Jack Sheppard

Introduction

On 16th November 1724, the twenty-one year old Jack Sheppard was the only prisoner to stand in the cart at Tyburn.  In a period when it was the norm for those sentenced to death to be hanged in groups, Sheppard's was a special case.  He owed his celebrity status to his remarkable, Houdini-like abilities as an escapologist.  Having already made four daring escapes from London prisons, he was kept separate from others and closely guarded - sensible precautions, given that, on the day of his execution, he was only prevented from making a further escape by a prison warder's discovery of the pen-knife with which he had intended to cut his ropes on the way to the gallows.  Multitudes thronged the route to Tyburn: "never was such a concourse of people ever seen in Holborn."  In some estimates as many as 200,000 gathered to hail "Gentleman Jack" as an outlaw hero.

Although Sheppard even retained hopes of escaping after his execution (supposedly having planned for his friends to put him in a warm bed and open a vein to revive him), his more realistic ambition was to secure his posthumous glory by the immediate publication of the authentic account of his brief but spectacular criminal career.  A born showman, Sheppard made the most of his solitary eminence at Tyburn. With all eyes on him, he flourished a paper containing, he announced, his authentic confession and passed it to the publisher John Applebee.  By the next day thousands of copies of A Narrative of all the Robberies, Escapes, &c. of John Sheppard were being sold in the streets for a shilling each.  It is generally assumed that the real author (Sheppard's "ghost writer") was Daniel Defoe, who had already published A History of the Remarkable Life of John Sheppard, and the actual paper that Sheppard displayed is very unlikely to have been the copy from which Appelbee printed (for the pamphlet to be out so soon, the manuscript would in fact have had to be lodged earlier with the printer).  But by so publicly proclaiming his authorship Sheppard was affirming the Narrative's authenticity and laying claim to his right to represent his own experience: "Written by himself during his Confinement in the Middle Stone-Room," the pamphlet testified to a kind of recalcitrant independence that was of a piece with his legendary exploits.  

The appeal of this glamorous, transgressive figure is very effectively conveyed by Defoe's Narrative.  Written persuasively in Sheppard's own voice, it is the antithesis both of confessions in the "sincerely penitent" tradition and of those confessions that admit what cannot be denied whilst seeking to shift the burden of guilt, blaming malign circumstance, bad company or duplicitous companions.  Treachery is an everyday part of Sheppard's world, indeed is more or less taken for granted, and Sheppard's Narative does identify some of those who misled or betrayed him, and in passing asks God's pardon for his own crimes.  But his public image is much more obviously constructed around a series of refusals to submit in any way to the demands of authority, and his refusals to supply information on his confederates are as much a part of this image as is his resistance to confinement and to the degrading posture of the penitent. In his earlier History of the Remarkable Life of John Sheppard, Defoe recounts an occasion on which Sheppard, visited in prison by the Reverend Mr. Wagstaff, was urged to repent and to reveal the names of those who had aided him in his escapes.  His response was to "passionately, and with a Motion of striking, say, ask me no such Questions, one File's worth all the Bibles in the World."  The contempt for authority, the vigorous gesture of opposition and the pithy cynicism of his response epitomize the persona of this criminal prodigy. Like the act of so emphatically issuing in the Narrative an "exact description" of his actions, his witty, unruffled responses to official pressures are an implicit repudiation of the institutions of his day and of the laws of religion and property. Sheppard's bantering, disruptive, irreverent voice is not to be silenced or co-opted by his self-appointed 'betters':  "'tis necessary," the Narrative declares, "that I should say something for my self, and set certain intricate matters in a true light; every subject, however unfortunate or unworthy soever, having the liberty of publishing his case."

Another important element in Sheppard's popularity, apparent in passages such as this, is the extent to which his defiant voice is identified with the sentiments of the most ordinary, downtrodden Londoner. John Sheppard was born in White’s Row, Spitalfields, in 1702.  His father, a carpenter, died when he was very young, and he himself eventually entered an apprenticeship with a carpenter.   Indentured for seven years, he served out nearly the whole of his time, though he had taken to petty thievery whilst still an apprentice, stealing tankards and spoons from houses in which he was working.  Finally abandoning his apprenticeship, he embarked on a full-time career as a housebreaker, earning himself a place in William Hogarth's series of prints, Industry and Idleness, as the model for the idle apprentice.  In a sense, however, he is in the popular mind the poor boy made good, a street urchin transformed in a brief period of anti-heroic exertion into one of the most famous Londoners of the century. 

