The Thieves' Opera: The Remarkable Lives and Deaths of Jonathan Wild, Thief-taker and Jack Sheppard, House-breaker

by Lucy Moore

  Quilt Arnold followed Mendez:

  I went with Abraham and Mr Wild to apprehend the prisoner, and, going to his chamber door, I bid him open it, but he swore he would not, and so I burst it open. He drew a penknife, and swore he would kill the first man that came in: ‘Then I am the first man,’ says I, ‘and Mr Wild is not far behind, and if you don’t deliver your penknife immediately, I’ll chop your arm off.’ Then he threw the knife down and I apprehended him. I afterwards heard Mr Wild promise to give him a coffin.

  Then William Field took the stand. He gave his evidence as he had done at Sheppard’s trial, but the tone of his testimony was altered slightly to implicate Blueskin further than he had done at Jack’s trial, where his (and Wild’s) main aim had been to ensure Jack’s conviction. He started by saying that he did not know Jack well, except through Blueskin — but Jack had been fencing his takings through him since before he started working with Blake. Field said that Blueskin, on his own, asked him to join with him and Jack to rob Kneebone’s house — though at Jack’s trial, Field had said that Jack had persuaded both Blueskin and himself, at the same time. In the evidence he had given at Jack’s trial, Field had said that as soon as he and Blake agreed to join in the burglary, Jack had led them to Kneebone’s house and then robbed it alone. Now, at Blake’s trial, Field said that he accompanied Blueskin to find Jack, and then they went together to Kneebone’s house. Once there, he continued, all three of them entered the house to carry off the loot. At Jack’s trial, he had insisted that Sheppard had gone in alone while he and Blake kept watch outside. Field was obviously following Wild’s orders; and Wild was determined that both Jack and Blueskin should go down for good.

  Blueskin, like Sheppard, maintained that Field had not been with them when they robbed Kneebone, but had merely found out about the robbery from them later. Listening to Field’s false evidence, he must have realized that Wild was finally casting him off. In the baildock after the trial, Blake begged Wild to help get his sentence changed from hanging to transportation. Like everyone who had worked for Wild, Blueskin thought there was nothing Wild couldn’t accomplish if he wanted to. Knowing that Sheppard was going to die for the crime, he thought it possible that as an accomplice he might get off more lightly if Wild spoke on his behalf. ‘You may as well put in a good word for me as for another person,’ he ventured. Wild replied, ‘You are certainly a dead man, and will be tricked upon very speedily.’

  On hearing this, with his hopes of survival shattered, Blueskin suddenly drew a clasp penknife and lunged forward, cutting Wild’s throat. Blood spurted out from the wound, and he collapsed and was carried off to a surgeon. Blueskin later explained his motivation:

  None prompted him to that assault, but a sudden thought entered that moment into his mind, or else he should have provided a better knife, which would have cut off a head directly; adding, that he had so acted, because, that person, as he thought, could have obtained transportation for him; as one man, Sheppard, was condemned for the same offence before.[131]

  When the judge asked Blueskin how he dared attempt to commit murder in court, he said ‘he was only sorry that he had not done it, for never did such a rogue as Wild live, and go unpunished so long’. Later, he publicly apologized for not killing the ‘Viper’, saying,

  he should be hanged with pleasure if Wild did but die before him...Blueskin being examined at what induced him to do so base an action after Mr Wild had supported him at his own expense while he had been in Newgate, declared, ‘That he had fully determined to murder him, and that his intention was to have cut off his head and thrown it into the Sessions House yard among the rabble,’ and cursed with many bloody oaths both his hand and his knife, for not doing it effectually.[132]

  Jack Sheppard, sitting in the security of the Castle, heard the news of Blueskin’s attack with glee. Newgate was in an uproar, its inhabitants divided between those who depended on Jonathan Wild for their survival, and those who hated him for bringing them to justice. ‘Blueskin’s Ballad’, attributed to Swift, was published soon after this incident.

