In the dead of night, the door of an upper room at the Castle Tavern burst open following the clash of steel. The men who rushed within found Major John Oneby grasping Gower with his left hand, a drawn sword in his right; Gower’s own weapon lay upon the floorboards. Gower collapsed almost at that instant. Oneby protested that he had not hurt him, yet blood was already seeping through the fallen man’s waistcoat. The dispute had had its origins at the card table, amidst a company that had hitherto believed itself reconciled.
Oneby was no callow recruit newly arrived in the capital. Born in 1677 at Barwell, in Leicestershire, he was the son of an attorney. His father had solicited the patronage of Sir Nathan Wright, the Lord Keeper, whose niece he had wed; this recommendation secured Oneby the post of train-bearer, an office he maintained in the hope of further advancement. He subsequently purchased a commission and saw service under the Duke of Marlborough. A duel at Bruges had ended in the death of his antagonist; the Major was haled before a court-martial and subsequently acquitted. At Port Royal, in Jamaica, he fought another officer, who received a mortal hurt and died after several months of languishing. Following the Peace of Utrecht, Oneby returned to England upon half-pay.
In London, he frequented the gaming-hells, ever carrying cards and dice about his pockets. One evening, in a Covent Garden coffee-house, a party of gentlemen resolved to pursue their play at the Castle Tavern in Drury Lane. Mr. Hawkins declined to join the hazard. Mr. Rich enquired whether any present would take up his wager of three half-crowns; Gower, by way of a jest, laid down three halfpence. Oneby took umbrage, cursed him, and flung a bottle at his head. Gower retaliated with a glass. Both gentlemen drew their swords, but Rich interposed, and the company believed the quarrel extinguished.
Gower presently proposed to settle the dispute amicably, whilst observing that it was Oneby who had struck the first blow. The Major swore that he would have his blood, and turned upon Hawkins, charging him with having instigated the affray. Hawkins answered that he was ready to answer for himself whenever the Major chose to speak to him. Oneby replied that he had “another man first.” Shortly after three of the clock in the morning, Hawkins took his leave of the company. Oneby then arose, called Gower aside, and bid him step into an adjoining room. They shut the door behind them.
The witnesses had not seen the thrust itself: they had heard the clatter of swords and forced the lock. When a companion told the Major he feared he had killed his man, Oneby answered that he could have done so had he wished, but that he had meant only to frighten him. He added that, even had Gower died in the heat of passion, the law would protect him, whereas a death upon a premeditated meeting was another matter. Borrow recorded these words after the event, as testimony of what Oneby was said to have spoken upon the spot.
The surgeon discovered a mortal wound: the blade had pierced the intestines. Gower expired the following day. Oneby was apprehended and conveyed to Newgate. At his trial, certain particulars gave the jury pause. Rather than deliver a general verdict, they brought in a special verdict, praying the judges to determine how the law applied to the facts so found. The matter admitted of no swift resolution: the Major remained incarcerated nearly two years, the judges having failed to convene in order to deliver their opinion.
Grown restless under this delay, Oneby prayed that his counsel might be heard. A writ of habeas corpus brought him before the Court of King’s Bench; the bench assigned him two counsel, an attorney, and a clerk. A few days thereafter, the court heard the Crown lawyers and those for the Major, and then announced they would confer with the rest of their brethren. Returned to Newgate, Oneby entertained his keeper at dinner at the Crown and Anchor in the Strand. According to Borrow, the arguments of his advocates had filled him with such assurance that he scarcely doubted his speedy enlargement.
The judges convened at Serjeants’ Inn Hall. The arguments occupied a whole day; all the while, Oneby drank and caroused at Newgate with his acquaintance, professing himself certain of escaping the halter, persuaded that he had acted as became a man of honour. After further deliberation, a visitor brought word to Oneby that eleven judges had pronounced against him. The Major addressed letters to divers magistrates and persons of quality, yet received no reply. His dread deepened when the gaoler informed him that he must be loaded with double irons and removed to another cell, unless he paid a man to keep watch in his room. At the ensuing sitting, Lord Raymond signified to him that the judges were unanimously of opinion that he was guilty of murder. Raymond observed that the threat imputed to Oneby—that he would have Gower’s blood—had weighed heavily in their determination. Oneby denied ever having uttered the words; he was answered that they stood recorded in the special verdict.
He entreated the bench to intercede for him with the King. Lord Raymond explained that they could not do so, and that he must seek mercy through another channel. A few days later, sentence of death was passed upon him and his execution ordered. His kinsmen and acquaintance exerted themselves to procure a pardon, but their endeavours proved fruitless, as Borrow relates.
In 1729, as the day appointed for his execution drew near, he retired to his bed on the Saturday at ten of the clock. Waking about four on Sunday morning, he called for a glass of brandy mixed with water, together with paper and ink. He wrote to his cousin, directing him to give half a guinea to the turnkey and five shillings to the man appointed to watch in his room, observing that they had undergone much trouble on his account. He then desired that he might rest until his friends should visit him in the morning. When his servant entered some hours later, Oneby asked who was with him: “Who is that, Philip?” These were his last words. A visitor approached the bed and discovered a deep gash in his wrist, inflicted with a penknife. The surgeon was summoned, but Oneby had already breathed his last.