The Three Bad Men
of Dry Tree

by

Charles Henderson

July 14 1931

The highest point of the rolling Goonhilley Downs, which fill the centre of the Lizard peninsula, is known as the Dry Tree. It is a mysterious, lonely place, marked by some Barrows, the sepulchres of forgotten Chiefs, a tall standing stone or Menhir, the idol of a forgotten faith, and the broken hedges of some little fields or “quillets”, an oasis won faithfully and slowly from the grip of the moor and fast falling back into its clutches. The ruins of a cottage were to be seen not long ago among these fields and here, according to local tradition, lived the “three bad men” whose spirits can be heard howling when the Atlantic gales beat over the Downs as surely as the tormented soul of Jan Tregeagle can be heard in the roar of the winter wind at Dosmary Pool. Tregeagle was, in actual life, a sharp-practising steward who lived in the 17th century. By a strange accident of folk-lore, tales of devils and restless spirits which were told by the country folk a thousand years before his time, have been attached to his memory. In much the same way, though on a lesser degree, the spirit of lawlessness and rapine which has haunted the Meneage throughout its history has been focused, in popular belief, upon three men who lived a bare century ago.

“Thompson, Barnicoat and Dawe,
Three rogues hung in a row.”

So runs a well known distich and every one who has heard an old “Meneager” pronounce the word 'row' will realize that the rhyme is a very good one. According to local legend, these three men were the arch-highwaymen of the West. They terrorized the district for years, robbing farmers on the roads as they came home drunk from Helston market and carrying off their cattle and sheep with impunity. One morning, it is said, the farmer at Resuic woke up to find one of his sheep missing and, in its place, this notice pinned to the sheep-fold:-

“Mr. Farmer do not weep,
It is we who stole your sheep;
'Tis only one out of your store,
When this is done, will come for more;
Thompson, Barnicoat and Dawe.”

At length the three bad men added murder to their other iniquities by killing a farmer named Hancock. This roused the countryside to action. Their stronghold at Dry Tree was invaded and proved to be a treasure house of loot. The members were secured after a desperate struggle and hanged “in a row” on the Downs. Such is the popular legend as I heard it some years ago from old inhabitants of the district. The story always interested me but it was not until recently that I was able to get at the truth of it from the files of that excellent Cornish newspaper, “The West Briton”, then just completing the first decade of its useful career.

During the first thirty years of the last century, with a labouring population on the verge of starvation, no regular police and few resident magistrates, the Lizard peninsula was a wild and lawless place. In the cottages on the Downs and in the almost unknown and inaccessible caves of the cliffs, lived families, or rather gangs, desperate by the hard times. The savagery of the law which hanged men for stealing sheep as for murder encouraged rather than diminished crimes of violence and atrocity. A generation of young men grew up with no other occupation in view than that of preying upon their more fortunate neighbours by poaching, sheepstealing and robbing on the highway. Such people were the Barnicoats and the Thompsons, two families who appear to have lived together in the little house at Dry Tree. There was an old Barnicoat and a son, John, aged 24. The three Thompsons, John, Thomas and William, were brothers and mere boys, 17, 16 and 14 years of age. Thomas Dawe a lad of 16 was their confederate.

On the night of Saturday, August 12th, 1820, William Jose, a farmer of Mullyon, left Helston with his wife to ride home. They set out late enough. It was 10 o'clock but it was a lovely star light night and they had for company a farmer named Hancock, but soon pushed on ahead of him. As they reached Base Corner, on the Lizard road, a man sprang out of the hedge and, coming up to farmer Jose, said in a low voice “Stand or I'll blow your brains out.” To this the farmer replied “Stand! What dost thou mean by that? Thou art not going to stop people on the highway to be sure.” Two men armed with guns now appeared. One struck Mrs Jose with a wooden club, the sneath of a scythe, and then attacked the farmer. In the struggle the mask on the biggest man's face flew up and percated his features, which in Jose's opinion were certainly those of John Barnicoat. The farmer continued to extricate himself from his assailants, turned his horse and, seizing the bridle of his wife's, fled to Pollwin gate. There was the flash of a gun and Mrs Jose found herself peppered in 23 places but both managed to get away without further injury.

