Part 1

Transcribed from the 1815 Wm. Hone edition by David Price, email [email protected]

THE POWER OF CONSCIENCE

EXEMPLIFIED IN THE GENUINE AND EXTRAORDINARY

CONFESSION OF THOMAS BEDWORTH;

DELIVERED TO ONE OF THE PRINCIPAL OFFICERS OF NEWGATE, THE NIGHT BEFORE HIS EXECUTION, ON SEPTEMBER 18, 1815, FOR THE

Murder OF ELIZABETH BEESMORE, _IN DRURY LANE_.

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RELATING HIS HORRIBLE SUFFERINGS UNTIL COMPELLED TO SURRENDER TO PUBLIC JUSTICE BY THE CONSTANT SUPERNATURAL VISITATIONS OF THE MURDERED WOMAN, AND THE FREQUENT APPEARANCE OF HER

APPARITION.

[Picture: Man with expression of terror]

FROM THE ORIGINAL PAPER, NOW IN THE POSSESSION OF THE PUBLISHER.

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Including interesting Particulars of BEDWORTH’s former Life, his behaviour before Execution, and _an original and full_ Report of the _Common Serjeant’s_ Address on passing Sentence.

* * * * *

_LONDON_: PRINTED FOR WM. HONE, 55, FLEET STREET, By J. Swan, 76, Fleet Street. _PRICE SIXPENCE_. 1815.

THE EXTRAORDINARY LIFE AND CONFESSION OF THE LATE _THOMAS BEDWORTH_, AS RELATED BY HIMSELF, BEFORE GOING ON THE SCAFFOLD.

THE following brief statement of the life of an almost obscure individual, drawn up from his own lips, is published not from any wish to diminish the just indignation and natural horror excited by the dreadful crime of _murder_, of which he was found guilty by his own confession, as well as by the Verdict of the Jury, but from an anxious desire to develop such particulars as exemplify the sad consequences of ungoverned passion and depraved pursuit. However different from all rational views that extraordinary portion of his relation may be which details the frequent _horrible appearance of the murdered woman_, there is no more reason to doubt his solemn belief of the reality of the TERRIBLE APPARITION than of any other part of his edifying Narrative. The criminal related the whole himself, in compliance with the wishes of _one of the principal officers of the prison_, whose humanity and attention he gratefully acknowledged, and who had long expressed a desire to know his melancholy story. He commenced his relation about midnight before his execution. He solemnly and earnestly, as a dying man and in the presence of Almighty God, protested the truth of every circumstance, and the whole is here faithfully given as he delivered it. Although scrupulously examined upon the _supernatural appearance_, which was reasonably conjectured to be the effects of his disturbed imagination and wounded conscience, he eagerly, positively, and repeatedly asseverated it to be a fact as certain as that he was then in the cell, to die that morning. This his full confession upon the brink of his falling into the grave, was taken down in writing in the presence of and by the direction of _the officer_ before mentioned, and the _original paper_ is now in the possession of the _publisher_, and is as follows:

THOMAS BEDWORTH’S CONFESSION.

THOMAS BEDWORTH was born in the year 1764, in the parish of _Bloxidge_, Staffordshire. His parents were of honest reputation and industrious habits, and could well afford to instil into his mind the principles of a good education; but to this he was obstinately averse, and they not being firm in their purpose, he successfully opposed every attempt that was made to furnish him with that knowledge of good and evil, without which he fell a sacrifice to the consequences of sensual indulgence, and expiated a crime, conceived in jealousy and stimulated by intoxication, on the scaffold of Newgate.

Arriving at the age of _fourteen_ years, he was placed as an apprentice in the town of _Walsall_, in Staffordshire, near Birmingham, to learn, with a respectable tradesman there, the art of bridle, bit, and stirrup making. In the year 1782, his father having died, and the term of his apprenticeship being expired, he went to _Birmingham_, where he was employed a considerable time. Being of an unsettled disposition, however, he left that place, and went to _London_, where he soon afterwards obtained employment in the manufactory of _Mr. Rowley_, of Prince’s Street, Drury Lane, where he remained until the year 1795.

