WILLIAM CADY.
This gentleman was a native of Norfolk county, and the son of an eminent surgeon. After the preparatory steps of education, William went to the University of Cambridge, and was tutor to lord Townshend. He was during that time made bachelor of arts, and continued to pursue his studies until deprived of his father by death.
The loss of a prudent father to a young man, forms a remarkable era in his life. If he is left with an ample fortune, he has then the means of gratifying his wishes, whether in the field of benevolence or in that of dissipation: and though left with no fortune, yet he is then at full liberty to follow his ruling inclination. Upon the intelligence of his father’s death, William went to London and began to practise medicine. His first patient was his own uncle, who, being dangerously affected with an imposthume, was cured by him in the following manner:—
When he entered his uncle’s bedchamber, his first care was to examine the state of the old gentleman’s stomach: for this purpose he ranged about the room, overturning every plate and dish, to discover what had been given him to eat. He at last discovered an old saddle, which he thought would answer for the intended experiment. Upon seeing this he cried out, “Uncle, your case is very desperate!”—“Not so bad, I hope,” said the uncle, “as to make me past remedy.”—“Heaven knows that,” cried Cady, “but a surfeit is a terrible thing, and I perceive that you have got a violent one.”—“A surfeit!” said the old gentleman; “you mistake, nephew; it is an imposthume that I am affected with.”—“The deuce it is!” replied Cady;“why, I could have sworn it had been a surfeit, for I perceive you have eaten a whole horse, and left us only the saddle!” At this he held up the saddle; and the old gentleman fell into such a fit of laughter as instantly broke his imposthume, so that he became quite well in less than a fortnight.
This is not the only instance of a disease of this nature being cured by a fit of laughter; and it is certainly an agreeable mode of being relieved of a painful and dangerous malady.
A cardinal at Padua, who was at the point of death, under the influence of this distemper, being past all hopes of recovery, his servants had begun to pillage his house, and even to make free with the hangings of his own bed. An ape, in the midst of this bustle, seized a nightcap that lay near, fixed it upon his head, and made so many and such curious tricks, that his reverence fell into a fit of laughter, and broke the imposthume, to the preservation of his life and property.
Another instance may be related. A countrywoman, very ignorant and superstitious, took it into her head to send for the parson of the parish to pray for the recovery of her cow, which was affected with a distemper incident to animals of that species. Not suspecting but that he was called to visit the woman herself, or some of her family in affliction, the pious man went forthwith, and, to his surprise, was not only informed why he was sent for, but the good woman insisted that he should go and see her cow before she would allow him to depart. Unable to resist her importunities, he went to the byre, and taking a handful of the short straw that lay beside the cow, spread it upon her back, saying, “Poor beast, if you be no better for this, you will be no worse.” The parson returned home, and the good woman was highly displeased with his indifference towards her favorite cow.
It happened, soon after, that she had an opportunity to retaliate: the parson was taken dangerously ill of an imposthume, and the woman, hearing of it, went to return his visit. Arrived at the parson’s house, she, inconsequence of her importunities, was admitted into his bedchamber; and, having kindly inquired after his health, went forward to the chimney, and taking up a handful of ashes from the hearth, scattered them over the parson, using his own words, “Poor man! if you be no better for this, you will be no worse;” which raised such a fit of laughter in the good man, that his imposthume broke and his cure was effected.
For the speedy and unexpected cure before related, the uncle of Cady gave him fifty guineas, which supplied his extravagances for one month. His purse being empty, he took his leave of the healing art, in which he had been so successful, and commenced robber. His first adventure was with a captain of the guards and another gentleman, of whom he inquired the way to Staines, as he was a stranger. They informed him that they were going to that place, and that they would be glad of his company. When he arrived at a convenient place, Cady shot the gentleman through the head, and, turning to the officer, told him that “if he did not deliver, he should share the same fate.” The other replied that as he was a captain of the guards, Cady must fight if he expected to get anything from him. “If you are a soldier,” cried Cady, “you ought to obey the word of command, otherwise you know your sentence: I have nothing to do but to tie you neck and heel.” “You are an unconscionable rogue,” said the captain, “to demand money of me, who never owed you any.” “Sir,” replied Cady, “there is not a man that travels the road but owes me money, if he has any about him: therefore, as you are one of my debtors, if you do not pay me instantly, your blood shall satisfy my demand.” The captain exchanged several shots with Cady; but his horse being killed under him, he surrendered his watch, a diamond ring, and a purse of twenty guineas. William, having collected all he could, tied the captain neck and heel, nailed the skirts of his coat to a tree, and rode off in search of more booty.