  Ye fellows of Newgate, whose fingers are nice

  At diving in pockets, or cogging of dice;

  Ye sharpers so rich, who can buy off the noose;

  Ye honest poor rogues, who die in your shoes;

  Attend, and draw near,

  Good news you shall hear,

  How Jonathan’s throat was cut from ear to ear;

  How Blueskin’s sharp penknife hath set you at ease,

  And ev’ry man round me, may rob, if he please.

  That night, Jack’s gaoler asked him if he needed anything else, because he would not be able to come back to check on him before morning. Jack bade him come as early as possible the following day, well knowing that the confusion that had ensued after Blake’s celebrated attack would last the night. As soon as the keeper left Jack set to work. It was the best chance for escape he would get. ‘When a man works for Life, ’tis natural to suppose, he’ll put the best foot foremost; so did Sheppard; and about twelve o’clock he worked out his Redemption with dexterity of hand and magnanimity of heart...’[133]

  He had no candle to illuminate his work, but holding in his teeth a crooked nail he had found on the floor and secreted on his person, he picked the locks of his handcuffs. He left his leg irons on, but was able to twist and break the links holding them to the staples in the floor; he used the scraps of metal later as tools. Using a thick iron bar he pulled out of the chimney, he climbed up through the chimney and broke through a wall into another strong-room, called the Red Room, which had not been used for seven years, since the last of the Jacobites was executed. Jack wrenched open the locks and forced his way in. He went through five other strong doors, breaking all the locks and bolts in his way, and into the chapel. Using one of the iron spikes on the wall, he got himself out on to an outside wall which sided on to a neighbouring house. Here he realized that he had no way of letting himself down and crept back the way he had come to collect his blanket from his cell. He rushed back to the wall, and climbed slowly down in the early hours of the morning, using his blanket as a rope, narrowly avoiding waking the sleeping inhabitants of the house next door. They heard him moving and called out, but when there was no reply he heard them assuring each other that it must have been only a cat, or a door slamming in the wind.

  London exploded in shock and excitement. Jack’s escape was, unusually for a crime report, the opening feature in many newspapers. ‘Nothing contributes so much to the talk of the town at present, as the frolicksome and desperate adventures of the famous housebreaker and gaol-breaker John Sheppard.’[134] On 20 October the first biography of Jack Sheppard was advertised in the Daily Journal; The History of the Remarkable Life of John Sheppard was published by John Applebee, and was most probably written by the ageing Daniel Defoe who worked closely with Applebee throughout his career on Grub Street. ‘I don’t remember any felon in this kingdom, whose adventures have made so much noise as Sheppard’s,’ stated the recorder of the Annals of Newgate.

  Still in his irons, Jack hid in a cowshed near Tottenham Court Road for two days. He told a passing journeyman shoemaker he had been put into a house of correction for fathering a bastard child, and gave him 20s. — well over a week’s wages — to bring him tools to rid himself of his shackles. Jack ‘tied a handkerchief about [his] head, tore [his] woollen cap in many places, as likewise [his] coat and stockings’. Disguised as a beggar, he set off into the city. Disguise was a crucial element in Jack’s successful escapes. After the last one he and Page had dressed as butchers to leave London unnoticed; and he continued to use his ability to appear to be someone else to roam anonymously through the city as he pleased.

  The next day, I took shelter in an alehouse of little or no trade, in Rupert Street, near Piccadilly. The woman and I discoursed much about Sheppard. I assured her it was impossible for him to escape out of the kingdom, and that the keepers would have him again in a few days. The woman wished a curse m
ight fall on those who should betray him [did she recognize his diminutive figure and wry smile?]. I continued there till the evening, when I stept towards the Hay Market, and mixt with a crowd about two ballad singers; the subject being about Sheppard. And I remember the company was very merry about the matter.[135]

  Was he pleased to hear his name on the lips of everyone he met? Did he long to throw off his ripped cap and shout out that he was the genius whom they were all applauding? Or did he fear for his life, knowing that his capture was worth £40 to anyone who recognized him? Speculation about when and if he would be recaptured ran wild. One newspaper reported that Sheppard had ‘been seen two or three days ago, begging some wort [drink] of the stoker at Tate’s and Nichol’s Brewhouse in Thames Street. If he is so poor as not to be able to purchase drink, an account may soon be expected of his being retaken.’

