Yesterday the six following malefactors were executed at Tyburn, viz., William Wynne Ryland, for publishing a bill of exchange, purporting to be drawn at Fort Marlborough, in the East Indies, with intent to defraud the Hon. East India Company in London—John Lloyd, otherwise John Ferdinando Lloyd, for a robbery in the dwelling house of John Martin—James Browne, alias Oatley, for burglary—Thomas Burgess, for robbing Thomas Tool, in the Willow Walk, Tothil Fields, of a watch and money—James Rivers, alias Davis, for assaulting Nathaniel Thwaits, at the house of Paul Maylor, Agent, in Broad street, and stealing a bag containing thirty eight guineas—and John Edwards, for personating William Madden, a Marine, with intent to receive his prize-money.
Ryland and Lloyd went each in a mourning coach, and were followed by the others in two carts. Ryland, who led the procession, was dressed in black, and accompanied by the Rev. Mr. Villette and two more persons.
The gallows was fixed about fifty yards nearer the Park wall than usual. About five minutes before eleven o’clock Ryland’s coach drew on the right of the gallows, as did Lloyd’s on the left, and between them the cart; soon after which a violent storm of thunder, lightening, and rain came on, when the Sheriffs gave orders for a delay of the execution. When the storm had subsided, and some time had been employed in prayer, River was lifted from one cart into the other, which backing to Lloyd’s coach, he alighted therefrom, and entered the vehicle. After the ropes had been fixed about their necks, Ryland stepped from the coach to join his unhappy fellow-sufferers. Alter a conversation of at least ten minutes between Ryland and Mr. Villette, Ordinary of Newgate, and the same time employed in an earnest discourse between Lloyd and Burgess, all the Malefactors joined in singing the hymn, called “The Sinner’s Lamentation.” The cart was then driven away, and all were nearly at the same instant motionless.
At the place of execution, Lloyd confessed to the Ordinary of Newgate, that he was the person who robbed Mr. Worters, near Woodford, in company with Chesterman, alias Jones, (who was executed last week at Chelmsford) and that Thomas (who is now under sentence of death at Chelmsford) is innocent of that robbery. Three people swore that they saw Thomas in company with Chesterman a few minutes before and after the robbery, and one man positively swore that Thomas was one of the men who turned round to shoot at Mr. Jones, the Surgeon, who was pursuing them. Mr. Jones, in his evidence before Sir Sampson Wright, said, that he did not belive that Thomas was one of the highwaymen, but had no doubt about Chesterman. The Rev. Mr. Villette requested Mr. Jones to attend yesterday morning in Newgate, to hear Lloyd’s confession: Mr. Jones did attend, and Lloyd, in the most solemn manner, assured him that he was the man who robbed Worters, with Chesterman, and that Thomas was innocent of that robbery.
O Lord, turn not thy face from me,Who lie in woeful state,Lamenting all my sinful lifeBefore thy mercy-gate;A gate which opens wide to thoseThat do lament their sin:Shut not that gate against me, Lord,But let me enter in.And call me not to strict account,How I have sojourn’d here;For then my guilty conscience knowsHow vile I shall appear.I need not to confess my lifeTo thee, who best can tellWhat I have been, and what I am;I know thou know’st it well.The circumstances of my crimes,Their number and their kind,Thou know’st them all; and more, much moreThan I can call to mind:Therefore, with tears, I come to begOf my offended God,For pardon, like a child that dreadsHis angry parent’s rod.So come I to thy mercy-gate,Where mercy doth abound,Imploring pardon for my sin,To heal my deadly wound.O Lord, I need not to repeatThe comfort I would have:Thou know’st, O Lord, before I ask,The blessing I do crave.Mercy, good Lord, mercy I ask,This is the total sum;For mercy, Lord, is all my suit;Lord, Let thy mercy come!
O Lord, turn not thy face from me,Who lie in woeful state,Lamenting all my sinful lifeBefore thy mercy-gate;A gate which opens wide to thoseThat do lament their sin:Shut not that gate against me, Lord,But let me enter in.And call me not to strict account,How I have sojourn’d here;For then my guilty conscience knowsHow vile I shall appear.I need not to confess my lifeTo thee, who best can tellWhat I have been, and what I am;I know thou know’st it well.The circumstances of my crimes,Their number and their kind,Thou know’st them all; and more, much moreThan I can call to mind:Therefore, with tears, I come to begOf my offended God,For pardon, like a child that dreadsHis angry parent’s rod.So come I to thy mercy-gate,Where mercy doth abound,Imploring pardon for my sin,To heal my deadly wound.O Lord, I need not to repeatThe comfort I would have:Thou know’st, O Lord, before I ask,The blessing I do crave.Mercy, good Lord, mercy I ask,This is the total sum;For mercy, Lord, is all my suit;Lord, Let thy mercy come!
