Title: The Power of Conscience - exemplified in the genuine and extraordinary confession of Thomas Bedworth
Author: Bedworth, Thomas
Language: English
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Transcribed from the 1815 Wm. Hone edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org



                                   THE
                           POWER OF CONSCIENCE


               EXEMPLIFIED IN THE GENUINE AND EXTRAORDINARY

                                CONFESSION
                           OF THOMAS BEDWORTH;

        DELIVERED TO ONE OF THE PRINCIPAL OFFICERS OF NEWGATE, THE
        NIGHT BEFORE HIS EXECUTION, ON SEPTEMBER 18, 1815, FOR THE

                                  Murder
                          OF ELIZABETH BEESMORE,
                             _IN DRURY LANE_.

                                * * * * *

                     RELATING HIS HORRIBLE SUFFERINGS
      UNTIL COMPELLED TO SURRENDER TO PUBLIC JUSTICE BY THE CONSTANT
                         SUPERNATURAL VISITATIONS
        OF THE MURDERED WOMAN, AND THE FREQUENT APPEARANCE OF HER

                               APPARITION.

                 [Picture: Man with expression of terror]

                         FROM THE ORIGINAL PAPER,
                 NOW IN THE POSSESSION OF THE PUBLISHER.

                                * * * * *

     Including interesting Particulars of BEDWORTH’s former Life, his
   behaviour before Execution, and _an original and full_ Report of the
             _Common Serjeant’s_ Address on passing Sentence.

                                * * * * *

                                _LONDON_:
                 PRINTED FOR WM. HONE, 55, FLEET STREET,
                      By J. Swan, 76, Fleet Street.
                            _PRICE SIXPENCE_.
                                  1815.



THE
EXTRAORDINARY
LIFE AND CONFESSION
OF THE LATE
_THOMAS BEDWORTH_,
AS RELATED BY HIMSELF, BEFORE GOING ON
THE SCAFFOLD.


THE following brief statement of the life of an almost obscure
individual, drawn up from his own lips, is published not from any wish to
diminish the just indignation and natural horror excited by the dreadful
crime of _murder_, of which he was found guilty by his own confession, as
well as by the Verdict of the Jury, but from an anxious desire to develop
such particulars as exemplify the sad consequences of ungoverned passion
and depraved pursuit.  However different from all rational views that
extraordinary portion of his relation may be which details the frequent
_horrible appearance of the murdered woman_, there is no more reason to
doubt his solemn belief of the reality of the TERRIBLE APPARITION than of
any other part of his edifying Narrative.  The criminal related the whole
himself, in compliance with the wishes of _one of the principal officers
of the prison_, whose humanity and attention he gratefully acknowledged,
and who had long expressed a desire to know his melancholy story.  He
commenced his relation about midnight before his execution.  He solemnly
and earnestly, as a dying man and in the presence of Almighty God,
protested the truth of every circumstance, and the whole is here
faithfully given as he delivered it.  Although scrupulously examined upon
the _supernatural appearance_, which was reasonably conjectured to be the
effects of his disturbed imagination and wounded conscience, he eagerly,
positively, and repeatedly asseverated it to be a fact as certain as that
he was then in the cell, to die that morning.  This his full confession
upon the brink of his falling into the grave, was taken down in writing
in the presence of and by the direction of _the officer_ before
mentioned, and the _original paper_ is now in the possession of the
_publisher_, and is as follows:



THOMAS BEDWORTH’S CONFESSION.


THOMAS BEDWORTH was born in the year 1764, in the parish of _Bloxidge_,
Staffordshire.  His parents were of honest reputation and industrious
habits, and could well afford to instil into his mind the principles of a
good education; but to this he was obstinately averse, and they not being
firm in their purpose, he successfully opposed every attempt that was
made to furnish him with that knowledge of good and evil, without which
he fell a sacrifice to the consequences of sensual indulgence, and
expiated a crime, conceived in jealousy and stimulated by intoxication,
on the scaffold of Newgate.