The Narrative succinctly recounts some of Shepherd's escapades as a thief and housebreaker, but pride of place, of course, goes to his escapes, from novice efforts like his break out from the St Giles's Roundhouse, accomplished with "nothing but an old razor in my pocket", to his crowning achievement, the astonishing feat of extricating himself from the condemned hold of Newgate, using a small nail to open a padlock, removing his manacles, making a hole in the chimney and wrenching an iron bar out, breaking away a wall, dislodging a bolt and wrenching off a strong lock, climbing sheer walls and vaulting off rooftops.  It's a journey to freedom that has the fascination both of intricate skills perfected and of great inner resources.  As he tackles the massive lock on the ironbound door of the prison chapel, Sheppard is the very image of courageous endeavour: " I had like to have stopped, and it being full dark, my spirits began to fail me, as greatly doubting of succeeding; but cheering up, I wrought on with great diligence."  In its perverse way, this "notorious malefactor's" ability to overcome difficulties struck some contemporaries as a model of Christian fortitude.  In a sermon delivered at St Martin's-in-the-Fields, the preacher exclaimed, "Oh, that ye were all like Jack Sheppard! —- Mistake me not, my brethren, I don't mean in a carnal but in a spiritual sense…Let me exhort ye, then, to open the locks of your hearts with the nail of repentance; burst asunder the fetters of your beloved lusts; mount the chimney of hope, take from hence the bar of good resolution, break through the stone wall of despair and all the strong holds in the dark entry of the valley of the shadow of death;…So shall you come to the door of deliverance..."

 

Sheppard's fame has been amplified in huge numbers of publications - songs, broadsides, books, pamphlets, plays, sermons - not only in his own time but in subsequent centuries. In the eighteenth century, Harlequin Sheppard, a pantomime at Drury Lane, re-enacted the story of his adventures, as did a three-act farce, The Prison-Breaker; both Hogarth and Sir James Thornhill painted his portrait; John Gay is said to have modeled Macheath on him in The Beggar's Opera; throughout the century, he remained one of the best-known figures in The Newgate Calendar; in the early nineteenth century a melodrama, Jack Sheppard the House-breaker, was written by W.T. Moncrieff and a novel, Jack Sheppard, by William Harrison Ainsworth (also adapted into a play); and in the twentieth century there has been, for example, a film starring Tommy Steele, Where's Jack? (1969) and Lucy Moore's 1999 novel The Thieves’ Opera.  All of these, in their different ways, attest to the enduring attraction of achieving so distinctive a kind of pre-eminence: as Charles Whibley wrote in his Book of Scoundrels, Sheppard was an "incomparable artist, who, in his own separate ambition of prison-breaking, remains, and will ever remain, unrivalled."

 

A Narrative Of all the Robberies, Escapes, &c. of John Sheppard

Daniel Defoe

(London, 1724)

Giving an Exact Description of the manner of his wonderful Escape from the Castle in Newgate, and of the Methods he took afterward for his Security.  Written by himself during his Confinement in the Middle Stone-Room, after his being retaken in Drury Lane.  To which is added, A true Representation of his Escape from the Condemn'd Hold, curiously engraven on a Copper Plate.  The whole Publish'd at the particular Request of the Prisoner

As my unhappy life and actions have afforded matter of much amusement to the world; and various pamphlets, papers, and pictures relating thereunto are gone abroad, most or all of them misrepresenting my affairs; 'tis necessary that I should say something for my self, and set certain intricate matters in a true light; every subject, however unfortunate or unworthy soever, having the liberty of publishing his case.  And it will be no small satisfaction to me to think that I have thoroughly purged my conscience before I leave the world, and made reparation to the many persons injured by me, as far as is in my poor power….