His next encounter was with viscount Dundee, whocommanded the forces of James VII. of Scotland, and the second of England, and fell in the battle of Killicrankie. Dundee was mounted upon horseback, attended by two servants. Cady rode up to them at full speed, and inquired if they did not see a man ride past with more than ordinary haste. “Yes,” he was presently answered. “He has robbed me of twenty pounds that I was going to pay my landlord, and I am utterly ruined!” cried Cady. The man who had ridden by was a confederate, and had done so by express concert. His lordship was moved with compassion, and ordered the two footmen to pursue the robber. When the servants seemed to have got to a sufficient distance, Cady turned upon his lordship, and robbed him of a gold watch, a gold snuff-box, and fifty guineas. He then shot the viscount’s horse, and rode after the footmen, whom he found about a mile off with the supposed robber as their prisoner. These men were surprised when Cady desired them to let him go, and laughed at them for what they had done. They, however, refusing to part with their prey, a scuffle ensued, and one of the footmen being slain, the other fled, and found that his master had been dismounted and robbed.
Dundee complained of this injury at court, and a reward of two hundred pounds was offered to any person who should apprehend either Cady or his companion, who were both minutely described. To evade the diligent search which he was certain this proclamation would occasion, he went over to Flanders. As he had received a liberal education, he entered himself of the English seminary of Douay, and, joining the fraternity of Benedictine friars, soon acquired an extraordinary character for learning and piety. The natural result was, that many penitents resorted to him for confession. The rigid sanctity and ecclesiastical duties of Cady were, however, soon found rather troublesome companions, and he resolved to return to England, preferring his rambles upon the highway to the devotions of the convent. But, as money was necessary for his voyage, his invention was again set in motion.
To effect his purpose, he feigned himself sick, and, being confined to bed, was visited by many of those who had formerly employed him as their father-confessor. He particularly fixed his attention upon two young women, who generally came together, and were both very rich and very handsome. He had previously procured a brace of pistols. When the ladies next came to him and had made their confession, he desired them presently to attend to him. He briefly informed them that he was greatly in want of money, and that if they did not instantly supply his wants, he would deprive them of their lives, holding at the same time a pistol to their breasts. He then proceeded to rifle their pockets, where he found fifty pistoles. In addition to this, he compelled them to make an offering of two diamond rings from their fingers; then, binding them neck and heel, he informed the father of the convent that he was going to walk a little in the fields, and would soon return. It is needless to say that he returned no more to his religious habitation, but renewed his former mode of life.
Scarcely was he arrived in England, when he met a hop merchant, accompanied by his wife, upon Blackheath, and commanded them to stand and deliver. The merchant made a stout resistance, firing two pistols, but without effect; so that he was left to the mercy of the robber, who killed their horse, and, examining their pockets, found twenty-eight pounds upon the merchant, and half a crown upon his wife.
Cady then addressed her thus: “Is this your way of travelling? What! carry but half a crown in your pocket when you are to meet a gentleman-collector on the highway? I’ll assure you, madam, I shall be even with you, therefore off with that ring from your finger.” She begged him to spare her marriage ring, as she would not lose it for double the value, having kept and worn it these twenty years. “You whining old woman,” quoth William, “marriage is nothing to me;—am I to be more favorable to you than any other woman, I’ll warrant? Give me the ring in a moment,without any more cant, or I shall make bold to cut off your finger for despatch, as I have served several of your sex before.” The good woman, seeing all her entreaties vain, hastily pulled the ring off her finger, and thrust it into her mouth. Cady then stamped, raged, and swore that he would be even with her: and instantly shooting her through the head, went away perfectly unmoved, while the husband, being tied to a tree, was a spectator of this horrid barbarity.