Arriving at the age of _fourteen_ years, he was placed as an apprentice
in the town of _Walsall_, in Staffordshire, near Birmingham, to learn,
with a respectable tradesman there, the art of bridle, bit, and stirrup
making.  In the year 1782, his father having died, and the term of his
apprenticeship being expired, he went to _Birmingham_, where he was
employed a considerable time.  Being of an unsettled disposition,
however, he left that place, and went to _London_, where he soon
afterwards obtained employment in the manufactory of _Mr. Rowley_, of
Prince’s Street, Drury Lane, where he remained until the year 1795.

At this period, and during his residence in London, Thomas Bedworth was
united in marriage, to _Mary_, the daughter of _Mr. Bainer_, a
respectable tradesman in St. Anne’s, Soho, but, again becoming restless
in his mind, he left London, and having gone a distance into the country,
he, in an unguarded moment, enlisted into the _Fifeshire Fencibles_, then
commanded by Colonel _James __Durham_.  With this regiment, he visited
most parts of Ireland and Scotland, as well as this country, but finally
left the regiment in 1803.  In the course of this period his wife
continued with him, and they had _three_ children.

After Bedworth’s discharge from the army, he left his wife with his
friends, at Walsall, and went to Birmingham, whither, however, she
followed him.  In a short time, Bedworth went to London, in search of
work, and entreated his wife to remain in the country, and there await
his success.  She consented, and he had not arrived many days in town,
when he obtained employment from Mr. Birch, of Rupert Street, Haymarket.
Here, however, he had not long been engaged, when, unfortunately for
Bedworth, his employer failed, and he immediately formed the resolution
of going to _sea_.

In the year 1804 he entered the Navy, and in the course of his service
suffered many hardships, and was in several severe and celebrated
engagements with the enemy.  But, however the last sanguinary act of his
checquered life may have stained his character, he had at least the
reputation of being a good seaman, and it was also his pride, at the
moment of his narrating these facts, that he had faithfully performed his
duty to his country.  He continued in the service until the year 1813,
and at that period received his discharge, and was made an out-pensioner
of Greenwich Hospital.

It was now his melancholy fate to learn, that, instead of joining his
long-absent partner, and spending the remnant of his days in domestic
peace, a widely different lot awaited him.  His _wife_, the partner of
his bed and the parent of his children, had, during his absence, formed
an illicit acquaintance with another man, to whom she was actually
_married_, and had _three_ children during her unlawful union.

_Bedworth’s_ horrid reflections, in consequence of this discovery of his
wife’s unfaithfulness, distracted his mind; and the very means he adopted
as a consolation, became a train of circumstances tending to the
commission of the crime, which, with bitter tears, he repented, and
atoned for by an ignominious death.

In time, his mind became more calm, and he seriously bethought himself of
settling into regular habits, which a seafaring life had deranged, and
subsisting upon his pension, and by his industry.  He once more,
therefore, obtained employment in his own trade, but, to his
irretrievable mishap, became acquainted with _Elizabeth Beesmore_.  This
unfortunate woman, _who was also married_, was _the sister of his own
wife_.  Her husband, _John Beesmore_, had grossly neglected her, as well
as a _child_, which remained in her care: he had not only denied her and
her infant the necessaries of life, but had also declared his
determination of never more residing with her, or even in the
neighbourhood where she might be.  Her case naturally excited the unhappy
Bedworth’s commiseration, and he took advantage to complain of the
conjugal infidelity and baseness which his _own wife_, her _sister_, had
manifested _towards himself_.  The similarity of their situations induced
a sympathy in Bedworth’s mind; common acquaintance ripened into a kinder
intimacy, and he ultimately became attached to her.  Bedworth then
proposed that she should place herself and her child under his
protection, and that they should consider each other as a wedded couple.
With this offer she complied, and, while she solemnly swore to unite her
fate with his, and never to hold communication with her husband, but to
be faithful to Bedworth, as his wife, he as sacredly pledged himself to
be a husband to her.

