Part 7

Although this daring raid was naturally the subject of much excited comment, the robbers were not captured, and they were presently bold enough to break into the house of a man named Saunders, a chairman in the same locality. Saunders was informed that Hall was one of the thieves, and, knowing him well by sight, he pursued him and his gang at three o'clock in the morning, accompanied by a watchman. The gang fired at their pursuers, and the watchman fell, wounded in the thigh. Hall escaped altogether, and although some of his accomplices were captured, they were acquitted, from lack of sufficient evidence.

In 1705 Hall was again in trouble, under the alias of "Price," but was acquitted on the charge of housebreaking then brought against him. He was similarly fortunate in October 1706, when he was charged in company with Arthur Chambers with being concerned in stealing a handkerchief. Such a trivial theft would seem hardly to need collaboration.

Later on, he was again in custody, but meanly obtained his liberty by turning evidence against two accomplices.

Finally, in 1707 he was arrested with his old pals, Stephen Bunce and Dick Low, for a burglary committed at the house of Captain Guyon, near Stepney. All three were convicted, and suffered in company at Tyburn, on December 7th, 1707.

Dick Low was a not very distinguished person, and indeed his name, except in association with Hall and Bunce, is utterly unworthy of record in these annals. He was more expert at stealing from shops and emptying tills than in any other branch of the thieving profession, and would have made an expert area-sneak had areas been then in existence. Unfortunately they came in about a century later. But he was an expert at the "running-smobble," which consisted in two or three confederates planning to rob a shop after dark: one going in with an exaggerated pretence of drunkenness and creating a disturbance; while the others would enter on the excuse of seeing what the matter could be, and then, turning out the lights, clearing out the till, and laying hands on any light articles of value that might be within reach. One of them would come provided with pepper, or handfuls of mud and throw it in the faces of the shopkeeper and his assistants, when they began to cry "Stop, thief!"

For the rest, Dick Low was a violent, sullen brute, often, like his two allies, in Newgate, and when there generally in the bilboes for savage assaults on his fellow-prisoners.

Stephen Bunce, or Bunch, began his iniquities as soon as he could toddle, and, according to the Reverend Mr. Thomas Pureney, the Ordinary of Newgate, was old in crime while he was yet an infant in years. Another biographer picturesquely says he was "born a thief," which, as his parents were the inevitably "poor but honest" folk of the conventional type of biography, seems an extreme criticism.

The depravity of Stephen Bunce was, however, so precocious that, as a child, he would go and play with the children of a charcoal-man, who lived near his native London alley, for the express purpose of filling his pockets with the charcoal, and then selling it, for hot codlins, to a woman who kept an apple-stall. One day, when the codlins were more than ever tempting and the charcoal not so easily to be stolen, he asked the woman for some apples on trust, but she refused, and Stephen resolved upon revenge.

On the next opportunity, pocketing a larger quantity of charcoal than usual, he filled the holes in it with gunpowder and then stopping them with black sealing-wax, sold the charcoal to the unsuspecting woman, who presently replenished her fire with it, with the natural result that her brazier was blown to pieces and herself almost frightened out of her wits.

Graduating in crime as he grew up, Stephen naturally worked his way through picking and stealing at the coffee-houses to practising on the road. "Amongst others of his notorious pranks, he often played several comical tricks, the most remarkable whereof is this, _viz._: One day being upon some prospect in Essex, and destitute of money, as he was coming along a footpath from Brentwood to London, he espied over the hedges a gentleman mounted upon a very fine gelding, valued at above forty pounds. Bunce presently gets the length of two or three fields before the gentleman, and going over a stile at the turning of a lane, he there lays himself down by a ditch-side, with his ear close to the ground, till the gentleman was come up with him. Seeing him lie in that posture, he asked him the meaning of it.

"Bunce, in a sort of admiration, holding up his hands, as much as to say, 'Don't disturb me,' gave no answer for some time, and then, rising, said, 'Sir, I have heard much talk of fairies, but could never believe there were any till now; for, upon my word, under this spot of ground there is such a fine harmony of melodious tunes playing, upon all sorts of charming instruments, so ravishing to the ears, that a man with the great transports thereof (providing they were continually to play) could lie here for ever.'

"The gentleman, eager to hear these fine raptures, alights from his gelding, and lays his ear to the ground, with his face towards Bunce, but told him he could hear nothing.

"'Oh! sir,' replied Bunce, 'lay the other ear to it.' With that the gentleman very attentively lays his other ear to the ground, to hear these harmonious sounds, and his back being then towards Bunce, he presently mounts the gelding, and rid as fast as he could away.