O Lord, turn not thy face from me,Who lie in woeful state,Lamenting all my sinful lifeBefore thy mercy-gate;
O Lord, turn not thy face from me,
Who lie in woeful state,
Lamenting all my sinful life
Before thy mercy-gate;
A gate which opens wide to thoseThat do lament their sin:Shut not that gate against me, Lord,But let me enter in.
A gate which opens wide to those
That do lament their sin:
Shut not that gate against me, Lord,
But let me enter in.
And call me not to strict account,How I have sojourn’d here;For then my guilty conscience knowsHow vile I shall appear.
And call me not to strict account,
How I have sojourn’d here;
For then my guilty conscience knows
How vile I shall appear.
I need not to confess my lifeTo thee, who best can tellWhat I have been, and what I am;I know thou know’st it well.
I need not to confess my life
To thee, who best can tell
What I have been, and what I am;
I know thou know’st it well.
The circumstances of my crimes,Their number and their kind,Thou know’st them all; and more, much moreThan I can call to mind:
The circumstances of my crimes,
Their number and their kind,
Thou know’st them all; and more, much more
Than I can call to mind:
Therefore, with tears, I come to begOf my offended God,For pardon, like a child that dreadsHis angry parent’s rod.
Therefore, with tears, I come to beg
Of my offended God,
For pardon, like a child that dreads
His angry parent’s rod.
So come I to thy mercy-gate,Where mercy doth abound,Imploring pardon for my sin,To heal my deadly wound.
So come I to thy mercy-gate,
Where mercy doth abound,
Imploring pardon for my sin,
To heal my deadly wound.
O Lord, I need not to repeatThe comfort I would have:Thou know’st, O Lord, before I ask,The blessing I do crave.
O Lord, I need not to repeat
The comfort I would have:
Thou know’st, O Lord, before I ask,
The blessing I do crave.
Mercy, good Lord, mercy I ask,This is the total sum;For mercy, Lord, is all my suit;Lord, Let thy mercy come!
Mercy, good Lord, mercy I ask,
This is the total sum;
For mercy, Lord, is all my suit;
Lord, Let thy mercy come!
Convicted at the OLD BAILEY on Saturday, Nov. 1st, 1783, of a Cruel Highway Robbery on JOHN SPICER, a Poor Man.
This robbery was so peculiarly inhuman and aggravated, that the circumstances attending it are too interesting to the public not to be given in the detail; nor perhaps can the Old Bailey afford an instance more odious, or more reflecting on the depravity of human nature.
John Spicer, the prosecutor, of Cray, in Kent, a poor labouring man, was coming to town on the Tuesday before, with his bundle, where he was a total stranger, in order to get into work, and met with the prisoner at Ilford, where they joined company, and travelled to town together. The prisoner, during their travelling together, sifted the prosecutor, and got out of him the nature of his journey, and what little property he was possessed of, undertook to get him a lodging, provide him a master, and to show him about London. After eating, drinking, and sleeping together on the road at different places, they arrived in town on the Thursday, when the prisoner took Spicer to a public house in Whitechapel, and left him there, pretending to go out after a lodging.
Under this specious shew of friendship, Spicer was left for three or four hours, when a man whose name is Patrick Bowman (who also stands indicted, but is not yet taken) came to Spicer with a plausible apology for Austin’s leaving him so long, and desired Spicer to go with him to Austin, who had got him a lodging. This the credulous prosecutor assented to, and Bowman took him to another public-house, where they joined Austin, and from thence they all went out, as Spicer thought, towards the lodging; but when he found himself in the middle of a field, out of the high road, by the side of a ditch, no house near, nor anything to be seen but the lights of some distant lamps, he observed that it was a very comical place to look after a lodging; upon which Austin retired a little, and Patrick Bowman drew a cutlass, with which he kept chopping at the hands, wrists, arms, body, and head of the prosecutor, and mangled him in a most shocking manner. Spicer resisted this attack, and would have got the better of Bowman, if Austin had not come up to Bowman’s assistance; for when the poor wretch, thinking he had a firm friend in Austin, called out, “O John, won’t you come and help me!” Austin immediately seized him by the collar with one hand the inside of his handkerchief, and with the other caught hold of his legs, and threw him down, when they rifled him of the things mentioned in the indictment, Spicer crying out, “O John, I hope you won’t be against me.”
