THE GOLDEN FARMER.
This man’s real name was William Davis, a native of North Wales, but he obtained the title ofGolden Farmerfrom his custom of paying any considerable sum in gold. He was born in the year 1626. At an early period of life he removed to Sudbury, in Gloucestershire, where he took a farm, married the daughter of a wealthy innkeeper, by whom he had eighteen children, and followed that industrious employment merely to disguise the real character of a robber, which he sustained without suspicion for the space of forty-two years. He usually robbed alone. One day, meeting some stage-coaches, he stopped one of them, full of ladies, all of whom complied with his demands, except a Quaker, who vowed she had no money, nor any thing valuable about her: upon which, fearing lest he should lose the booty of the other coaches, he told her he would go and see what they could afford him, and return to her again. Having rifled the other three coaches, he was as good as his word; and the Quaker, persisting in her former statement, enraged the Farmer to such a degree, that, seizing her by the shoulder, and employing language which it would be hardly proper here to set down, he so scared the poor Quaker, as to cause her to produce a purse of guineas, a gold watch, and a diamond ring. Whereupon, they parted as good friends as when they were first introduced to each other.
Upon another occasion, our desperado met the duchess of Albemarle in her coach, as she was riding over Salisbury Plain; but he encountered greater difficulty in this case than he had contemplated. Before he could assault the lady he was compelled to engage apostilion, the coachman, and two footmen; but, having disabled them all by discharging several pistols, he approached his prey, whom he found more refractory than the female Quaker. Perceiving another person of quality’s coach approaching, with a retinue of servants, he was fain to content himself by pulling three diamond rings from her fingers by force, snatching a rich gold watch from her side, and venting a portion of abuse upon her obstinate ladyship.
It was not very long after this exploit, that our adventurer met with Sir Thomas Day, a justice of the peace, living at Bristol. They fell into discourse, and, riding along, the Golden Farmer informed his new acquaintance, that a little while before, he had narrowly escaped being robbed by a couple of highwaymen, but, luckily, his horse having better heels than theirs, he had got clear of them. “Truly,” said Sir Thomas, “that had been very hard: but, nevertheless, as you would have been robbed between sun and sun, the county, upon suing it, would have been obliged to make your loss good.” Thus, chatting together, and coming to a convenient place, the Golden Farmer shot Sir Thomas’s man’s horse under him, and, compelling him to retire to a distance, presented a pistol to the knight’s heart, and demanded his money. “I thought, sir,” said Sir Thomas, “that you had been an honest man.” “Your worship is mistaken,” cried the Farmer; “and if you had had any skill in physiognomy, you might have perceived that my countenance is the very picture of necessity; so deliver me presently, for I’m in haste.” Sir Thomas, therefore, being constrained to give him the money he had about him, which was about 60l.in gold and silver, the other humbly thanked his worship, and told him, that what he had parted with was not lost, because he had been robbed between sun and sun, and could therefore come upon the county.
OneMr.Hart, a young gentleman of Enfield, who, it appears, possessed a good estate, but was not overburdened with brains, riding one day over FinchleyCommon, where the Golden Farmer had been for some hours hunting for prey, was met by him, and saluted with a smart slap with the flat of his drawn hanger upon his shoulders: “A plague on you!” said the Farmer; “how slow you are, to make a man wait upon you all the morning: come, deliver what you have, and go to the devil for orders!” The young gentleman, rather surprised at this novel greeting, began to make several excuses, saying he had no money about him: but his incredulous antagonist took the liberty of searching him, and, finding about him above a hundred guineas, he bestowed upon him two or three farther slaps on the shoulders, telling him, at the same time, not to give his mind to lying in future, when an honest gentleman required a small gratuity from him.
Another time, this notorious robber having paid his landlord about 80l.for rent, the latter, going home with it, was accosted by his goodly tenant in disguise, who, bidding him stand, said:—“Come,Mr.Gravity, deliver what you have in a trice!” The old gentleman, fetching a deep sigh, to the hazard of displacing several buttons from his waistcoat, told him, that he had not above two shillings about him, and hoped, therefore, he was more a gentleman than to take so small a matter from a poor man. “I have no faith,” replied the Farmer; “for you seem, by your habit to be a man of better circumstances than you pretend; therefore, open your budget, or I shall fall foul of you.” “Dear sir,” cried the landlord, “you can’t be so barbarous to an old man. What! have you no religion, pity, or compassion in you? Have you no conscience? Have you no respect for your body or soul?” “Don’t talk of age or barbarity to me,” said the tenant, “for I show neither pity nor compassion to any body. Talk of conscience to me! I have no more of that dull commodity than you have; therefore, deliver every thing you have about you, before this pistol makes you repent your obstinacy.” The landlord being thus threatened, delivered his money, without receiving a receipt for it, although he had given one to the Farmer.