At this period, and during his residence in London, Thomas Bedworth was united in marriage, to _Mary_, the daughter of _Mr. Bainer_, a respectable tradesman in St. Anne’s, Soho, but, again becoming restless in his mind, he left London, and having gone a distance into the country, he, in an unguarded moment, enlisted into the _Fifeshire Fencibles_, then commanded by Colonel _James __Durham_. With this regiment, he visited most parts of Ireland and Scotland, as well as this country, but finally left the regiment in 1803. In the course of this period his wife continued with him, and they had _three_ children.

After Bedworth’s discharge from the army, he left his wife with his friends, at Walsall, and went to Birmingham, whither, however, she followed him. In a short time, Bedworth went to London, in search of work, and entreated his wife to remain in the country, and there await his success. She consented, and he had not arrived many days in town, when he obtained employment from Mr. Birch, of Rupert Street, Haymarket. Here, however, he had not long been engaged, when, unfortunately for Bedworth, his employer failed, and he immediately formed the resolution of going to _sea_.

In the year 1804 he entered the Navy, and in the course of his service suffered many hardships, and was in several severe and celebrated engagements with the enemy. But, however the last sanguinary act of his checquered life may have stained his character, he had at least the reputation of being a good seaman, and it was also his pride, at the moment of his narrating these facts, that he had faithfully performed his duty to his country. He continued in the service until the year 1813, and at that period received his discharge, and was made an out-pensioner of Greenwich Hospital.

It was now his melancholy fate to learn, that, instead of joining his long-absent partner, and spending the remnant of his days in domestic peace, a widely different lot awaited him. His _wife_, the partner of his bed and the parent of his children, had, during his absence, formed an illicit acquaintance with another man, to whom she was actually _married_, and had _three_ children during her unlawful union.

_Bedworth’s_ horrid reflections, in consequence of this discovery of his wife’s unfaithfulness, distracted his mind; and the very means he adopted as a consolation, became a train of circumstances tending to the commission of the crime, which, with bitter tears, he repented, and atoned for by an ignominious death.

In time, his mind became more calm, and he seriously bethought himself of settling into regular habits, which a seafaring life had deranged, and subsisting upon his pension, and by his industry. He once more, therefore, obtained employment in his own trade, but, to his irretrievable mishap, became acquainted with _Elizabeth Beesmore_. This unfortunate woman, _who was also married_, was _the sister of his own wife_. Her husband, _John Beesmore_, had grossly neglected her, as well as a _child_, which remained in her care: he had not only denied her and her infant the necessaries of life, but had also declared his determination of never more residing with her, or even in the neighbourhood where she might be. Her case naturally excited the unhappy Bedworth’s commiseration, and he took advantage to complain of the conjugal infidelity and baseness which his _own wife_, her _sister_, had manifested _towards himself_. The similarity of their situations induced a sympathy in Bedworth’s mind; common acquaintance ripened into a kinder intimacy, and he ultimately became attached to her. Bedworth then proposed that she should place herself and her child under his protection, and that they should consider each other as a wedded couple. With this offer she complied, and, while she solemnly swore to unite her fate with his, and never to hold communication with her husband, but to be faithful to Bedworth, as his wife, he as sacredly pledged himself to be a husband to her.

_Thomas Bedworth and Elizabeth Beesmore_, thus connected, lived together until the month of April, in the present year, 1815, being a space of about two years and two months. At this period, _John Beesmore_, the woman’s husband, who had hitherto been employed in the town of _Wedgbury_, in Staffordshire, came to London. He discovered the retreat of his discarded wife, and contrived to communicate to her and _Bedworth_, a repetition of his formerly-expressed determination not to cohabit with his wife, and also an assurance that he would not disturb the connection which she had formed with _Bedworth_. _She_ also, at this critical period, took occasion to renew her vows of attachment and fidelity to _Bedworth_, whom she justly represented as having saved herself and child from starvation.