_Thomas Bedworth and Elizabeth Beesmore_, thus connected, lived together
until the month of April, in the present year, 1815, being a space of
about two years and two months.  At this period, _John Beesmore_, the
woman’s husband, who had hitherto been employed in the town of
_Wedgbury_, in Staffordshire, came to London.  He discovered the retreat
of his discarded wife, and contrived to communicate to her and
_Bedworth_, a repetition of his formerly-expressed determination not to
cohabit with his wife, and also an assurance that he would not disturb
the connection which she had formed with _Bedworth_.  _She_ also, at this
critical period, took occasion to renew her vows of attachment and
fidelity to _Bedworth_, whom she justly represented as having saved
herself and child from starvation.

In a short time, however, the affairs of _John Beesmore_, the _husband_,
became unfavourable; he was out of employment, and he applied to his wife
to afford him pecuniary assistance from the earnings of _Bedworth_.
This, after some hesitation on her part, she complied with, and
_Bedworth_ made the discovery, that his little property was daily wasting
upon a man, whose neglected wife and child he had supported, whom she
herself had most solemnly renounced, and in whose fortunes or
misfortunes, she had sworn never to interest herself.

Here commenced a dreadful spirit of jealous bickering and hate between
the unhappy _Bedworth_ and _Elizabeth Beesmore_.  Unable to endure the
insults offered to his feelings, by the renewed acquaintance of
_Beesmore_ and his wife, _Bedworth_ determined no longer to be the means
of her husband’s support.  He abandoned the society of the deceased, and
took a private lodging.  His heart was agonized, his mind distracted, and
_Elizabeth Beesmore_ discovered him in his retreat, in this state, and
visited him.  She herself was in a very distressed condition—she renewed
her sentiments of affection towards him, and trusted he would yield her
some assistance.  A multitude of conflicting thoughts now agitated his
mind at this meeting.  It is difficult to say whether pity, jealousy, or
indignation, was most predominant.  At length he took compassion on her.
She had some refreshment with him, he gave her some money, and she
departed.—Her renewed protestations of regard towards him, he considered
as the mere affectation of attachment: his mind became hourly more
unhappy, and he at length flew for relief to that source of treacherous
consolation, the _gin-shop_.  For many days he remained in an unsettled
state of mind, neglecting his work, and occasionally visiting _Elizabeth
Beesmore_, in a state of intoxication.

On the 19th of _June_, he called on _Elizabeth Beesmore_, at an early
hour in the morning, but not much in liquor.—On this occasion she
received him not only with coolness, but contempt.  She informed him,
tauntingly, that she was about to live again with her _lawful husband_,
and desired that he would not again come to disturb her, or the house in
which she was.  He answered her coolly, that it was not his intention to
disturb _her_, he only wished to disturb _himself_, and would immediately
leave her, and proceed to the only enjoyment he had left, namely
_liquor_.  He then took his leave, and, having drank to excess, retired
to his lodgings, and went to bed.

On awaking the next morning, the 20th of June, his mind was on the rack:
besides, the powerful effects of the former day’s intoxication, jealousy,
and indignation deprived him of reason.  In this state of distraction, he
walked up and down his room, and at length formed the horrible resolution
of murdering _Elizabeth Beesmore_, the cause of his distress.—With this
intention, having furnished himself with a shoemaker’s knife, which he
found in the house where he resided, he put it in his pocket, and
proceeded to her lodgings, in _Short’s Gardens_, Drury Lane.  On his way
thither, he met with a woman who worked at her needle with the deceased,
and they went to a public-house, and drank gin together.—After parting
with her, he went elsewhere and drank a quantity of beer, so that, by the
time he reached _Elizabeth Beesmore’s_ apartments, he was in a state of
inebriety.—She, upon his arrival, perceiving his situation, prevailed
upon him to go to bed, and, during the time he lay there, she sent for
_gin_ several times, of which he drank freely.  In the course of the
morning, her son came into the room and struck and insulted him several
times, while on the bed, which aggravating _Bedworth_ exceedingly, she
ordered her son to quit the room.  Soon after he had gone, _Bedworth_
rose with an intention of leaving the house, but found that his coat and
shoes had been taken away while he was asleep.  These he asked for, but
she refused to let him have them, and he left the house without them, and
went to an adjoining public house and had more gin.—He soon returned to
her apartments, and she prevailed upon him to drink some tea, into which
also she infused _some gin_.

