Bryan, snatched the sword and thrust at
Spiggott, but missed him, and ran a butcher
through the leg. Spiggott swore he would
kill a thousand of them before he would be
taken; but eventually more men tumbled on him,
and he gave up his sword, and cried, "I've
done." Phillips presented a musketoon at Hill
the constable, but fortunately it only flashed
in the pan.

The men were instantly identified by John
Watkins, a Monmouth carrier. They had
stopped his pack-horses on the 12th of November,
at Bishop's Grove, on Hounslow-heath.
Spiggott had clapped a pistol to his breast, bade
him stand, and swore if Watkins did not tell
which horse the money was on, he would kill them
all. Phillips, in the mean time, drove off a pack-
horse with goods valued at two hundred and
fifty pounds. A gentleman named Sybbald also
deposed to Spiggott and two other men having
stolen fifteen guineas from him on the 25th of
August, on Finchley-common. One of them
had the cape of his coat buttoned up over his
chin, and the other kept the ends of his long wig
in his mouth, for disguise. One of them secured
his servant; the others held pistols on either
side of him, made him dismount, and turned his
horse loose on the common.

At the bar, Spiggott and Phillips declared
they would not plead till their horses, furniture,
and money were returned to them. As they
continued to obstinately "stand mute," and
refused to plead to their indictment, they were at
once ordered to be pressed to death—a cruel
and inhuman punishment, worthy only of the
Inquisition, and long since abolished. The
executioner tied their thumbs together. In the
press-room, Phillips consented to plead; but
Spiggott was determined to save his effects for
his family, and to escape the ignominy of the
gallows. The ordinary of Newgate earnestly
endeavoured to dissuade the highwayman from
thus hastening his own death and shortening
the little time left for repentance, but Spiggott
only replied:

"If you come to take care of my soul, good;
but if you come about my body, I must be
excused, for I won't hear one word."

Spiggott was then stretched on the stone floor
of the dim room of torture, his feet bare, his
face covered with a light cloth. His arms and
legs were widened out, and fastened by cords
to either side of the wall. The doctor was
summoned, and while the turnkeys were clanking
the weights into a heap, ready for use, the
miserable wretch was legally informed that as
much stone or iron as he could bear, "and
more," would be placed upon him till he
consented to plead. The first day he would be
given three morsels of barley bread, but no
drink; the second day three gulps of any water
(not running water); and this would be his diet
till he died, after which his goods would be all
forfeited to the king.

But he would not plead; so they began to
pile him with masses of iron, till three hundred
and fifty pounds weight rose in a ponderous pyramid
upon his chest. The poor wretch lay
sometimes silent, as if insensible of pain; then again
he would fight for life, and fetch his breath quick
and short. The chaplain, more merciful than the
jailer, knelt and prayed by his side, and several
times asked him why he would hazard his soul
by such obstinate self-murder. The only answer
Spiggott ever made was to murmur faintly:

"Pray for me! pray for me!"

There was something touching in the fact
that the unhappy creature frequently complained
of the prodigious weight laid upon his face,
though there was really only a light cloth,
purposely left hollow. It was supposed that
the blood forced into the brain and veins of
the face caused this horrible sensation.
After half an hour of this agony, the jailers
increased the weight fifty pounds more, so
that there was now four hundred-weight on
his chest. Then, with the life slowly pressing
from him, Spiggott at last groaned to take it off,
and he would plead. Instantly the cords were cut,
and the weights removed; the man was raised
by two turnkeys, some brandy was put to his
mouth, and he was carried, pale and almost
insensible, to the court to take his trial. He
remained for two days faint and almost speechless.
Then he recovered a little strength, but relapsed,
and expressed a wish to receive the sacrament,
thinking he should not live till execution-day.
He afterwards rallied somewhat, and attended
prayers in the chapel twice a day.

This intrepid man had no reasons for bearing
this torture except a wish to prevent his goods
from being forfeited. He did not wish his children
to be reproached with his death, and he desired,
above all things, that the informer Lindsey
might not boast of having sent him to Tyburn.
He was especially incensed against Lindsey,
whom he had once rescued from death at the
peril of his own life, and got wounded in the
struggle.

Spiggott would sometimes wish he had died
in the press; for, just before he was taken out, he
had fallen into a stupor of benumbed sleep,
and had hardly any sense of pain left. At other
times he rejoiced that he had still time left for
repentance. He was the son of an ostler at
Hereford, he was twenty-nine years old, a
cabinet-maker by profession, and had three
children living. He said he could not remember
ever shedding tears but once in his life, and
that was when he parted from his little boy in
Newgate.

Phillips, his companion, was a Bristol sailor,
and some years older. He had served in the
Dover man-of-war, under Admiral Byng (not
the unfortunate scapegoat of a blundering
government), and had fought in several actions
against the Spaniards. He was a wicked,
audacious, obdurate villain, took a pride in
recounting his villanies, and used to boast how
he and Spiggott had robbed a hundred passengers
from different waggons in one night, and
left them bound in a row upon the road.

He derided the ordinary, swore and cursed
when the other men were at prayers, and