Part 18

George was then knocked down by a carpenter, with a piece of wood. The carpenter, we learn, "afterwards jumping upon him, kept him down till his pistols were taken away."

Meanwhile Joseph had been vanquished in an equally unsportsmanlike way by a carrier, "who had a large stick, with which he beat him about the legs."

George was then pitched neck and crop, and still struggling, into a hackney coach; but Joseph, being more tractable, was permitted to walk to Bow Street, where, on being searched, he was found to have £240 in his pockets, all in bank-notes that had been stolen from the mail.

On the day of their arrest they gave a bill of sale to one Lucius Hughes, who disposed of plate to the amount of £2,500, at the price of old silver; and jewels to the value of £4,000 were said to have been sold to a Jew in St. Mary Axe.

After a preliminary examination, the brothers were committed to separate prisons: Joseph to Tothill Fields Bridewell, and George to the New Prison. They behaved with great insolence to the Bench, and seemed to build much upon the postboy having died since the robbery. In court they actually told Clark, who had arrested them, he was fortunate in still having his brains in his skull that morning. Their coachman and footman, attending upon them in the court, in livery, made an imposing show. They were then remanded, and their wenches were in the meanwhile arrested at Brompton, and appeared in court on the next hearing. No evidence being forthcoming against them, they were discharged; but the Westons were duly committed for trial, which began on May 15th, 1782.

They made a brave appearance in the dock, George being dressed quietly but fashionably, in black, with his hair finely curled in the latest style; while Joseph, whose taste was not so subdued, was radiant in a scarlet coat with gold buttons, and hair "queued à l'Artois."

The trial was unexpectedly postponed, on the application of counsel for the prosecution, owing to the death of Samuel Walker, and the difficulty of collecting sufficient evidence; and so they were taken back to Newgate. There they led a life typical of prison-life all over England in those days. They entertained their fellow-prisoners, gambled, and drank, and received their friends. They had plenty of money, and as Newgate was then no ill place for those whose pockets were well furnished, they were provided with every luxury that money could buy. Unfortunately, however, they were heavily ironed: the one circumstance that seared the souls of those gallant fellows. But, in spite of these encumbering circumstances, they dreamt of liberty, and a well-planned attempt to escape was made on July 2nd, the day before the opening of the new sessions.

Their faithful young women took breakfast with them that morning, and then left, whereupon one of the brothers called Wright, the warder on duty at the time, and asked him to get a bottle of port and make a bowl of negus for some expected company. He then handed him a guinea.

Wright had no sooner gone about this business than they slipped off their fetters, which they had secretly and with much labour, filed through. Then they calmly awaited the return of Wright, with the bowl. It was too large to go through the hatch of their locked and bolted door, as they had foreseen, and Wright was persuaded to unlock and open the door and bring it in. When he had done so, the jovial highwaymen hospitably invited him to take the first drink, and while he was engaged in thus pleasing himself and themselves at the same time, they made suddenly at him and pushed him violently over; then slamming the door and fastening it securely upon him.

[Illustration: THE WESTONS ESCAPING FROM NEWGATE.]

An old woman who sold porter and such-like plebeian drinks to the meaner prisoners, was at the head of the stone stairs up which they then rushed, and stood still with amazement at sight of them, whereupon they overset her and her cans, and then, by a short passage-way, came to the outer door. They were each armed with a pistol, which their thoughtful girls had smuggled into their cell. Escaping with them were also one Lepierre, a suspected spy, and a certain Francis Storey.

The warder whose post was at this doorway was at that moment washing down the steps. At once the fugitives flung themselves upon him, and downed him as he shouted "Stop thief!" The cry was heard, and by the time the Westons had emerged upon the street, they were followed by a "runner," John Owens by name. The brothers very cleverly separated; Owens following George, who ran into Newgate Street, doubled into Warwick Lane, and made for Newgate Market. Here, however, he was felled by the fist of a market-porter, but struggled again to his feet, and desperately resisted until Owens and a crowd of excited spectators arrived and dragged him back to Newgate.