"When being come within a quarter of a mile of Romford, he alights and turns the gelding loose, thinking if the gentleman used any inn in that town, the gelding would make to it; and it did accordingly run into the 'Red Lion.' At the same time, the ostler happened to come out, and, seeing the gelding running in without a rider, cried out, 'O! master, master; here's Mr. What-d'ye-call-him's gelding come without him' (calling him by his name).

"Bunce being just by, takes the advantage of hearing what the gentleman's name was, and replied that he was engaged with some gentleman at Brentwood, desiring the innkeeper to send him £10, and had sent his gelding for pledge, as designing to be there himself in two or three hours' time.

"'Ay, ay,' quoth the innkeeper, a hundred pounds was at his service, if he had sent for it, and accordingly gave Bunch £10, with which he came up to London.

"About four or five hours later, the gentleman came up to the inn, puffing and blowing, in his jack-boots, asking the innkeeper if he had seen any one with his gelding.

"The innkeeper bid him not fret, for his man had left his gelding there, and he had given him £10, according to his desire.

"'Rat him for a dog,' quoth the gentleman, 'he's none of my man; but I'm glad he's left my gelding here and raised no more money than that upon him. However, it shall be a warning to me for ever, alighting from my horse to hear fairies play upon musick.'"

"MR." AVERY AND DICK ADAMS

Then there was Avery, who appears in the chronicles as "Mr." Avery. He had in his youth been apprenticed to a bricklayer, and followed that trade when out of his indentures. He also followed that of a highwayman, and it is recorded, in sub-acid manner, that he worked so hard at it that it killed him at last, against his will: which is an oblique way of saying that it finally brought him to Tyburn tree.

Questing one day up and down the road, like the ravens in search of food, he met an honest tradesman. They rode together for some time, when Avery asked him what trade he followed. The man replied that he was a fishmonger, and, with a polite show of interest, asked Avery's trade.

"Why," said the highwayman, "I am a limb of St. Peter also."

"What!" exclaimed the other, astonished, "are you a fishmonger too? Indeed, I don't understand your meaning, sir."

Whereupon Avery, pulling out his pistol, coolly observed: "My meaning may soon be comprehended, for there's not a finger upon my hand but will catch gold or silver, without any bait at all." So, taking all the unfortunate man possessed, and cutting the girth and bridle of his horse, to delay any likelihood of pursuit, he rode off for London.

On another occasion he met an exciseman on Finchley Common. The exciseman would not deliver his money until Avery had shot his horse dead and threatened to do the like to him. Then, daunted by Avery's terribly high words, and almost frightened out of his wits to hear what dreadful volleys of oaths came out of his mouth, he stopped it as soon as he could with twelve pounds, saying: "Here, take what I have, for if there be a devil, certainly thou art one."

"It may be so," replied Avery, "but yet much of a devil though I am, I see an exciseman is not so good a bait to catch him as some people would make out."

"No, he is not," returned the exciseman; "the hangman is the only bait to catch such devils as you."

It was ill work, as a rule, exchanging insults with a highway gentleman, but Avery, content with the main thing, rode off unmoved. He was hanged at last, at Tyburn, January 31st, 1713.

Dick Adams, who derived from Gloucestershire and at an early age was in the service of a respectable Duchess (their Graces, you know, were not all what they might have been, in the way of personal character, in the seventeenth century), at last found his way into the Life Guards, but as his pay did not suffice to support his extravagance, he sometimes collected upon the highway. With some of his companions of the road, he on one occasion robbed a gentleman of a gold watch and a purse of a hundred and twenty guineas. Now observe how the greedy are made to suffer for their greediness! Not content with their fine booty, he must needs covet the gentleman's coat; and so cantered after him, saying: "Sir, you have got a very fine coat on; I must make bold to exchange with you;" and off the coat had to come, and the traveller went angry away. Presently however, as he was riding along in that shabby misfit, he thought he heard something jingling in a pocket; something that sounded very differently from the jingling of his horse's bridle. Thrusting in his hand, he, to his astonishment, found his watch and all his money that Adams in his hurry had forgotten to remove out of the pockets of his own coat when this exchange, which certainly proved, after all, to be no robbery, was made.

We may dwell a moment upon the rage of Adams and his party, when they came to the next hedgeside inn and sat down to examine their gains, which had thus vanished away, like the early dews of morning.

