Summary
Personal Information
Voyage
Transportation
John Darcy was transported on the Eden, departing 30th Sep 1848 and arriving 21st Jan 1849 with 237 passengers.
Built 1826 at London. Wood ship of 513 Tons.
Eden (generic)References
| Primary Source | Australian Joint Copying Project. Microfilm Roll 92, Class and Piece Number HO11/15, Page Number 335 (169) |
| Source Description | This record is one of the entries in the British convict transportation registers 1787-1867 database compiled by State Library of Queensland from British Home Office (HO) records which are available on microfilm as part of the Australian Joint Copying Pro |
| Original Source | Great Britain. Home Office |
| Compiled By | State Library of Queensland |
| Database Source | British convict transportation registers 1787-1867 database |
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Convict Notes


Old Bailey Online JOHN DARCEY. Theft; theft from a specified place. 1st March 1847. Text type Trial account Defendants JOHN DARCEY Offences Theft > Theft from place Session Date 1st March 1847 Reference Number t18470301-712a Verdicts Guilty Punishments Transportation 712. JOHN DARCEY alias WILLIAM GIBBS was indicted for breaking and entering the warehouse of George Downing and another, at St. Mark, Westminster, and stealing 1 order for the payment of 10l.; 1 bag, value 6d.; 4 half-crowns, and 10 shillings; and 1 order for the payment of 6l. 13s. 4d., their property; and that he had been before convicted of felony. JOHN HENRY DOWNING . I am one of the firm of George and John Henry Downing—we are floor-cloth manufacturers, and live at Nos. 6 and 7, Lowndes-terrace, Knightsbridge. On Sunday morning, the 31st of Jan., I went from my private house to my warehouse—my dwelling-house has no internal communication with the warehouse—I found it all in confusion, the letters and papers strewed on the floor—the iron safe was broken open, the lock of it hanging off—the desk was broken, and one cupboard and two drawers—the back door was left ajar—it opens into an open yard—I noticed a pane of glass in the window at the side of the warehouse—it appeared as if a gimlet or bradawl had been forced in, the glass taken out, and the window opened—there is a beer-cellar under a covered roof, which comes up to the warehouse—it appeared that the warehouse had been entered by that covered roof evidently—I could see marks of footsteps—there were some rolls of floorcloth under the window, affording a means of descent into the warehouse—I missed a check for 10l., and one for 6l. 13s. 4d., and a canvass-bag with two half-sovereigns and 1l. worth of silver in it—the checks were payable to bearer—I have recovered the one for 10l.—it was presented, and the party stopped with it—this is it—it is a check of my partner's, and taken from the iron safe—the two half-sovereigns and the 1l. of silver belonged to the firm—the premises were fastened up about seven o'clock on the Saturday evening, and the keys brought round to me—there were evident appearances of the premises being opened in the way I have described—there must have been a breaking to get in. ALEXANDER WHITE . I live in Clarendon-terrace, Notting-hill, and am cashier in the Union Bank, Pall-mall. This check was tendered at that bank by the prisoner on Monday morning the 1st of Feb., about ten o'clock—the bank opens at nine o'clock, and it was about an hour after that—I referred the prisoner to the back room, so as to have an opportunity of sending for the constable—I had had previous intimation of it. JAMES WEBSTER JONES (police-constable B 59.) I took the prisoner into custody—I asked him how he became possessed of the check—he said he had been taking a walk round Charing-cross, and had met a gentleman who said he would give him a few shillings to get the check cashed for him—I said he had better take a walk with me, and see if we could find him—we went and did not see any gentleman that he could point out—on the Saturday evening I had seen the prisoner in the neighbourhood of Sloane-street—he passed me about half-past ten o'clock—he was nine houses from Messrs. Downing's—he was going towards Brompton. Cross-examined by MR. PAYNE. Q. Had you known him before? A. Yes, for some years past—I did not speak to him on that Saturday night—my beat is in the main road between Sloane-street and Mr. Downing's—I stated that I met him somewhere near the corner of Sloane-street—it was at the corner near the crossing—he walked quickly past—I was coming from the corner of Sloane-street—he was going the contrary way—I met him—I received intimation of the robbery on the Sunday morning—I went and examined Mr. Downing's premises—I