Mr. James Turner, a considerable farmer, of Waddingworth, declared, on his own public affidavit, that he was attacked by robbers when riding home from Horncastle market, for, be it remembered, gigs were then little used; men rode to and from market, and carried their wives behind them on pillions (as the present writer has frequently seen, as a boy). To use Mr. Turner’s words, he said, “When I had proceeded a quarter-of-a-mile through the village of Thimbleby (which he needs must pass), a little after 6 o’clock, p.m., I observed three men, walking in the middle of the road, about 100 yards before me. I was riding at a canter, as it was moonlight. Two of the men walked in the ‘ruts,’ on either side, and one in the middle. He was a little behind the others, and he remained so, till I nearly rode over him. I tried to turn out of the road, to avoid him, but I then found he had seized my horse by the rein. The two men said ‘good night,’ and I replied to the same effect. I then said to the man, ‘What! Are you going to rob me?’ He made no reply, and I struck him with my stick on the head. The mare I was riding then began to plunge, and the other two took hold of me, and dragged me from my saddle. I lit on my feet, but the mare got away. I struggled with the men, and got away from them. The two stood on my left, and as I saw the third coming in on my right, I struck at him, and he for the moment gave way, but then, supported by the others, he again sprang at me, and seized me by the collar (which in those days were large). The three then threw me to the ground, and placed a stick across my throat, and so kept me down. They hurt me considerably, but I lifted the stick across my throat to my chin, which was much bruised. They then tore my waistcoat open and took from my pocket a book containing blank cheques and memorandums, and my game license. On this, they began muttering among themselves, and the one who first attacked me, said, ‘Where’s your money?’ I threw myself, as much as I could, on one side, to protect my ‘fob,’ but they tore my breeches open, and took from my right-hand pocket two canvas purses, in one of which I had two notes and some silver, and in the other £5 in gold. They took all this, and an old-fashioned silver watch, and some loose coins besides. I begged them not to murder me. They took from my mackintosh a small bundle and threw it on the road, which contained my banking book and memorandum book, both of which I subsequently recovered. They then struck, or kicked, me violently in the ribs, and ran through a gate into a field, towards Edlington.”