CHAPTERCLXXIII.THE EXECUTIONER’S STORY—A QUIET CHAT WITH MARWOOD.Shortly after the execution of Charles Peace the following interview took place between a journalist and Marwood.“The Irish call me the Prince of Executioners!” A gentleman of medium height, with a ruddy face, puckered in humorous wrinkles, and with bright eyes, shining with a merry light, utters these words to me in a voice sweet and low—almost gentle as a woman’s.It is Marwood, the executioner; he has just washed his hands of Peace’s death, and now sits opposite me in the cozy drawing-room of a gentleman’s villa, not far away from Armley gaol.As he entered the room in his black suit of clerical cut I had an idea that he dropped a carpet-bag in the passage—a bag containing the rope and straps by the aid of which he had taken the life of a fellow-being an hour ago; but he advanced towards me in such a pleasant way, and bowed so politely, that my dread soon vanished, and in a few minutes we were in the midst of a quiet chat on the subject of Peace’s execution.Without, the snow fell thickly, and a piercing wind swept round the house, with an angry, stormy sound; but within the curtains were drawn; a bright fire sent its glow throughout the room, and now and then gleamed on Marwood’s face, making it look quite benevolent.Seated by the fireside, conversing earnestly, we did not notice that the gentleman whose guest he was had tired of knocking, and entered the room to welcome his old friend.Seeing him, Marwood immediately rose from the arm-chair in which he had been seated, and, bowing, said: “My kind regards. I pray that we may have happy lives, and that our work will be well done on earth.”A rosy-cheeked, chubby-face boy toddled into the room as he was speaking, and, seeing the little fellow, Marwood patted him on the head kindly, and with a smile on his face said: “I hope you will make a very good man.”A kind-hearted man enough, despite his profession, the executioner had promised me a private interview, and as soon as we were alone again he referred to the great skill he had attained in the science of hanging, and told me how Peace met his death.“A firmer step never walked to the scaffold,” he said. “I admired his bravery; he met his fate like a man; he acknowledged his guilt, and his hope in God with regard to his future was very good.”“But,” I asked, “don’t you think he feared death?”“No,” replied Marwood; “during the seven years I have officiated as executioner I never met a man who faced death with greater calmness.”“You mean to say then that he met his fate without a tremour?”“Yes,” responded the executioner. “It’s true he shivered a bit; but not through fear. It was a bitter winter’s morning, and he complained of the cold.”“It is not surprising,” I said, “that a man like Peace, who has been face to face with danger so often should endeavour to die without betraying any weakness or timidity.”“The bravery was an outcome of his nature,” replied Marwood. “He was ignorant alike of weakness and timidity. I will prove it to you. He had been suffering from a bad cough for some days. The night before his execution he said to one of his warders, ‘I wonder whether Mr. Marwood can cure this bad cough of mine?’ The warder replied, ‘I have no doubt he could.’ And I can tell you that a man who jokes about getting hanged to cure a cough is no coward.’“Do you think he suffered much?” I asked.“Not in the least; he was dead instantly. But perhaps I had better tell you what occurred just before the execution.“It is a most curious thing. He had got hold of the idea that I should terribly punish him at the scaffold, and he repeatedly asked the chief warder to be sure and tell me that he wished for an interview about a quarter of as hour before he was led out to die.“Accordingly at ten minutes to eight o’clock I went to the condemned cell, which stands about in the centre of the gaol, some hundred yards from the place where the scaffold was erected. Peace was seated—he was in his convict dress, and there were several officials attending upon him. The bandage had been removed from his head; and he did not wear spectacles.“He was neither weak nor prostrate, but sat upright on his chair, as if he had never known a moment’s illness. When I appeared in the doorway he seemed pleased, and holding out his hand said, ‘I am glad to see you, Mr. Marwood. I wish to have a word with you. I do hope you will not punish me. I hope you will do your work quickly.’“‘You shall not suffer pain from my hand,’ I replied; and then Peace, grasping my arm, said, ‘God bless you. I hope to meet you all in Heaven. I am thankful to say my sins are all forgiven.’“It was now time to pinion him,” continued the executioner. “He stood up at my request, but did not really need the support of the two warders by his side. He was not at all nervous, and quietly submitted to my operations. Pinioning is a very ingenious process.“I run a main strap round the body; and connected with it are two other straps, which take the small of the arm, so that the elbows are fastened close to the body and the hands are free.“Peace complained, saying, ‘The straps fit very tight.’ I replied, ‘It is better so; it will prevent you from suffering.’ He made no further objection; and taking hold of the main strap, so as to keep my hand on him, we started for the scaffold.