This Day in History: 5 February 1808 — Edward Westbrooke and the Stolen Cotton

On 5 February 1808, London’s highest criminal court, the Old Bailey, heard the case of Edward Westbrooke, who stood accused of stealing hundreds of printed cotton handkerchiefs and other textiles — goods of considerable value in the commercial heart of Georgian England. His trial, conviction and ultimate fate reveal much about how property, punishment and mercy operated in the early nineteenth century.


The Alleged Theft

Westbrooke was indicted for feloniously taking:

  • Three hundred dozen printed cotton handkerchiefs
  • A wrapper
  • Other textile goods

These were worth a significant sum and were described in the indictment as the property of local merchants. Cotton textiles were central to Britain’s burgeoning trade economy, traded in bulk and regarded as commodities of real worth.


The Trial at the Old Bailey

On 17 February 1808, Westbrooke’s trial began at the Old Bailey. Prosecutors produced testimony identifying the stolen goods, while defence arguments — if any were recorded — failed to sway the jury.

The judge and jurors, stern in posture and deliberate in their duty, considered whether the evidence met the standards of the day. With property crime seen as a threat to economic order, juries were often unsympathetic unless doubt was overwhelming.

Here is the actual trial transcript:

EDWARD WESTBROOKE was indicted for feloniously stealing on the 5th of February , three hundred dozen of printed cotton handkerchiefs, value 40 l. and a wrapper, value 6 d. the property of James Hartwell and William Behman , in the dwelling house of James Hartwell .

JAMES HARTWELL . My partner’s name is William Behman ; we are warehousemen ; I have no other partner.

Q. In what parish is the house in which you carry on your business. – A. In St. Stephens, Walbrook ; I inhabit the house, and sleep there; Mr. Behman lives in Hackney-road.

Q. He only comes in the house for the purpose of business. – A.Just so.

Q Did you at any time lose a truss containing three hundred dozen of printed cotton handkerchiefs. – A. Yes, on Friday the 5th of February, between six and seven in the evening, from the house in Walbrook; they were enclosed in a canvas wrapper.

Q.Do you know from what circumstance they were lost. – A. Yes; this truss was delivered at my house, after the warehouse was closed; our warehouse is at this time of the year closed at dusk; this truss was deivered about six o’clock; it was delivered into my dwelling house, but not in the warehouse.

Q. Did you see it in your dwelling house before it was taken away. – A. I did not. About twenty minutes or half after six o’clock, my servant was called to the house door in consequence of a knock; the prisoner at the bar said, I hear that your master wants a porter; in consequence of this my servant came up into the dining room to me and said a man wanted me; he said he heard I wanted a porter; I said it is a mistake, I do not want any porter. When she had got half way down stairs she screamed out, observing the man absent and the truss missing; that moment I run out of the dining room.

Q. Did you catch sight of the prisoner. – A. No; the moment I got out of the street door, I called out stop thief; I ran to the corner of Cannon-street, but did not see any thing particular; finding things quiet, I returned and found a terrible scuffle at that end of Walbrook that comes into Bucklersbury, and as I came gently up I found a man a running very fast indeed, coming towards me, with several others following of him.

Q. Had that man any bundle with him. – A. No. In Walbrook, opposite the end of a court, I secured the prisoner at the bar; he said what do you want with me; I replied you have stolen a truss of mine; and I requested some one or two who were near me to assist me to take him up to my own door; they assisted me in taking him up.

Q. By that means you secured him in your house. – A. Yes. When I got within three yards of my own door, I met my servant whom he asked the question of; she said I will swear that is the man.

Q. That was in his hearing. – A. Yes. The prisoner made no reply; when I got him into the passage of my house, he acknowledged that he was the person that came to enquire about a porter’s place. The moment he was in the passage I desired they would be kind enough to secure the prisoner; I went and found a man coming with the truss at the corner of Buckler’sbury, he said he found the truss on a post; I said where are you going with that truss; he replied, sir, I am going to bring it to you. He delivered it to me. I requested they would keep the prisoner in custody till I got a constable.

Q. You had never seen the truss before. – A. No.

SUSANNAH ABBOTT . Q. Were you servant to Mr. Hartwell on the 5th of February. – A. I was.