At this period, _Bedworth’s_ mind was dreadfully unsettled, and he once
more laid down upon the bed, but the irritation of his feelings would not
let him rest.  In a short time he again rose and peremptorily demanded
his shoes and coat.  These _Elizabeth Beesmore_ gave him, and strongly
advised him to go home without delay, and go to bed, in order to attend
work the following morning.  He left the room, and she followed him down
stairs, where they had some conversation.  She returned up stairs, for
the purpose of bringing him an apron and a handkerchief, and, upon her
again descending the stairs, he told her he wished to speak with her in
the kitchen.—She replied, she must first put on his handkerchief, which,
having done, they retired to the kitchen.  Each remained for a moment in
mute anxiety.—The unhappy woman, however, broke the pause, by clasping
her right arm round his neck and embracing him, at the same time saying,
with much agitation, “_O my dear Bedworth_!”  These were her _last_
words, uttered in the last minute of her life.  She kissed him during his
conflict between jealous passion and strong affection: _his_ injured
regard and _her_ perfidy rushed upon his mind; her deceptive embrace
maddened him: whilst her kiss was warm upon his cheek, he suddenly drew
the knife from his right hand pocket, and, as he supported her head with
his left arm, he, by _one_ rapid and determined cut, across her throat,
_nearly severed her head from her body_!—She fell lifeless, to the
ground, without a groan!

Scarcely had he raised his hand from the bloody deed, when remorse seized
him.  He instantly meditated self-destruction, but as instantly,
imagining a possibility of escape, he abandoned that intention.—“Thanks
be to God,” said the unhappy criminal, as he related the intention that
he had momentarily indulged, “I was not permitted to do this, and thereby
deprive just vengeance of its retribution.”—He put the bloody knife in
his pocket, whilst he looked at the blood rushing from her throat, and
quitted the house.

_Bedworth’s_ first steps of _flight_ were directed into Spa-fields, where
he remained until dark, and then returned into _town_.—Passing over
_London Bridge_, he, for the first time, bethought himself, that some of
the blood of his victim might be upon his clothes.  He therefore examined
his dress, but found that all parts had escaped, except his apron, which
he pulled off, and tossed through the ballustrades of the bridge, into
the Thames.  He then wandered through the _Borough_, over _Blackfriars
Bridge_, and afterwards over _Westminster Bridge_, and thus roving about,
he, by day-light, the following morning, reached the Regent’s Park, where
he threw the _knife_ into the Canal.  From the Regent’s Park he pursued
his way to _Hampstead_, where he passed the whole of that day about the
fields, and where he also determined to pass the night.—About eleven
o’clock, while in a hay-field, where he had betaken himself to rest, he
was suddenly disturbed by the deep groaning of one, as in great agony,
whose voice was exceedingly like that of the deceased, and he passed the
remainder of the night in much disquietude and alarm.

Early on the following morning, he pursued his route toward _St. Albans_,
and thus spent the remainder of the day.  At night he once more fled, for
a hiding and resting place, to the fields, where having laid down, he was
disturbed by a dreadful noise, similar to that which he had heard the
night before.  This was now accompanied by the voice of the murdered
woman, who emphatically said, “_Oh Bedworth_!  _Bedworth_! _what have you
done_?”  The address was followed by other expressions, complaining
bitterly of having been hurried into another world, and particularly
these words: “_You have deprived me of all the happiness of this life_.”
He was so far persuaded of the _reality_ of this visitation, that, “_in
the name of_ GOD,” he entreated the horrible phantom “_to go to rest and
leave him_!”—Unable to sleep, he arose at an early hour, still wandering,
and _returned towards London_.