“The governor and the under-sheriff went first, then came the chaplain; and I followed with the condemned man, two warders attending him, one on each side. They grasped him by the arms, but did not support him. He was bare-headed. His face was pale, but pinched with cold rather than fear.“As he arrived near the scaffold he gave a very wistful look at my arrangements. They were all right, and seemed to satisfy him, for he made no remark. He went up the steps leading to the drop with a firm tread, whilst the chaplain read the burial service. I brought him to a proper stand under the crossbar, and then strapped his legs.“When that was done he wished to say something to the reporters, and made a beautiful speech. Such a speech has never come from a condemned man I have executed.“It was really a good speech. When he had finished it he asked for a drink; but you know that was unreasonable, and it could not be admitted, for the time fixed for the execution had fully expired.“So I placed the cap over his face, and adjusted the rope, when he said—‘I say, the rope fits very tight.’ I replied, ‘Never mind; it’s all for the best; hold up your chin,’ and he did so immediately, so that I could properly fix the rope. ‘Good-bye, all; God bless you,’ he kept repeating as I went towards the lever.“At this time he did not require anyone to support him, but I told one of the warders to take hold of the back strap.“Whilst he stood in this manner on the drop, with the noose around his neck, I pushed the lever forward; it withdrew the bolt from the swinging doors, and Peace’s body fell through the aperture beneath the platform. The drop was exactly nine feet four inches.“Peace was dead in a moment; he never moved a finger or a muscle after he fell; so I carried out my promise to do it well and quickly.”I must admit that I was rather astonished at the matter-of-fact and yet complacent way in which Marwood described the execution, and modestly referred to his own dexterity; but I was anxious to know by what method he had obtained such success as an executioner, and endeavoured to glean from him the mysteries of his art.The explanation is explicit, but rather embarrassing. The old system on which Calcraft rested his faith was, he told me, the system of strangulation, which frequently resulted in great suffering, especially when the short drop did not kill the man, and the executioner had to pull at his legs until the miserable being was lifeless.“But my process is humane,” says Marwood, “for it entails no suffering whatever. My principles are rapidity and dislocation.“When the neck is dislocated the man does not suffer at all—at least, that is my opinion. I have no doubt that if you examined Peace you would find the spinal cord severed. It is done in this way. I attach the rope to the cross-bar; the noose at the opposite end is formed by a brass ring woven in the rope, and this is placed on the left side of the neck towards the chin.”Anxious to give me a correct idea of his process, he placed his finger on my own neck to signify the exact locality, and I began to grow nervous, and to wonder whether I had committed some diabolical murder or other, and was about to suffer for my sin. I suddenly became very wise as to the adjustment of the noose, and told Marwood that I had a very vivid idea of the perfection of the arrangement, with the intention of leading him to speak on some topic not quite so personal, but he said he had made this subject the study of his life, and he continued to point out the merits of the long drop, compared with the short drop, and to speak earnestly of the advantages derived from the alteration.I am not very easily frightened, but I found this dissertation on the science of hanging oppress me. I had a desire to get outside the house—to get into a freer atmosphere.I could almost imagine that if I didn’t, and that speedily, I should not escape the long drop myself.Still there was nothing terrible about Mr. Marwood, as he reclined in his easy chair, and spoke in his soft, pleasant tones of the strange experiences he had gone through.“I am doing God’s work,” he said, “according to the Divine command, and the law of the British Crown. I do it simply as a matter of duty, and as a Christian, and I think no more of it than I do of chatting to you now.”Such is the affable man who executed Peace. Conscious that he is doing his duty, the character of the profession he follows has no influence upon him, and he claims to be a benefactor to society.I asked him what induced him to adopt such a mode of gaining his livelihood, and he replied: “Oh, when I heard the old gentleman, Calcraft, was breaking down, and I saw the accounts of his bungling work, I thought if I could carry out the sentence of the law more mercifully it would be a service to the public.“I always had a love of anatomy, and even when a boy was greatly interested in executions, but it is a most singular fact that I never saw an execution until I myself became an executioner. I do my duty with a kind hand, and with firmness, and believe I really render a benefit to society. I have been successful in every engagement, and I am respected wherever I go.“I have told you that in Ireland I am known as the Prince of Executioners;’ in Scotland I have received the kindest treatment, and if I were really a prince I could not be better served. In the past seven years more than 100 persons have died at my hand; but I cannot tell you the exact number, as I do not now keep a record.”