Q. Do you know whether he had any truss delivered. – A. On the 5th of February, a little after seven, there came a rap at the door, and the truss was delivered.

Q. Is the man here that delivered the truss. – A. No; the truss was delivered to me; it was left in the passage, and the man went away.

Q. How long after that did you see any other person. A. About a quarter of an hour afterwards there came another knock at the door; the prisoner came in and asked for Mr. Hartwell.

Q. Are you quite sure he is the man. – A. I am quite sure, my lord, he is the man; he asked for Mr. Hartwell by name, he said he was informed he wanted a porter; I told him I did not know, but if he would come in I would enquire of my master, he was in the sitting room.

Q. Where was your master’s sitting room. – A. Above stairs. I went up to my master, and delivered the message that the man sent me with.

Q. At the time that you left the prisoner with the street door in his hand, whereabouts was this truss. – A. It was very near the prisoner.

Q. Was it a large truss. – A. Yes, I delivered the prisoner’s message to my master, and returned down stairs almost immediately, I was not a minute with my master; my master said, he did not want one, he must be misinformed; as I went down I saw the prisoner was gone and the truss, I saw that before I got down stairs by the light of the candle, and the door was left open; I called out for my master before I got to the bottom; I ran into the street calling out stop thief.

Q. Did you get sight of the prisoner. – A. I did not at that moment, a man in the street told me he had gone down the street; another man told me he had told me wrong, he had gone up the street; I returned again towards the Mansion house; I met the prisoner by the church going down the street; he had got rid of the truss and was running down the street; I called out that was the man.

Q. Did you lay hold of him. – A. No, I catched at him but I could not hold him, I followed him; I did not lose sight of him till my master stopped him.

Q. Did you see the truss of goods again. – A. I did, they came into the house again, a strange man brought it in from the corner.

Q. Did that man give you any account how he came by it. – A. No; I have not seen him since.

Q. Do you know it to be the same truss as was there when you went up stairs. – A. I did: my master’s name was on it in large letters.

Q. I suppose that is all you know of it. – A. Yes.

Q. Have you any doubt that he is the man. – A. I am confident that he is the man that came and asked for the porter’s place.

DANIEL LEADBEATER . Q. You are a constable. – A. I am.

Q. Do you know any thing more than taking charge of this man. – A. No farther; I was sent for to take charge of him in company with Cartwright; I searched him and fond nothing about him but a knife; he had an apron about him near in the same way he has got that now.

CARTWRIGHT. I produce the truss; I have had it in my possession ever since.

Jury. What do you suppose it to weigh. – A. Between eighty and ninety pound.

Q. to prosecutor. Is your name upon that truss. – A. Yes, it is the same truss, it contains the same articles as the invoice, and before the lord mayor I had it cut open; I saw the contents, it was such a truss as I expected.

Q. Had you given any intimation that you wanted a porter. – A. No, we have a man that suited us exceeding well; I had no thought of changing.

Q. Who had sent you these goods. – A. Ashton and Shipley, at Manchester.

Q. They are persons that supply you with goods. – A. Yes.

Q. What is the value of the contents of that truss. – A. Forty-pounds; the invoice is forty eight.

Prisoner’s Defence. I was coming down Newgate street, I met with a young fellow, he told me that if I was to apply to Mr. Hartwell he believed that they wanted a porter; I went to Mr. Hartwell’s, to know if they wanted one; the servant went to her master; I stood at the corner of the stairs for an answer and just as the time the maid went up stairs a young fellow took the bale and handed it to another; they ran away, I ran after them calling out stop thief; Mr. Hartwell when he came up to me he knocked me down; he said, that I was the man that was in the entry, while the maid went up stairs to ask if he wanted a porter.

GUILTY – DEATH , aged 24.

[The prisoner was recommended to his Majesty’s mercy by the jury and the prosecutor on account of his youth.]

Second Middlesex jury, before Mr. Common Serjeant.


Sentence, Reprieve and Transportation

The jury returned a guilty verdict. Westbrooke was initially sentenced to death, reflecting the harsh penalties prescribed for felony theft. Yet his sentence came with a recommendation — indicating either mitigating circumstances or judicial mercy.