then went in plain clothes on the Monday morning to the bank, and waited outside—I had the two banks in view—Ransom's bank is within three houses of the Union Bank—the other check has not been found. MR. PAYNE called JOHN BROOKS . I live with Mr. Giblett, a butcher, in Bond-street—I have been in his employ eleven years. On the last Saturday evening in Jan. I went to Mr. Stewart's, the Haunch of Venison, in Brook-street, Bond-street—I was there several times in the course of the evening—I was there first about eight o'clock, or a little after—I saw the prisoner there at eight, or a few minutes after—I lodge there, and went for my coat to put on, as it was rather a cold evening—the prisoner was then in the tap-room—I only staid a few minutes—I went back again at half-past ten—I was in at the Haunch of Venison perhaps two or three times, at intervals, between eight and half-past ten o'clock—I did not stay more than two or three minutes, to have a glass of something to drink—I am pretty sure I saw the prisoner most of the times I went in—I am sure I saw him once or twice between eight and half-past ten—he is no acquaintance of mine, merely a person I have seen in the tap-room—I have seen him there several times for the last two or three months—I have had conversation with him—when I went there at half-past ten that night my business was over—I staid till twelve o'clock at the house before I went to bed—the prisoner was there from half-past ten till twelve. COURT. Q. Did you know his name? A. All I knew was that his name was John—I heard his father was a cow-keeper—I know nothing of his character or history—he was in the tap-room at half-past ten that night, according to my recollection—there were ten, twelve; or fourteen persons there—I do not know where the prisoner lived, or how he got his living—he did not sleep at the public-house that night, to my knowledge—he went out, and the house was closed when I went to bed. HENRY GLENNISTER . I have lived for two years as waiter at Mr. Stewart's, the Haunch of Venison, in Brook-street, Bond-street—I attend the tap-room. I remember the last Saturday in Jan.—I knew the prisoner—he was in the habit of coming to the house occasionally, but not a great deal—he was there on that night, the last Saturday in Jan.—he came there between seven and eight o'clock, and left at twelve—I was in and out of the tap-room all the evening—I saw the prisoner every quarter of an hour, or it might have been less—there were other persons in the tap-room as customers—the prisoner could not have been away for half an hour without my knowing it—he is no acquaintance of mine—I have seen him as a casual customer—Mr. Stewart has kept that house for fifteen years—when I am out he attends to the customers—when I am at home he does not. COURT. Q. How many people were in the tap-room? A. I should say about six—we had more in afterwards—the six persons remained there all the evening, four or five hours—they were not in a party—there were different persons there—the prisoner was one that remained from eight to twelve o'clock—he had no companion—I am in the habit of looking at the clock—I recollect the prisoner, because he was the only one who was there when he came in—he had the tap-room to himself for an hour or an hour and a half—nobody at all came during that time—towards nine customers that we generally have, came in—nobody interfered with him—they came in to have a pint of porter and smoke a pipe—there were persons came in, but no one interfered with him—I did not know the prisoner's name, or what he was—I heard from his friends where he was, and I had a subpœna brought me about a fortnight ago, and then I recollected the man—he sat drinking his porter till a quarter past ten, and then he asked me for two plates to go and get some boiled beef—he went out for about five minutes—I am sure he was not gone an hour, or half an hour—he was not more than five minutes—I got him the plates—the beef came from Davies-street—I cannot tell the name of the person he fetched the beef from—the man is not here—the prisoner sat from seven till ten—he then got hungry, and I lent him the plates to fetch his own supper, and I waited upon him—he paid for all that I brought him in, as I left it—he might have had something oftener than every half-hour—he had a pint of porter at a time—I cannot answer how many pints he drank—he paid in halfpence for all the pints—I did not see him in conversation—he asked me in the tap-room for the plates, and I went down into the kitchen and got them—the servant was in the kitchen, but she knows nothing of it—she is not here—I fetched the prisoner a knife and fork, and mustard—he had no vegetables or pickles—he ordered bread, and he paid for it—then he sat down, resumed his solitude, and sat without uttering a word from seven till twelve o'clock at night. MR. PAYNE. Q. I suppose you do not mean he did not speak a word? A. I did not see him talking—I had no acquaintance with him out of the house—I mean he was by himself, he had no companion—I am still remaining with Mr. Stewart—he is going to keep me on. ANN QUINLAND . I live servant with the prisoner's father and mother—they are in the milk line—they keep fifteen cows—they live at No. 32, Kepple-mews South. The prisoner lived in their house in Jan.