This cruel attack on the prosecutor happened to be overheard by one James Story, a servant to Mr. Wells, a gardener, who rushing out to the poor man’s assistance, Austin and Bowman made off, and Story ran after to apprehend them, and overtook them, but Bowman and Austin facing about, one with a stick, the other with a cutlass, in order to attack him, he retreated to Spicer, whom he found in a most mangled condition, and took him to his master, from whence he was sent to the hospital, without hopes of recovery.
This was confirmed by Mr. Wells, who did everything in his power to comfort, assist, and stop the bleeding and wounds. Early the next morning, Story saw the prisoner coming towards the spot where this brutal scene took place, and looking about him; Story asked him what he was looking for, to which Austin replied, for some money that had been lost there; upon which Story, who before had some suspicions, apprehended Austin, and secured him in his master’s stables; he was observed by Mr. Wells to secret a silk handkerchief and a pair of stockings in the rack, which turned out to be the prosecutor’s property, and on Austin being shown to Spicer, was fixed on by him. This was the evidence, except the prisoner’s cloaths being wet with blood when apprehended, which was proved by Story and Mr. Wells, and one Yardly, a constable, proved that Bowman and Austin has been companions on board the lighters together.
Being called on for his defence, he said, that he acted from the impulse of fear, and that he should not have assisted in the robbery but for the dread and threats of Bowman. The Jury without hesitation found him guilty; and the Recorder, who tried the prisoner, first consulting with Baron Eyre and Judge Nares, said he thought the case of such a nature that he should immediately pass sentence of death. Austin being asked the usual question of what he had to say why judgment of death should not be pronounced against him, replied, “I don’t fear death, as I am not guilty, and shall die innocent.”
The Recorder then addressed the prisoner as follows:—
John Austin, you have been tried and convicted by a just and yet merciful jury, upon the most clear and satisfactory evidence. So horrid a crime as you have been guilty of, in its nature so audacious and inhuman, calls aloud for the very severe and immediate interposition of justice. It has been the declared intention of our merciful Sovereign, that he will never shew any compassion to such wretches as you, who add cruelty to robbery, and whose attacks on the property of his peaceable and honest subjects are accompanied with acts, whereby the crime of murder may be added to that of robbery. Everybody must applaud a resolution founded on the strictest justice and necessity. It is peculiarly my duty to further his royal intentions, by making my report of such criminals as you the first opportunity after conviction; and, therefore, to carry his Majesty’s purpose into effect, I shall report you as a fit object of punishment with all possible speed. Your crime has been accompanied with every speices of aggravation. Under the mask of friendship you have robbed a poor innocent man, deluded by your treacherous designs, and your false friendship: it is further aggravated by the baseness and inhumanity of your deceit, which cannot intitle you to any instance of mercy, but requires that you may be made an example of immediate justice. On Monday, therefore, I shall make the report of you to his Majesty. I advise you to prepare your soul for that fate which I am now about to pronounce against you.
The Recorder then pronounced the usual sentence, and the prisoner was taken from the bar.
Yesterday morning was executed, at Tyburn, John Austin, convicted last Saturday of robbing John Spicer in a field adjoining the highway at Bethnal green, and cutting and wounding him in a cruel manner. From Newgate to Tyburn the convict behaved with great composure. While the halter was tying, the unhappy wretch trembled in a very extraordinary manner, his whole frame appearing to be violently convulsed. The Ordinary having retired from the cart, the convict addressed himself to the surrounding populace in the following words, “Good people, I request your prayers for the salvation of my departing soul; let my example teach you to shun the bad ways I have followed; keep good company, and mind the word of God.” The cap being drawn over his face, he raised his hands, and cried, “Lord have mercy on me, Jesus look down with pity on me, Christ have mercy on my poor soul;” and while uttering these exclamations, the cart was driven away. The noose of the halter having slipped to the back part of his neck, it was full ten minutes before he was dead.
WHICH COMMENCEDOn WEDNESDAY, the 11th of APRIL,ATJUSTICE HALL IN THE OLD BAILEY,WITH ANACCOUNT OF THE PILLORYOFJOHN LINGARD,FOR PERJURY.