  Despite the risk of being recognized, he did not wish to wander the streets of London alone. He hired a garret in Newport Market and sent for a ‘sober young woman [probably Kate Cook] who for a long time had been the real mistress of my affections, who came to me and rendered all the assistance she was capable of affording’. Edgworth Bess was in gaol for helping Jack escape from Newgate in August, but he had tired of her anyway and instead sought out Kate Cook and Kate Keys, with whom he lived for a few days in Cranbourn Alley, near Leicester Fields. His feet-locks and handcuffs were found in their room after his recapture. Although Bess had always been the foremost among Jack’s female acquaintances, he had never tied himself to her. Like Macheath in The Beggars’ Opera, he enjoyed the company of many women: ‘A man who loves money, might as well be contented with one guinea, as I with one woman.’ In December 1725 Kate Cook was tried for possessing stolen silver cutlery which she said she had had ‘from Jack Sheppard’. It was common for thieves to use their girlfriends and wives as fences; Jack had used both Edgworth Bess and Poll Maggott in this role before he was arrested. At her trial Kate added, ‘with a vulgar double entendre, that she was Jack Sheppard’s washerwoman, and had many a time washed his three pieces betwixt her legs’.

  But like all good criminals, Jack loved no woman more than his mother. Several days after his escape, she visited him in the garret he was sharing with the two Kates, ‘begging on her bended knees of me to make the best of my way out of the kingdom, which I faithfully promised; but I cannot say it was in my intentions heartily to do so’. Distraught, his mother went to St James’s Palace to petition the king for mercy. ‘Some are of the opinion, that the intercession of some great personages in that unhappy man’s behalf, may prevail for the same.’[136]

  Some of the published lives of Jack Sheppard include copies of the letters he was supposed to have written during this period of freedom. One was addressed to his warden at Newgate, Mr Austin, signed ‘from your fortunate prisoner, Jack Sheppard’. He taunted him about the success of his escape: ‘But pray not be angry about the loss of your irons; had you not gave me them, I had not taken them away; but really I had left them behind me, had convenience a-served.’ He reputedly also wrote to Applebee, the publisher of his biography, commiserating with him for the loss of profits he would suffer by not being able to publish Jack’s ‘Last Dying Speech’ at his execution; he delivered this missive himself, disguised as a porter.[137]

  On the night of 29 October he broke into a pawnshop in Drury Lane belonging to two brothers named Rawlins. When he was inside, he realized that they heard him ‘rifling their goods as they lay abed. And though there were none to assist me, I pretended there was, by loudly giving out directions for shooting the first person through the head that presumed to stir.’ He took a black silk suit, a silver sword, some diamond rings, snuffboxes and watches, a wig and some cash: all he needed to equip himself for a night on the town. The following day, attired in his new clothes, he recounted:

  I made an extraordinary appearance; and from a carpenter and butcher was now transformed into a perfect gentleman; and in company with my sweetheart aforesaid, and another young woman of her acquaintance, went into the city, and were very merry together at a public house not far from the place of my old confinement.

  Jack and the two Kates spent a happy day together as Jack boldly revisited the haunts of his misspent youth. Unrepentant, he revelled openly in his freedom, knowing all the while his captors would be edging closer and closer to their prey.

  At four that same afternoon we all passed under Newgate in a hackney coach, the windows drawn up, and in the evening I sent for my mother to the Sheers alehouse in Maypole Alley near Clare Market (where she lived) and with her drank three quarterns of brandy; and after leaving her I drank in one place or another about that neighbourhood all the evening, till the evil hour of twelve, having been seen by many of my acquaintance; all of them cautioning me, and wondering at my presumption to appear in that manner.

  Despite the dangers, Jack enjoyed flaunting his freedom in front of his old cronies. At the end of the evening, he and Moll Frisky were roaring drunk in a public house when its owner, a constable, ordered his arrest.

  At length my senses were quite overcome with the quantities and varieties of liquors I had all the day been drinking, which paved the way for my Fate to meet me; and when apprehended, I do protest, I was altogether incapable of resisting, and scarce knew what they were doing to me, and had but two second-hand pistols scarce worth carrying about me.

