Читать книгу True Crime Chronicles - Camden Pelham - Страница 43

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THE only circumstance of peculiarity attending this case, and it is one indeed, we are happy to say, not a little singular, is that the malefactor was the son of the man whom he murdered. The father being possessed of good property at Long Melford in Suffolk, discarded his son, who appears to have been brought up without any education being imparted to him, on account of his connexion with a woman named Elizabeth Boyer. The latter, angered at the contempt exhibited for her, urged her paramour, as well for revenge as for the accession to their means, which would be produced by the old man’s death, to commit the foul deed which cost him his life. He was apprehended at the instance of a relation, a Mr. Timothy Drew, and being convicted, was executed on the 9th April, 1740, at St. Edmund’s Bury, being in the twenty-fifth year of his age.

This case so nearly resembles the celebrated story of George Barnwell, that the following anecdote in reference to the tragedy of that name will not be misplaced here. It is related in reference to Mr. Ross, formerly a tragedian of considerable celebrity.

“A gentleman, much dejected in his looks, called one day on Ross, when stricken with years, and told him that his father, a wealthy citizen in London, lay at the point of death, and begged that he might see him, or he could not die in peace of mind. Curious as this request appeared from a stranger, and in such extremity, the actor hesitated; but being much pressed by his visitor, he agreed to accompany him. Arrived at the house of the sick man, Mr. Ross was announced, and soon admitted into his chamber; but observing the family to retire, and being left alone with the patient, his wonder was again aroused. The dying penitent, now three score years and ten, casting his languid eyes upon Ross, said, ‘Can it be you who raised my fortune—who saved my life? Then were you young like myself; ay, and amiable amid the direst misfortunes. I determined to amend my life, and avoid your fate.’ Here nature in a struggle with death became overpowered, and as the sick man’s head fell upon his pillow, he faintly ejaculated, ‘O Barnwell! Barnwell!’ We may conceive the astonishment of the player, whom age had long incapacitated from representing the unfortunate ‘London Apprentice.’ The feeble man, renewing his efforts to gratify a dying desire, again opened his eyes and continued: ‘Mr. Ross, some forty years ago, like George Barnwell, I wronged my master to supply the unbounded extravagance of a Millwood. I took her to see your performance, which so shocked me that I silently vowed to break the connexion then by my side, and return to the path of virtue. I kept my resolution, and replaced the money I had stolen before my villany was detected. I bore up against the upbraidings of my deluder, and found a Maria in my master’s daughter. We married. I soon succeeded to her father’s business, and the young man who brought you here was the first pledge of our love. I have more children, or I would have shown my gratitude to you by a larger sum than I have bequeathed you; but take a thousand pounds affixed to your name.’ At the dying man’s signal, old Ross left the room overwhelmed by his feelings.”