On the 14th, The sessions ended at the Old-bailey, when fourteen prisoners were tried, seven were cast for transportation, and seven acquitted. Seven received sentence of death. One transported for fourteen years. Twenty-nine transported for seven years. Two branded. Three whipp’d. One pillory’d, imprison’d, and transported.
On the 18th. A few minutes after twelve at noon, Lingard, found guilty of perjury in swearing Mr. Coleman’s life away, was brought from the New Goal to the pillory, near St. George’s church, Southwark, were the executioner was several minutes before he could get his head fix’d; as soon as he had done his business and left the scaffold, the people, who universally expressed their detestation and abhorrence of the criminal, began their attack upon him in a very furious manner, by throwing at him mud, stones, and sticks, so that it was imagined he would not get off alive; however, the mob, which was very great, moderated their rage, and though the pelting never entirely ceased, it, at last, considerably abated: he got his head twice out of the hole, but it was soon fixed again by some who used him but roughly. He waved his hands in a suppliant manner, begging for mercy, and though he had a tin scull plate under his cap, he was cut in the left side of his head, and the blood ran down his face, He was taken down in a dirty condition, about a quarter before one, and had not been kept in the pillory above half an hour. This perjured villain formerly kept a public house near Newington, in Surry; was a marshall’s court officer, and frequently employed as crier of the court.
In the course of the trial on Friday, the 13th, of Hogan, the mulatto, for the murder of the servant maid of Mr Orrell, of Charlotte street, Portland place, the following circumstances appeared:—That as soon as Mr. and Mrs. Orrell got into their house, the latter found her servant reclining against the wall of the kitchen, besmeared with blood; and on screaming out, Mr. Orrell ran into the kitchen, and seeing the girl in this situation, said, “Nanny! for God’s sake what have you been doing?”—She however being unable to make any answer, Mr. Orrell alarmed his next door neighbour, and a surgeon was sent for, who however pronounced her too much wounded to recover: she was however sent to an hospital, where she expired. Her head-dress had been entirely torn off, and thrown on the ground, which was covered with blood, as were her handkerchief, gown, &c. Her skull was fractured violently; her left eye was beaten almost out of its socket; her cheekbones were both broken; her chin was cut; her neck and throat both cut; several wounds on her breast, particularly a large circular one; her left arm broke, and her right arm and wrist both cut. The instrument with which the wounds had been made was a razor; and notwithstanding it had been thrown into a fire, the spots of blood were not erased. It appeared in the course of the evidence, that on the prisoner (after very strong suspicions had been formed of his guilt) being taken to the body of the deceased, he appeared not in the least agitated, but putting his hand on her breast, said, “My dear Nanny, I do remember you very well: I never did you harm in my life?” These expressions very forcibly added to the suspicions of his guilt, because her face was so exceedingly cut and mangled, that Mr. Orrell declared he himself could not possibly have known her. Two other circumstances which tended to criminate him were a spot of blood on a waistcoat which he wore, and some slight marks of blood on one of the sleeves of his coat; which coat had been washed, though the blood on the sleeve remained; and an effort seemed to have been made, but in vain, to rub out the spot of blood from the waistcoat. The principal evidence against him was the woman with whom he cohabited, who deposed that he brought her home a cloak, which he said he had bought on condition of paying for at the rate of so much a week. The cloak was produced in Court, and Mrs Orrell swore to it as her property. The deponent further said, that after Hogan had been twice taken before a magistrate, and discharged for want of sufficient evidence, he at intervals appeared to me very uneasy; that, particularly, he could not sleep in his bed; that she finding him thus restless, said to him one night, “For God’s sake what is the matter with you? Surely you are not guilty of what you have been taken up for?” That his answer was, “Yes, I am!—I am guilty!—I did it!”—She then was much troubled in mind, and apprehended fatal consequences to herself from having been connected with him; particularly as he said to her, “You must say nothing:—you must be quiet; for if I be hanged, you will be hanged with me.”
The circumstances which afterwards providently contributed, in conjunction with the above, to lead to the discovery of the horrid deed, are well known to the public. It is only necessary to observe that on the last mentioned evidence asking him why he had murdered the young woman, he answered, “Because he wanted to be great with her, and she resisted him.”
The razor with which the murder was committed was produced in Court, and the heart of every spectator shuddered at itc appearance.