Joseph was not more fortunate, and had only reached Cock Lane when his flight also was stopped by a market-porter, one John Davis, who flung down a sack of peas in his path. This Joseph easily avoided, but Davis then laid hold of him by the collar.

"Let go!" said the highwayman, "or I will shoot you."

The porter did not let go, and Joseph fired and hit him in the neck. But Davis held on until the crowd closed in, and Joseph also was soon in his cell again.

So, too, was Lepierre, who was taken in Newgate Street. Storey was more successful, and escaped altogether, although he had fetters on his legs. The crowd, seeing him calmly walking along, thought he was being re-conducted to gaol, and so did not interfere with him.

The brothers were brought to trial on July 6th, 1782, charged with robbing the Bristol mail near Cranford Bridge, on January 29th, 1781. Over a hundred witnesses appeared for the prosecution, among them, people who had been given stolen notes by them. But the postboy, Samuel Walker, having died, the prosecution failed.

They were then charged with forgery in respect of the notes and bills stolen: George being convicted and sentenced to death. Joseph was acquitted, but was then charged in the third instance with maliciously wounding John Davis, for which he was found guilty and condemned. They were executed at Tyburn on September 3rd, 1782.

Clothed quietly but fashionably in black, they went to the place of execution in two carts, in company with several other condemned criminals, but held themselves haughtily apart, as "gentlemen" should. They refused the ministrations of the Ordinary, declaring themselves to be Roman Catholics; and died firmly, and without any appearance of contrition.

JACK RANN: "SIXTEEN-STRING JACK"

John Rann, better known as "Sixteen-string Jack," was born in the neighbourhood of Bath, midway in the eighteenth century. As a boy he earned a meagre but honest living by peddling articles of everyday household consumption in the villages round about. He and his donkey were well remembered in after years, and aroused the envious anticipations of other small boys who, reckless of the appointed end of highwaymen, looked forward to some happy day when they too might perhaps blossom out from such obscure beginnings into such fame as his. He was but twelve years of age when his handsome face attracted the attention of a lady prominent in the neighbourhood. She offered him a situation, and he gratefully accepted. A little later we find him in London, occupied as a stable-helper in Brooke's Mews. From that he became a postilion, and then an officer's servant. About the year 1770 he was coachman to a gentleman living in the neighbourhood of Portman Square, and was at one time in the service of the Earl of Sandwich. In this situation he obtained the nickname of "Sixteen-string Jack," from the bunches of eight parti-coloured ribbons he gaily wore at the knees of his breeches; but by some intimates it was supposed that these "sixteen strings" were a covert allusion to his having been sixteen times arrested and charged, but on as many occasions acquitted. Such were the legends that enwrapped the career of him whom Dr. Johnson described as "above the common mark" in his line.

It was this love of finery that led to the undoing of Jack Rann, but before it sent him down into the company of those who lived by their wits, employed in unlawful enterprises, it raised him to better situations. For Rann was a tall, smart fellow, and good clothes well became him.

But flowered-satin waistcoats, and full-skirted damasked coats of silk, elaborately embroidered, are not paid for out of a coachman's wages, and Rann soon found himself deeply in debt. And, moreover, of what possible use are brave costumes, but to flaunt and flourish about in? And when you do so flourish, you must needs go the pace altogether. There were excellent companions in those places to which Rann most resorted, as a gentleman of fashion, at Vauxhall, and elsewhere; and there were the card-tables, where he had a passing run of luck; and there were the women. In spite of being pitted somewhat with the small-pox, he was still a handsome fellow, and he played the very Cupid with the girls.

