John Withers, one of the most ferocious of those highwaymen who did not scruple to add murder to their crimes, was born in the last quarter of the seventeenth century, at Lichfield. He was the son of a butcher, in so small a way of business that his father could not find employment for him; and so, in order to get a start in life, he set off for London. Arrived there, he was drawn by his natural bent into the company of criminals, and, throwing in his lot with them, was soon arrested and found guilty on charges of larceny, with violence. He escaped punishment by accepting the offer, generally made at that time, of enlisting in the army, and was sent out to the Flanders expedition. Here, perhaps, we see an explanation of the well-known expression, "Our armies swore terribly in Flanders." If it was composed largely of reprieved criminals, there can be no doubt that its language could not have been choice, nor its conduct exemplary. "My blackguards," the Duke of Wellington styled his men, who fought so well and endured so greatly in the Peninsula; for even so lately as that period the rank-and-file were composed of the offscourings of society; but they must have been well-mannered gentlemen, compared with the soldiers of a century earlier.

Sacrilege presently engaged the attention of Withers in Flanders. Entering a church in Ghent during high mass, and observing the people placing money in a box that stood in front of a figure of the Virgin, he awaited a favourable opportunity, picked the lock, and filled his pockets with the contents. "Unfortunately," says his sympathetic biographer, "in haste to carry off his plunder, some of the money fell upon the pavement, ringing out sharply in the stillness of the church; so that he was detected in the act."

Taken before the venerable Cardinal, and examined, he was about to be taken off in custody; when, falling upon his knees, with uplifted hands he begged the Cardinal to listen to him. He then declared with ready lies, that, brought up as a heretic, and falling into evil ways that had brought him to want and misery, he had seen the folly of his life, and offered prayers before the effigy of the Virgin Mary. While he was thus praying, he continued, the figure pointed to the box, as if it were giving him leave to take what was necessary to supply his wants. In consequence of this singular interposition on his behalf, he concluded he had made up his mind to become a Roman Catholic, but at the moment of this decision he had been arrested.

This singular narrative was heard by the Cardinal with much surprise, and at the close of it he exclaimed, fervently, "A miracle indeed!" All who had heard it also shared the same opinion and "it being justly concluded that none had a better right to dispose of the money than the Virgin herself, to whom it was devoted," Withers was carried in solemn procession, as a convert singularly honoured, and placed before the high altar while an Ave Maria was sung.

It is not, it may be added, necessary to believe this precious story in its entirety. Withers was, of course, as we shall see, capable of worse than this, and the probability is that the actual theft was committed by him; but we can hardly believe the Roman Catholic clergy quite such fools as they figure here.

At Antwerp, Withers made a second essay in sacrilege. There he stole a great silver crucifix. But he felt that there was really no career for him in these enterprises, and so, deserting from the army, he crossed to England, and took up the profession of highwayman.

It would be of little interest to follow Withers in all his highway doings, but the adventure of himself and two companions with an actor on the road is perhaps worth repeating. They espied one morning a gentleman walking alone and displaying all the gestures of passion, distraction, and fury to excess; casting his eyes to heaven, stretching forth his arms imploringly, or folding them moodily upon his breast. Near by was a pond.

"Make haste!" exclaimed Withers to his companions, "'tis even as we thought; the poor gentleman is just going to kill himself for love." Then, rushing towards him, two of them taking an arm each, Withers addressed him earnestly: "Pray, sir, consider what you do! what a sad thing it would be to drown yourself here. Be better advised and consider, before it is too late."

The actor was indignant. "What a plague is all this for?" he asked. "I am not going to hang, stab, or drown myself. I am not in love, but only a player, learning a part."

"A player, are you?" rejoined Withers. "If I had thought that, you should have drowned yourself, or hanged yourself indeed, before we had taken the pains to follow you up and down. But, to make amends for our trouble, the least you can do will be to give us what money you have."

So saying, they bound his hands and legs together, emptied his pockets of ten shillings, and took away a silver-hilted sword he carried.

It is, in this connection, curious to observe the animus displayed against the stage. It is met largely in the satire of the time, and not merely in the literature inspired by the Puritans, but even in those by no means puritanical books and plays in which the highwaymen figure as heroes. Thus, in the play, the Prince of Priggs, written around the career of Captain Hind, but not intended to be staged, we find the prologue chiefly concerned with a sneer at those "apes and parrots," silenced under the sour rule of the Commonwealth:

The last adventure of Withers was that in which he and a companion, William Edwards by name, near Beaconsfield beset a nobleman and his servant. Withers' horse was shot in the resistance they made, and, mounting behind his friend, they took to flight. But the horse with two riders was no match for the others, not so heavily burdened; and, being hard pressed along the road, the two fugitives dismounted and ran across country in the direction of London. Sleeping in the hedges overnight, the next morning they continued their flight. Meeting, one mile on the London side of Uxbridge, with a penny postman, they robbed him of eight shillings; and Withers, to prevent their being identified, drew a large butcher's knife he carried, and barbarously cut his throat. They then ripped up his body, filled his stomach with stones, and flung him into the little stream that here flows across the road. The burial registers of Hillingdon church bear witness to this and to another murder they appear to have committed at, or near, the same place; "1702, November 13. Will Harrison, Postman, murdered near the Great Bridge between Hillingdon and Uxbridge. November 28. Edward Symonds, Drover, murdered at the same time, and about the same place, and by the same hands."

Withers and Edwards were arrested the following January in Norfolk, for a highway robbery committed there, and were tried and executed at Thetford, April 16th, 1703.