On Monday morning Hogan was executed on a gibbet erected opposite Mr. Orrell’s house. A great concourse of people attended the execution; but it has been seldom seen that a malefactor has died so little pitied as Hogan. Before being turned off, the prisoner bowed four times to the populace, and in an audible voice, confessed himself guilty of the murder, for which he was to suffer.
Old Bailey, February 24th, 1786.
Joseph Richards was arraigned for the wilful murder of Walter Horseman, milkman, in Kentish Town. The deceased’s widow deposed, that the prisoner was formerly a servant to her husband; that he was discharged for negligence; that he had frequently threatened vengeance on the deceased; that on the morning the murder was committed, she was awakened by a noise, and on entering the room her husband slept in, she found him sitting up in the bed, and as far as his waist in blood; that a stick which the prisoner had cut some time before, lay in the room, and an iron bar, covered with blood; that her husband was mangled in a shocking manner:—he lingered a few days, and died a shocking spectacle.
Four other witnesses were examined, whose testimony proved certain corroborating circumstances; such as, being from his lodging the night the murder was committed, being seen to melt lead, and to pour it into the stick that was found in the deceased’s room, &c.
The prisoner confessed the murder to one of the magistrates who committed him for trial; but pleaded Not Guilty at the bar.
The jury, after a few minutes’ consideration, brought in their verdict Guilty.
Mr. Recorder pronounced judgment. He said the voice of innocent blood cried to heaven for vengeance. He dwelt upon the atrociousness of the crime of murder, observing, that the Divine Law had ordained, that whoever sheddeth man’s blood, &c., and then expatiated on the peculiar circumstances of the murder, the murder of an innocent master, to whom he owed duty and reverence.
The sentence was then passed as usual, that he be hanged till dead, and anatomized; and an order of Court was made out, to execute him on Monday, at Kentish Town, as near as possible to the house of the deceased.
Joseph Richards, a youth about eighteen, who was convicted on Friday last, for the wilful murder of Walter Horseman, with whom he lived servant, was executed at Kentish Town, opposite the house where the horrid fact was perpetrated. The malefactor came out of Newgate about twenty minutes before eight o’clock, and with some alertness stepped into the cart, which conveyed him through Smithfield, Cow Cross, and by the two small-pox hospitals to the spot, where he was removed from that society of which he had proved himself a most unworthy member, at a time of life when such atrocity of guilt as he possessed has been seldom known to degrade humanity. In his way to the place of execution, the convict appeared to be in a state of mind bordering upon stupefaction; he had no book, nor did he employ the short remnant of time in those preparations for eternity which his miserable situation rendered so indispensably necessray.
Before being turned off, the prisoner desired to see the widow of the deceased; she was sent for to her house, but was gone to London; he declared he had no accomplice in the fact, and that he was induced to the perpetration thereof by the supposition, that after the decease of his master he should succeed to his business as a milkman. Just before coming to the village, he burst into tears, and when he came to the place of execution, wept bitterly; his expressions of sorrow and contrition being only interrupted by fervent appeals to Heaven for mercy till the last moment of his existence.
The following male convicts, viz., Edward Griffiths, George Woodward, William Watts, Daniel Keefe, Jonathan Harwood, and William Smith, were executed pursuant to their sentence, on the scaffold usually erected opposite Newgate. They were brought out at half-past seven in the morning, and the platform dropped about eight o’clock. Woodward was so exceedingly weak, that he was obliged to sit down till the executioneer had tied up the rest, and was then supported by two men.
Soon after the above execution, Phœbe Harris, convicted the session before last of coining silver, was brought out at the debtor’s door, from whence she walked to a stake fixed in the ground, about half way between the scaffold and Newgate street. She was immediately tied by the neck to an iron bolt fixed near the top of the stake, and after praying very fervently for a few minutes, the steps on which she stood were drawn away, and she immediately became suspended. The executioner, with some assistants, put a chain round her body, which was fastened by strong nails to the stake. Two cart-loads of faggots were then piled round her, and after she had hung about half an hour, the fire was kindled. The flames presently burning the halter, the convict fell a few inches, and was then suspended by the iron chain passed over her chest and affixed to the stakes. Some scattered remains of the body were perceptible in the fire at half-past ten o’clock. The fire had not quite burnt out even at twelve. The unhappy woman was so exceedingly affected on Monday night, that it was generally supposed (and indeed wished) that she could not have survived.
