DICK TURPIN.

Auckland Star, Volume LXI, Issue 217, 13 September 1930, Page 10 (Supplement)

DICK TURPIN.

GENTLEMAN OF THE K!NG r S

HIGHWAY.

BLEND OF FACT AND FICTION.

HOW HE EODE TO YORK,

On the whole, Fate dealt kindly with Richard Turpin. True he met with an inglorious end, but the fame of his bravado and jaunty good-humour has effaced the memory of his less pleasant attributes. For the handsome, dashing, chivalrous knight of the road belongs to fiction and not to fact: our highwayman was in truth a singularly depraved and unprepossessing ruffian. A tall, lean fellow, we read, with "high, broad cheek-bones, a short visage, narrowing down at the chin, and a face heavily pitted with smallpox"—such is the disappointing reality.

His early years need not detain us. Illustrious Dick was born in an Essex alehouse in 1700. Having been detected in stealing oxen from a tlaistow , farmer, he joined a gang of deer-stealers and smugglers, and took the lead in a series of atrocious robberies in his native county.

Soon the piiblic alarm became so great that a reward of £50 was- offered for the apprehension of the gang, and, after it had been raised to £100, two of the robbers were betrayed and lianged. Dick judged it advisable to leave the district and take tip residence with his wife, a young woman of good family, at Sewardstone. There he lived unnoticed for six months.

Then, becoming impatient of peaceful domesticity, he took to the road in the picturesque, traditional style. His first exploit was an endeavour to hold up his notorious compeer. Tom King. Unaware of his identity, Dick presented the muzzle of his horse-pistol and bade him stand and deliver. "What, Brother Turpin!" The highwayman burst into a roar of laughter. "What, dog eat dog?" he exclaimed. "Come, brother Turpin, if you don't know me, I know you, and should be very glad of your company." So began the three years' association of these bold spirits of the North Road —marked on its very first day by the robbery of a mail-coach at Stamford Hill. Such became their fame that people were proud of having been despoiled by them. Once Dick stopped the greatest beauty of the day and soundly kissed her. She protested, whereupon he said nonchalantly, "You can tiow boast that you have been kissed by Dick Turpin. Good morning!" With his usual recklessness, he continued to take his ease in the inns around London, where hie liberality made him a welcome guest. Howev'er, the time came when no innkeeper, how-: ever rascally, would entertain such dangerous rogues as Turpin and King. The two men accordingly dug a cave, large enough to hold their horses and themselves, and hidden by ferns and brambles, on the eastern edge of Epping Forest. Mrs. Turpin supplied the fugitives with f-.od. When her husband's whereabouts leaked out, two keepers set out to trap him. Dick let them approach, mistaking them for poachers, until Keeper Morris presented his gun and ordered him to surrender. - Gaining the shelter of Ins cave by a ruse, Dick snatched up his carbine and shot Morris dead. The other man made off as fast as his legs would carry him.

Dick decided on a change of air. Riding furiously through the forest, and finding that his horse was blown, he stopped a certain Mr. Major (owner of a famous racer, White Stockings), changed horses and whips with him, and was off like a flash to London. A few days later, Boyes, manager of the Green Man, Epping, discovered the nag in the yard of the Red Lion, The lad who came to fetch it was promptly seized. This proved to be King's broth(~, w 1 was frightened into confessing that a tall, lusty man in a white duffel coat was waiting for the nag in Red Lion Street. Boyes and a constable, thereupon pounced out and succeeded in arresting King. At this juncture Turpin rode upon the scene. "Shoot, Dick, for God's sake, or Fm taken!'" shouted his ally. Dick fired, but missed the constable- and shot King through the breast.

Bi-fute l.e died, K!""—in anger or delirium—gave some indication of his friend's haunts in the Forest and in Hackney Marsh, whither huntsmen proceeded with bloodhounds. Dick is supposed to have foiled them by taking refuge in trees for a while. Then he went north, and his journey inspired Ainsworth's famous description of the Ride to York in the Dick Turpin Romance "Rookwood." The Famous Ride. "Bess is now in her speed, and Dick, .happy. Happy! he in enraptured —maddened—furious—intoxicated as with wine. Pshaw! wine could never throw him into such a burning delirium. Its choicest juices have no inspiration like this. Its fumes are slow and heady. This is ethereal, transporting. His blood spins through his veins; winda round his heart; mounts to his brain. Away! away! He is wild with joy. Hall, cot, tree, tower, glade, mead, waste or woodland are seen, passed, left behind, and vanish in a - dream. Motion is scarcely perceptible—it is impetus! volition! The horse and her .rider are driven forward as it were, by selfaccelerated speed. A hamlet is visible in the moonlight. It is scarcely discovered ere the flints sparkle beneath the mare's hoofs. A moment's clatter upon the stones, and it is left behind. Again, it' is the silent, smiling country. Now they are buried in the darkness of woods; now sweeping along on the wild plain; now clearing the unopened toll-bar; now trampling over the hollowsounding bridge."

Alas! the credit for that exploit belongs rightly to a highwayman of an earlier day. The prosaic truth is that Turpin journeyed comfortably to Long Sutton, in Lincolnshire, where he returned to his old profession of sheepstealing. Not for some months did he remove to Yorkshire. Then, adopting the name of Palmer, he settled near Beverley as a gentleman horsedealer. He acted his part well, and his reasonable prices quickly found favour. None suspected that the strings of horses he imported from Lincolnshire did not belong to him. He became recognised in the hunting-field; often he went out shooting with people of rank.

But his fiery temper proved his undoing. Eeturning from such a party after a poor day's sport? he shot a gamecock belonging to his landlord, and, when one of the party protested, threatened to shoot him also. A summons at the Petty Sessions resulted. Mr. Palmer was ordered to find bail and securities. None being forthcoming, he was removed to the Bridewell. Inquiries were made in Lincolnshire, charges of horse-steal-ing followed, and he was committed to York Castle. Dick thereupon wrote to bis brother at v Thaxted to "cook" him a good character, but unfortunately the writing was unrecognised, and, because of the unpaid postage, the letter was returned to the Post Office, where it was opened. Thus the writer's true indentity was discovered and his doom ensured. The contemporary account of his trial and execution bears testimony to the fortitude with which he met his end: —

"He was carried in a Cart to the Place of Execution, on Saturday, April 7th, 1739, with John Stead, condemn'd also for Horse-Stealing: he behav'd himself with amazing Assurance, and bowM to the Spectators as he pass'd: It was remarkable that as he mountea the Ladder, his Eight Leg trembled, on which he stamp'd it down with an Air, and with undaunted Courage look'd round about him; and after speaking near Half an Hour to the'Topsman. threw himself off the Ladder, and expired in about five minutes."