Some Distinguished Victims of the Scaffold

Although his flight had made it evident that the pretended member of Parliament was an impostor, it was not until the last day of October that his identity was discovered. Meanwhile, the most strange rumours had been aroused. The fact that all his plate and linen were found packed in his travelling carriage, which was retained by the landlord in pledge for his twenty pounds, gave rise to the suspicion that he had meant to desert his poor young bride. On the other hand, his admirers persisted that he was an Irish gentleman, hiding from the authorities because of his share in the recent rebellion. A costly dressing-case, which he had left behind, was examined under warrant from a magistrate, but nothing turned up to reveal his true name. In the end this discovery was made by Mary herself. While looking over the dressing-box more carefully, she disclosed a secret hiding-place containing a number of letters addressed to him who had forsaken her. Alas for the Beauty of Buttermere! No anticipation could have exceeded the cruel reality. The handsome bridegroom was a married man, and these letters had been written by the heart-broken wife whom he had deserted. ‘Colonel Hope’ her supposed rich and noble husband, was a notorious swindler – guilty of a capital felony – whose real name was John Hadfield!

Since the days of ‘Old Patch’ no impostor had reached the eminence of Hadfield. Born of well-to-do parents at Cradden-brook, Mottram-in-Longdendale, Cheshire – where a neighbouring village may have lent his family its surname – forty-three years before the adventure at Keswick, his habits and disposition had always been superior to his station in life. As a youth he was apprenticed to the woollen trade, but proved too fond of adventure to succeed in business. Though much of his career is wrapped in mystery, we know that he was in America between the years 1775-1781, during the War of Independence, and that he married a natural daughter of a younger brother of that famous warrior the Marquis of Granby.

Having squandered the small fortune he had received with her, the elegant Hadfield left his wife and their children to take care of themselves, and by means of credit managed for a short time to enjoy a career of dissipation in London. By his favourite device of extortion – passing drafts or bills of exchange upon persons of wealth, who would be unlikely to prefer a charge against him – he was enabled to continue his impositions without any more serious consequence than an occasional visit to gaol.

The King’s Bench Prison, where in 1782 he was confined for a debt of £160, appears as the next grim landmark in his life. By a lucky chance he was able to lay his case before the Duke of Rutland, who, having discovered that the prisoner had married a daughter of his late uncle, but being ignorant that the wife had died of a broken heart in consequence of her husband’s desertion, generously paid the sum necessary to obtain his release. For many years the impostor’s dexterity in obtaining money under false pretences from credulous strangers, who believed him to be a connection of the Manners family, made it possible for him to associate with those far above his rank.

During 1784, after a brief career of fraud in Dublin, where he posed as a relative of the Viceroy, and by means of this falsehood contracted a host of fraudulent debts, he was lodged in the Marshalsea Prison. With unblushing impudence he appealed to the Lord Lieutenant – his previous benefactor, the Duke of Rutland – who agreed to pay his debts on the understanding that he should leave Ireland immediately.

In the year 1792 Scarborough became the scene of his depredations. Staying at one of the principal hotels, he announced his intention of representing the town in Parliament in the interest of the Manners family. A portrait of poor Captain Lord Robert caused him to burst into tears, which evidence of feeling won the sympathy of all who witnessed it. As usual, his sparkling conversation and distinguished appearance disarmed suspicion, and for several weeks he lived in princely style at the expense of his landlord. When pressed for money he did not hesitate to offer bills of exchange, which the local tradesmen accepted without demur. Yet the day of reckoning, which this remarkable man never seemed to anticipate, could not be postponed. On the 25th of April he was arrested for the hotel debt, and, not being able to find bail, was cast into prison. Some weeks later, a detainer was lodged against him by a London creditor, and for eight years he remained an inmate of the Scarborough Gaol.