Phœbe Harris was a well made little woman, something more than thirty years of age, of a pale complexion, and not of disagreeable features. When she came out of prison she appeared languid and terrified, and trembled greatly as she advanced to the stake, where the apparatus for the punishment she was about to experience seemed to strike her mind with horror and consternation, to the exclusion of all power of recollectedness in preparation for the approaching awful moment. A great concourse of people attended on the melancholy occasion.
The April sessions ended at the Old Bailey, on the 25th, when 13 convicts received judgment of death; 60 were sentenced to be transported, two of whom, for stripping children, are to be sent to Africa, the other women to New South Wales; 8 to be imprisoned in Newgate; 1 to hard labour in the house of correction; 5 to be whipped; and 31 discharged by proclamation.
Elizabeth Kirvan, a convict for forgery, whose execution was respited on her plea of pregnancy, is referred to her former judgment, she not being pregnant.
The sessions of the peace is adjourned until Monday the 21st day of May next at Guildhall; and the sessions of Goal-Delivery of Newgate, until Wednesday, the 23rd day of the same month, at the old Bailey.
The following 15 convicts were brought out of Newgate on the platform erected before the Debtor’s-door, and executed pursuant to their sentence, viz., Francis Parr, for personating Isaac Hart, the proprietor of £3,900 3 per cent. consolidated annuities, with intent to defaud the said Isaac Hart and the Govenor and Company of the Bank of England; William Trapshaw, for breaking open, in the day-time the apartments of James Linney, in a house let to several tenants, and stealing a linen gown and an apron, no person being then therein; Joseph Mullagan, James Coleman, and John Williamson Halfey, for breaking and entering the dwelling house of Joseph Stokes, in the parish of St. Catherine, and stealing a sheet, a blanket, and other things; Charles Baker, for breaking and entering the dwelling house of William Watson, in the parish of St Matthew, Bethnal-green, and stealing several small casks, containing a quantity of spirituous liquors; William Dwyre, for feloniously and traitorously counterfeiting the current coin of this kingdom, called six-pences, by coloring certain pieces of brass with a certain liquid composition producing the color of silver; Charles Shaw, for assaulting John Hughes on the highway in St. Paul’s Churchyard, and robbing him of a silver watch, &c.; John Walker and John Evans, for assaulting William Stevenson on the highway, in Old-street, and robbing him of a silver watch, two guineas and a half, some silver, and a dollar; Elizabeth Sedgewick, for setting fire to the premises of her master, Mr. John Taylor, at Feltham-hill, Middlesex; Michael Daily and Elizabeth Connolly, for stealing in the dwelling-house of Mrs. Catherine Plomer, in Howland street, Oxford road, a gold watch, a silver watch, several articles of plate, and a quantity of wearing apparel; John-Pousarque Dubois, for breaking into the dwelling-house of John Grant, in Cockspur street, and stealing a gold watch, a silver watch, a metal watch, and other things; and John Adamson, for assaulting Samuel Horne, on the highway, near the Opera-house, in the Haymarket, and taking from him, by force, a metal watch in a shagreen case. They all behaved very penitent.
D. W. Murcutt, Printer, Stationer, &c., Long Acre, London.
April 24, 1787.
Yesterday morning the following convicts were executed on the newly-invented temporary scaffold, placed before the debtors’ door of Newgate:—John Burn, Daniel Gunter, James Francis, and John Green, convicted in January sessions; and William Ludlam, William Oakes, John Bishop, alias John Buller, and James Haylock, alias Hullock, formerly a runner at a public office, convicted in February sessions.—After divine service in the chapel of Newgate, the prisoners were brought out of the gaol, and six of them having joined the ordinary in devout prayer, and chaunted the usual psalm (the others, being two Roman Catholicks, were attended by a priest of that persuasion). At nine o’clock the platform dropped, and in a few moments they showed no signs of life. They were fervent in their devotions, and all of them appeared to die sincerely penitent.
The scaffold on which these miserable people suffered is a temporary machine, which was drawn out of the yard of the sessions-house by horses; it had this day only one beam fixed; and upon a bolt being drawn, the platform dropped, leaving the malefactors suspended in a manner similar to that of the scaffold lately in use.
After the convicts were cut down, the gallows was drawn back to the sessions-house yard; and the whole cleared away in half-an-hour’s time.
An Account of the new-invented Scaffold for Executing Criminals in the Old Bailey.
We imagine that an accurate representation of the new mode of executing criminals in the Old Bailey, which does so much honour to the present worthy Sheriffs, will hardly fail of giving satisfaction to such, at least, as do not reside near the metropolis.
