John Barton had made a specialty of forcing window shutters with great expedition. He ventured upon such housebreakings only in those dwellings or shops where he looked for plunder large enough to maintain him for a week or two without returning to his trade. Yet his gains vanished swiftly: he squandered them at the gaming tables and among women, returning thence to street robberies until some fresh opportunity presented itself.
Born in London, Barton had parents both capable of paying for his schooling and well disposed to bestow it upon him. He nevertheless neglected his lessons, preferring the company of boys his own age; the chronicler remarks that he forgot what he had been taught almost as soon as he had learned it. His father, perceiving at last that he would derive little profit from his books, removed him from the academy and bound him apprentice to a butcher. Barton conducted himself to the satisfaction of his master, who thought well of him, and he concluded his term with a tolerable reputation. His friends subsequently assisted him in setting up on his own account. The trade brought in sufficient means to support his family, according to the chronicler; yet Barton grew restless under the burden of honest labour, seeking after money that he fancied could be obtained without toil.
His former companions had by then become seasoned thieves. They urged upon him, as the chronicle records, that the hazard was by no means so great as men reported, and that a fellow of sufficient boldness might easily come off clear. Barton stood in little need of lengthy persuasion. He embarked upon his companions’ enterprises, but soon applied himself chiefly to housebreaking, a branch of robbery in which he attained singular dexterity. This adroitness quickly won him the favour of the gang. Among the acquaintances who surrounded him was Yorkshire Bob, reputed the most accomplished housebreaker in the town.
Bob one day invited Barton to his lodgings near Red Lion Fields, proposing two or three attempts upon houses in the neighbourhood. Barton judged them too hazardous. To demonstrate that a daring operation might well succeed, Bob undertook, single-handed and in broad daylight, to carry off the plate that a widow kept in her butler’s pantry. He put on the livery of a footman in the service of another lady of quality, well known in the widow’s household. The servants took him for this lady’s new domestic and conversed with him without the least distrust; Bob entertained them with merry tales until the dinner hour, when the bustle about the table drew every eye away.
Whilst the noise of the service engrossed all attention, he kindled a fire-ball near the chimney and thrust it into a cupboard where foul linen was kept. Perceiving the smoke, he raised the cry of fire. The servants came tumbling down in haste, and the ensuing disorder enabled him to lay hands upon the coveted plate. He carried it off in the sight of all, whilst the smoke distracted every onlooker. On the morrow, inquiry was made of the other lady as to what had become of the service of plate carried away by her new footman. She replied that no domestic had been engaged in her house for a twelvemonth; the counterfeit identity was thus discovered, though too late to recover the goods. Bob took the plate alone; the chronicler presents the feat as an object lesson devised to persuade Barton to venture further. Yet Barton declined to adopt the stratagem.
Barton preferred a more discreet method: he was skilled at wrenching open shutters so as to force a passage with dispatch. Unwilling to follow Bob into an enterprise so audacious, he kept himself studiously aloof from his comrade’s schemes. He confined these break-ins to premises where he hoped to find a sum substantial enough to keep him from theft for a sennight or two. The chronicler observes that he was sensible of the peril attending each attempt; the magnitude of the expected prize had, in his eyes, to justify the hazard. When the money was spent, he joined with highway robbers, who furnished him with the means of subsistence until another shop or dwelling could be forced.
A goldsmith established near his lodgings afforded him the occasion he sought. Barton was aware that the tradesman held a considerable stock of fine snuff-boxes, gold chains, rings, and other small wares of value. He carried off two gold chains, five gold necklaces, seventy-two silver spoons, and a quantity of other goods. He believed himself thereby provided with the means for his expenses for an entire year. A few days later, he broke into the house and shop of Mrs. Higgs, carrying off a hundred pairs of stockings and other valuable merchandise. Proving incautious when he sought to dispose of the booty, he drew the notice of a constable, who apprehended him and conveyed him to Newgate. At the following sessions, Barton was found guilty upon both indictments—the robberies committed against the goldsmith and Mrs. Higgs, not the enterprise conducted by Bob. He possessed no friends able to procure him relief, and no royal clemency appeared probable.
The chronicle relates that under sentence of death he maintained the same lively and cheerful air he had displayed during the most dissolute periods of his life. When informed that his name was included in the death warrant, he smiled; the chronicler adds that Barton took the astonishment of those about him for a tribute to his fortitude. His kinsfolk and the divines endeavoured to persuade him to lay aside this levity, most notably in the chapel, where other condemned men applied themselves to their devotions. He paid no heed. Though at first disconcerted by his demeanour, his fellow prisoners soon ceased to reproach him for his mirth and began to imitate it themselves. Barton persisted in this attitude unto his final day.
He died at Tyburn on March 14, 1725, scarcely three-and-twenty years of age, without having altered his posture to the very end. The narrative draws a sharp contrast between the young apprentice who became an independent butcher and the man who chose to live in idleness and pleasure rather than rest content with the fruits of his trade. He sought great hauls so as to escape, for a few days, the necessity of crime. Barton had chosen the shutters, yet his prodigality drove him ever back to the highways and the pry-bar. He was apprehended after attempting to dispose of the plunder taken from the goldsmith and Mrs. Higgs.