although it may readily and justly be amplified by the epithets "brutal" and "cowardly." The brutalities of himself and his associates kept the suburbs of London for a while in terror, but he evidently had made little impression on the mind of Captain Charles Johnson, whose book on _The General History of Highwaymen_, published in 1742, three years after Turpin's execution, has no mention of him.

Yet, side by side with these facts, we are confronted with the undoubted immediate ballad fame he acquired in the north, of which here are two pitiful specimen verses:

For shooting of a dunghill cock Poor Turpin he at last was took; And carried straight into a jail, Where his misfortune he does bewail, O rare Turpin hero, O rare Turpin O! Now some do say that he will hang— Turpin the last of all the gang; I wish the cock had ne'er been hatched, For like a fish in the net he's catched.

Pedlars hawked these untutored productions widely over the country, and it will be noticed with some amusement that, just as Robin Hood had been made a popular ballad hero, robbing the rich to give to the poor, and succouring the widow and the orphan, and just as Nevison had been similarly enshrined, so Turpin, who would have been mean enough to rob a poor man of his beer, a poor widow of her last groat, or to steal a penny out of a blind man's pannikin (the worst of crimes), was instantly converted into a blameless martyr. We may, however, readily imagine the ill-treated Mr. Lawrence of Edgewarebury, rubbing his roasted posteriors and vehemently dissenting from that estimate of Turpin.

But the ballad-writers did not pretend to historical accuracy, or to grammar, scansion, or anything but a rude way of appealing to the feelings of the rustics, whose lives of unremitting toil for poor wages embittered them more than they knew against the rich; to this extent, that they imagined virtue resided solely in the lowly cot, and vice and oppressive feelings exclusively in the lordly hall. Those who were poor were virtuous, and the highwayman who emptied the pockets of the rich performed a meritorious service. Hence ballads like the following grievous example, in which Turpin appears, in spite of well-ascertained facts, to have been executed at Salisbury:

TURPEN'S APPEAL TO THE JUDGE IN HIS DEFENCE; OR THE GEN'ROUS ROBBER

Printed and sold by J. Pitts, 6, Great St. Andrew Street, Seven Dials

Come all you wild and wicked young men A warning take by me, A story now to you I'll tell Of Turpen of Salisbury. He was a wild and wicked blade On the High road did he hie, But at last was tried, and cast, And condemn'd he was to die. When before the Judge he came And at the Bar he did stand, For no pardon he did ask, But boldly he held up his hand, Declared the truth before the Judge Who was to try him then:— "I hope, my Lord, you'll pardon me, I'm not the worst of men, I the Scripture have fulfilled, Tho' a wicked life I led, When the naked I've beheld, I've cloathed them and fed; Sometimes in a Coat of Winter's pride, Sometimes in a russet grey, The naked I've cloathed, the hungry fed, And the Rich I've sent empty away. As I was riding out one day, I saw a Prisoner going to Jail, Because his debts he could not pay, Or yet sufficient bail. A true and faithful friend he found In me that very day; I paid the Creditor forty pounds Which set the Prisoner free. When he had my guineas bright, He told them into his purse, But I could not be satisfied: To have 'em again I must. Boldly I mounted my prancing steed, And crossing a point of land, There I met the Creditor, And boldly bade him stand. Sir, the debt you owe to me Amounts to Forty pounds Which I am resolved to have Before I quit this ground. I search'd his pockets all around, And robb'd him of his store, Wherein I found my forty pounds And Twenty Guineas more. What harm, my Lord Judge, he said, What harm was there in this, To Rob a Miser of his store, By my stout heartedness. I never rob'd or wrong'd the poor, As it plainly does appear; So I hope you'll pardon me And be not too severe." Then the Judge unto bold Turpen said "Your stories are but in vain, For by our laws you are condemn'd, And must receive your pain. Repent, repent, young man, he said, For what is done and past, You say the hungry you've cloathed and fed, But you must die at last."