It has been said in the History of my Life, that the first robbery I ever committed was in the house of Mr Bains, a piece-broker in White-Horse Yard; to my sorrow and shame I must acknowledge my guilt of a felony before that, which was my stealing two silver spoons from the Rummer Tavern at Charing-Cross, when I was doing a job there for my master: for which I ask pardon of God, and the persons who were wrongfully charged and injured by that crime.

Unhappy wretch! I was now commenced thief, and soon after house-breaker; growing gradually wicked, 'twas about the latter end of July 1723, that I was sent by my master to do a job at the house of Mr Bains aforesaid, I there stole a roll of fustian containing 24 yards, from amongst many others, and Mr Bains not missing it, had consequently no suspicion.  I offered it to sale among the young lads in our neighbourhood at 12d. per yard, but meeting  with no purchasers I concealed the fustian in my trunk.

On the 1st of August following, I again wrought in Mr Bains's shop, and that night about 12 of the clock I came and took up the wooden bars over the cellar-window, so entered and came up into the house, and took away goods to the value of fourteen pounds, besides seven pounds in money out of the till, and nailed down the bars again and went off.  The next day I came to the house to finish the shutters for the shop, when Mr Bains and his wife were in great trouble for their loss, saying to me they suspected a woman their lodger had let the rogues in , for that they were assured the house had not been broken; the poor people little dreaming they were telling their story to the thief, I condoling with them, and pretending great sorrow for their misfortune.  Not long afterwards my fellow-prentice Thomas acquainted Mr Wood that he had observed a quantity of fustian in my trunk.  My master and I had broke measures, and I being absent from home and hearing Thomas had tattled, in the night-time I broke through a neighbour's house and into my master's, and so carried off the fustian, to prevent the consequence of a discovery….

I abruptly quitted Mr Wood's service almost a year before the expiration of my apprenticeship, and went to Fulham, and there wrought as a journey man to a master carpenter, telling the man that I had served out my apprenticeship in Smithfield.  Elizabeth Lyon cohabiting with me as my wife, I kept her in a lodging in Parson's Green; but Mr Wood's brother being an inhabitant in the town discovered me, and my master with Justice Newton's warrant brought me to London, and confined me in St Clement's Round-house all night: the next day I was carried to Guild-Hall to have gone before the Chamberlain, but he being gone, I agreed with Mr Wood, and making matters easy got clear of him, and then fell to robbing almost every one that stood in my way.  The robbery at Mr Charles's house in Mayfair I have confessed in a particular manner to Mr Wagstaff, and to many others.

The robberies of Mr Bains, Mr Barton, and Mr Kneebone, together with the robbery of Mr Pargiter and two others on Hampstead Road, along with Joseph Blake, alias Blueskin, I did amply confess before Justice Blackerby, Mr Bains and Mr Kneebone being present, and did make all the reparation that was in my power, by telling them where the goods were sold, part whereof has been recovered by that means to the owners….

[Before long, Sheppard is sent to St Giles's Round-house, accused of several robberies]  I had nothing but an old razor in my pocket, and was confined in the upper part of the place, being two stories from the ground; with my razor I cut out the stretcher of a chair, and began to make a breach in the roof, laying the feather-bed under it to prevent any noise by the falling of the rubbish on the floor.  It being about nine at night, people were passing and repassing in the street, and a tile or brick happening to fall, struck a man on the head, who raised the whole place; the people calling out loud that the prisoners were breaking out of the Round-house.  I found there was no time then to be lost, therefore made a bold push through the breach, throwing a whole load of bricks, tiles, &c. upon the people in the street; and before the beadle and assistance came up I had dropped into the churchyard, and got over the lower end of the wall, and came amidst the crowd, who were all staring up, some crying, "there's his head, there he goes behind the chimney, &c."  I was well enough diverted with the adventure, and then went off about my business.

The methods by which I escaped from New-Prison, and the condemned hold of Newgate, have been printed in so many books and papers, that it would be ridiculous to repeat them; only it must be remembered that my escaping from New-Prison, and carrying with me Elizabeth Lyon over the wall of Bridewell yard, was not so wonderful as reported, because Captain Geary and his servants cannot but know, that by my opening of the great gate I got Lyon upon the top of the wall without the help of a scaling ladder, otherwise it must have been impracticable to have procured her redemption.  She indeed rewarded me as well for it, in betraying me to Jonathan Wild so soon after.  I wish she may reform her life: a more wicked, deceitful and lascivious wretch there is not living in England.  She has proved my bane.  God forgive her: I do; and die in charity with all the rest of mankind.