—I remember the last Saturday night that he came home—I do not know what Saturday it was—he came home at half-past twelve o'clock, and went to his bed—I am obliged to get up early about the cows—four o'clock is my time—he did not go out of the house again after he came home, and went to bed—I was milking the cows from four o'clock till seven—I then went out with my milk—I saw the prisoner in bed when I came in at nine o'clock—he did not go out before seven o'clock—he was there when I went out. COURT. Q. Is anybody else from the family here? A. No—his mother was at home that night—she went to bed before ten o'clock—the prisoner has been living at home always—I have known him at home for the last fourteen months that I have been living with them—I did not live with them in Oct., 1845, only since Jan. twelve months—he was at home in Jan., 1846. Q. Do you mean to say that? A. No, he was not at home—I do not know where he was—I was a stranger in the place then—I went in Jan.—I saw him very soon afterwards—I do not know whether he was there in Jan., Feb., March, or April—he was there before May—he got his meals at home—there was not any dinner provided for him that Saturday—he got his breakfast about nine o'clock, and went out—he was not in till half-past twelve—he left himself in—the door was always ajar. COURT to JAMES WEBSTER JONES. Q. Were you waiting near that banking-house by previous appointment? A. Yes—I received information from Mr. Downing, and I called and told the clerks—I refcollected then that I had seen the prisoner on Saturday night—it is a usual thing to see him about there at night—I know the prisoner's parents—I called on his father—Quinland was there, and she said she had not seen him for six weeks—I never suspected the prisoner of being a thief—I knew him to be about at low public-houses. COURT to ANN QUINLAND. Q. Did you tell the officer that you had not seen the prisoner for six weeks? A. I did not—my fellow-servant and my mistress did—my mistress and the prisoner had some words, and he came in of a night after they were gone to bed, and went out at nine o'clock—his father knew he was in the house, his mother was ill for six weeks, and kept her bed—my mistress always quarrelled with the prisoner—she did not know he was there—he is her step-son. MR. PAYNE. Q. You knew the prisoner was there, but you were afraid to let your mistress know it? A. Yes. Prisoner. I wish to know where the officer has seen me. JAMES WEBSTER JONES re-examined. There are several low public houses and skittle-grounds in the neighbourhood—he has been in the habit of frequenting them. COURT. Q. Can you be mistaken in the person who passed you that night? A. It is impossible, I cannot be mistaken—I mentioned that I saw the prisoner at half-past ten o'clock on the Saturday night, at the police-court—when I took the prisoner, we went before the Magistrate almost immediately—I waited at the police-court while a person went for Mr. Downing—I did not have a long conversation with the cashier—I did not tell him of having seen the prisoner—I have no doubt whatever of having seen the prisoner that Saturday night—I did not say to any one that I saw him on the Saturday night—I gave my evidence at once—I had the prisoner at the police-court soon after ten o'clock—the case might be heard two or three hours afterwards. GEORGE WASTON . I produce a certificate of the prisoner's former conviction—I did not get it myself—I asked the officer to get it for me. JAMES WEBSTER JONES re-examined. I got this certificate of the Clerk of the Peace at Clerkenwell. GEORGE WASTON re-examined. I know the prisoner—I attended at Clerkenwell in Oct., 1845, when the prisoner was tried—the beadle of the Lowther Arcade took the prisoner—he was charged with having connextion with pickpockets—John Cox picked the pocket, and gave what he took to the prisoner—the prisoner dropped the purse when he was taken—(read—Convicted 21st of Oct., 1845, and confined six months)—the prisoner is the person. GUILTY . Aged 20.— Transported Seven years.