gaired Mrs. Branch and her Daughter cruelly beating Jane Buttersworth. ELIZABETH AND MARY BRANCH, EXECUTED FOR MURDER. THESE Cruel women were born at Philips-Norton, in Somersetshire. The mother was distinguished from her childhood by the barbarity of her disposition, which increased with her years, and discovered it. self on various occasions, particularly in fomenting divisions among her father's servants, to render whom unhappy appeared to be one of the greatest pleasures of her life. Her parents, observing with regret this ferocity of temper, told her that she would never get a husband unless she changed her conduct. This seemed for a while to bave some influence on her, which gave great satisfaction to her parents; but it will appear from the following narrative that this influence was not lasting. Being addressed by a neighbor VOL. I. ing farmer, named Branch, a marriage took place; but the husband soon found what an unfortunate choice he had made; for his wife no sooner came into possession of her matrimonial power than she began to exercise her tyranny on her servants, whom she treated with undeserved and unaccountable cruelty, frequently denying them the common necessaries of life, and sometimes turning them out of doors at night, in the midst of win. ter; but their wages in these cases were sent them by Mr. Branch, who was as remarkable for his humanity and justice as his wife was for the opposite qualities. Mary Branch, the daughter, was an exact resemblance of her mother in every part of her diabolical temper. 27 Mr. Branch dying, and leaving an estate of about three hundred pounds a year, he was no sooner buried than all the servants quitted the family, determined not to live with so tyrannical a mistress; and her character became so notorious that she could obtain no servants but poor creatures who were put out by the parish, or casual vagrants who strolled the country. It is needless to mention the particulars of the cruelties of this inhuman mother and daughter to such servants as they could procure, at whom they used to throw plates, knives, and forks, on any offence, real or supposed; we shall therefore proceed to an account of their trial and execution for the murder of Jane Buttersworth, a poor girl who had been placed with them by the parish officers. At the assizes held at Taunton, in Somersetshire, in March, 1740, Elizabeth Branch, and Mary, her daughter, were indicted for the wilful murder of Jane Buttersworth; the principal evidence against them being in substance as follows: Ann Somers, the dairy-maid, deposed that the deceased, having been sent for some yeast, and staying longer than was necessary, excused herself to her old mistress, on her return, by telling a lie; on which the daughter struck her violently on the head with her fist, and pinched her ears. Then both of them threw her on the ground, and the daughter kneeled on her neck, while the mother whipped her with twigs till the blood ran on the ground; and the daughter, taking off one of the girl's shoes, beat her with it in a cruel manner. The deceased cried for mercy, and, after some struggles, ran into the parlour, whither they followed her, and beat her with broomsticks till she fell down senseless; after which the daughter threw a pail of water on her, and used her with other circumstances of cruelty too gross to mention. Somers now went out to milk the cows, and on her return, at the expiration of half an hour, found her mistress sitting by the fire, and the girl lying dead on the floor; but she observed that a clean cap had been put on her head since she went out, and that the blood had run through it. Saying she believed the girl was dead, the old mistress gave her abusive language; and the deceased being put to bed, Somers was ordered to lie with her; which she was obliged to comply with, in the fear of being treated in a manner equally cruel. Somers was not suffered to go out on the following day; and at night the body was privately buried. This transaction, added to the character of the mistress, having raised a suspicion in the neighborhood, a warrant was issued by the coroner to take up the body; and, an inquest being made into the cause of the girl's death, Mr. Salmon, a surgeon, declared that she had received several wounds, almost any one of which would have proved mortal. The defence made by the prisoners on their trial was, that the prosecution was malicious; for that the deceased had been subject to fits, in one of which she fell down, and received the bruises which occasioned her death; but, bringing no proofs in support of this allegation, the jury found them guilty, and they were sentenced to die. After conviction they entertained great hopes of pardon, and presented a petition to the judge; but all the favour they could obtain was a respite for five weeks, in consideration that Mrs. Branch might have some temporal affairs to settle. The mother appeared for some time little concerned under her misfortunes; but the daughter la mented her unhappy fate, and begged the prayers of every one whom she saw. A sermon was preached to them on the night before their execution, which seemed to have a great effect on the mother, who now began seriously to reflect on her approaching exit; and both of them made due preparation for death. As the country people were violently enraged against them, they were conducted to Ivelchester (the place of execution) between three and four in the morning of May 3, 1740, attended only by the gaoler and about six people, lest they should have been torn in pieces. When they came to the spot, it was found that the gibbet had been cut down; on which a carpenter was sent for, who immediately put up another; and they were executed before six o'clock, to the disappointment of thousands of people who had come from all parts of the country to witness the death of two such unworthy wretches. Just before they were turned off Mrs. Branch made the following speech: "Good people, Let "You who are masters and mistresses of families, to you I speak in a more particular manner. me advise you never to harbour cruel, base, and mean thoughts of your servants, as that they are your slaves and drudges, and that any sort of usage, be it ever so bad, is good enough for them. These, and such like, were the thoughts that made me use my servants as slaves, vagabonds, and thieves; it was these that made me spurn at and despise them, and led me on from one degree of cruelty to another. 'Keep your passions within due bounds; let them not get the mastery over you, lest they bring you to this ignoble end. I am fully punished for all my severities; and it is true I did strike my maid, but not with a design to kill her, and so far I think the sentence about to be executed upon me is unjust; but the Lord forgive my prosecutors, and all those who have maliciously and falsely sworn against me. 