It was the time of the general illuminations for the late battles, and
_Bedworth_, entering the city about _nine_ o’clock in the evening,
traversed the streets, to divert his distracted imagination, by gazing at
the lights.  Thus wandering about, he retired to Smithfield, in order to
pass the night in one of the sheep-pens.  Here, however, he had scarcely
laid himself down, when the _murdered woman appeared to him_ with a
dreadful noise, and bitter exclamations!  His entreaties and prayers
were, on this occasion also, most earnest, that she would “_commit
herself to rest_, _and cease to torment him_!”

Unable to rest, he arose from the earth, left the sheep-pen, and walked
towards _Islington_, in which place, and at _Highgate_, he spent his time
until the following evening, and once more _returned to London_, again
viewed the _illuminations_ in the city, and again wandered about, until
half-past twelve o’clock, when he directed his course once more towards
_Islington_ and _Highgate_.  No new scene, however, or course which he
pursued, could lighten the load of his crime, or chase away the guilty
horrors which pursued him.  On this night, while walking up _Highgate
Hill_, the _murdered woman again stood before him_!  Imagination may
paint, if it can, the horrible feelings of _Bedworth_ at this moment.
_She walked with him_, _side by side_, until they reached the other side
of the hill, and then _taking the hand of the miserable man_, _placed it
upon her severed throat_, and groaned and mourned deeply!—Driven to
despair, he fled into a _field_, where he threw himself down upon his
face on some hay, hoping to elude at least the sight of his ghostly
pursuer.  Such, however, was the consequence of guilt, that _he felt her
lying by his side_ and crouching against him!

After spending the whole of the last-mentioned day and the _next night_
in indescribable horror, without being able to leave this situation, he
_again came into London_, on the following morning; and—it would be
incredible, if it were not true—he actually _applied_ at the _Justice
Room_, _Guildhall_, for a “_walking pass_” to Wolverhampton!  Such was
the fact, and being told, upon application, that he must come the next
day, he retired for that night into the fields near _Islington_, where
his rest was rather less disturbed than before.  The next morning he
again applied at _Guildhall_ for a _pass_, but, after a strict
examination, as to who he was, and where he last slept, he was ordered to
go before the Magistrates at the _Public Office_, _Queen Square_.  This
he instantly _did_, and having there undergone the usual enquiries, he
actually succeeded in obtaining a _pass_!  At the moment the whole town
was in alarm at the atrocity of the _murder_, when _Police Officers_ were
in pursuit of him, and _placards_ were posted in every direction,
describing his person and dress minutely, and offering a reward for his
apprehension; at this moment he applied to the _Police Office_ for his
pass, and obtained it from the Magistrates themselves, without being
suspected!

Possessed of his pass, _Bedworth_ set out for his native country.  He
slept the first night in _Kentish Town_, and the next morning pursued his
journey towards _Coventry_, receiving at each town, through which he
went, the relief to which his pass entitled him.  He arrived in
_Coventry_, on Monday, the 3d of July, and slept there the same night.
The following morning he pursued his route to _Meridan_, about twelve
miles from Coventry and six from Birmingham.  From thence he _went back_
to _Coventry_, where he _again slept_, and, on the 5th arrived at
_Horseley_.

During these travels and retravels, conscience was still crying
vengeance, and though he, for a while, flattered himself, that he could
familiarise himself with the horrors of his mind, if not eventually
stifle them, he still anticipated the dreadful expiation of his life, for
the _murder_ he had committed.  Terror, shame, and remorse were the
conflicting passions which accompanied him in his escape; but the
violence of these having in a great measure subsided, reflection assumed
a more rational seat in his breast, and now it was that he began to look
with a steadier eye upon the deed he had perpetrated.

From Horseley, _Bedworth_ once more _returned_, on the 5th July, _to
Coventry_, but his compunctions, while on his way to the latter place,
had become so alarming and irresistible, that he finally resolved to
_surrender himself to justice_.