“Are you ever haunted by the features of those you have executed?” I asked in desperation, thinking that perhaps I might surprise him into some expression of feeling.“Bless your life, no,” he said, smiling. I sleep as soundly as a child, and am never disturbed by phantoms. Where there is guilt there is bad sleeping, but I am not disturbed in the least, for I am conscious that I try to live a blameless life.“The other night I slept in the warder’s apartments in Armley gaol peacefully and undisturbed, although I had superintended the erection of the scaffold, and knew I had to execute Peace in the morning. It is a matter of duty with me entirely.”“Have all the criminals who have received your attentions acted courageously on the scaffold?”“Well,” Marwood replied, “taking them altogether they are a brave lot. The worst job I ever had was with a Spaniard, a sailor, at Usk, in Monmouth. He had murdered a man, his wife, and three children, and then set the house on fire. He was sentenced to death; and when he saw me enter the cell with the straps he fainted, and was saved from falling by two warders.“I put the straps upon him; and said in an authoritative voice, ‘Stand up, sir.’ It was only a sham faint. I told him I would not have such nonsense, and he stood up immediately. With this lesson he walked out, and was hanged quietly. Peace, however, gave me no trouble of this kind, but met his fate like a man.”I now ventured to ask the executioner if he was not looked upon with some degree of loathing when he became the successor of Calcraft, and he freely admitted that such was the case.“I was frequently jeered at,” he said, “at first; but I put it down to people’s ignorance, and now I am received with the greatest kindness wherever my services are needed.”“How does it affect you in your own town?” was the last question I put to Mr. Marwood.“Oh!” he replied, “at Horncastle I was looked upon as one of the first men in the place. I was treated well by one and all. Detesting idleness, I passed my vacant time in business; and worked in my shoe-shop near the church day after day, until such time as I was required elsewhere. It would have been better for those I executed if they had preferred industry to idleness.”I had passed nearly two hours in the society of the hangman when our quiet chat was over, thanked him for his kindness, and bade him adieu. As I left the room he shook me heartily by the hand, then said, “Good-bye, God bless you,” and bowed me out of the villa with that polished courtesy which is always so becoming in a Crown official.
Shortly after the execution of Charles Peace the following interview took place between a journalist and Marwood.
“The Irish call me the Prince of Executioners!” A gentleman of medium height, with a ruddy face, puckered in humorous wrinkles, and with bright eyes, shining with a merry light, utters these words to me in a voice sweet and low—almost gentle as a woman’s.
It is Marwood, the executioner; he has just washed his hands of Peace’s death, and now sits opposite me in the cozy drawing-room of a gentleman’s villa, not far away from Armley gaol.
As he entered the room in his black suit of clerical cut I had an idea that he dropped a carpet-bag in the passage—a bag containing the rope and straps by the aid of which he had taken the life of a fellow-being an hour ago; but he advanced towards me in such a pleasant way, and bowed so politely, that my dread soon vanished, and in a few minutes we were in the midst of a quiet chat on the subject of Peace’s execution.
Without, the snow fell thickly, and a piercing wind swept round the house, with an angry, stormy sound; but within the curtains were drawn; a bright fire sent its glow throughout the room, and now and then gleamed on Marwood’s face, making it look quite benevolent.
Seated by the fireside, conversing earnestly, we did not notice that the gentleman whose guest he was had tired of knocking, and entered the room to welcome his old friend.
Seeing him, Marwood immediately rose from the arm-chair in which he had been seated, and, bowing, said: “My kind regards. I pray that we may have happy lives, and that our work will be well done on earth.”
A rosy-cheeked, chubby-face boy toddled into the room as he was speaking, and, seeing the little fellow, Marwood patted him on the head kindly, and with a smile on his face said: “I hope you will make a very good man.”
A kind-hearted man enough, despite his profession, the executioner had promised me a private interview, and as soon as we were alone again he referred to the great skill he had attained in the science of hanging, and told me how Peace met his death.
“A firmer step never walked to the scaffold,” he said. “I admired his bravery; he met his fate like a man; he acknowledged his guilt, and his hope in God with regard to his future was very good.”
“But,” I asked, “don’t you think he feared death?”
“No,” replied Marwood; “during the seven years I have officiated as executioner I never met a man who faced death with greater calmness.”
“You mean to say then that he met his fate without a tremour?”
“Yes,” responded the executioner. “It’s true he shivered a bit; but not through fear. It was a bitter winter’s morning, and he complained of the cold.”