All these items totted up to a very costly sum-total, and the gaming-tables did not long stand him in good stead. At the moment when he was in the sorest straits, he became acquainted with three men: Jones, Clayton, and Colledge (this last known as "Eight-string Jack"), in whose company he very speedily grew more and more reckless, and at last was dismissed from his situation with a long-suffering nobleman, and refused a character. Thus turned adrift upon the world, he began, with those three companions, a career of pocket-picking, and thence drifted by easy stages into the society of highwaymen and of receivers of stolen goods.

In these circles there moved at that time a certain Eleanor Roche, originally a milliner's apprentice, but who, from a somewhat unfortunate friendship with an officer of the Guards, had declined upon the condition of "fence," and generally, the fair friend and ally of the nimble-fingered, and the speakers with travellers on the highways. Jack Rann was a free-lover. Pretty faces, rosy lips, infallibly attracted him, and although he loved his Nelly best, he scarce knew the meaning of faithfulness.

But to Ellen Roche, "Sixteen-string Jack" was her own Jack, her hero; and when once she had met him, she had eyes for none other.

Rann was first in custody in April 1774, at the Old Bailey, in company with two others, named Clayton and Shepherd, on a charge of robbing William Somers and Mr. Langford on the highway. All three were acquitted, but on May 30th Rann was at Bow Street, charged with robbing Mr. John Devall of his watch and money, near the ninth milestone on the Hounslow Road. It was the watch brought him there. The gallant Rann had brought it back with him from the road—just as the hunter, home from the hill, returns with the day's spoil to his domestic circle. He handed it to Ellen, who in turn sent out a certain Catherine Smith to offer it in pledge with the nearest pawnbroker. The pawnbroker, distrustful man, sent for the police, who, seeing at once that Catherine Smith was merely an intermediary, apprehended Rann and Ellen.

"Sixteen-string Jack" made a proud, defiant figure in the dock before Sir John Fielding. He was dressed not only in, but in advance of the fashion. He was in irons, but the grimness of those fetters was disguised in the blue satin bows in which they were tricked out, and in his fine coat he carried a nosegay as big as a birch-broom. Beside him, but not so collected as he, stood Ellen, charged with receiving.

Ellen Roche had, indeed, lost her nerve altogether when Catherine Smith deposed to having been told by her how Rann was expected home that evening with some money; that he returned about ten o'clock, when Roche told her he had brought ten guineas and a watch, and that she was sent out to pawn the watch. Crying, and hardly aware of what she was doing, Ellen at the first hearing owned that Rann had given her the watch, and the two were thereupon committed.

At the trial, after having had plenty of time for reflection, she stoutly declared that she never before had set eyes upon him, and that her former evidence was a mistake!

Jack himself carried it off bravely, and, indeed, insolently. "I know no more of the matter than you do," he replied to Sir John Fielding, and added impudently, "nor half so much, neither."

The prosecution, on some technicality, broke down, and the pair were released. They celebrated the happy occasion by dining extravagantly and then spending the evening at Vauxhall, where Rann was the gayest of the gay, and returned home with two watches and three purses.

An absurd burglary charge brought him into the dock again, that July. The watch discovered him half-way through the window of a house in which lodged one Doll Frampton, and not only hauled him out, but marched him off to prison; but it appeared that he was only keeping an appointment to supper with the weary Doll, who, tired of waiting for him, had gone to bed. The Bench, assured of as much by the shameless minx herself, dismissed the charge, and, in addition to some pertinent remarks about this unconventional method of entry, gave him some excellent advice on conduct. Although Rann had escaped so far, Sir John Fielding said, his profession was perfectly well known, and he urged the prisoner to leave his evil courses while yet there was time.

So far from paying attention to this well-meant discourse, Rann put in an appearance the next Sunday, not with Doll, but with Ellen, at Bagnigge Wells, then a famous place for dining and drinking. They drove thither in a carriage and dressed—in the slang phrase—"up to the nines." Jack was splendid in a scarlet coat, tambour waistcoat, white silk stockings, and a laced hat. Of course there flew at his knees the already famous sixteen strings.

[Illustration: JACK RANN.]