'Another caution I would give to you who are parents; namely, to suppress in your children the first appearance of cruelty and barbarity. Nothing grieves me so much, under this shock, as that I have, by my example, and by my commands, made my daughter guilty with me of the same follies, cruelties, and barbarities, and thereby have involved her in the same punishment with myself. 'I declare I had no design of killing the deceased, as the Lord is my judge, and before whom I must shortly appear. I beg of you to pray for me unto God that my sins may be forgiven me, and that I may be received to mercy.' After this the daughter spoke these few words : "Good people, pity my unhappy case, who, while young, was trained up in the paths of cruelty and bar. barity; and let all present take warning by my unhappy end, so as to avoid the like crimes. You see I am cut off in the prime of life, in the midst of my days.-Good people, pray for me!' CHARLES DREW, EXECUTED FOR THE MURDER OF HIS FATHER. THIS culprit was the son of the man he murdered, and who was the owner of good property at Long Melford, in Suffolk; for the pos session of which, to support, like George Barnwell,* an extravagant wanton, he committed the foul deed for which he was executed. Mr. Drew, senior, was an attorney; yet of so unaccountable a disposition, that he wholly neglected his son's education, having quarrelled with and lived separate from his wife. There were five daugh. ters and the unhappy son who murdered him, and to all he appears to have conducted himself with the most culpable reserve and unfriendliness. When Charles arrived at years of maturity he became acquainted with one Elizabeth Boyer, who submitted to his solicitations, but was a woman of so much art, that most people thought he would marry her; and, when she urged him to it, he said, 'Betsey, let us stay a little longer; it will be worse for us both if I do it now, for my father will certainly disinherit me:' to which she replied,' I wish somebody would shoot the old dog.' This discourse was heard to pass between them in the month of January, 1740, and Mr. Drew was found murdered in his house on the first of February following. On inquiry into the affair, it was suspected that Mr. Drew was shot with a gun which had been lent to his son by Mrs. Boyer; and, though no prosecution was commenced against her, there was every reason to imagine that she had been the chief instigator to the atrocious. crime. Charles, having been to the Chelmsford assizes, fell into company with some smugglers, among whom was one Humphreys, a ḥardened villain, whom he invited to meet him at Mrs. Boyer's lodgings. * Let Puritans rail at dramatic representations as they please, the tragedy of George Barnwell' has saved more youth from destruction than their ravings. A remarkable instance of this was told by Mr. Ross, formerly a celebrated tragedian : 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 convexion then by my side, and return to the path of virtue. I kept my resolution, and replaced the money I had stolen before my villainy 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. We recommend all young people to view the fate of George Barnwell, founded on fact. They accordingly met; when Drew promised to settle two hundred pounds a year on him if he would murder his father; and gave him likewise at the time a consider. able sum of money. Humphreys hesitated some time; but, at length consenting to the horrid proposal, they went together towards the house, having a gun loaded with slugs, about eleven at night on the 31st of January. It was agreed that young Drew should stand at a distance, while Humphreys was to knock at the door, ask for the old man, and then shoot him; but Humpreys's courage failing him when he came near the spot, he threw down the gun, saying he would have no concern in the murder. On this young Drew commanded him to keep silence, on pain of death; and, taking up the gun, went to the door, and, when his father opened it, shot him dead on the spot. Having committed this horrid parricide, he said to Humphreys, The job is done;' on which Humphreys went to Dunmow, in Essex, where he had appointed to meet some smugglers that night, and after that travelled to London. Young Drew, going to London, made application for the king's pardon to any one except him who had actually murdered his father; in consequence of which an adver. tisement to that purpose was inserted in the London Gazette, signed by the secretary of state; and another advertisement followed it, in which Drew himself offered a reward of a hundred pounds on conviction of the murderer. This procedure appears evidently to have been intended to take off all suspicion from himself, though he meant not to fix it on Humphreys. This latter, being apprehended on suspicion, gave such an indifferent account of the transaction, that 1 he was ordered to be kept in custody: and while he was in prison Drew sent him twenty pounds, with the promise of a hundred more. After he was committed the suspicion of his guilt grew stronger, and was corroborated by several informations. This gave Drew great uneasiness: he took the utmost pains to suppress all farther informations, and even to destroy the credibility of those already made. He publicly declared that Humphreys was not the man who shot his father, and threatened to prosecute the officer who apprehended him. Drew now resided in London, where he changed his name to that of Roberts, and corresponded with Humphreys, who had assumed the name of John Smith. Some letters falling into the hands of Timothy Drew, Esq. a namesake only, he went to London in search of the murderer; and, after repeated inquiries, was told that he lodged in Shire Lane, whither he went, and asked for him by the name of Roberts. The people of the house said they had no lodgers; but the gentleman, who had a magistrate's warrant for apprehending the of fender, insisted on searching the house the search, however, was made in vain. On this he went to several bagnios, and at length to a house in Leicester Fields, where he inquired for Mr. Roberts. Drew had given orders that he should be denied, for the landlord said that all the gentlemen who had lodged there the preceding night were gone; but Mr. Timothy Drew, observing him whisper one of the waiters, suspected the truth of this declaration, and, calling for a pint of wine, asked the waiter to drink with him. After some conversation he raised his voice, and in a positive manner |