On 18 May 1808, his execution sentence was respited, sparing his life. Instead, Westbrooke was transported to New South Wales as a convict for a term of seven years, a common alternative to execution during this period.

He arrived in Australia in early 1812, aged about 28, beginning a new — if forced — chapter in the distant colony.


Why This Case Matters

The story of Edward Westbrooke’s trial and transportation highlights:

  • The centrality of textile commerce in Georgian London
  • The severity of legal penalties for property crime
  • How capital sentences were sometimes commuted in favour of transportation
  • The global reach of British punishment systems

Westbrooke’s life arc — from accused felon at the Old Bailey to convict in Australia — illustrates how justice, mercy and empire intertwined in the early 1800s.


Sources

  • Old Bailey Proceedings Online, 1808 trial of Edward Westbrooke (indictment dated 5 Feb).
  • The Digital Panopticon – life record of Edward Westbrooke, including sentencing, respital and transportation history.

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Quote of the Day: The Aftermath of a Meal

“You can tell how good a meal was by how long the washing-up is avoided.”
The Sage


The Sage has always found the aftermath of a meal far more revealing than the meal itself. Plates stacked neatly and washed immediately suggest adequacy; dishes left soaking, rearranged, and quietly ignored speak of something richer. When conversation lingers and chairs remain pulled out long after the food is gone, the sink becomes a secondary concern — and rightly so.

He observes that washing-up avoidance is rarely laziness. More often, it’s a sign that people are reluctant to end the moment. The dishes represent closure, and The Sage knows that good meals are not merely eaten — they are experienced. Stories are told, laughter repeats itself, and time stretches just enough that the practicalities politely wait their turn.

With gentle humour, The Sage reminds us that a sink full of plates is not a failure of discipline, but evidence of enjoyment. The washing-up will happen eventually. The memory of the meal, however, lasts precisely because it was given priority. In that small delay, he finds a quiet measure of success.


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Advice of the Day: Evening Decision-Making

“Choose tea based on how tired you are, not how hungry.”

The Sage

The Sage understands that choosing what to have for tea is rarely about food. His advice today cuts straight to the real issue: “Choose tea based on how tired you are, not how hungry.”

According to The Sage, hunger lies. It makes wild promises about cooking from scratch, experimenting with spices, and “just quickly doing something proper.” Tiredness, however, tells the truth. It knows whether tonight is a three-pan commitment or a plate that can be eaten from the sofa without eye contact.

The Sage advises an honest self-assessment. If you sigh when opening the fridge, the meal should involve minimal effort and maximum forgiveness. If you sit down “just for a minute” before cooking, tea has already chosen itself. Wisdom, he insists, is not eating what you want — it’s eating what you can manage without falling asleep halfway through.


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Advice of the Day: Movie Night Diplomacy

“Let your friend choose — then sigh loudly throughout.”

The Sage

The Sage understands that choosing a film with a friend is not about enjoyment — it’s about responsibility. His advice today offers a masterclass in avoiding it entirely: “Let your friend choose — then sigh loudly throughout.”

According to The Sage, this approach delivers the perfect balance of politeness and resentment. By letting your friend choose, you appear agreeable, relaxed, and emotionally mature. By sighing regularly, checking the time, and shifting position every seven minutes, you ensure they never forget that this was, in fact, their idea.

The Sage recommends deploying a range of subtle techniques: the thoughtful sigh, the concerned eyebrow raise, and the whispered “Oh…” at key plot moments. These signals communicate disappointment without the inconvenience of conversation. True wisdom, he insists, lies in suffering silently while making sure the other person notices.


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Quote of the Day: January asks far more than it gives

“January is not a month — it’s a test of endurance.”
The Sage


The Sage has always treated January with a mixture of respect and caution. Fresh from the promises of a new year, the month arrives heavy with expectation but light on reward. The celebrations have ended, the daylight remains elusive, and the calendar seems determined to move at half speed. January, he says, does not rush — it waits.

He observes that January asks far more than it gives. It demands patience, resilience, and a willingness to continue even when motivation has quietly slipped out the back door. The Sage notes that enthusiasm is usually spent by the first week, yet the month continues regardless, offering little encouragement beyond the faint promise that things will eventually improve.