“It is not surprising,” I said, “that a man like Peace, who has been face to face with danger so often should endeavour to die without betraying any weakness or timidity.”
“The bravery was an outcome of his nature,” replied Marwood. “He was ignorant alike of weakness and timidity. I will prove it to you. He had been suffering from a bad cough for some days. The night before his execution he said to one of his warders, ‘I wonder whether Mr. Marwood can cure this bad cough of mine?’ The warder replied, ‘I have no doubt he could.’ And I can tell you that a man who jokes about getting hanged to cure a cough is no coward.’
“Do you think he suffered much?” I asked.
“Not in the least; he was dead instantly. But perhaps I had better tell you what occurred just before the execution.
“It is a most curious thing. He had got hold of the idea that I should terribly punish him at the scaffold, and he repeatedly asked the chief warder to be sure and tell me that he wished for an interview about a quarter of as hour before he was led out to die.
“Accordingly at ten minutes to eight o’clock I went to the condemned cell, which stands about in the centre of the gaol, some hundred yards from the place where the scaffold was erected. Peace was seated—he was in his convict dress, and there were several officials attending upon him. The bandage had been removed from his head; and he did not wear spectacles.
“He was neither weak nor prostrate, but sat upright on his chair, as if he had never known a moment’s illness. When I appeared in the doorway he seemed pleased, and holding out his hand said, ‘I am glad to see you, Mr. Marwood. I wish to have a word with you. I do hope you will not punish me. I hope you will do your work quickly.’
“‘You shall not suffer pain from my hand,’ I replied; and then Peace, grasping my arm, said, ‘God bless you. I hope to meet you all in Heaven. I am thankful to say my sins are all forgiven.’
“It was now time to pinion him,” continued the executioner. “He stood up at my request, but did not really need the support of the two warders by his side. He was not at all nervous, and quietly submitted to my operations. Pinioning is a very ingenious process.
“I run a main strap round the body; and connected with it are two other straps, which take the small of the arm, so that the elbows are fastened close to the body and the hands are free.
“Peace complained, saying, ‘The straps fit very tight.’ I replied, ‘It is better so; it will prevent you from suffering.’ He made no further objection; and taking hold of the main strap, so as to keep my hand on him, we started for the scaffold.
“The governor and the under-sheriff went first, then came the chaplain; and I followed with the condemned man, two warders attending him, one on each side. They grasped him by the arms, but did not support him. He was bare-headed. His face was pale, but pinched with cold rather than fear.
“As he arrived near the scaffold he gave a very wistful look at my arrangements. They were all right, and seemed to satisfy him, for he made no remark. He went up the steps leading to the drop with a firm tread, whilst the chaplain read the burial service. I brought him to a proper stand under the crossbar, and then strapped his legs.
“When that was done he wished to say something to the reporters, and made a beautiful speech. Such a speech has never come from a condemned man I have executed.
“It was really a good speech. When he had finished it he asked for a drink; but you know that was unreasonable, and it could not be admitted, for the time fixed for the execution had fully expired.
“So I placed the cap over his face, and adjusted the rope, when he said—‘I say, the rope fits very tight.’ I replied, ‘Never mind; it’s all for the best; hold up your chin,’ and he did so immediately, so that I could properly fix the rope. ‘Good-bye, all; God bless you,’ he kept repeating as I went towards the lever.
“At this time he did not require anyone to support him, but I told one of the warders to take hold of the back strap.
“Whilst he stood in this manner on the drop, with the noose around his neck, I pushed the lever forward; it withdrew the bolt from the swinging doors, and Peace’s body fell through the aperture beneath the platform. The drop was exactly nine feet four inches.
“Peace was dead in a moment; he never moved a finger or a muscle after he fell; so I carried out my promise to do it well and quickly.”
I must admit that I was rather astonished at the matter-of-fact and yet complacent way in which Marwood described the execution, and modestly referred to his own dexterity; but I was anxious to know by what method he had obtained such success as an executioner, and endeavoured to glean from him the mysteries of his art.
The explanation is explicit, but rather embarrassing. The old system on which Calcraft rested his faith was, he told me, the system of strangulation, which frequently resulted in great suffering, especially when the short drop did not kill the man, and the executioner had to pull at his legs until the miserable being was lifeless.
“But my process is humane,” says Marwood, “for it entails no suffering whatever. My principles are rapidity and dislocation.