It is pleasant to read of honest men occasionally coming to their own again, and of incidents of painful retribution. Such an incident as that recorded above deserves a fellow, and we find it in the painful adventure in which Tom Taylor was the luckless sufferer. We do not hear much of Tom Taylor, who was, indeed, more of a pickpocket than a highwayman. We do learn, however, that he was the son of a clergyman, and that "he was executed along with Moll Jones." Clearly, Tom Taylor was an undesirable and the companion of undesirables. He was accustomed to dress himself in smart clothes and attend theatres and public entertainments, and there—an unsuspected fine gentleman—to pick pockets. On one such occasion he emptied a gentleman's pocket of forty guineas, and we are told that, in a disguise, he seated himself the next night beside the same person, who recognised him but made no sign, having this time come prepared. He had, in fact, baited his pocket with a handful of guineas, which set up a pleasant jingling and made poor Tom's mouth water. Poor Tom, we say advisedly, bearing in mind the sequel. He began presently to "dive" for those guineas and found, to his dismay, that the gentleman had really in the truest sense, "baited" his pocket, for it had been sewn all round with fish-hooks, and the wretched Taylor's hand was held fast.

Having in vain attempted to disentangle himself, he said to the gentleman: "Sir, by a mistake, I have somehow put my hand into your pocket, instead of into my own"; but, without taking the least notice, that merciless person rose from his seat and made for the "Rose" tavern, Tom helplessly along with him, his hand all the while remaining in the pocket. Arrived there, it was no difficult matter to make him cry "Mercy!" and to induce him to send for one of his comrades, to bail him out, so to say. It cost the unfortunate Tom Taylor eighty guineas to get free again. The account of these things then concludes on the proper note of poetic justice: "Nor was the gentleman satisfied with this, but caned him in a most unmerciful manner, and then turned him out to the mob, who ducked him in a pond, and broke one of his legs."

The succeeding chapters of Tom Taylor's chequered career do not concern us, but we learn, without surprise, that this ferocious buffeting and bruising—to say nothing of the fish-hooks—determined him to abandon the "diving" trade.

JONATHAN WILD

To cheat that arch-rogue and cunning friend and betrayer of rogues, Jonathan Wild, out of a place in these pages would be too mean an

## action. He towers above the ordinary run of bad men as a very giant in

wickedness. Although he was himself no highwayman, he was friend of and associate with all of their trade, and as such has a right here.

Jonathan Wild was a native of Wolverhampton, the son, according to some, of a carpenter; but, by more trustworthy records, his father was a wig-maker. He was born about 1682. His father apprenticed him to a Birmingham buckle-maker. While at Birmingham he married, but, deserting his wife and child, he made for London, and was for a short period a gentleman's servant. Returning for a brief space to the buckle-making trade, he soon found himself in debt, and then, by what was a natural transition in those times, lodged in the Poultry Compter. The Compter (it is also styled the Wood Street Compter) was something over and above a prison for debtors and others: and was indeed nothing less than an academy and forcing-house of villainies, where incipient scoundrels were brought on early in season, like cucumbers under glass. It was not singular in this, for all the prisons of that age shared the like well-earned reputation. Something of the horrors of imprisonment for debt, as then practised, may be judged by the fact that Wild was here for four years; but for a portion of the time he had the advantage over his fellow-prisoners of being appointed assistant-gaoler. Wild never at any time lacked address and tact, and these qualities here stood him in good stead.

It was in this abode of despair that he first met Mary Milliner, who was ever afterwards associated with him. She was already old in crime, though not in years, and was his initiator into the first practical rogueries he knew. But he was a criminal by instinct, and needed only introductions to the world of crime. Once shown the methods in vogue, he not only became a master in their use, but speedily improved upon them, to the wonderment and admiration of all the cross-coves in London.

Released at length from durance, he and Mary Milliner set up a vile establishment in Lewkenor's Lane, and later took a low public-house, a resort of the padding-culls of the City—the sign of the "Cock," in Cock Alley, Cripplegate.

Wild had also made acquaintance, while in the Wood Street Compter, of a deep-dyed scoundrel, a certain Charles Hitchen, an ex-City marshal, who had lost his post through irregular practices, and had become an associate with and director of thieves, and an expert blackmailer. Hitchen was his early instructor in the curious art of acting as intermediary between the thieves and those persons who had been robbed of goods, or had had their pockets picked of watches and other valuable jewellery; but Wild was a genius in his own way, with a talent for organisation never equalled in his line, before or since, except perhaps by Moll Cutpurse, who flourished a century earlier. Moll, however, was ever staunch to her friends and accomplices, but Wild was always ready to sell his intimates and to send them to the cart, if it were made worth his while. So their careers run parallel for only a little distance and then widely separate.

Wild in a very little time broke with Hitchen. He left his instructor far behind, and did business on so Napoleonic a scale that he speedily aroused the furious jealousy of his sometime associate, who, unable to contain himself at the thought of Wild, once his pupil, taking nearly all his profitable business away, published a singular pamphlet, intended to expose the trade. This was styled "The Regulator; or, a Discovery of Thieves, Thief-takers, and Locks": "locks" being receivers of stolen property. It had not the desired effect of spoiling his rival's trade; and Jonathan continued to thrive amazingly. As a broker and go-between in nearly all the felonies of his time committed in and immediately around London, he speedily came to the front, and he was exceptional in that he most adroitly and astonishingly doubled the parts of Receiver-General of stolen property and self-styled "Thief-catcher-General of Great Britain and Ireland."