He was by nature boastful, and when the drink was in him bragged without restraint or ordinary prudence. On this occasion he drank freely, and, with an oath, declared himself a highwayman. Rather more of a pickpocket, perhaps. The company trembled: some sought the way out. "No fear, my friends," quoth he, "this is a holiday." Then he fell to quarrelling, and presently lost a ring from his finger, and declared those present had stolen it. Then again his mood changed. "'Tis no matter," he exclaimed; "'tis but a hundred guineas gone, and one evening's work will replace it." Then, growing more drunken and incapable, they threw him out, and he was not in a fit condition to resist. So, Ellen—the gentle Ellen—scratching the faces of the foremost, as they were put out, they drove back to their lodgings near Covent Garden.

"Fine treatment for a gentleman!" he hiccupped; and indeed a gentleman he considered himself. But his highwayman's takings, large though they occasionally were, did not keep pace with his gentlemanly expenses. Debts accumulated, and sheriff's officers dogged his footsteps. He was arrested for a debt of £50, and thrown into the Marshalsea prison; but so much of a hero had he already become among those of his calling that they clubbed together and liquidated the debt; and handsome Jack was again free.

The sheriff's officers he affected to regard as low, churlish fellows, but they would not be denied. His creditors were soon after him again, and he was arrested when drinking in an alehouse in the then suburban Tottenham Court Road. He shrank with horror from the touch of the two "vulgar" bailiffs, but there was little help for it. He must pay up, or be taken up. His drinking-companions found between them three guineas, and he gave up his watch. Together, these involuntary contributions made up more than the amount due. The bailiffs, on their part, agreed to refund the balance when Rann was sufficiently in funds to redeem the ticker; and cordiality then reigned. "Lend me five shillings," said Rann to the bailiffs, "and I will treat you to a bowl of punch." They fell in with the proposal, and a merry carouse ensued. Such were the manners and customs of about a hundred and forty years ago.

Still, in the course of this merry evening, the subject of the manner peculiar to bailiffs recurred to our Jack and rankled. "You have not," he grumbled, "treated me like a gentleman. When Sir John Fielding's people come after me, they only hold up a finger, beckon, and I follow like a lamb. There's your proper civility!"

It was soon after this that he visited Barnet races, fashionably dressed; with waistcoat of blue satin trimmed with silver, and other finery to match. Crowds followed him, eager to set eyes upon so famous a person. Shortly afterwards, with perhaps some melancholic foreshadowing of approaching doom, he attended a public execution at Tyburn. In spite of opposition, he thrust through the ring formed by the constables round the gallows. "For," said he, "perhaps it is very proper I should be a spectator on this occasion." Why, he did not say, but the inference was understood by some of the crowd.

In September 1774 he was arrested, together with one William Collier, for a robbery on the Uxbridge road, and brought the next Wednesday before Sir John Fielding, when Dr. Bell, chaplain to the Princess Amelia, gave evidence that, between three and four o'clock in the afternoon of Monday, when taking horse-exercise near Ealing, he observed two men of mean (!) appearance and suspicious looks, who rode past him. Presently, one of them—he thought it was Rann—turned his horse's head and demanded his money. "Give it me," he said, "and take no notice, or I'll blow your brains out!"

Dr. Bell handed over one shilling and sixpence, all he had about him, and a common watch in a tortoiseshell case. So much tremendous bluster, so paltry a booty: so poor a thing for which to throw away a life. For that day's doings served to bring Rann to the gallows.

That evening, Ellen Roche and her servant took the watch to pawn with one "Mr. Cordy," in the Oxford Road, or, as we should now say, Oxford Street. Cordy was a suspicious man. He communicated with the watchmaker, Grigman by name, of Russell Street, Covent Garden, who had made it for Dr. Bell, who, when called upon, told how he had parted with it.

The next day, Jack Rann and his doxy were arrested, and with them Collier and Ellen Roche's servant, Christian Stewart. They all figured in Bow Street dock, and later appeared on trial at the Old Bailey.