The whole of this temporary erection is hung in black. The criminals are attended by the proper officers and the Ordinary of Newgate, from their cells to the centre part of the scaffold, which is a platform raised about two or three inches above the general floor, and directly under the gallows: here, after the usual prayers and solemnities, the rope is tied up, and, at the Sheriff’s signal, the executioner pulls away a staple, which loosens a bar that supports the platform, and the platform then falls in: and this, being much more sudden and regular than that of a cart being drawn away, has the effect of immediate death. During the whole time of this awful spectacle, a full-toned bell, which is suspended above the roof of this part of the prison, is solemnly tolled; but as it is fixed so far on the roof as not to be in sight, it does not appear. The scaffold is supported by strong posts, fixed into grooves made in the street, and the whole is temporary, being all calculated to take to pieces, which are preserved within the prison.
VIZ.,—MICHAEL COX, MARTIN EALEY, JOHN SULLIVAN, ROBERT M’LAURIN, and WILLIAM MORRIS.
AND HIS MOST GRACIOUS MAJESTY’S ROYAL PARDONOFJOHN FLINT, GEORGE WYTHICK, JOHN LAWSON, and WILLIAM HANDY.
And the Sentence passed on Capt. Affleck, late of the Amethyst.
At Sheerness, on the eighth day of this month, at about nine o’clock in the morning, the signal forExecutionwas made on board of theDefianceman-of-war by firing a gun, and hoisting a yellow flag at the fore-top-gallant-mast head: a lieutenant, in a boat manned and armed, was sent from each ship to witness the awful scene: the crews of the respective ships were called on deck, and the articles of war read to them by their captains, who afterwards warned them to take examples from the fate of the unhappy men who were about to suffer. The Rev. Dr. Hatherall, chaplain of theSandwich, administered the sacrament to all of them, except Michael Cox and Martin Ealey, who were Roman Catholics; after praying with them for some time, they were brought on deck, and the ropes fixed around their necks, when John Flint, George Wythick, John Lawson, and William Handy were made acquainted that His Majesty had been pleased to pardon them.
Handy, who had a wife and child on board, immediately ran down to her, and fainted in her arms, which presented a most affecting scene. The tear of thankfulness and joy adorned the cheeks of the hardy tars; and Lawson addressing the clergyman, said, “I am afraid I shall never again be so well prepared for eternity.”
At a quarter past eleven, the signal for the execution of the remainder was made, by firing a gun, when Michael Cox, Robert M’Laurin, John Sullivan, Martin Ealey, and William Morrison, were launched into eternity. After hanging the usual time, their bodies were sent on shore, to the agent at sick quarters, for interment.
These unhappy men suffered for a mutiny on board theDefiance, then in Leith roads, in the month of October last.
Portsmouth, March 16th, 1796.
The following is the sentence passed yesterday at Portsmouth, on Captain Thomas Affleck, late of theAmethystfrigate, for the loss of that ship: “That the loss of His Majesty’s shipAmethystwas occasioned by her striking on a rock near the island of Guernsey, and by a hole being thereby beaten in her bottom; and that the same was attributable to the misconduct of the said captain, Thomas Affleck; and the court do adjudge him to be reduced from his rank on the list of post captains to the bottom of the said list, and to be incapable of being again employed in His Majesty’s naval service for the remainder of his life; and the court further agree, that the loss of the said ship was not attributable to any misconduct in any other of the officers or company of the said ship, and do adjudge them to be acquitted.”
W. Parker, Printer, Portsmouth and Gosport.
At the Old Bailey, Martin Clinch and Samuel Mackley were capitally convicted of the wilful murder of Mr Fryer, in the parish of St. Mary, Islington. It appears by the evidence, that the deceased and his cousin, Miss Fryer, were walking across the fields in their way from Southampton Buildings, Holborn, towards Islington: that, when they arrived at the field called the cricket field, near White Conduit house, they heard a noise, as of some person in distress; this induced the deceased to go to the spot. At this time, Miss Fryer, the principal witness on this occasion, was at some distance from him. By the time she came to the stile, which she had crossed in his way to the place, she saw Clinch fire, when the deceased fell into a small pond. Clinch then took his watch out of his fob, and a sum of money out of his pocket. By this time Miss Fryer had got on the other side of the stile, when the prisoner, Mackley, held a pistol to her head, and took her cloak from her. They then went away, and Mr. Fryer was taken to a house at a short distance from the spot, where he died at eleven o’clock the same evening. The evidence in support of the above statement, as given by Miss Fryer, was clear, artless, and unembarassed. When asked if she really believed Clinch to be the man who shot Mr Fryer, she said she believed from her soul he was; with regard to Mackley, she seemed not quite so positive; several witnesses, however, proved his being seen in the same field within a few minutes of the time the murder happened, who all had noticed him, on account of his having red hair. The prisoners being called on for their defence, they only said they were innocent, but could give no account where they were at the time the murder was committed. The jury went out for about half an hour, and returned with a verdict—Guilty.