For this purpose, on the morning of the 6th, he went before the _Mayor of
Coventry_, and made a full confession of his guilt.  The candour and
ingenuousness with which he related his horrible tale, occasioned doubts
of its truth in the mind of the Magistrate, who, with much humanity,
supposed it might be the imagined story of a perverted intellect.  He
was, however, put into confinement, and, proper enquiries being made, was
forwarded, in custody, to London, and arrived at the Bow Street Police
Office, on the 11th of July.  Here he confessed, fully, before Mr. NARES,
the Magistrate, the murder of which he had been accused, and, in the
presence of others, signed his confession.

In concluding his narrative, which has been related with the strictest
accuracy, from his own lips, the unfortunate culprit added, “I have now
been most justly condemned, for this foul and barbarous murder, and after
surrendering my forfeited life to public justice, I have only to look to
that awful moment, when I shall meet my Heavenly Judge, whose merciful
pardon I hope for and implore, through the merits of Jesus Christ, the
Redeemer.—Amen!”

                                * * * * *

The TRIAL of _Thomas Bedworth_ took place on _Friday_ morning, the 15th
of September.—Mr. JUSTICE HEATH, Sir S. LE BLANC, Mr. JUSTICE BAILEY, and
the COMMON SERJEANT were on the Bench.

The facts which were adduced in evidence were not so strong, although
they in some measure confirmed the truth of the foregoing confession.
The best evidence that could be given by the few witnesses who were
examined, went to a presumption that _Bedworth_ effected the bloody deed
with a razor, and it was so stated in the indictment.—This, however, did
not prove to be true; but Mr. JUSTICE HEATH, in summing up, observed,
that this was immaterial, in point of law;—the charge implied being, that
the prisoner had done the act with a _cutting_ or _sharp_ instrument.

Throughout the trial _Bedworth_ manifested a good deal of agitation; but
this the Editor ascertains to have arisen in consequence of the evidence
of two women, who made, as he supposed, some misstatements, as to _time_,
on the day whereon the murder had been committed.  Indeed, such was the
effect of these trivial inaccuracies upon his mind, that he _twice_
solemnly addressed the court, calling upon God to witness, that the women
had _forsworn_ themselves in this respect.—This conduct was _mistaken_,
_by the court_, as an attempt to deny his guilt.—But the fact was
otherwise, and the whole tenor of his conduct in prison, from the time of
his surrender, in July, as well as his confession, furnish the best
proofs to the contrary.

The trial did not last an hour, and Mr. JUSTICE HEATH having charged the
Jury, the latter almost unhesitatingly returned a verdict of—GUILTY.

The wretched man was then asked by the clerk of the peace, what he had to
offer in an arrest of judgment by the court—to die according to law.

The prisoner replied, in much agitation, “nothing beyond the false
swearing of the women.”

_The_ RECORDER _being absent_, a short explanation then took place upon
the bench, as to the passing of the sentence.  Mr. JUSTICE HEATH, who
tried the prisoner, declining to perform that duty, and the COMMON
SERJEANT expressing a wish to evade the painful task, never having been
called upon to execute it.  It was however, at length, settled that the
COMMON SERJEANT should pronounce the sentence of death, and, in doing so,
he addressed the prisoner to the following effect:—

    “_Thomas Bedworth_,—After a painful investigation of the crime which
    has been laid to your charge, a humane and impartial jury of your
    country, hearing the evidence adduced against you, as well as your
    own voluntary confession, have thought it their duty to find you
    GUILTY of the horrid crime of MURDER!

    “We see that, in all ages of the world, a terror has been held out
    against those persons whose ferocious and unbridled passions have led
    to the shedding of innocent blood, and that the life of the guilty
    has been demanded in retribution—a retribution however which scarcely
    atones for the foul deed.  This is exactly the situation in which you
    are at present awfully placed, but it is sincerely to be hoped, that
    the motive which induced you to make a full and unreserved confession
    of your guilt, arose from devout and serious reflections upon that
    eternity to which you are fast hastening.  Your appearance in this
    court, to day, before the bar of man, may have for a moment drawn you
    aside from that truth you had hitherto asserted, and induced you to
    attempt a denial of it, yet I do most charitably hope, that as you
    had been led to disclose the weight of your sin and guilt, as read to
    us this day, so you will now reflect upon the dreadful consequences
    of that _confession_, and turn, with full purpose of heart, to
    serious repentance and prayer.  And let me inform you, that the
    repentance you are called upon to evince, is not a mere sorrow for
    the consequence that would await our crime, but a sincere and hearty
    sorrow for this and other crimes which you have committed, and for
    which you must shortly give an account.