[Illustration: "SIXTEEN-STRING JACK" AND ELLEN ROCHE IN THE DOCK.]

Handsome Jack was no less a dandy on this occasion than he had been on others, and he took the centre of the stage in his drama with a fine air. To be sure, there were none who envied him the principal part. He was dressed in pea-green coat and waistcoat, with unblemished white buckskin breeches, and again his hat was silver-laced. He stood there with every assurance of acquittal, and had taken thought to order a splendid supper, wherewith to entertain his friends that evening, to celebrate his release. But, as the grey day wore on, he grew less confident. Dr. Bell's evidence was again taken, and a Mr. Clarke told how, going to Miss Roche's lodging on that Monday night of the robbery, he found two pairs of men's boots there, in a wet and dirty condition, having evidently been worn that day. A Mr. Haliburton also swore that he had waited at Miss Roche's lodgings that night until Rann and Collier arrived.

William Hills deposed that he was servant to the Princess Amelia. He had observed Rann, whom he knew well by sight, ascend the hill at Acton, about twenty minutes before the robbery was committed.

This spot would be about where the Police Station now stands, in the main road: less troubled nowadays with highwaymen than with electric tram-cars.

In the end, Rann was found guilty and sentenced to die. Collier was also found guilty, but recommended to mercy, and was afterwards respited. Ellen Roche was sentenced to fourteen years' transportation, and her servant was acquitted.

Thus the supper grew cold and was not eaten. The brave figure moved in pea-green glory to his prison cell, and hoped there for a rescue that never came. His last days were full-packed with the revelry the lax prison regulations of the age permitted, and on Sunday, October 23rd, he had seven girls to dine with him in gaol; and he the gayest of the party. "Let us eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die." Or, at any rate, in a month's time. So, with an air and a jest, behold him on the fatal day, November 30th, 1774, the most admired figure in the three-miles' journey from Newgate to Tyburn. Was it the cold November air made him shiver, or the shadow of death, as, ladies' man to the last, he raised his hat to the crowded windows lining Holborn and thought how he would never come back? Whatever it was, it was no more than involuntary: for, arrived at the fatal tree, he ended manfully in his finery and his famous sixteen strings.

ROBERT FERGUSON—"GALLOPING DICK"

Robert Ferguson, who in after life became famous as "Galloping Dick," was a native of Hertfordshire. His father, a gentleman's servant, proposed a like career for him, and had a mental picture of his son gradually rising from the position of stable-boy, in which he was placed, to that of coachman. In such respectable obscurity would Robert have lived and died, had his own wild nature not pioneered a career for him. He had proved a dull boy at school, but proud, and out of school-hours showed a strange original spirit of daring, so that he was generally to be found captaining his fellows in some wild exploit.

As a stable-boy, however, he proved efficient and obedient, and was found presentable enough to take the postilion's place when the regular man had fallen ill, on the eve of the family's journey to London in their chariot. He performed that task to the satisfaction of every one, but the other servant recovered, and the lad was obliged to return to his stables and work in shirt sleeves or rough stable-jacket, instead of titupping in beautifully white buckskin breeches, silk jacket, and tall beaver hat, on one of the leading horses that drew the carriage to town. The return to an inferior position through no fault of his own was a bitter disappointment, and he determined to seek another situation.

Oddly enough, at this juncture of affairs, a neighbouring lady who was in want of a postilion chanced to ask the family who employed young Robert what had become of their smart young man, and, when informed of the situation, engaged him.

At this time he was close upon twenty years of age. Described as being by no means handsome, he was of a cheerful and obliging temperament, and might have long retained the post, had his employer not discovered him in a discreditable love-affair with one of the maid-servants. He was dismissed, but soon found another situation: but he never afterwards kept a place for any length of time. Roystering companions unsettled him and made him undesirable as a postilion.

[Illustration: "GALLOPING DICK."]