Blueskin has attoned for his offenses. I am now following, being just on the brink of eternity, much unprepared to appear before the face of an angry God.  Blueskin has been a much older offender than myself, having been guilty of numberless robberies, and had formerly convicted four of his accomplices, who were put to death.  He was concerned along with me in the three robberies on the Hampstead Road, besides that of Mr Kneebone, and one other.  Though he was an able-bodied man, and capable of any crime, even murder, he was never master of a courage or conduct suitable to our enterprises; and I am of [the] opinion, that neither of us had so soon met our fate, if he would have suffered himself to have been directed by me; he always wanting resolution, when our affairs required it most.  The last summer, I hired two horses for us at an inn in Piccadilly, and being armed with pistols, &c. we went upon Enfield-Chace, where a coach passed us with two footmen and four young ladies, who had with them their gold watches, tweezer cases and other things of value; I declared immediately for attacking them, but Blueskin's courage dropped him, saying that he would first refresh his horse and then follow, but he designedly delayed till we had quite lost the coach and hopes of the booty.  In short, he was a worthless companion, a sorry thief, and nothing but the cutting of Jonathan Wild's throat could have made him so considerable.

….As my last escape from Newgate, out of the strong room called the Castle, had made a greater noise in the world than any other action of my life, I shall relate every minute circumstance thereof, as far as I am able to remember.

After I had been made a public spectacle of for many days together, with my legs chained together, loaded with heavy irons and stapled down to the floor, I thought it was not altogether impracticable to escape if I could but be furnished with proper implements; but, as every person that came near me was carefully watched, there was no possibility of any such assistance, till one day in the absence of my jailers, looking about the floor, I spied a small nail within reach, and with that, after a little practice, I found the great horse padlock that went from the chain to the staple in the floor might be unlocked, which I did afterward at pleasure; and was frequently about the room and several times slept on the barracks when the keepers imagined I had not been out of my chair. But being unable to pass up the chimney and void of tools, I remained where I was, till being detected in these practices by the keepers, who surprised me one day before I could fix myself to the staple in the manner as they had left me, I showed Mr Pitt, Mr Rouse and Mr Parry my art and before their faces unlocked the padlock with the nail; and, though people have made such an outcry about it, there is scarce a smith in London but what may easily do the same thing. However, this called for a further security of me. Till now, I had remained without handcuffs, but a jolly pair was provided for me.

Mr Kneebone was present when they were put on. I with tears begged his intercession to the keepers to preserve me from those dreadful manacles, telling him my heart was broken and that I should be much more miserable than before. Mr Kneebone could not refrain from shedding tears himself and did use his good offices with the keepers to keep me from them, but all to no purpose. On they went, though at the time I despised them and well knew that with my teeth only I could take them off at pleasure. But this was to lull them into a firm belief that they had effectually frustrated all attempts to escape for the future. The turnkey and Mr Kneebone had not been gone down stairs an hour when I made an experiment and got off my handcuffs, and before they visited me again I put them on and industriously rubbed and fretted the skin on my wrists, making them very bloody, as thinking (if such a thing was possible to be done) to move the turnkeys to compassion, but rather to confirm them in their opinion; but, though this had no effect upon them, it wrought much upon the spectators and drew from them not only much pity but quantities of silver and copper. I wanted a still more useful metal, a crow, a chisel, a file and a saw or two, these weapons being more useful to me than all the mines of Mexico; but there was no expecting any such utensils in my circumstances.

Wednesday the 14th of October the sessions beginning, I found there was not a moment to be lost; and the affair of Jonathan Wild's throat, together with the business at the Old Bailey, having sufficiently engaged the attention of the keepers, I thought then was the time to push. Thursday the 15th at about two in the afternoon, Austin, my old attendant, came to bring my necessaries and brought up four persons, namely, the keeper of Clerkenwell Bridewell, the clerk of Westminster gatehouse and two others. Austin, as it was his usual custom, examined the irons and hand cuffs and found all safe and firm, and then left me; and he may remember that I asked him to come again to me the same evening, but I neither expected or desired his company; and happy was it for the poor man that he did not interfere while I had the large iron bar in my hand, though I once had a design to have barricaded him or any others from coming into the room while I was at work, but then considering that such a project would be useless, I let fall that resolution.