“When the neck is dislocated the man does not suffer at all—at least, that is my opinion. I have no doubt that if you examined Peace you would find the spinal cord severed. It is done in this way. I attach the rope to the cross-bar; the noose at the opposite end is formed by a brass ring woven in the rope, and this is placed on the left side of the neck towards the chin.”
Anxious to give me a correct idea of his process, he placed his finger on my own neck to signify the exact locality, and I began to grow nervous, and to wonder whether I had committed some diabolical murder or other, and was about to suffer for my sin. I suddenly became very wise as to the adjustment of the noose, and told Marwood that I had a very vivid idea of the perfection of the arrangement, with the intention of leading him to speak on some topic not quite so personal, but he said he had made this subject the study of his life, and he continued to point out the merits of the long drop, compared with the short drop, and to speak earnestly of the advantages derived from the alteration.
I am not very easily frightened, but I found this dissertation on the science of hanging oppress me. I had a desire to get outside the house—to get into a freer atmosphere.
I could almost imagine that if I didn’t, and that speedily, I should not escape the long drop myself.
Still there was nothing terrible about Mr. Marwood, as he reclined in his easy chair, and spoke in his soft, pleasant tones of the strange experiences he had gone through.
“I am doing God’s work,” he said, “according to the Divine command, and the law of the British Crown. I do it simply as a matter of duty, and as a Christian, and I think no more of it than I do of chatting to you now.”
Such is the affable man who executed Peace. Conscious that he is doing his duty, the character of the profession he follows has no influence upon him, and he claims to be a benefactor to society.
I asked him what induced him to adopt such a mode of gaining his livelihood, and he replied: “Oh, when I heard the old gentleman, Calcraft, was breaking down, and I saw the accounts of his bungling work, I thought if I could carry out the sentence of the law more mercifully it would be a service to the public.
“I always had a love of anatomy, and even when a boy was greatly interested in executions, but it is a most singular fact that I never saw an execution until I myself became an executioner. I do my duty with a kind hand, and with firmness, and believe I really render a benefit to society. I have been successful in every engagement, and I am respected wherever I go.
“I have told you that in Ireland I am known as the Prince of Executioners;’ in Scotland I have received the kindest treatment, and if I were really a prince I could not be better served. In the past seven years more than 100 persons have died at my hand; but I cannot tell you the exact number, as I do not now keep a record.”
“Are you ever haunted by the features of those you have executed?” I asked in desperation, thinking that perhaps I might surprise him into some expression of feeling.
“Bless your life, no,” he said, smiling. I sleep as soundly as a child, and am never disturbed by phantoms. Where there is guilt there is bad sleeping, but I am not disturbed in the least, for I am conscious that I try to live a blameless life.
“The other night I slept in the warder’s apartments in Armley gaol peacefully and undisturbed, although I had superintended the erection of the scaffold, and knew I had to execute Peace in the morning. It is a matter of duty with me entirely.”
“Have all the criminals who have received your attentions acted courageously on the scaffold?”
“Well,” Marwood replied, “taking them altogether they are a brave lot. The worst job I ever had was with a Spaniard, a sailor, at Usk, in Monmouth. He had murdered a man, his wife, and three children, and then set the house on fire. He was sentenced to death; and when he saw me enter the cell with the straps he fainted, and was saved from falling by two warders.
“I put the straps upon him; and said in an authoritative voice, ‘Stand up, sir.’ It was only a sham faint. I told him I would not have such nonsense, and he stood up immediately. With this lesson he walked out, and was hanged quietly. Peace, however, gave me no trouble of this kind, but met his fate like a man.”
I now ventured to ask the executioner if he was not looked upon with some degree of loathing when he became the successor of Calcraft, and he freely admitted that such was the case.
“I was frequently jeered at,” he said, “at first; but I put it down to people’s ignorance, and now I am received with the greatest kindness wherever my services are needed.”
“How does it affect you in your own town?” was the last question I put to Mr. Marwood.
“Oh!” he replied, “at Horncastle I was looked upon as one of the first men in the place. I was treated well by one and all. Detesting idleness, I passed my vacant time in business; and worked in my shoe-shop near the church day after day, until such time as I was required elsewhere. It would have been better for those I executed if they had preferred industry to idleness.”
I had passed nearly two hours in the society of the hangman when our quiet chat was over, thanked him for his kindness, and bade him adieu. As I left the room he shook me heartily by the hand, then said, “Good-bye, God bless you,” and bowed me out of the villa with that polished courtesy which is always so becoming in a Crown official.