The famous Edward Wicks—more famous as "Ned," one of the favourites of the romancing Harrison Ainsworth—was born in 1684, and was the son of an innkeeper at Coventry. His father had him properly grounded in reading, writing, and 'rithmetic, with the ambition of seeing him a clerk, but the youthful Edward shunned the desk, and for a few months filled the post of exciseman. The excisemen of that day were looked upon with that suspicion and hatred with which tax-gatherers, tithe-collectors, landlords, people who render accounts for payment, and the like vermin, have ever been regarded from the earliest times, and ever will be by all right-minded folk; and Edward soon quitted the unpopular post of gauger, not only because of its unpopularity, but for reasons not altogether unconnected with an inability to make his accounts balance. His reasons for the change are, however, put in a different light by Smith, who, with sardonic humour, says: "Not thinking that a post sufficient to cheat Her Majesty's subjects, he was resolved to impose upon 'em more by taking all they had on the highway." Or, in milder fashion, according to Johnson, "he chose rather to gather contributions for himself than for the King." For "King" read "Queen," for Wicks practised in the reign of Queen Anne.

The first two interviews he held with travellers upon the highway were successful, but the third brought him misfortune, for he was apprehended near Croydon, and sent to prison in the Marshalsea, a doleful hold, at that time said to be "a lively representation of the Iron Age, since nothing but gingling of keys and rattling of shackles and bolts and grates are here to be heard."

His third attempt would no doubt have remained also his last, had it not been for the exertions of his friends, who, during the interval between his arrest and the trial at Sessions, got at the prosecutor and bribed him with sixty guineas, to fail in identifying him. As the prosecutor had been robbed of only thirty shillings, he profited largely by the transaction and was doubtless sorry it could not be often repeated.

Wicks was accordingly acquitted, on the failure of this suborned prosecutor to swear to him; and was immediately on the road again; this time in partnership with a certain Joe Johnson, alias Saunders. Near Colnbrook they held up a stage-coach containing four gentlemen, one of whom discharged a blunderbuss at the luckless Joe, who received seven or eight bullets, and was thus wounded so severely that he was easily seized: the more easily in that Wicks instantly made off, with the speed of the wind. The "chivalry" of the highwaymen, of which we read so much in novels, was an elusive thing, and was apt to be altogether missing in the stress of danger. The highwayman who would stand by a wounded comrade was a very rare bird: so rare, indeed, that we are inclined to doubt his existence.

Joe Johnson, committed to prison, was charged by one Woolley with an earlier robbery, of a silver watch and some money, and was found guilty and hanged at Tyburn, February 7th, 1704, aged twenty-two.

The fate of the companion whom he had so basely deserted in the moment of his greatest need did not warn Wicks from his perilous career, and we are assured that he "pursued his wicked courses with a great deal of pleasure and satisfaction." One day he overtook the Duke of Marlborough at St. Albans, but His Grace had too large a retinue for it to be safe to venture an attack, and so the great Churchill escaped, for once in a way.

Then, riding on towards Cheshunt, he found his way to a little cottage in a bye-road, where he discovered a poor old woman, bitterly weeping. She told him she was a poor widow, with no money to pay her rent, and expected the landlord every moment to come and seize what few goods she had.

Wicks bade her rest contented, and he would make things easy; and, pulling off the richly laced clothes he wore, and putting on an old coat the woman lent him, he awaited the arrival of the hard-hearted landlord; who presently came and demanded payment. Ned thereupon, rising out of the chimney-corner with a short pipe in his mouth, said, "I understand, sir, that my sister here, poor woman, is behindhand for rent, and that you design to seize her goods, but as she is a desolate widow and hath not wherewithal to pay you at present, I hope you will take so much pity and compassion on her mean circumstances as not to be too severe: pray let me persuade you to have a little forbearance."

Said the landlord, "Don't talk to me of forbearance; I'll not pity people to ruin myself. I'll have my money. I want my rent, and if I am not paid now, I'll seize her goods forthwith, and turn her out of my house."

When Ned found that no entreaties or persuasions would prevail, he said, "Come, come, let's see a receipt in full, and I'll pay it."

Accordingly the receipt was given, and the rent paid, and the landlord made ready to go.

But Wicks warned him of the dangers of the roads. "'Tis drawing towards night, sir, and there are many robbers about. I would advise you to stay here till to-morrow, and go in the morning."

"No, no!" exclaimed the landlord impatiently, "I'll go now. I can go seven miles before dark. I don't care what robbing there is abroad. Besides, I am not afraid of being robbed by any one man, be he whom he may."

So, taking his horse, away he rode, and Wicks, hastily re-assuming his fine clothes, quietly after him, at a cautious interval.

Taking a circuitous course and putting his mare to a hand-gallop, Wicks was already waiting the landlord at the edge of a dark pond on a lonely stretch of road, when the old man rode by. In that situation, as the shades of night were falling, he robbed him of the rent and of as much beside, which he later kept for his honest brokerage, after making the widow a present of the original amount. Hastening back to the cottage, he had already resumed the rustic clothes and was seated in the chimney corner, when a knocking came at the door. It was the landlord returning to tell the story of his woes. He said he had been robbed by a rogue in a lace coat, who swore a thousand oaths at him.

"I told you how unsafe it was," said Wicks, from his corner; "but you would not take my advice."

The landlord begged leave to stay the night, and went the following morning upon his way.

The obvious criticism of this is that, having already been robbed, his best and safest course would have been to make haste on his way home, the remainder of the journey, without turning back.

Ned Wicks one day met Lord Mohun on the road between Windsor and Colnbrook, attended by only a groom and a footman. He commanded his lordship to "stand and deliver!" for he was in great want of money, and money he would have, before they parted company. Lord Mohun, a noted bully and rustler of that age, proposed that, if the highwayman was so insistent, they should fight for it, and Wicks very readily accepted this proposal; whereupon, my lord, seeing him busily preparing his pistols for the engagement, began to back out of the bargain. Wicks, perceiving this, said contemptuously: "All the world knows me to be a man, and such a man am I that, although your lordship could, in a cowardly manner, murder Mumford the actor, and Captain Cout, I am by no means afraid of you. Therefore, since you will not fight, I order you to down with your gold, or expect no quarter!"

Thus meeting with more than his match, Lord Mohun fell into a passionate fit of swearing. "My lord," said Wicks, when he could get a word in edgeways, "I perceive you swear perfectly well, extempore: come, I'll give your honour a fair chance for your money, and that is, he that swears best of us two shall keep his own, and the money of he who loses as well."

My lord, an expert in this line, through long cursing over losses at cards, eagerly agreed to this new bargain, and threw down a purse of fifty guineas. Wicks staked a like sum, and the competition started.

After a quarter of an hour's prodigious swearing on both sides, it was left to his lordship's groom to declare the winner.

He said: "Why, my lord, your honour swears as well as ever I heard any Person of Quality in my life; but, indeed, to give the Strange Gentleman his due, he has done better than yourself, and has won the wager, even if it were for a thousand pounds."

After a few successful years of constant attention to his profession, Wicks was at last executed at Warwick, on August 29th, 1719, aged twenty-nine.