During his long confinement he maintained his favourite pose as a luckless aristocrat, writing poetry, and publishing much abuse against the authorities. At last fortune smiled upon the interesting captive. Neither Faublas nor Casanova ruled with more success over the female heart, and it was to a woman that he owed his release. A Devonshire lady, named Nation, who, it is said, occupied rooms facing the prison, took compassion upon him, and paid his debts. On the 13th of September 1800 the impostor became a free man, and the next morning, notwithstanding that hitherto they had been strangers, he married his benefactress. The pair made their home at Hele Bridge, near Dulverton, on the borders of Somerset and Devon, where the bride’s father was steward to a neighbouring landowner, and before very long Hadfield plunged once more into a career of fraud.

A marvellous aplomb, his previous commercial experience, and a deposit of £3000 which he contributed towards the firm, induced Messrs Dennis and Company, merchants of repute in the neighbouring town of Tiverton, to admit him as a partner. In consequence of this new enterprise, he removed during the summer of 1801 with his wife and child to a cottage at the village of Washfield to be near his business. As before, the utter lack of prescience and sagacity characteristic of the man prevented him from reaping the fruits of his perverted genius, as a less clever but more prudent would have done. The whole transaction was a smartly conceived but clumsily arranged swindle. Since the money for the partnership had been obtained by inducing a Mr Nucella, merchant of London, to transfer Government stock, which soon would have to be replaced, to the credit of Messrs Dennis, Hadfield was compelled to realise his winnings without delay. For the sake of a few hundred pounds of ready cash, he seems to have been eager to sacrifice all that a man usually holds dear, and to have become a lawless adventurer once again.

In April 1802 he was obliged to decamp from Devonshire, leaving his wife and children as before, while his partners in Tiverton, who soon discovered that they had been defrauded by a swindler, proceeded to strike his name off the books of the firm. During the following June he was declared a bankrupt. Meanwhile he had proceeded to cut a dash in London, and it is said that he came forward as candidate for Queenborough, with the object of obtaining immunity from arrest as a member of Parliament. Being still provided with funds, he made no attempt to surrender to the commission issued against him; but compelled, through fear of exposure, to relinquish his political ambitions, he went on a leisurely tour through Scotland and Ireland, and in the month of July appeared at Keswick as ‘Colonel Hope’ to work the crowning mischief of his life.

There has been much conjecture with regard to the motives of Hadfield in his conduct to poor Mary Robinson. The explanation that he was actuated by pure animalism cannot be reconciled with our knowledge of his temperament or his methods, setting aside the initial objection that the sensualist, already cloyed by innumerable conquests, does not usually play a heavy stake to gratify a passing fancy. Nor is it credible that a man who had the heart to forsake two wives and five children could have been influenced by love. At first sight it seems probable that, just as the most reckless speculator often cuts a desperate loss, he wished to quit a hazardous career of fraud, and to live a life of quiet and seclusion in the humble home of the Beauty of Buttermere. Such foresight, however, was wholly inconsistent with the nature of the man; and even had he been capable of this reasoning, a moment’s reflection must have taught him that his recent ostentation had made retirement impossible. No; like that of every gambler, John Hadfield’s destiny was ruled by chance. Each stake he played was determined by the exigency of the moment; win or lose, he could not draw back nor rest, but must follow blindly the fortunes of the day to cover the losses of the past. Although not able to possess his Irish heiress, the tiny dowry of Mary Robinson, the poor little inn at Buttermere, seemed to lie at his mercy, and so he seized upon it and threw it – as he would have thrown his winnings of any shape or kind – into the pool. John Hadfield was a fatalist, and his motto, Quam minimum credula postero.