It is of course possible that this ballad was not meant for Dick Turpin at all; for, so widespread in rural districts had his fame early grown, that "Turpin" became almost a generic name for local highwaymen, just as after Julius Cæsar all the Emperors of Rome were Cæsars. It was a name to conjure with: and this no doubt goes some way to explain the infinitely many alleged "Turpin's haunts" in widely separated districts: places Turpin could not have found time to haunt, unless he had been a syndicate.

Away down in Wiltshire, in the neighbourhood of Trowbridge, between Keevil and Bulkington, and in a soggy level plain watered by an affluent of the Wiltshire Avon, there stands in a wayside ditch a hoary object called "Turpin's Stone," inscribed, in letters now almost entirely obliterated,

Dick Turpin's dead and gone, This Stone's set up to think upon.

[Illustration: TURPIN'S STONE.]

This curious wayside relic may be found on the boundary-line of the parishes of Bulkington and Keevil, near a spot oddly named Brass Pan Bridge, and standing in an evil-smelling ditch that receives the drainage of the neighbouring pigsties. It is a battered and moss-grown object, and its inscription, despite the local version of it given above, is not really decipherable, as a whole. "Turpin" may be read, easily enough, but if the word above it is meant for "Dick," why then the sculptor of it spelled the name "Dicq," a feat of illiterate ingenuity that rather staggers belief. Brake-loads of Wiltshire archæologists have visited the spot in summer, when county antiquaries mostly archælogise, and, braving typhoid fever, have descended into the ditch and sought to unravel the mystery of this Sphinx: without result.

The village of Poulshot, birthplace of Thomas Boulter, a once-dreaded highwayman, is not far off, and it is possible that Boulter, who had a very busy and distinguished career on the highways of England in general, and of Salisbury Plain in particular,[2] may have been named locally "Dick Turpin," after the hero who died at York under tragical circumstances, with the aid of a rope, in 1739. Boulter himself ended in that way in 1778, at Winchester, and so the transference of names was quite possible. He, it is significant to note, had a mare named "Black Bess," which he stole in 1736 from Mr. Peter Delmé's stables at Erle Stoke.

[2] See the "Exeter Road," pp. 217-228.

There are Turpin "relics" and associations at the "Spaniards," on Hampstead Heath, and we find the _Times_ of August 22nd, 1838, saying: "The rear of the houses on Holborn Bridge has for many years been the receptacle for characters of the most daring and desperate condition. There, in a secret _manège_ (now a slaughter-house for her species), did Turpin suffer his favourite Black Bess to repose for many a night previously to her disastrous journey to York." The _Times_ had evidently swallowed the Ride to York story whole, and relished it.

Another, and more cautious commentator says, "He shot people like partridges. Many wild and improbable stories are told of him, such as his rapid ride to York, his horse chewing a beef-steak on the way; but, setting these aside, he was hardy and cruel enough to shine as a mighty malefactor. He seems, to quote the Newgate jest, to have been booked, at his very birth, for the _Gravesend Coach_ that leaves at eight in the morning."

"Many years ago," we read in Pink's _History of Clerkenwell_, "a small leather portmanteau was found at the 'Coach and Horses' tavern, at Hockley-in-the-Hole, with the ends of wood, large enough to contain a change of linen, besides other little _etceteras_. On the inner side of the lid, lightly cut in the surface of the leather, is the name, 'R. TVRPIN.' Whether or no this portmanteau (such an one as horsemen formerly carried behind them, strapped to the saddle), belonged to that famous highwayman," says Pink, "we will not attempt to decide."

[Illustration: PORTMANTEAU, FORMERLY BELONGING TO TURPIN, DISCOVERED AT CLERKENWELL.]

But here there should not be much room for doubt. The relic was probably genuine. It was illustrated in Pink's book, but the whereabouts of it are not now known.

The irons worn by Turpin in his cell at York Castle are now preserved in the York Museum, together with those used for Nevison. They have a total weight of 28 lb.