With gentle humour, The Sage reminds us that endurance is itself a form of progress. January is not meant to be conquered, but survived. And in making it through, we quietly prove to ourselves that persistence does not require excitement — only the steady resolve to keep going until the light returns.


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Advice of the Day: Welly Selection

“Always buy the tallest wellies so the water knows when to stop.”

The Sage

The Sage has crossed many puddles, fields, and suspiciously damp shortcuts, and from these journeys he offers a simple rule: “Always buy the tallest wellies so the water knows when to stop.”

According to The Sage, water is a deeply respectful substance. It rises only until it encounters a clear signal of authority. Tall wellies, he explains, send exactly that message. Short wellies invite ambition. Tall wellies establish boundaries. Extra-tall wellies suggest you are not to be messed with.

The Sage admits that water occasionally ignores this advice, but he insists that this is a failure of attitude, not footwear. If your wellies are tall enough, brightly coloured enough, and worn with sufficient confidence, the water will usually pause, reconsider, and go somewhere else. True dryness, after all, begins with belief.


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This Day in History: 29 January 1695 — Jeane Bates and the Stolen Plate

On 29 January 1695, Jeane Bates, also known as Jeane Bates alias Clark, committed a theft that would soon bring her before the Old Bailey — and ultimately to the gallows.

Her crime was not violent robbery, but domestic theft, carried out under a false name while employed as a servant.


The theft

The prosecution stated that Jeane Bates stole from Peter Courtney, Gentleman, a substantial quantity of household goods, including:

  • six silver spoons
  • forks, salts, and porringers
  • a pepper box, mustard pot, and sugar box
  • three yards of velvet
  • a scarf, and other items

The total value ran into several pounds, a serious sum in the 1690s.


How it was discovered

Mrs Courtney swore that she had hired the prisoner on 26 January, under the name Betty Lambert. Bates remained in service for about four days.

During that time, the closet where the plate was kept was broken open, and the plate was stolen. At the same moment, Bates absented herself from service and disappeared.


The trial

At trial, Bates denied that she had ever been hired by Mrs Courtney. She offered no other defence.

Her denial did not stand.

  • Mr Courtney’s clerk swore that Bates had indeed been hired as a servant.
  • Another gentlewoman appeared in court, declaring that Bates had previously robbed her while in her service.
  • When Bates’ hand was searched, it was found to be branded, marking her as a convicted offender.

The court noted that although she was still a young woman, she was “an old offender.”

The jury returned their verdict:

Guilty of the felony.


Sentence and imprisonment

Jeane Bates was sentenced to death, the standard punishment for felony theft of this value by a repeat offender.

She was committed to Newgate Prison, where she came under the care of the Ordinary of Newgate, whose published account repeats the facts of her crime and conviction almost word for word.


The plea of pregnancy

After sentence, Bates pleaded that she was with child, a claim that, if true, would have delayed execution.

A formal examination was ordered.

The claim was found to be false.


Execution

With no reprieve granted, Jeane Bates was taken to Tyburn and executed by hanging.

The Ordinary’s account records no dramatic final confession, only the grim certainty of punishment carried out after repeated offending and deception.


Why this case matters

The case of Jeane Bates shows how domestic service could provide opportunity for theft — and how quickly trust could turn into condemnation.

It also illustrates:

  • the importance of branding in identifying repeat offenders
  • how false names were used to gain employment
  • the legal limits of pleading pregnancy
  • the severity of punishment for property crime in late seventeenth-century England

For Jeane Bates, 29 January 1695 marked the offence that sealed her fate.


Sources

  • Old Bailey Proceedings, Jeane Bates alias Clark, offence dated 29 January 1695
    Ref: t16950403-14
  • Old Bailey Sessions summary: s16950403-1
  • Ordinary of Newgate’s Account: OA16950417

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Advice of the Day: Flood Survival

“Lie flat so the water has nowhere to go.”

The Sage

The Sage has always believed that water, like most problems, can be confused into submission. His advice for staying dry during a flood is therefore both calm and catastrophically misguided: “Lie flat so the water has nowhere to go.”

According to The Sage, floods thrive on vertical ambition. Rising water enjoys climbing legs, furniture, and social media headlines. By lying flat, you deny it this pleasure. Spread yourself thin enough, he explains, and the water becomes uncertain, hesitant, and eventually bored. It’s not drowning — it’s negotiation.

