John Cottington, commonly known as "Mulled Sack," was the son of a drunken haberdasher in Cheapside, who wasted his substance to such an extent in drinking with fellow-tradesmen of like tastes, that he died in poverty and was buried by the parish. He seems to have been in every way an improvident person, for it is recorded that he left fifteen daughters and four sons. John, our present hero, was the youngest of these. At eight years of age he was bound apprentice by the overseers of the poor of the parish of St. Mary-le-Bow to a chimney-sweep, and served his master in the chimney-sweeping for five years. He then ran away, for he was by this time thirteen years of age, and considered himself grown up, and as fully informed in the art and mystery of chimney-sweeping as his instructor.

He soon acquired the nickname by which he is best known, from his fondness for mulled sack, morning, noon, and night. His earlier activities were exercised in that inferior branch of robbery known as pocket-picking, which does not, however, demand less skill and nerve (perhaps, indeed, it requires more) than was necessary in the nobler art of collecting upon the roads. He was one of the most expert cly-fakers and bung-snatchers in London, frequenting Cheapside and Ludgate Hill by preference; and is said to have been so successful that he stole "almost enough to have built St. Paul's Cathedral." This is, of course, an amiable, but extravagant exaggeration; but the exploits of all heroes, in all ages, have been similarly magnified, and why not those of "Mulled Sack"?

Among the most robust and uncompromising of the Royalists, he remained in England to war with the usurpers in his own way, while the Cavaliers had fled across the Channel. His warfare was happy, inasmuch as it emptied the pockets of the Commonwealth leaders, while it filled those of himself and his confederates. If he could not meet the enemies of the monarchy on the field, he could, and did, slip a sly hand into their pockets, and lighten them by many a gold watch and a guinea. One of his greatest achievements was the robbing of Lady Fairfax as she—wife of the famous general—was stepping from her carriage into the church of St. Martin, Ludgate, come to hear a famous preacher of that age.

"Mulled Sack" was that day dressed as a gentleman. He did not often affect the part, being a homespun fellow, and subdued from essaying fine flights by those easy experiences of swarming up the chimney-flues. But on this day he was unrecognisable for himself, in quiet, but rich dress. His associates were working with him, and had removed the pin out of the axle of her ladyship's coach, so that the heavy vehicle fell as it neared the church door. "Mulled Sack" pressed forward politely, to help her alight, and at the moment of her setting foot to pavement cut her watch-chain with a sharp pair of scissors, and gently removing the watch itself—a handsome gold one, set with diamonds—escorted her to the church door, raised his hat as gracefully as he could, and then disappeared in the crowd.

It was not until, wearied with an inordinately long sermon, she sought to discover the time, that she missed the watch.

"Mulled Sack" was less fortunate in an attempt he made to pick the august pocket of the Lord Protector, His Highness, Oliver, by the Grace of God—Oliver Cromwell, none other—as he was leaving the House of Parliament. He was caught in the attempt, and came near to being hanged for it. This put him so sadly out of conceit with the art to which he had given his best time, that he determined to forsake it for the sister craft of highway robbery, where a man was under no craven necessity to sneak, and crawl, and cringe, but boldly confronted his quarry, and with an oath, or with a jest—entirely according to temperament—rode up and demanded or "requested," or even, as was the fashion among the most flamboyantly politeful, "begged the favour of," the traveller's purse.

He at first worked the roads in company with one Tom Cheney, with whom, robbing upon Hounslow Heath, he encountered Colonel Hewson, a warrior of those times who had by his military genius raised himself from the humble station of a cobbler. The Colonel was upon the Heath with his regiment, riding some considerable distance away, but still within sight of his men, when the two highwaymen robbed him. A troop instantly gave chase; Cheney desperately defended himself, against eighteen, and was then overpowered and captured, but "Mulled Sack," flying like the wind upon his trusty horse, escaped. Cheney was severely wounded in the affray, and begged that his trial might be postponed on that account, but, as it was feared he might die of his wounds, and so escape hanging after all, he was hurriedly—and no doubt also illegally—condemned on the spot, and hanged there that same evening.

A certain Captain Horne was the next partner "Mulled Sack" took, and he too was similarly unfortunate in a like affair with that already described. An early and ignominious fate seemed to be the inevitable lot of those who worked with our heroic pickpocket turned highwayman, and either because the survivors grew shy of him in consequence, or because he thought it best to play a lone hand, he ever afterwards pursued a solitary career.

It was a successful career, so long as it was continued, and affords an example to the young of the substantial advantages to be derived from an industrious disposition, enthusiasm in the profession of one's adoption, and that thoroughness in leaving no stone unturned which should bring even only a moderately-equipped young man to the front rank of his profession. "Mulled Sack" left no unturned stone, no pocket (that was likely to contain anything worth having) unpicked, and no promising wayfarer unchallenged within the marches of the districts he affected. And what was the result of this early and late application to to business? Why, nothing less than the proud admission made by his admiring biographer, that "he constantly wore a watchmaker's and jeweller's shop in his pocket, and could at any time command a thousand pounds." How few are those who, in our own slack times, could say as much!

He wore the watches and jewellery he had taken on his rides just as old soldiers display the medals won in their arduous campaigns, and they implied not only the energy of the business man, but the pluck of the soldier on the battlefield. As the soldier fights for his medals, so "Mulled Sack" warred for his—or, rather, other people's—watches.

His greatest deed as a highwayman is that told by Johnson, of his waylaying the Army pay-waggon on Shotover Hill. Fully advised of the approach of this treasure-laden wain, he lurked on the scrubby side of that ill-omened hill over-looking Oxford—it was ever a place for robbers—and, just as the waggon started to toil painfully up, rose from his ambuscade with pistols presented to the head of the waggoner and to those of the three soldiers acting as escort.

It seems that there were also two or three passengers in the waggon, but "Mulled Sack" was as generous as the liquor whence he obtained his name, for he "told them he had no design upon them."

"'This,' says he, 'that I have taken, is as much mine as theirs who own it, being all extorted from the Publick by the rapacious Members of our Commonwealth to enrich themselves, maintain their Janizaries, and keep honest people in subjection.'"

The escort, never for a moment thinking it possible that one highwayman would have the daring to act thus, and dreading the onset of others, bolted like rabbits.

The Republican treasure thus secured by the enterprising "Mulled Sack" totalled £4000, and by so much the expectant garrison of Gloucester, for whom it was intended, for a while went short. Cottington was at this time but twenty years of age. Youth will be served!

It is sad to record a vulgar declension in the practice of "Mulled Sack." He stooped to shed blood, and murdered, as well as robbed a gentleman. With the guilt of Cain heavy on him, he fled to the Continent, and, by some specious pretence gaining access to the Court held by the fugitive Charles the Second, stole a quantity of valuable plate. Returning to England, a little later, he fell into the hands of the sheriff's officers who were keenly awaiting his reappearance, and he was executed at Smithfield Rounds in 1656, for the crime of murder, aged forty-five.