    “It is now my painful duty to acquaint you, that your time in this
    world is of very short duration, but you have the consolation to
    know, that it is not too short, or too late for repentance, and for
    pouring out your soul, to your Maker, in supplication and prayer,
    before you are called to appear at his awful tribunal.  The mercy
    that is thus held out to you, you ill deserve, as, in a moment of
    jealous rage, you hurled into quick eternity, the wretched victim of
    your passion and lust—sent her to her dread account, without a moment
    for repentance of her numerous sins—without even time to implore the
    mercy of her God, for the base and guilty connection she had formed
    with you!

(_Here the prisoner lifted his eyes towards Heaven_, _struck the bar with
his hand_, _and_, _bursting into tears_, _bowed assent to the remark_.)

    “I have now only to beseech you that, as soon as you leave that bar,
    you fall before God, on your bended knees, and, with thorough sorrow
    and conviction, implore that mercy you so much require.  In your
    prayers you will be assisted by a pious man, who will zealously aid
    your applications to Heaven.  Fly to him for his advice, his
    assistance, and prayers—you need them all—and let the conduct of your
    future hours, in this life, be so devoted, as to prepare you, through
    the mercy of the Redeemer, for that awful eternity which shall
    shortly receive you.

    “There is now nothing left for me, but to pronounce upon you the
    dreadful sentence of that law, which you have so grossly violated,
    which is:—_that you_, THOMAS BEDWORTH, _be taken from hence_, _to the
    place from whence you came_, _and from thence_, _on Monday morning
    next_, _to a place of execution_, _where you shall be hanged by the
    neck until you are dead_.—_Your body will then be delivered over to
    the surgeons_, _for dissecting and anatomising_, _according to the
    statute_.  And may the Lord God Almighty, through the merits and
    intercession of the _Redeemer_, have mercy upon your soul!”

The prisoner heard his sentence with great firmness, but, at the
conclusion, seemed deeply affected, and wept bitterly.  After regaining a
moment silent at the bar, he assumed an air of resignation and,
respectfully bowing to the Court, retired.

He cordially shook hands with some females and others, as he passed to
one of the condemned cells, where he evinced a resignation and calmness,
in every respect suitable to the death he was to die.  Soon afterwards
the _Rev. Mr. Cotton_, the _ordinary_, in virtue of his office, visited
him, and in the evening he was called on by one or two religious
characters, who had serious conferences with him.  He continued constant
and fervent in prayer throughput the night, except at those times when,
exhausted by weakness and strong feeling, he sunk occasionally to rest.
At intervals he related some extraordinary circumstances of his varied
life, which were taken down in writing from his lips.  He was asked to
give a full relation by the _respectable officer of the prison_, to whom
he afterwards completely detailed it, but he for the present excused
himself, by saying that the number of persons, religious and otherwise,
who were visiting him, prevented him from delivering it, then, as he
wished.

_Saturday_ was spent by him chiefly in devotional exercises, and in
receiving the kind and charitable visits of religious characters.
Throughout the whole of this day and night, he displayed great piety, a
repentant disposition, and strong faith in the mercy of Heaven.