It might at the first blush, and indeed even after long consideration, seem impossible to pose with success at one and the same time as the friend and the enemy of all who get their living on the cross, but Jonathan Wild achieved the apparently impossible and flourished exceedingly on the amazing paradox.

The first steps in this mesh of scoundrelism that Wild drew are not sufficiently detailed, and Fielding's "History of the Late Mr. Jonathan Wild the Great" is rather an effort in whimsical, satirical imagination than in sheer biography. The considerable number of chap-book "Lives" of this arch-villain are also absolutely untrustworthy. But it is abundantly evident that he was a man of imagination and a master at organising, for we find him the brain-centre of all the robberies committed at that time in and around London, himself the secret, supreme director of them all, and at the same time the apparently "honest broker" who, for a consideration (quite after the old manner of Moll Cutpurse), would undertake to restore missing property. This self-appointed "Thief-taker" had numerous contingents, to each of which was allotted its special work. One attended churches, another visited the theatres, yet another detachment devoted their best energies to the art of shop-lifting, and another still took situations as domestic servants, and in that capacity made away with their employers' plate and jewellery. It all seems like the fantastic imagining of a novelist, but it is sufficiently real, and the theory of mutual benefits accruing to Wild and his gang by this unnatural alliance is quite sound. He received the stolen property and held it to ransom, dividing (more or less unfairly) the amounts received with his thieves, who could not, without running great risks, sell it. All concerned benefited: the plundered citizens repurchased their valuables cheaply, Wild took an excellent commission, and the thieves, pickpockets, and highwaymen made a good living without much risk. The reverse of this charming picture of distributed benefits was the alarming increase of robberies and the decrease of arrests and convictions; and another serious outcome of Wild's organisation was that he absolutely commanded the lives of those who worked with him. None with impunity offended the great man, who was merciless in his revenge, swearing away the lives of those who dared cross him. Among the numerous satirical old prints relating to Jonathan Wild there is a gruesome picture of devils lighting him with flaring torches on the red way to Hell, together with a trophy of twenty-five hanging persons, men and women, all duly named, whom he brought to the gallows as a result of differences of opinion in the business matters between them, or merely for the reason that they had outlasted their use and had become inefficient thieves, and it would pay him better to secure their conviction. And it is to be observed that in all this while he was well known to be a director of robberies and receiver of stolen goods. It was scandalously notorious that, while he advertised himself in the newspapers as "Thief-catcher-General of Great Britain and Ireland," he was colleague of those he professed to catch. And, as the law then stood, he could not be brought to book. Everything was possible to the cunning and daring of Jonathan Wild, who could not merely bring a man to trial, but could snatch him from the very jaws of death by making the prosecutor so drunk that he was not present to give evidence at the trial; whereupon the accused was discharged.

In fifteen years' activities of this kind, Wild amassed enormous sums. He established himself in a fine house in the Old Bailey, conveniently opposite Newgate, and there lived in fine style with his Molly, the widow of a criminal who had been hanged at Tyburn. A footman followed him in livery; he dined in state: "His table was very splendid, he seldom dining under five Dishes, the Reversions whereof were generally charitably bestow'd on the Commonside felons." Jewellery and valuables not ransomed were shipped by him to Holland, in a sloop he regularly maintained for the purpose, bringing contraband goods on the return voyage.

There is this undoubted tribute to Jonathan Wild's greatness, that Parliament was at last moved to pass an Act especially designed to cope with his villainies, and to lay him by the heels. This was the Act of 1718, "For the farther preventing Robberies, Burglaries, and other Felonies, and for the more effectual transportation of Felons." A portion of this measure constituted it a felony for any one to solicit or to accept a reward on the pretence of restoring stolen property to the owners, unless they prosecuted the thieves.

But this clause was evaded without much difficulty by the astute Wild. He merely reconstituted his business, and made it an Enquiry Office, where no money was accepted. Clients still came in numbers to him, seeking their lost property, for it was certain, all the while, that he had really a guilty knowledge of at least three-quarters of the robberies committed in London. This revised procedure was for the owners who called upon him to be informed that he had made enquiries, and that he had heard the articles might be recovered if a reward was despatched to a place named. The owners would then generally, acting on his advice, send out, by the hands of a ticket-porter (ticket-porters were the "commissionaires" of that period) the reward agreed upon. The porter was instructed to wait at a street-corner until a person delivered a package into his hands, whereupon he was to hand over the reward. The celerity attending these transactions was remarkable.