WILLIAM PARSONS, THE BARONET'S SON

William Parsons, born in 1717, was the youngest son of a respectable baronet, Sir William Parsons, of Nottingham; and was so well connected that he could claim no less a personage than the Duchess of Northumberland for aunt. Sent to Eton, to complete his education, he left "Henry's holy shade" in considerable disfavour, and on a visit to an uncle at Epsom so misconducted himself, that he was bidden never show his face there again. His behaviour was no better at Cheshunt, where another relative had the misfortune to receive him for a time. He was then packed off to sea, as midshipman, aboard the _Drake_. Returning at the end of a cruise to England, he continued in the gaming habits he had early learnt, and, to provide funds for his amusements, called upon his highly-placed aunt and stole a gold-mounted miniature from her dressing-room. This he was obliged to sell for one-fourth its value. We next find him at Buxton, stealing a gold-buckled pair of shoes in the assembly-room belonging to a Mr. Graham, and realising on them while the owner, vainly seeking, lost all his dances.

A cruise aboard the _Romney_ then took him to Newfoundland. He played cards and cheated aboard ship, and acquired so bad a character that it was plainly intimated the Navy was not his vocation and he had better leave it. He accordingly left the service and soon found himself deserted by his friends and without a stiver in his breeches pockets.

Realising his wild nature, his father thought it best to secure him some post that should take him abroad for at least a few years, by which time his hot blood might have cooled down. To this end, he procured him a billet with the Royal African Company, on the West Coast of that then very Dark Continent; but the scapegrace was soon back in England, having quarrelled with the governor of James Fort on the Gambia River, to whom he had been accredited. He landed even more destitute, if possible, than before, and of necessity lived the simple life, by existing for four whole days on three half-penny worth of bread. The public fountains supplied him freely with water, wherewith to wash down those frugal meals.

[Illustration: WILLIAM PARSONS.]

He dared make no more applications to his father for assistance, for that father was then smarting at having paid £70 to redeem his honour over a discreditable affair that had taken place in Africa, where the reckless youth had forged a letter purporting to come from his aunt, the Duchess, saying she would be answerable for any debts her nephew might incur, up to that amount. It was folly of the worst, and most unremunerative, kind, for that aunt, with whom he had originally been a favourite, revoked the will she had made in his favour, and left the £25,000, that would have come to him, to his sister.

It is evident that William Parsons was what would be called in modern times a "degenerate." In 1740 he borrowed a large sum of money by a pretence that he was his elder brother, who was the prospective owner of a considerable legacy. He then succeeded in making a respectable appearance for a time, and married a young lady of good family and fortune. By that marriage he acquired a sum of £4,000, but his wife's trustees, being not quite satisfied with him, took care to secure the bulk of her property in such a manner that he could not touch it. Entering the Army in 1741, as an ensign in a foot regiment, he embarked upon an extravagant manner of living: obtained a quantity of gold and silver plate from confiding tradesmen, and kept a large number of servants. He could never resist the gaming-tables, and although himself a rogue and a swindler, always found others there who proved more finished than himself, and thoroughly fleeced him.

He would then turn to forgery, and successfully negotiate forged bills under well-known names. The Duke of Cumberland's signature was used for £500. Nothing came amiss to his perverse ingenuity; and he would even, as an army officer, call upon tailors and pretend to having a contract for the supply of uniforms. He would pocket a handsome commission and receive the goods and sell them for what they would fetch. To be his friend was to be marked down for being defrauded, and often to be placed in the most embarrassing situations. Thus in 1745, when the Jacobite rebellion was disturbing the country, he borrowed a horse of a brother officer and rode away with it, intending to desert to the rebels. But, thinking better of it, he went no further than Clerkenwell, where he sold the horse. The late owner was, in consequence, arrested on charges of desertion and high treason, and things might quite conceivably have gone hard with him.

Accounts of Parsons' next doings do not quite agree. By one of them we learn that he went to Florida as a lieutenant, but according to another and a more probable version, he was shipped to the plantations in Virginia as a convict, who had been found guilty of forgery at Maidstone Assizes, and sentenced to be transported. Family influence had no doubt prevented his being hanged.

Working as a slave in the plantations belonging to Lord Fairfax, he attracted the attention of that nobleman, who took him from the gang of convicted malefactors, with whom, under strict supervision, he hoed and delved under the blazing sun, and befriended him. It did not pay to befriend William Parsons. He stole one of the best horses belonging to his benefactor, and, going upon those early colonial roads, soon accumulated, as a highwayman, a sufficient sum to buy himself a passage back to old England.