Cady rode instantly to London, but fearing that even that great city could not conceal the author of a crime so unparalleled, he left the metropolis, and went to Scotland. Either his inclinations did not lead him, or he deemed that country too poor to afford him sufficient booty; he therefore soon returned again to England. On his road to the capital, between Ferrybridge and Doncaster, he met withDr.Morton, a prebendary of Durham, well mounted; but whether meditating upon the amount of his tithes, or the next Sabbath’s sermon, is uncertain. Cady instantly rode up to him, and cried, “Deliver, or you are a dead man!” The doctor, unaccustomed to such language, began to admonish him concerning the atrocity of his conduct, and the danger that he was in, both with respect to his body and his soul. Cady stared him in the face with all the ferocity that he could muster, and informed him that his remonstrances were in vain, saying, that if he did not deliver him what he had, he should speedily send him out of the world. “But then,” added Cady, “that is nothing, because all the gentlemen of your cloth are prepared for death. What, you unreasonable, you unmannerly dog!” continued he, in a rage, unable to discover the doctor’s cash, “what do you mean, to meet a man in the midst of his journey, without bringing him any money to pay his charges?” For the doctor had taken care to hide his money in a hedge, so that Cady, upon examining him, found his pockets completely empty. The ruffian, convinced that a man of his appearance could not travel without money, with dreadful imprecations threatened that if he would not inform himwhat he had done with it, he should never go home alive. The doctor insisting that he had none, the wretch shot him through the heart with as little remorse as he would have drunk a glass of burgundy.
He next undertook a journey into Norfolk to visit his relations, but meeting a coach near that place, in which were three gentlemen and a lady, he rode up to it, and addressed them in his own language. The gentlemen, however, were resolved to stand upon the defensive, and one of them fired a blunderbuss at him, which only grazed his arm, without doing any material injury. This put him into a violent passion, and, after taking a hundred and fifty pounds from the company, he brutally added, that the gentleman who fired at him should not pass unpunished, and instantly shot him through the heart; then, cutting the reins of the horses, he went off in search of new plunder, and declined visiting his relations upon that occasion, lest he should have been detected.
Directing his course to London, he came up with a lady taking a ride for the benefit of the air, attended by a single footman, and fell upon her in a very rude manner, pulling a diamond ring from her finger, a gold watch out of her pocket, and a purse with eighty guineas; insulting her meanwhile with opprobrious language. Though the lady had commanded her footman not to interfere, yet the man could not help complimenting Cady with some well-merited appellations. The ferocious monster, without uttering a word, saluted him with a brace of bullets in the head, and he fell upon the spot. Cady was just about to prosecute his journey, when two gentlemen, perceiving what he had done, rode up to him with pistols in their hands. Cady seeing his danger, fired at them, and shots were exchanged with the greatest rapidity, until Cady’s horse was shot under him; and even then he struggled with the greatest violence with the gentlemen, until his strength was exhausted; he was then apprehended, and carried to Newgate under a strong guard. There he remained until the assizes, without showing theleast signs of repentance, or tokens of regret. Upon his trial he behaved with the most daring insolence, calling the judges “a huddle of alms-women,” and treating the jury in the same manner. The crime for which he was accused was so clearly proved, that he was sentenced to death, and committed to the condemned hole. But this place of darkness and horror had no effect upon his mind. He continued to roar, curse, blaspheme, and get drunk, as he had always done. It is probable that the hope of pardon, by the influence of some friends at court, tended to harden him the more; but the number and enormity of his crimes prevented James the Second from extending his royal mercy to such a miscreant. The day of execution being come, and the cart stopping as usual underSt.Sepulchre’s wall, while the bellman rang his bell and repeated his exhortations, instead of being moved, he began to swear and to rail because they stopped him to hear an old puppy chatter nonsense. At Tyburn he acted in a similar manner: without either taking any notice of the ordinary, praying by himself, or addressing the people, he rushed into an eternal state to suffer the just punishment of his great and numerous offences. He died in the twenty-fifth year of his age, in the year 1687.