An old grazier at Putney Heath was the next victim to the avaricious Farmer. Having accosted him on the road, he informed him that there were some suspicious persons behind them, whom he suspected to be highwaymen; and, if that should be the case, he begged that he would conceal ten guineas for him, which would be safer with him, from the meanness of his apparel. He accepted the charge, and said, that as he himself had fifty guineas bound in the lappet of his shirt, he would deposit them along with his own. In a short time, the Farmer said,—“It does not appear that any person will run the risk of his neck by robbing you to-day; it will, therefore, be as well that I do so myself.” Without any farther preamble, therefore, he demanded of him, instead of delivering up his purse, to cut off the lappet of his shirt; but, declining to comply with his request, the Farmer put himself to the trouble of lightening the fore-garment of the grazier.
Squire Broughton, a gentleman of the Middle Temple, was the succeeding prey of the Golden Farmer. Happening to meet at an inn upon the road, the Farmer pretended to be on his way to the capital, concerning an offence that a neighboring farmer had committed against him, by allowing his cattle to break into his grounds. Meanwhile, he requested that squire Broughton would recommend him to an expert and faithful agent to conduct his cause. Like every other lawyer, Broughton was desirous to have him for a client, and proceeded to explain the nature of his cause. Having spent the night at the inn, they proceeded next morning on their journey, when the Farmer addressed the counsellor, saying, “Pray, sir, what is meant by trover and conversion in the law of England?” He replied, that it signified, in our common law, an action which one man has against another, who, having found any of his goods, refuses to deliver them up on demand, and perhaps converts them to his own use.
The Golden Farmer being now at a place convenient for his purpose, “Very well, then, sir,” said he,“should I find any money about you, and convert it to my use, it is only actionable, I find.” “That is a robbery,” said the barrister, “which requires no less a satisfaction than a man’s life.” “A robbery!” replied the Golden Farmer; “why, then, I must commitonein my time:” and presenting his pistol, he instantly demanded his money or his life. Surprised at his client’s rough behavior, the lawyer began to remonstrate in strong terms upon the impropriety of his conduct, urging, that it was both contrary to law and to conscience. His eloquent pleading, however, made no impression upon the mind of the Farmer, who, putting a pistol to his breast, compelled the lawyer to deliver his money, amounting to the sum of 40l., some large pieces of gold, and a gold watch.
One day, accosting a tinker upon the road, whom he knew to have 7l.or 8l.upon him, he said, “Well, brother tinker, you seem to be very decent, for your life is a continual pilgrimage, and, in humility, you go almost barefooted, making necessity a virtue.” “Ay, master,” replied the tinker, “necessity compels when the devil drives, and, had you no more than I, you would do the same.” “That might be,” replied the Farmer, “and I suppose you march all over England.” “Yes,” said the tinker, “I go a great deal of ground, but not so much as you ride.” “Be this as it will. I suppose that your conversation is unblamable, because you are continually mending.” “I wish,” replied the tinker, “that as much could be said in commendation of your character.” The Farmer replied, that he was not like him, who would rather steal than beg, in defiance of whips or imprisonment. Determined to have the last word of the Farmer, the tinker rejoined, “I would have you to know, that I take a great deal of pains for a livelihood.” The Farmer, equally loquacious, replied, “I know that you are such an enemy to idleness, that, rather than want work, you will make three holes in mending one.” “That may be,” said the honest tinker, “but I begin to wish that there were a greater distance between us, as I doneither love your conversation nor appearance.” “I am equally ready to say the same of you; for, though you are entertained in every place, yet you are seldom permitted to enter the door of any dwelling.” The tinker repeated his strong suspicions of the Farmer. “Nor shall it be without cause!” exclaimed he; “therefore, open your wallet, and deliver the money that is there.” Here their dialogue being about to close, the tinker entreated that he would not rob him, as he was above a hundred miles from home: but the Golden Farmer, being indifferent to all the consequences of the loss of the other’s property, seized both his wallet and his money, and left the poor tinker to renew his journey and his toils.
This famous highwayman had only a few more acts of violence to perform. His actions and character being now universally known, many a hue-and-cry was sent after him, and conspired to his overthrow. He was seized and imprisoned, tried, and condemned. He spent his time in prison in the same merry way in which his former life had been passed, and a violent death terminated his wicked course on the 20th December 1689.