As near as I can remember, just before three in the afternoon I went to work, taking off first my handcuffs; next with main strength I twisted a small iron link of the chain between my legs asunder, and the broken pieces proved extreme useful to me in my design. The fetlocks I drew up to the calves of my legs, taking off before that my stockings, and with my garters made them firm to my body to prevent them shackling. I then proceeded to make a hole in the chimney of the Castle about three foot wide and six foot high from the floor, and with the help of the broken links aforesaid wrenched an iron bar out of the chimney, of about two feet and an half in length and an inch square: a most notable implement. I immediately entered the Red Room directly over the Castle, where some of the Preston rebels had been kept a long time agone; and as the keepers say, the door had not been unlocked for seven years; but I intended not to be seven years in opening it. I went to work upon the nut of the lock and with little difficulty got it off and made the door fly before me. In this room I found a large nail which proved of great use in my farther progress. The door of the entry between the Red Room and the chapel proved an hard task, it being a laborious piece of work; for here I was forced to break away the wall and dislodge the bolt which was fastened on the other side. This occasioned much noise, and I was very fearful of being heard by the Master Side debtors. Being got to the chapel, I climbed over the iron spikes and with ease broke one of them off for my further purposes, and opened the door on the inside. The door going out of the chapel to the leads, I stripped the nut from off the lock, as I had done before from that of the Red Room, and then got into the entry between the chapel and the leads and came to another strong door, which being fastened by a very strong lock, there I had like to have stopped, and it being full dark, my spirits began to fail me, as greatly doubting of succeeding; but cheering up, I wrought on with great diligence, and in less than half an hour, with the main help of the nail from the Red Room and the spike from the chapel, wrenched the box off and so made the door my humble servant.

A little further in my passage, another stout door stood in my way, and this was guarded with more bolts, bars and locks than any I had hitherto met with. I had by this time great encouragement, as hoping soon to be rewarded for all this toil and labour. The clock at St Sepulchre's was now going the eighth hour, and this proved a very useful hint to me soon after. I went first upon the box and the nut, but found it labour in vain; and then proceeded to attack the fillet of the door. This succeeded beyond expectation, for the box of the lock came off with it from the main post. I found my work was near finished and that my fate soon would be determined.

I was got to a door opening in the lower leads, which being only bolted on the inside, I opened it with ease and then clambered from the top of it to the higher leads and went over the wall. I saw the streets were lighted, the shops being still open, and therefore began to consider what was necessary to be further done, as knowing that the smallest accident would still spoil the whole workmanship, and was doubtful on which of the houses I should alight. I found I must go back for the blanket which had been my covering anights in the Castle, which I accordingly did, and endeavoured to fasten my stockings and that together, to lessen my descent, but wanted necessaries so to do and was therefore forced to make use of the blanket alone. I fixed the same with the chapel spike into the wall of Newgate and dropped from it on the turner's leads, a house adjoining to the prison.

'Twas then about nine of the clock and the shops not yet shut in. It fortunately happened that the garret door on the leads was open. I stole softly down about two pair of stairs and then heard company talking in a room, the door open. My irons gave a small clink, which made a woman cry, 'Lord, what noise is that?' A man replied, 'Perhaps the dog or cat.' And so it went off. I returned up to the garret and laid myself down, being terribly fatigued, and continued there for about two hours and then crept down once more to the room where the company were and heard a gentleman taking his leave, being very importunate to be gone, saying he had disappointed friends by not going home sooner. In about three quarters more, the gentleman took leave and went, being lighted down stairs by the maid, who, when she returned, shut the chamber door. I resolved at all hazards to follow, and slipped downstairs, but made a stumble against a chamber door. I was instantly in the entry and out at the street door, which I was so unmannerly as not to shut after me. I was once more, contrary to my own expectation and that of all mankind, a free man.