  He was taken off to Newgate in a coach, calling out, ‘Murder! Help for God’s sake! Rogues! I am murdered, and am in the hands of bloodhounds, help for Christ’s sake...’ Parker’s London News reported that Jack was arrested,

  equipped in every way like a gentleman, having on a peruke [wig] worth six or seven guineas, a diamond ring on his finger, with a cornelian, and two other plain gold rings, a gold watch, and snuffbox in his pocket, nine guineas, and some silver. He was dressed in a very genteel suit of black, having furnished himself therewith on Friday morning last, by breaking open a pawnbroker’s shop on Drury Lane...When he was brought back to gaol he was very drunk, carried himself insolently, and defied the keepers to hold him with all their irons, art and skill.

  Jack was loaded with 300 lb. weight of irons in the Middle Stone Room, next to the Castle, the room from which he had last escaped. It was 1 November 1724, barely eighteen months after his first robbery, and he had become the most notorious criminal in the country. But he had neither killed nor injured anyone in the course of his career; the burglaries he committed were usually impromptu, haphazard; his work had, in fact, been marked more by his sense of humour than by violence or greed. From the moment he distracted the crowd’s attention on to the Roundhouse roof, after his first break from gaol, to his calling of directions to imaginary accomplices as he robbed the Rawlins’s pawnshop the day before he was recaptured, his wit had entranced the people of London.

  While Jack was in Newgate, he was ‘always cheerful and pleasant to a degree, as turning almost everything as was said into a jest and banter’.[138] Even Mr Kneebone, whom Jack had used so ill, could not bring himself entirely to condemn him.

  Although his crimes were audacious and many, yet the boldness in his attempts, and the presence of mind he always had to release himself out of difficulties, made him pitied even by his enemies, and those very persons whom he had injured, could not but say, it was a pity such an ingenious fellow should be a thief.[139]

  Sheppard was visited by over a thousand people in the first week after his recapture, each paying 4s. a visit — a shilling more than the usual fee; the turnkeys made a fortune. He was given money by his visitors, too, but because he was so tightly tied up, he had no use for it, and so he gave what he had to other prisoners who were worse off than him. Although he must have felt like an exhibit in a zoo, he enjoyed the attention he received, and strove to make his visitors feel they had their money’s worth.

  Jack ‘usually sent the company away, who came to see him, with as much pleasure as admiration: for although he was so strictly chained down to the floor, which
must needs be a pain to him, yet he took as much delight in giving people answers, as they did in asking him’.[140] He had an opinion about everything, and took a particular delight in justifying his crimes. If his robberies were ‘ill in one respect, they were as good in another; and that though he cared not for working so much himself, yet he was desirous that others should not stand idle, more especially those of his own trade, who were always repairing of his breaches’.[141]

  Sir James Thornhill, tutor and father-in-law of the young Hogarth and Serjeant Painter to King George I, came to Jack’s cell to paint him, emphasizing the strength and delicacy of the thief’s hands, and his childlike face. The painting does not survive, but a mezzotint engraving taken from the portrait still exists. Verses addressed to Thornhill in the BritishJournal implied that it was only in painting Jack Sheppard that Thornhill’s fame would rest; that, having made Sheppard immortal — ‘Thy pencil brings a kind reprieve/ And bids the dying robber live’ — Thornhill guaranteed his own artistic reputation. The king himself sent for ‘two prints of Sheppard showing the manner of him being chained to the floor in the Castle at Newgate’; James Figgs, the prize-fighter, visited him in his cell; the Lord Chancellor, the Earl of Macclesfield, made a point of meeting him when he was resentenced at the King’s Bench on 10 November.

  A letter dated 6 November from Walpole’s Secretary of State, the Duke of Newcastle, ordered the Attorney General to bring Sheppard before the King’s Bench to be sentenced again to death, ‘to the end that execution may without delay be awarded against him’. Because of his popularity, Jack was regarded as highly dangerous, potentially incendiary. It was not the threat he posed as a thief that made it necessary to hang him as quickly as possible; it was what he represented. If he escaped again, if he succeeded in slipping the shackles of authority once more, he would demonstrate to the poor of London that the state’s control over them was little more than illusory.