When the constables stepped aboard the Leeds, lying near Plymouth, Joseph Hunton knew his flight was at an end. He was traveling under the alias of Wilkinson. Only hours earlier, he had discarded the austere raiment of the Quakers for a light green frock-coat, grey trousers, a black cravat, and a traveling cap. The officers sent to take him feigned to carry a letter for his hand. At the disclosure of their true errand, he offered no word: he simply rose and attended them ashore.
Within his pockets, the officers discovered two letters that lend a singular voice to this arrest. One was addressed to The Times: in it, Hunton contested the sum of the forged bills imputed to him and vowed to return to satisfy his creditors. The other, a copy of a missive to Curtis & Co., set forth that he could no longer negotiate his paper and was compelled to absent himself for a season. Both were dated from Deal. Pelham’s chronicle maintains that he had never set foot in that town; these addresses, it appears, were calculated merely to throw his pursuers off the scent.
The affair, as related by Pelham, commenced with certain bills of exchange put into circulation under the style of Dickson & Co., an Ironmonger Lane house in which Hunton was a partner. They purported to bear the acceptance of Edward Wilkins, a merchant of Abingdon. Ere several of these instruments reached maturity, word came to London that Wilkins was dead. The bankers charged with investigating fraud and counterfeiting then discovered that the acceptances made in his name were forged. The chronicle lays these counterfeit acceptances directly to Hunton’s charge.
Hunton had already vanished by the time the pursuit was raised. Officers were dispatched in sundry directions. Forrester, a City constable, traced him to the vicinity of Plymouth and learned that he was booked for New York aboard the Leeds. This ocean crossing had not been his initial design. He had previously endeavored to reach Boulogne aboard a French steam-packet. Peace officers had searched that very vessel while he was on board, yet had failed to apprehend him. This time, the packet seemed destined to grant him a new name, an altered habit, and an expanse of sea to blot out his past.
Conveyed back to the capital, where he had hitherto passed for a man of unblemished honor, Hunton was examined before the Lord Mayor. Sundry charges were preferred against him, and he was committed to prison to await his trial.
On October 28, 1828, at the Old Bailey sessions, Hunton stood indicted for forging a bill of exchange for 162 pounds and 9 shillings, with intent to defraud Sir William Curtis & Co. The jury returned a verdict of guilty. On November 4, a second indictment was tried, concerning another bill of 94 pounds and 13 shillings; the verdict was once more guilty. At the close of the sessions, the jurors recommended Hunton to mercy. The court, nonetheless, pronounced sentence of death.
The sentence did not bring immediate certainty as to his ultimate fate. According to the chronicle, the Recorder’s report to the Sovereign was delayed by a Council meeting at Windsor. On November 24, forty-nine prisoners lay in Newgate awaiting the outcome of the royal review. That evening, three convicts were ordered for execution; the fate of the remainder was not made known until the following afternoon. The agony of suspense bred terror within the prison walls and stirred sharp censure in London. The Recorder subsequently explained that he had departed Windsor at a late hour and had been detained upon the road.
Hunton’s name was not among those first condemned. This omission buoyed his spirits with the hope that his life would be spared. During this interval, a visitor requested him to elucidate a document pertaining to certain bills not yet matured. He answered without hesitation, to the entire satisfaction of the inquirer. When questioned as to his own plight, he likened his destiny to a leaf that the wind might turn to one side or the other. Yet he still believed that he would live.
On December 1, a second determination was handed down: Hunton and three others were ordered for execution on the 8th. The Ordinary, the Reverend Mr. Cotton, came to apprise him of it past eleven o’clock at night. Hunton inquired first who were to die with him, and then whether he might receive his wife. He declared himself resigned to his lot, yet on the morrow, all fortitude gave way. He wept, wrung his hands, and inveighed against the law which, in his eyes, punished with death an act that scarce deserved the name of fraud. He declared that he had already suffered execution within his heart ever since entering Newgate.
His wife and several brethren of the Society of Friends came to visit him. Hunton warned them that hope would now only deceive them. The chronicler recounts his groans and his deep distress. On the Sunday preceding the execution, Quaker visitors prayed by his side for several hours. Two elders remained with him throughout the night. Hunton composed a lengthy prayer, transcribed it, and addressed it to his beloved wife.
On the morning of December 8, the Under-Sheriffs arrived at Newgate shortly before eight o’clock. Hunton was still perusing his prayer when the officers entered the apartment where he waited. He begged of them a minute to conclude, then resumed his seat at the table and finished his reading. When his turn came to be pinioned, he removed his white cravat. He requested that the cords might not be drawn too tight, and thanked the officer when the latter eased them. He likewise asked to retain his gloves. The written prayer remained clasped in his hand.
Moline, a friend who attended him, promised not to leave his side until the scaffold was reached. Hunton at last delivered the paper into his hands, charging him to tell the world that he was “quite happy and comfortable.” He mounted the steps, requested that a blue handkerchief be bound across his eyes, and took his station beneath the beam. The Reverend Mr. Cotton began the burial service; at the signal, the drop fell. Four men were launched into eternity together. Hunton’s halter had been lengthened on account of his diminutive stature; according to the account, the rope tightened swiftly, and he appeared to die without a struggle. The bodies hung suspended for an hour before being cut down.
Following the execution, Pelham reviews the life of the condemned man. Hunton had commenced his career as a slopseller in Yarmouth, subsequently expanded his trade at Bury St Edmunds, and ultimately established himself as a sugar refiner in London. He wedded a woman of the Society of Friends and entered the house of Dickson & Co. The chronicle attributes his downfall to reckless speculations on the Stock Exchange, the severe losses that ensued, and the dissolution of the partnership. Pelham estimates his former fortune at some thirty thousand pounds; at the hour of his arrest, the constables found upon his person no more than one hundred sovereigns. In his dying hours, he penned a prayer for his wife; his name, long held in high repute, was henceforth indissolubly linked to forged bills.