Robert Ferguson, who in after life became famous as "Galloping Dick," was a native of Hertfordshire. His father, a gentleman's servant, proposed a like career for him, and had a mental picture of his son gradually rising from the position of stable-boy, in which he was placed, to that of coachman. In such respectable obscurity would Robert have lived and died, had his own wild nature not pioneered a career for him. He had proved a dull boy at school, but proud, and out of school-hours showed a strange original spirit of daring, so that he was generally to be found captaining his fellows in some wild exploit.

As a stable-boy, however, he proved efficient and obedient, and was found presentable enough to take the postilion's place when the regular man had fallen ill, on the eve of the family's journey to London in their chariot. He performed that task to the satisfaction of every one, but the other servant recovered, and the lad was obliged to return to his stables and work in shirt sleeves or rough stable-jacket, instead of titupping in beautifully white buckskin breeches, silk jacket, and tall beaver hat, on one of the leading horses that drew the carriage to town. The return to an inferior position through no fault of his own was a bitter disappointment, and he determined to seek another situation.

Oddly enough, at this juncture of affairs, a neighbouring lady who was in want of a postilion chanced to ask the family who employed young Robert what had become of their smart young man, and, when informed of the situation, engaged him.

At this time he was close upon twenty years of age. Described as being by no means handsome, he was of a cheerful and obliging temperament, and might have long retained the post, had his employer not discovered him in a discreditable love-affair with one of the maid-servants. He was dismissed, but soon found another situation: but he never afterwards kept a place for any length of time. Roystering companions unsettled him and made him undesirable as a postilion.

Coming up to London, he found employment in a livery-stable in Piccadilly, but presently his father died and he found himself the owner of his savings, amounting to £57. Alas! poor Robert. He had never before possessed at one time the half of what he had now, and he acted as though the sum of £57 was an endowment for life. He threw up the Piccadilly livery-stable, and came out upon the world as a "gentleman"; or in other words, ruffled it in fine clothes in fashionable places. He frequented theatres in this novel character, and seems to have impressed a number of perhaps not very critical people. Amongst these was a dissolute woman whom he met at Drury Lane. She believed him to be a man of wealth, and sought to obtain a share of it. Ferguson flung away all his money on her. It could not have been a difficult task, one would say, nor have occupied him long. And when all the money was gone, he went back, sadder possibly, but still not wiser, to his livery-stable situation in Piccadilly, as postilion. It was in this employment that he observed the debonair gentlemen who had been his rivals in the affections of this woman calling upon her, and received, where he had been thrust forth with contumely when his money was at an end, and when she discovered that he was no man about town, but only one who got his living in the stables. False, perfidious Nancy!

It was some time before the true character of those visitors was revealed to him; but one day, acting as a postilion on the Great North Road, the chaise he was driving was stopped by two highwaymen, duly masked. One stood by the horses, while his companion robbed the occupants of the chaise. It was a windy day, and a more than usually violent gust blew the first highwayman's mask off. Instantly Ferguson recognised the man who stood by the horses as one of his Nancy's visitors.

Seeing this, the unmasked robber perceived, clearly enough, that the situation was peculiarly dangerous, and, when he had galloped off with his companion, laid the facts before him. They agreed that there was nothing for it but to await Ferguson's return at a roadside inn, and to bribe him to silence. There, accordingly, they remained until the chaise on its return journey drew up at the door.

Two gentlemen, said the landlord, particularly desired to see the postilion. He entered and accepted a price for his silence; further agreeing to meet them that night at supper in the Borough. Meeting there, according to arrangement, Ferguson was persuaded to throw in his lot with the highway blades. His imagination took fire at the notion of riding a fine horse, and, dressed in handsome clothes, presenting a figure of romance; but his new-found friends were cool men of business, and had nothing of that kind in view for their fresh associate. To cut a fine figure was, no doubt, all very well, but the more important thing was to know which travellers were worth robbing, and which were not. If they could be reasonably well advised on that point, much useless effort, and a considerable deal of risk, would be avoided, in not stopping those whose pockets were so nearly next to empty as to be not worth "speaking to" on the road. Their idea was that Ferguson should continue in his employment of postilion, and, as a confederate, keep them well informed of the movements of his clients.

Ferguson was disappointed in not being allowed a spectacular part, but the profitable nature of the scheme appealed to him, and he agreed to this distinctly well-conceived plan. So a long series of unsuspecting travellers driven by him owed their extraordinary ill-luck on the road entirely to the agency of their innocent-looking postilion, who was so professionally interested in their movements, who was so obliging with the portmanteaus and valises, and who secretly kept a keen eye upon the contents of his customers' purses. Quite often it would happen that a trace would be broken in some lonely situation, and then, strange to say, while it was being mended, a couple of highwaymen would infallibly appear, and threatening the postilion with horrid oaths when he pretended to show fight, would at their leisure ransack all the luggage and coolly request all money and personal adornments to be handed over.

Wine, women, and cards were Ferguson's downfall. Success in his new line of life brought reckless conduct, and he grew so impossible that the livery-stable, without in the least suspecting his honesty, dismissed him for general unreliability. He then took to the road for a while as a highwayman, and thus indulged his natural liking for finery.

He was an excellent horseman, and daring to the verge—or beyond the verge—of recklessness. On one occasion, he and two companions "spoke to" and were robbing two gentlemen on the road to Edgeware, but were interrupted by the appearance of three other well-mounted travellers, who gave chase. Ferguson escaped, but his two companions were caught, brought to trial, and executed. It was this exploit that first procured him the name of "Galloping Dick," although his name was Robert. Complimented by admiring friends on his escape, he declared he would gallop a horse with any man in the kingdom.

The name of "Galloping Dick" soon became well known, and was a name of dread. No clattering horseman could come hurriedly along the road without stirring the pulses of nervous travellers, who immediately fancied "Galloping Dick" was upon them. Indeed, he soon became too well known for any reasonable degree of safety, and he would then for a while, for prudential reasons, find temporary employment as a postilion. Frequently in custody at Bow Street, on various charges, he was many times acquitted, on insufficient evidence; but was at last arrested, at the beginning of 1800, on a charge of highway robbery, sent for trial to the Lent Assizes at Aylesbury, convicted, and executed.