In a short time, however, the affairs of _John Beesmore_, the _husband_, became unfavourable; he was out of employment, and he applied to his wife to afford him pecuniary assistance from the earnings of _Bedworth_. This, after some hesitation on her part, she complied with, and _Bedworth_ made the discovery, that his little property was daily wasting upon a man, whose neglected wife and child he had supported, whom she herself had most solemnly renounced, and in whose fortunes or misfortunes, she had sworn never to interest herself.

Here commenced a dreadful spirit of jealous bickering and hate between the unhappy _Bedworth_ and _Elizabeth Beesmore_. Unable to endure the insults offered to his feelings, by the renewed acquaintance of _Beesmore_ and his wife, _Bedworth_ determined no longer to be the means of her husband’s support. He abandoned the society of the deceased, and took a private lodging. His heart was agonized, his mind distracted, and _Elizabeth Beesmore_ discovered him in his retreat, in this state, and visited him. She herself was in a very distressed condition—she renewed her sentiments of affection towards him, and trusted he would yield her some assistance. A multitude of conflicting thoughts now agitated his mind at this meeting. It is difficult to say whether pity, jealousy, or indignation, was most predominant. At length he took compassion on her. She had some refreshment with him, he gave her some money, and she departed.—Her renewed protestations of regard towards him, he considered as the mere affectation of attachment: his mind became hourly more unhappy, and he at length flew for relief to that source of treacherous consolation, the _gin-shop_. For many days he remained in an unsettled state of mind, neglecting his work, and occasionally visiting _Elizabeth Beesmore_, in a state of intoxication.

On the 19th of _June_, he called on _Elizabeth Beesmore_, at an early hour in the morning, but not much in liquor.—On this occasion she received him not only with coolness, but contempt. She informed him, tauntingly, that she was about to live again with her _lawful husband_, and desired that he would not again come to disturb her, or the house in which she was. He answered her coolly, that it was not his intention to disturb _her_, he only wished to disturb _himself_, and would immediately leave her, and proceed to the only enjoyment he had left, namely _liquor_. He then took his leave, and, having drank to excess, retired to his lodgings, and went to bed.

On awaking the next morning, the 20th of June, his mind was on the rack: besides, the powerful effects of the former day’s intoxication, jealousy, and indignation deprived him of reason. In this state of distraction, he walked up and down his room, and at length formed the horrible resolution of murdering _Elizabeth Beesmore_, the cause of his distress.—With this intention, having furnished himself with a shoemaker’s knife, which he found in the house where he resided, he put it in his pocket, and proceeded to her lodgings, in _Short’s Gardens_, Drury Lane. On his way thither, he met with a woman who worked at her needle with the deceased, and they went to a public-house, and drank gin together.—After parting with her, he went elsewhere and drank a quantity of beer, so that, by the time he reached _Elizabeth Beesmore’s_ apartments, he was in a state of inebriety.—She, upon his arrival, perceiving his situation, prevailed upon him to go to bed, and, during the time he lay there, she sent for _gin_ several times, of which he drank freely. In the course of the morning, her son came into the room and struck and insulted him several times, while on the bed, which aggravating _Bedworth_ exceedingly, she ordered her son to quit the room. Soon after he had gone, _Bedworth_ rose with an intention of leaving the house, but found that his coat and shoes had been taken away while he was asleep. These he asked for, but she refused to let him have them, and he left the house without them, and went to an adjoining public house and had more gin.—He soon returned to her apartments, and she prevailed upon him to drink some tea, into which also she infused _some gin_.

At this period, _Bedworth’s_ mind was dreadfully unsettled, and he once more laid down upon the bed, but the irritation of his feelings would not let him rest. In a short time he again rose and peremptorily demanded his shoes and coat. These _Elizabeth Beesmore_ gave him, and strongly advised him to go home without delay, and go to bed, in order to attend work the following morning. He left the room, and she followed him down stairs, where they had some conversation. She returned up stairs, for the purpose of bringing him an apron and a handkerchief, and, upon her again descending the stairs, he told her he wished to speak with her in the kitchen.—She replied, she must first put on his handkerchief, which, having done, they retired to the kitchen. Each remained for a moment in mute anxiety.—The unhappy woman, however, broke the pause, by clasping her right arm round his neck and embracing him, at the same time saying, with much agitation, “_O my dear Bedworth_!” These were her _last_ words, uttered in the last minute of her life. She kissed him during his conflict between jealous passion and strong affection: _his_ injured regard and _her_ perfidy rushed upon his mind; her deceptive embrace maddened him: whilst her kiss was warm upon his cheek, he suddenly drew the knife from his right hand pocket, and, as he supported her head with his left arm, he, by _one_ rapid and determined cut, across her throat, _nearly severed her head from her body_!—She fell lifeless, to the ground, without a groan!