By fraud, backed up with consummate assurance, he obtained £70 at his port of landing, and came at once to London. A scheme for plundering his sister, who by this time had succeeded to her aunt's legacy of £25,000, then engaged his attention. He hatched a plot with a discharged footman, for that man to pose as a gentleman of fortune, and to make advances to her, and even to forcibly carry her off and marry her against her will, if needs were. Some women servants were also in the plot, and were even given duly signed bonds in £500 and lesser sums, to lend their aid. The footman and Parsons were, in the event of this scheme proving successful, to share the £25,000 in equal parts.

[Illustration: WILLIAM PARSONS.]

By a mere accident, the plot was discovered in a milliner's shop in the West End, where a lady friend of Miss Parsons had pointed out to her a finely dressed gentleman, "who was going to marry Miss Parsons." This led to enquiries, and an exposure of the whole affair.

The last resource of this thorough-paced scoundrel was the road. He chiefly affected the western suburbs and Hounslow Heath, and it was in a robbery on that widespreading waste that he was captured. He had obtained information that a servant, with a valise containing a large sum in notes and gold, was to leave town and meet his master at Windsor; and so set out to lie in wait for him. But he had already been so active on the Heath that his face was too well known, and he was recognised at Brentford by a traveller who had suffered from him before. Following him into Hounslow Town, this former victim suddenly raised an alarm and caused him to be seized. Taken to the "Rose and Crown" inn, Parsons was recognised by the landlord and others, as one who had for some time scoured the Heath and committed robberies. His pistols were taken from him, and he was committed to Newgate, and in the fulness of time tried, convicted, and sentenced to death. The efforts of his family connections were again used to save him from the gallows, and themselves from the stigma of it; but his career was too notorious for further leniency, and he was hanged at Tyburn on February 11th, 1751.

WILLIAM PAGE

"There is always room on top" has long been the conclusive reply to complaints of overcrowding in the professions. However many duffers may already be struggling for a bare livelihood in them, there yet remains an excellent career for the recruit with energy and new methods. The profession of highwayman aptly illustrates the truth of these remarks. It was shockingly over-crowded in the middle of the eighteenth century, even though the duffers were generally caught in their initial efforts and hanged; and really it is wonderful where all the wealth came from, to keep such an army of "money-changers" in funds.

William Page, who for twelve years carried on a flourishing practice in the "Stand and Deliver!" profession, was one of those few who lived very near the top of it. His name is not so familiar as those of Du Vall, Hind, Maclean, or Turpin, but not always do the really eminent come down to us with their eminence properly acknowledged. He was born about 1730, the son of a bargeman to a coal merchant at Hampton-on-Thames. The bargeman was unfortunately drowned at Putney in 1740, and his widow was reduced to eking out a meagre livelihood by the distilling of waters from medicinal herbs. She is described as "a notable industrious woman," and certainly it was not from her example that William learned the haughty and offensive ways that would not permit him long to keep any of the numerous situations he took, after leaving the Charity School at Hampton, where he acquired what small education he had. He started life as tapster's boy at the "Bell" alehouse, in his native town, and thence changed to errand-boy in the employment of "Mr. Mackenzie," apothecary. Soon his youthful ambition took him to London, where he obtained a situation in the printing-office of Woodfall, in Little Britain, who became in after-years notorious as printer of the "Letters of Junius"; but "that business being too great a confinement for his rambling temper, he left it, and went footboy to Mr. Dalrymple, Scots Holland warehouse in London."

He rapidly filled the situations of footman to one Mr. Hodges, in Lincoln's Inn Fields; porter to a gentleman in Cork Street, and footman to Mr. Macartney in Argyle Buildings. He then entered the service of the Earl of Glencairn, but left that situation to become valet to a certain Captain Jasper. Frequently discharged for "his proud and haughty spirit, which would not brook orders from his masters," and prevented him, on the other hand, being on good terms with his fellow-servants, he at last found himself unable to obtain another place. This was a sad time for William Page. In service he had learned extravagant habits, the love of fine clothes and the fascination of gambling; but his arrogant ways had brought him low indeed.