The Sage admits that this method works best on solid ground, calm rivers, and carpets you were planning to replace anyway. He also notes that while you may still be wet, you will at least feel theoretically dry, which is often all that matters. True wisdom, after all, is not about avoiding danger — it’s about lying down confidently and hoping physics blinks first.


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Quote of the Day: Floods and Humility

Floods teach humility faster than comfort ever could.
The Sage


The Sage has always believed that comfort has a way of dulling our awareness. When life runs smoothly, we begin to mistake stability for permanence and convenience for entitlement. Floods, he says, arrive as an abrupt correction — not out of malice, but indifference. They remind us that nature does not adapt to our plans, and that security is often far more fragile than we like to admit.

He observes that humility emerges not when things go well, but when control slips away. Rising water strips away assumptions with remarkable efficiency: what matters, what doesn’t, and how quickly certainty dissolves. The Sage notes that floods do not argue, persuade, or compromise — they simply reveal how small human arrangements are when placed against elemental forces.

Yet his words are not intended as condemnation. The Sage speaks instead of perspective. From hardship often comes solidarity, generosity, and renewed respect — for one another and for the world we inhabit. Comfort may lull us into forgetting our limits, but floods remind us of them instantly. And in that reminder, The Sage finds the beginning of humility — hard-earned, uncomfortable, but necessary.


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This Day in History: 27 January 1688 — Mary Aubry and the Dismembered Murder

On 27 January 1688, in the parish of St Martin-in-the-Fields, London, a French midwife named Mary Aubry acted on a long-expressed threat and murdered her husband, Denis Hobry — a man known locally for his drunkenness and violence.

Mary and Denis had been married for four years. He squandered her earnings, frequently beat her, and subjected her to physical abuse. In her own testimony compiled in contemporary pamphlets, Mary admitted that if her husband did not change his behaviour, she had told him she would kill him.


The murder and the body parts

On the morning of 27 January, Denis returned home inebriated. After assaulting Mary again — beating her and trying to force himself on her — he fell asleep, leaving Mary with a choice between ongoing abuse and desperate action.

Mary strangled him with a garter. Still distraught and determined to hide what she had done, she dismembered his body over several days, disposing of the parts separately:

  • The torso was left near a dunghill on Parker’s Lane.
  • The head and limbs were hidden in privies at the Savoy Palace.

Once the body parts were discovered and reassembled, the identity of the victim became clear, and Mary was arrested.


Old Bailey trial — 22 February 1688

Mary appeared before the Old Bailey on 22 February 1688 on an indictment of murder, though under the early modern legal category of petty treason, since a wife killing her husband was considered an attack on social hierarchy — a “lesser” form of treason.

She pleaded guilty, and the next day received the death sentence:

that she should be drawn from Newgate to the place of execution, and there burnt with fire till she was dead.

This sentence reflected the 17th-century rule that petty treason — particularly the killing of a husband by a wife — warranted execution by burning at the stake.


Execution — 2 March 1688

On Friday, 2 March 1688, Mary Aubry was taken from Newgate Prison to Leicester Fields. Witnesses recorded that she appeared penitent, often lifting her hands and eyes heavenward and showing sincere sorrow for her crime and its consequences on her fate.

At around half past ten in the morning, a stake had been prepared. Mary was hanged slowly by a rope attached to the stake, strangling for some time before wood was piled around and burnt until her body was reduced to ashes.

Burning at the stake was the statutory punishment for petty treason in England at this time, intended to mark the perceived breach of social and sexual order represented by a wife killing her husband.


Why this case matters

The case of Mary Aubry resonated far beyond the Old Bailey:

  • It was the subject of multiple pamphlets, ballads and prints shortly after the events.
  • Contemporary observers used it to debate questions of gender, violence, language and domestic authority in urban London.
  • The brutality of the murder and the sensational nature of the dismemberment etched her into both popular and legal memory.

For historians and legal scholars, the case reveals how early modern England’s legal categories like petty treason worked, and how public sentiment, print culture, and social bias (including anti-Catholic and anti-foreign feeling) could shape reactions long after the trial itself.


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