I passed directly by St Sepulchre's watch-house, bidding them good morrow, it being after twelve, and down Snow Hill, up Holborn, leaving St Andrew's watch on my left, and then again passed the watch-house at Holborn Bar and made down Gray's Inn Lane into the Fields, and at two in the morning came to Tottenham Court and there got into an old house in the fields where cows had sometime been kept, and laid me down to rest and slept well for three hours. My legs were swelled and bruised intolerably, which gave me great uneasiness; and, having my fetters still on, I dreaded the approach of the day, fearing then I should be discovered. I began to examine my pockets and found myself master of between forty and fifty shillings. I had no friend in the world that I could send to or trust with my condition. About seven on Friday morning, it began raining and continued so the whole day, insomuch that not one creature was to be seen in the fields. I would freely have parted with my right hand for a hammer, a chisel and a punch. I kept snug in my retreat till the evening, when after dark I ventured into Tottenham and got to a little blind chandler's shop and there furnished myself with cheese and bread, small beer and other necessaries, hiding my irons with a great coat as much as possible. I asked the woman for a hammer, but there was none to be had, so I went back very quietly to my dormitory and rested pretty well that night and continued there all Saturday. At night, I went again to the chandler's shop and got provisions and slept till about six the next day, which being Sunday, I began with a stone to batter the basils of the fetters in order to beat them into a large oval and then to slip my heels through.

In the afternoon, the master of the shed or house came in and, seeing my irons, asked me, 'For God's sake, who are you?' I told him 'an unfortunate young man who had been sent to Bridewell about a bastard child, as not being able to give security to the parish, and had made my escape'. The man replied, if that was the case it was a small fault indeed, for he had been guilty of the same things himself formerly; and withal said, however, he did not like my looks, and cared not how soon I was gone.

After he was gone, observing a poor-looking man like a joiner, I made up to him and repeated the same story, assuring him that twenty shillings should be at his service if he could furnish me with a smith's hammer and a punch. The man proved a shoemaker by trade, but willing to obtain the reward immediately borrowed the tools of a blacksmith his neighbour and likewise gave me great assistance, and before five that evening I bad entirely got rid of those troublesome companions my fetters, which I gave to the fellow, besides his twenty shillings, if he thought fit to make use of them.

That night, I came to a cellar at Charing Cross and refreshed very comfortably with roast veal, etc., where about a dozen people were all discoursing about Sheppard, and nothing else was talked on whilst I stayed amongst them. I had tied an handkerchief about my head, tore my woollen cap in many places, as likewise my coat and stockings, and looked exactly like what I designed to represent, a beggar fellow.

The next day, I took shelter at 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 that a curse might fall on those who should betray him. I continued there till the evening, when I stepped towards the Haymarket and mixed with a crowd about two ballad-singers, the subject being about Sheppard. And I remember the company was very merry about the matter.

On Tuesday, I hired a garret for my lodging at a poor house in Newport Market, and sent for a sober young woman 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. I made her the messenger to my mother, who lodged in Clare Street. She likewise visited me in a day or two after, 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.

I was oftentimes in Spitalfields, Drury Lane, Lewkenor's Lane, Parker's Lane, St Thomas Street, etc., those having been the chief scenes of my rambles and pleasures.

I had once formed a design to have opened a shop or two in Monmouth Street for some necessaries, but let that drop and came to a resolution of breaking the house of the two Mr Rawlins brothers, pawnbrokers in Drury Lane, which accordingly I put in execution and succeeded, they both hearing me rifling their goods as they lay in bed together in the next room. And though there were none others to assist me, I pretended there was, by loudly giving out directions for shooting the first person through the head that presumed to stir: which effectually quieted them while I carried off my booty —- with part whereof on the fatal Saturday following, being the 31st of October, 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 her acquaintance went into the City and were very merry together at a public house not far from the place of my old confinement. 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 Shears alehouse in Maypole Alley near Claremarket, and with her drank three quarterns of brandy; and after leaving her I drank in one place or other about the neighbourhood all evening, till the evil hour of twelve, having been seen and known by many of my acquaintance, all of them cautioning me and wondering at my presumption to appear in that manner. At length, my senses were quite overcome with the quantities and variety of liquors I had all the day been drinking of, which paved the way for my fate to meet me. 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.

 

Speech