A few minutes after this William Williams Hancock, the other farmer, came riding along from Helston. When he got near Cury Cross he found himself surrounded by three men, two armed with guns and one with a pole. Hancock was riding a spirited horse and attempted to pass but heard a report and felt himself hit. Another shot brought him down from his horse. The three men came up and began to kick him and beat him in a very cruel manner, calling him all the abusive names they could think of. They searched his pockets and took all his money, amounting to two shillings and a few pence. They also took his new hat and left him for dead. He was eventually found and carried off to a house in Cury Cross lanes in a dying condition. Here he was visited by Colonel Passingham of Bonython and Colonel Sandys of Lanarth. Before he died the latter, as a magistrate, took down a statement from him on oath to which his dying fingers were just able to affix his mark. Colonel Passingham had, in the meanwhile, sent his son with a Corporal of the 16th lancers and some other men to the Dry Tree. They secured the persons of John Barnicoat and John Thompson and confronted them with the dying man. Hancock declared that Barnicoat was the man who carried the pole and beat him so severely. Barnicoat swore that he was as “innocent as the angels in heaven.” The dying man, on seeing John Thompson, declared “Thee wast one of them but thee hadst not on that jacket: thee hadst on a larger jacket and beat me with the butt end of thy gun.” Mr Dinham, the surgeon, found seven slug wounds in Hancock's right side. He died on Sunday afternoon.

John Barnicoat, John Thompson and Thomas Thompson were sent off to the County Gaol at Launceston to await trial. William Thompson and Thomas Dawe managed to escape. The trial came on at the Lent assizes at Launceston on March 30, 1821. They were first tried on the charge of assaulting William Jose and pleaded not guilty, but after a trial lasting 10 hours Barnicoat and John Thompson were found guilty. Next came the charge of murdering Hancock. Here again they were found guilty. Thomas Thompson was acquitted on both counts. They were sentenced to be hanged and their bodies to be delivered to the surgeon of the prison for dissection. This was on Friday.

The execution of the sentence took place on Monday on the Castle Green at Launceston, where a scaffold had been erected near the Gaol. The Rev. Mr Fayrer, the Chaplain, had been attending to them since their condemnation. Barnicoat continued to assert his innocence but said he could not blame the jury as the evidence against him was so strong. Thompson was so overwhelmed, he was only 17, that a medical man advised his being given a glass of wine every two hours to support him until the time of the execution. On Sunday evening Barnicoat received the sacrament but Thompson was not in a fit state. At half past nine next morning the unfortunate young men were led to the scaffold. Barnicoat walked with a firm step but Thompson had to be carried in a chair and was placed in it over the drop. Barnicoat protested his innocence while standing on the fatal platform and appealed to Thompson who confirmed this declaration and stated that Barnicoat had not been present at either of the attacks but that the persons concerned were himself, his brother William, and Thomas Dawe. Dawe he declared as the man who shot both Mrs Jose and Hancock.

The Chaplain spent a few minutes in prayer with the culprits and then withdrew. “Almost immediately Barnicoat gave the signal previously agreed on and with his companion was launched into eternity in the presence of a great concourse of spectators.”

Great sympathy is felt with both prisoners, with Barnicoat because he was generally believed to be innocent and with Thompson on account of his youth. Even the newspapers hinted that it was possibly “one of those rare cases” where an innocent man had been condemned by “overwhelming circumstantial evidence.”

The memory of the whole affair lingers still in the Meneage, twisted and embroidered as it is. Three unfortunate lads, two of them hanged, the other, Dawe, an exile in a remote land, whose fate is barely a century old, have taken their place among the legendary figures of Cornwall's varied history.

Transcribed and edited by Chris Bond from the original manuscript held at the Cornwall Record Office (BLOS/425), 2007.