Scarcely had he raised his hand from the bloody deed, when remorse seized him. He instantly meditated self-destruction, but as instantly, imagining a possibility of escape, he abandoned that intention.—“Thanks be to God,” said the unhappy criminal, as he related the intention that he had momentarily indulged, “I was not permitted to do this, and thereby deprive just vengeance of its retribution.”—He put the bloody knife in his pocket, whilst he looked at the blood rushing from her throat, and quitted the house.

_Bedworth’s_ first steps of _flight_ were directed into Spa-fields, where he remained until dark, and then returned into _town_.—Passing over _London Bridge_, he, for the first time, bethought himself, that some of the blood of his victim might be upon his clothes. He therefore examined his dress, but found that all parts had escaped, except his apron, which he pulled off, and tossed through the ballustrades of the bridge, into the Thames. He then wandered through the _Borough_, over _Blackfriars Bridge_, and afterwards over _Westminster Bridge_, and thus roving about, he, by day-light, the following morning, reached the Regent’s Park, where he threw the _knife_ into the Canal. From the Regent’s Park he pursued his way to _Hampstead_, where he passed the whole of that day about the fields, and where he also determined to pass the night.—About eleven o’clock, while in a hay-field, where he had betaken himself to rest, he was suddenly disturbed by the deep groaning of one, as in great agony, whose voice was exceedingly like that of the deceased, and he passed the remainder of the night in much disquietude and alarm.

Early on the following morning, he pursued his route toward _St. Albans_, and thus spent the remainder of the day. At night he once more fled, for a hiding and resting place, to the fields, where having laid down, he was disturbed by a dreadful noise, similar to that which he had heard the night before. This was now accompanied by the voice of the murdered woman, who emphatically said, “_Oh Bedworth_! _Bedworth_! _what have you done_?” The address was followed by other expressions, complaining bitterly of having been hurried into another world, and particularly these words: “_You have deprived me of all the happiness of this life_.” He was so far persuaded of the _reality_ of this visitation, that, “_in the name of_ GOD,” he entreated the horrible phantom “_to go to rest and leave him_!”—Unable to sleep, he arose at an early hour, still wandering, and _returned towards London_.

It was the time of the general illuminations for the late battles, and _Bedworth_, entering the city about _nine_ o’clock in the evening, traversed the streets, to divert his distracted imagination, by gazing at the lights. Thus wandering about, he retired to Smithfield, in order to pass the night in one of the sheep-pens. Here, however, he had scarcely laid himself down, when the _murdered woman appeared to him_ with a dreadful noise, and bitter exclamations! His entreaties and prayers were, on this occasion also, most earnest, that she would “_commit herself to rest_, _and cease to torment him_!”

Unable to rest, he arose from the earth, left the sheep-pen, and walked towards _Islington_, in which place, and at _Highgate_, he spent his time until the following evening, and once more _returned to London_, again viewed the _illuminations_ in the city, and again wandered about, until half-past twelve o’clock, when he directed his course once more towards _Islington_ and _Highgate_. No new scene, however, or course which he pursued, could lighten the load of his crime, or chase away the guilty horrors which pursued him. On this night, while walking up _Highgate Hill_, the _murdered woman again stood before him_! Imagination may paint, if it can, the horrible feelings of _Bedworth_ at this moment. _She walked with him_, _side by side_, until they reached the other side of the hill, and then _taking the hand of the miserable man_, _placed it upon her severed throat_, and groaned and mourned deeply!—Driven to despair, he fled into a _field_, where he threw himself down upon his face on some hay, hoping to elude at least the sight of his ghostly pursuer. Such, however, was the consequence of guilt, that _he felt her lying by his side_ and crouching against him!