After the interview with Judge Hardinge, the adventurer became the sport of chance once more. When he took boat from Keswick on the evening of his clever escape, he steered his course to the southern extremity of Derwentwater. The cluster of little islands soon must have hid him from view, and no one thought of pursuit. Whatever may have been his impulse, there was no time to bid adieu to his bride. The path to safety lay far ahead over the high mountains. Having left the lake under the guidance of his faithful friend Burkett the fisherman, his course for a few miles was a comparatively easy one; but twilight must have fallen before he had traversed the gorge of Borrowdale, and his flight up the desolate Langstrath valley, which cleaves its way between Glaramara and Langdale Pike, was made in the darkness. By night the journey was a terrible one – over rocks and boulders, along a broken path winding its course beside the mountain torrent, up the face of the precipitous crags, and across the Stake, a tremendous pass high up in the hills, dividing northern lakeland from the south. From Langdale he struck west towards the coast, and after a journey of some fourteen miles reached the seaport of Ravenglass, on the estuary of the Esk. In this place he borrowed a seaman’s dress, and took refuge in a little sloop moored near the shore, and here he was recognised on the 25th of October. With a hue and cry against him, it was not safe to remain near the scene of his latest crime. Going by coach to Ulverstone, he continued his flight thence to Chester, where early in November he was seen at the theatre by an old acquaintance. Then he appears to have walked on to Northwich, and there for some time all trace of him was lost. An advertisement, describing his appearance and offering a reward of fifty pounds for his arrest, was published on the 8th of November and scattered broadcast over the country.

The next tidings of him came from Builth in Wales, where, on the 11th of November, he is said to have swindled a friend, who had no knowledge that he was the Keswick impostor, by the usual device of a bill of exchange. On the day following this performance, the London post brought the newspapers containing the description of his person, and he hurried away from the little town on the banks of the Wye in his flight towards the south. For a time he still baffled capture, but the pursuers steadily closed upon his track. On the 22nd of November the authorities at Swansea were informed that a man resembling the published account of the impostor had been seen in the mountains beyond Neath, and the next day Hadfield was run to earth at the ‘Lamb and Flag’ an old coaching inn about seventeen miles from the seaport town. At once he was lodged in Brecon Gaol, and in about a fortnight’s time the newspapers inform us that he was brought up to town by one Pearkes, robin-redbreast.

The romance of the case attracted a great crowd to Bow Street when the notorious swindler was brought up for examination by Sir Richard Ford on the 6th of December, and the investigation appears to have been difficult and tedious, for he appeared before the magistrate each Monday morning during the next three weeks. On one of these occasions his attire is described as “respectable, though he was quite en déshabillé,” his dress being a black coat and waistcoat, fustian breeches, and boots, while his hair was worn tied behind without powder, and he was permitted to appear unfettered by irons. Among other requests he asked for a private room at Tothill Fields Prison, as he objected to herd with common pickpockets, and he desired also to be sent as soon as possible to Newgate. Although his wishes were not granted, the solicitor for his bankruptcy made him an allowance of a guinea a week.

Most pathetic was the loyalty of the wife and benefactress whom he had used so cruelly. The poor woman, who was the mother of two children, travelled from Devonshire – a journey occupying a couple of days and a night – to spend Christmas Day in prison with her unfaithful husband. Numerous celebrities visited the court during the examination of the impostor. Amongst those who were noticed more than once was the Duke of Cumberland, drawn possibly by a fellow-feeling for the culprit, and Monk Lewis, on the look-out for fresh melodrama. At last all the charges against him were proved to the hilt – his offence against the law of bankruptcy, his repeated frauds on the Post Office, the two bills of exchange forged at Keswick. Still, although the iniquities of his past were fully revealed, and although a shoal of unpaid debts, fraudulently contracted, stood against his name, one circumstance alone was responsible for the great popular interest, and aroused also universal abhorrence. John Hadfield had been damned to everlasting fame as the seducer of Mary of Buttermere.

The extent of his baseness was disclosed in the course of the proceedings at Bow Street. It was found that the poor girl was destined to become the mother of his child, and that he was in debt to her father for a sum of £180. Indeed, the motive of his mock marriage became apparent, for he had endeavoured to persuade the trusting parents to allow him to sell the little inn on their behalf, and possibly, but for the interference of Justice Hardinge, he might have succeeded. Mary refused to prosecute him for bigamy, but she was induced to send a letter to Sir Richard Ford, which was read in court at Hadfield’s fourth examination.

“Sir,” she wrote, in the first agony of her cruel disenchantment, “the man whom I had the misfortune to marry, and who has ruined me and my aged and unhappy parents, always told me that he was the Honourable Colonel Hope, the next brother to the Earl of Hopetoun.”