On _Sunday_ morning, _Bedworth_ sent a message to the _ordinary_,
entreating permission for the “_convict school boys_” to come near his
cell, and join him in singing a hymn.  This was of course complied with,
and they repeated their singing, at his request, on Sunday evening, when
he joined the children, and expressed himself much happier by this social
act of devotion.—The number of youths who united their voices in these
gloomy vaults amounted to about _thirty_, and such sounds, floating
through the dreary passages, might well have been supposed to impress,
not only the criminal, but the children themselves, with edifying
thoughts.  The _Rev. Mr. Cotton_ remained several hours with _Bedworth_,
on Sunday evening, and his labours were succeeded by two gentlemen, who
were dissenters, one of whom remained with him throughout the night.  On
this occasion he was reminded of his promise to completely detail his
_narrative_ and confession, previously given in these pages, which he did
with perfect composure, with an apparently entire recollection of the
events of his life.  Having done this, he continued incessantly in prayer
and religious conversation.  He sang with his companion two or three
hymns, and he repeated, and sang with great fervour, the Hymn beginning,

    “Jesu, lover of my soul,
    Let me to thy bosom fly,” &c.

As the morning dawned, Bedworth conversed with much animation, and
amongst other things, asked his friend, whether he thought the _populace_
would assemble in any great number to witness his ignominious death?
Being answered that it was likely there would be many, he remarked, “_I
would that the poor creatures would remain at home_, _and pray for_ ME,
_if not for_ THEMSELVES.”

At _six_ o’clock on _Monday_ morning, the _ordinary_ again attended
_Bedworth_ in his cell, and continued with him in prayer, until half-past
seven, when one of the sheriffs also visited him.  After remaining with
him some moments, the latter retired to assist in the necessary
preparations, and _Bedworth_ was again left in prayer with his companion.
The crowd, now assembled to witness the execution, was very considerable;
though certainly it did not amount to _half_, perhaps not _one-third_ of
the number collected upon the occasion of the extraordinary execution of
the unfortunate _Elizabeth Fenning_.

At about three minutes before _eight_ o’clock, _Mr. Newman_ arrived at
the Justice room, in the Old Bailey, to announce the time.  The High
Sheriff, _Mr. Leigh_, and the two Under Sheriffs, Messrs. _Leigh_ and
_Rooke_, proceeded to the cell of the criminal.  _Bedworth_ walked forth
with uncommon firmness and resignation, and, with a countenance open and
serene, advanced towards Mr. Sheriff _Leigh_, whom he cordially shook by
the hand.  He very much facilitated, by his activity and presence of
mind, in knocking off his own irons, after which he walked with composure
towards the executioner, who bound his arms, and tied his halter round
his body.  He then requested one of the officers to give to a
fellow-prisoner, his pair of _leggings_, or leathers, to protect the
flesh from excoriation by the fetters, and with them his remembrance and
prayers.  After expressing his deep sense of his sinful life, and the
crime for which he was about to die, and expressing strong hopes of mercy
and pardon hereafter, the dead bell tolled, and he moved on, in the
customary procession, to the scaffold.  The _ordinary_ prayed with him
whilst they passed through the dreary avenues, _Bedworth_ walking with a
firm, undaunted step, and bowing, in silence, to all whom he observed
within the dreary passage.  On the _scaffold_, he manifested the same
firmness, but directed his eyes imploringly towards heaven, while the
executioner made his fatal preparations: the _ordinary_ continued a few
moments in prayer with him, and, the awful signal being given; he was
launched off, in the act of fervent supplication.

                       [Picture: Drawing of ghost]

               Just Published by W. HONE, 55, Fleet Street,
                    _La Pie Voleuse_.—Price Sixpence.

THE NARRATIVE of THE MAGPIE; or the Maid of _Palaiseau_, being the
History of THE MAID AND THE MAGPIE, founded upon the circumstance of an
unfortunate Female having been _unjustly sentenced to Death_, on strong
PRESUMPTIVE EVIDENCE.  _With a_ PREFACE, _and curious_ ANECDOTES.

*** This _most interesting Story_, as it is dramatised, has been put into
Narrative.  On the performance of the MAID _and the_ MAGPIE at the
Theatres, it was represented amidst _unanimous and repeated shouts of
applause_, and, “many incidents were seized on by the audience, who
thought proper to apply them to the case of ELIZA
FENNING.”—_Anti-Gallican Monitor_, _September_ 3, 1815.





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Power of Conscience - exemplified in the genuine and extraordinary confession of Thomas Bedworth" ***

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