After spending the whole of the last-mentioned day and the _next night_ in indescribable horror, without being able to leave this situation, he _again came into London_, on the following morning; and—it would be incredible, if it were not true—he actually _applied_ at the _Justice Room_, _Guildhall_, for a “_walking pass_” to Wolverhampton! Such was the fact, and being told, upon application, that he must come the next day, he retired for that night into the fields near _Islington_, where his rest was rather less disturbed than before. The next morning he again applied at _Guildhall_ for a _pass_, but, after a strict examination, as to who he was, and where he last slept, he was ordered to go before the Magistrates at the _Public Office_, _Queen Square_. This he instantly _did_, and having there undergone the usual enquiries, he actually succeeded in obtaining a _pass_! At the moment the whole town was in alarm at the atrocity of the _murder_, when _Police Officers_ were in pursuit of him, and _placards_ were posted in every direction, describing his person and dress minutely, and offering a reward for his apprehension; at this moment he applied to the _Police Office_ for his pass, and obtained it from the Magistrates themselves, without being suspected!

Possessed of his pass, _Bedworth_ set out for his native country. He slept the first night in _Kentish Town_, and the next morning pursued his journey towards _Coventry_, receiving at each town, through which he went, the relief to which his pass entitled him. He arrived in _Coventry_, on Monday, the 3d of July, and slept there the same night. The following morning he pursued his route to _Meridan_, about twelve miles from Coventry and six from Birmingham. From thence he _went back_ to _Coventry_, where he _again slept_, and, on the 5th arrived at _Horseley_.

During these travels and retravels, conscience was still crying vengeance, and though he, for a while, flattered himself, that he could familiarise himself with the horrors of his mind, if not eventually stifle them, he still anticipated the dreadful expiation of his life, for the _murder_ he had committed. Terror, shame, and remorse were the conflicting passions which accompanied him in his escape; but the violence of these having in a great measure subsided, reflection assumed a more rational seat in his breast, and now it was that he began to look with a steadier eye upon the deed he had perpetrated.

From Horseley, _Bedworth_ once more _returned_, on the 5th July, _to Coventry_, but his compunctions, while on his way to the latter place, had become so alarming and irresistible, that he finally resolved to _surrender himself to justice_.

For this purpose, on the morning of the 6th, he went before the _Mayor of Coventry_, and made a full confession of his guilt. The candour and ingenuousness with which he related his horrible tale, occasioned doubts of its truth in the mind of the Magistrate, who, with much humanity, supposed it might be the imagined story of a perverted intellect. He was, however, put into confinement, and, proper enquiries being made, was forwarded, in custody, to London, and arrived at the Bow Street Police Office, on the 11th of July. Here he confessed, fully, before Mr. NARES, the Magistrate, the murder of which he had been accused, and, in the presence of others, signed his confession.

In concluding his narrative, which has been related with the strictest accuracy, from his own lips, the unfortunate culprit added, “I have now been most justly condemned, for this foul and barbarous murder, and after surrendering my forfeited life to public justice, I have only to look to that awful moment, when I shall meet my Heavenly Judge, whose merciful pardon I hope for and implore, through the merits of Jesus Christ, the Redeemer.—Amen!”

* * * * *

The TRIAL of _Thomas Bedworth_ took place on _Friday_ morning, the 15th of September.—Mr. JUSTICE HEATH, Sir S. LE BLANC, Mr. JUSTICE BAILEY, and the COMMON SERJEANT were on the Bench.

The facts which were adduced in evidence were not so strong, although they in some measure confirmed the truth of the foregoing confession. The best evidence that could be given by the few witnesses who were examined, went to a presumption that _Bedworth_ effected the bloody deed with a razor, and it was so stated in the indictment.—This, however, did not prove to be true; but Mr. JUSTICE HEATH, in summing up, observed, that this was immaterial, in point of law;—the charge implied being, that the prisoner had done the act with a _cutting_ or _sharp_ instrument.