Contemporary newspapers show that the Beauty of Buttermere became the heroine of the hour – she was the theme of ballads in the streets; her sad story was upon every lip; never was there so much sympathy for one of her humble birth.

Early in the new year, Hadfield, who received as much notice from the journals as Madame Récamier’s wonderful new bed, was committed to Newgate. With cool effrontery he dictated a letter to the press, asking the public to reserve judgment until his case was heard, and, as a wanton Tory newspaper declared, like Mr Fox and Mr Windham, he complained bitterly of misrepresentation. A long interval elapsed before he was sent north to stand his trial, and he did not reach Carlisle Gaol until the 25th of May, whither he was conveyed by an officer from Bow Street, who bore the appropriate name of Rivett.

At the next assizes, on the 15th of August, he was arraigned before Sir Alexander Thomson, nicknamed the ‘Staymaker’ owing to his habit of checking voluble witnesses – a figure to be held in dread by law-breakers of the northern counties, as the Luddite riots in a few years were to show. Hadfield was not lucky in his judge, for the man who, at a later date, could be harsh enough to consign to the hangman the poor little cripple boy Abraham Charlson, was not likely to extend mercy to a forger.

The prisoner stood charged upon three indictments: —

(a) With having drawn a bill of exchange upon John Gregory Crump for the sum of £20, under the false and fictitious name of the Hon. Alexander Augustus Hope.

(b) With having forged a bill of exchange for £30, drawn upon John Gregory Crump, and payable to Colonel Nathaniel Montgomery Moore.

(c) With having defrauded the Post Office by franking letters as a member of Parliament.

Only the first two were capital offences.

James Scarlett, afterwards Baron Abinger, was counsel for the Crown, and Hadfield was defended by George Holroyd, who, as a judge, displayed masterly strength fourteen years later in directing the acquittal of Abraham Thornton. It is recorded by some aggrieved journalist that the crowd was so great it was difficult to take notes. Such odium had been aroused against the betrayer by the sad story of Mary of Buttermere, that ladies and gentlemen are said to have travelled twenty miles to be present at his condemnation. At eleven o’clock in the morning the prisoner was placed in the dock. The principal witnesses for the Crown were George Wood, landlord of the ‘Queen’s Head’ Keswick; the Rev. John Nicholson; and good-natured Mr Crump, who proved conclusively that he had assumed a false name and had forged a bill of exchange. A clerk in the house of Heathfield, Lardner and Co. (late Dennis), of Tiverton, called Quick, and a Colonel Parke, a friend of the real Colonel Alexander Hope, supplied other necessary evidence. One witness only – a lawyer named Newton, who had been employed by Hadfield in the summer of 1800 to recover an estate worth £100 a year, which he had inherited from his late wife – was summoned by the defence.

The prisoner bore himself in a calm and dignified manner, taking copious notes, and offering suggestions to his counsel. But his speech to the jury – for still, and for many years afterwards, a barrister was not allowed to address the court on behalf of his client, except on some technical point of law – shows that he anticipated his doom. “I feel some degree of satisfaction,” he declared, “in having my sufferings terminated, as I know they must be, by your verdict. For the space of nine months I have been dragged from prison to prison, and torn from place to place, subject to all the misrepresentation of calumny. Whatever will be my fate, I am content. It is the award of justice, impartially and virtuously administered. But I will solemnly declare that in all transactions I never intended to defraud or injure those persons whose names have appeared in the prosecution. This I will maintain to the last of my life.”

Very properly the judge would not accept the plea set up by the defence, that the financial position of the prisoner was a guarantee that no fraud had been meditated. At seven o’clock in the evening, after a consultation of ten minutes, the jury returned a verdict of guilty. Hadfield received the announcement with composure, and when he was brought up for sentence the next day – as was the barbarous custom of those times – he displayed equal coolness. Kneeling down, and looking steadily at the judge – who began to roll out a stream of sonorous platitudes – he did not speak a word.

From the first he seems to have been resigned to his fate, and gave no trouble to his gaolers, but spent his time quietly in writing letters and reading the Bible. Indeed, his whole behaviour was that of one utterly weary of existence, and he does not appear to have desired or expected a reprieve. All his life he had posed as a religious man, and he lent an eager ear to the ministrations of two local clergymen who attended him. Since there is no evidence that he was penitent, we may adopt the more rational supposition that he was playing for popular sympathy. It was seldom that he spoke of himself, and the only reference he made to his own case was that he had never sought to defraud either John Crump or Colonel Moore. A contemporary report states that “he was in considerable distress before he received a supply of money from his father. Afterwards he lived in great style, frequently making presents to his fellow-felons. In the gaol he was considered as a kind of emperor, being allowed to do what he pleased, and no one took offence at the air of superiority which he assumed.” Some days before his death he sent for an undertaker to measure him for a coffin, and gave his instructions to the man without any signs of agitation.

On the day of his sentence, Wordsworth and Coleridge, who were passing through Carlisle, sought an interview with him. While he received the former, as he received all who wished to see him, he denied himself to Coleridge, which makes it clear that he had read and resented the articles written by the latter to the Morning Post. Neither his father (said to have been an honest man in a small way of business) nor his sisters visited him. Also his faithful wife, since probably the state of her health or her poverty would not allow her to make the long journey from Devonshire to Carlisle, was unable to bid him farewell.

There has been much idle gossip concerning the conduct of Mary of Buttermere after her betrayer was condemned to die. Some have said that she was overwhelmed with grief, that she supplied him with money to make his prison life more comfortable, and that she was dissuaded with difficulty from coming to see him. Without accepting the alternative suggested, among others, by De Quincey, that she was quite indifferent to his fate, there are reasons for rejecting the other suppositions. It is impossible that the most amiable of women would continue to love a man who had shown so little affection towards her, and whose hard heart did not shrink from crowning her betrayal by the ruin of her parents. The story of the gift of money, also, seems unlikely, as her father had been impoverished by the swindler, and the fund for his relief, raised by a subscription in London – which did not receive too generous support – had not yet been sent to Buttermere. And, finally – alas! for romance – since the moral code even of the dawn of the nineteenth century did not allow Mary Robinson to usurp the duties, more than the name, of wife to the prisoner, it is incredible that a modest woman would wish to renew the memories of her unhallowed union by an interview with the man whose association with her had brought only dishonour.

The execution of John Hadfield took place on Saturday, the 3rd of September. Rising at six, he spent half an hour in the prison chapel. At ten o’clock his fetters were removed, and he was occupied most of the morning in prayer with the two clergymen, who, we are told, drank coffee with him. The authorities do not seem to have had any fear that he would attempt his life, for they allowed him the use of a razor. About the hour of three he made a hearty meal, at which his gaoler kept him company. In those times there was a tradition in Carlisle that a reprieve had once arrived in the afternoon for a criminal who was hanged in the morning. Thus, nearly three weeks had been allowed to elapse between Hadfield’s trial and execution – in order that there might be plenty of time for a communication from London – and even on the last day the fatal hour was postponed until the mail from the south was delivered.

Although it had been the opinion of the town that he would not suffer the extreme penalty, the Saturday post, which arrived early in the afternoon, brought no pardon. At half-past three he was taken to the turnkey’s lodge, where he was pinioned, his bonds being tied loosely at his request. Here he showed a great desire to see the executioner – who, oddly enough, hailed from Dumfries, the town which the real Colonel Hope had represented in Parliament – and gave him half a crown, the only money he possessed. It was four o’clock when the procession started from the prison, in the midst of an immense concourse of spectators. Hadfield occupied a post-chaise, ordered from a local inn, and a body of yeomanry surrounded the carriage. Without avail he petitioned for the windows to be closed. The gallows – two posts fixed in the ground, about six feet apart, with a bar laid across them – had been erected during the previous night on an island, known locally as the Sands, formed by the river Eden on the south side of the town beyond the Scotch gate, and between the two bridges. A small dung-cart, boarded over, stood beneath the cross-bar, Tyburn fashion, in lieu of the new drop. As soon as it met his eyes, the condemned man asked if this was where he was to die, and upon being answered in the affirmative, he exclaimed, “Oh, happy sight! I see it with pleasure!”