The sessions being ended, the same were adjourned until Wednesday, July 12, 1797.
Yesterday morning were executed at the front of Newgate, Martin Clinch and Samuel Mackley, for the daring robbery and cruel murder of Mr Fryer, in Islington fields. An extremely disagreeable circumstance occurred shortly before the period which is usually allowed to men in their unfortunate situation. The floor of the scaffold, from some previous misarrangement, gave way, and precipitated into the area of the apparatus, Messrs Vilette and Gaffy, the latter a Catholic priest, who attended Clinch, and the two executioners; Mr. Sheriff Stains had himself a very narrow escape. Mr. Gaffy being a lusty man was severely hurt, as were both the executioners; Mr Vilette escaped with a slight bruise. The two unfortunate malefactors swung off with their distorted features exposed to the view of the distressed spectators. By the laudable activity of Mr. Ramsden, the prison surgeon, however, the cap was drawn over their faces afterwards. Their bodies were removed to a proper place for the purposes of dissection and exposure. They both denied to the last moment having had any concern in the murder.
Pitts, Printer, Toy and Marble Warehouse, 6, Great St. Andrew Street, London.
Held on board His Majesty’s ship the NEPTUNE, lying in the river Thames, off Greenhithe.
The Court was formed on Thursday, June 22, 1797, and the prisoner was charged with making, and having endeavoured to make, a mutiny among the seamen of His Majesty’s ships at the Nore; with having caused assemblies of these seamen to meet frequently, and with having behaved himself contemptuously toward and disobeyed his officers.
Captain Moss, of the Sandwich, was the prosecutor, and after the whole of the evidence had been gone through, the prisoner was ordered to withdraw, and the court was cleared for the purpose of leaving the members to deliberate on the sentence.
In two hours and a half the Court was re-opened, and the prisoner being called in, the sentence of the Court was read by the Judge Advocate to the following purport:—“That Richard Parker do suffer death, and to be hanged by the neck on board of one of His Majesty’s ships, and at such time as the Lords of the Admiralty may think proper.”
On Friday, June 30, at eight o’clock in the morning, a gun was fired from on board His Majesty’s ship L’Espion, lying off Sheerness garrison, Vice-Admiral Lutwidge’s flag ship, and the yellow flag, the signal of capital punishment, was hoisted, which was immediately repeated by the Sandwich hoisting the same colour on her fore-top. At half-past eight Parker was told the chaplain was ready to attend him. He now requested a minute to collect himself, and knelt down in prayer, then, rising up, said, “I am ready,” and holding his head up, said to the boatswain’s mate, “take off my handkerchief,” which being done, the Provost-Marshal placed the halter over his head (which had been prepared with grease), but doing it awkwardly, the prisoner said rather pettishly to the boatswain’s mate, “Do you do it, for he seems to know nothing about it!” The halter was then spliced to the reeved rope; all this being adjusted, the Marshal attempted to put a cap on, which he refused; but on being told it was indispensible, he submitted, requesting it might not be pulled over his eyes till he desired it. He then turned round for the first time, and gave a steady look at his shipmates on the forecastle, and, with an affectionate kind of a smile, nodded his head, and said, “Good-bye to you!” He now said, “Captain Moss, is the gun primed?” “It is.” “Is the match alight” “All is ready.” He now ascended the platform, repeated the same questions about the gun, then the cap being drawn over his face, walking by firm degrees up to the extremity of the scaffold, he dropped the handkerchief, put his hands in his coat pocket with great rapidity, and at the moment as he was springing off, the fatal bow-gun fired, and the reeve rope catching him, run him up, though not with great velocity, to the yard arm. When suspended about midway, his body appeared extremely convulsed for a few seconds, immediately after which no appearance of life remained. He suffered exactly at half-past nine, and was lowered down, after hanging at the yard-arm a full hour, when the yellow flag was struck, and his body instantly put into a shell that had been prepared for it, with all his clothes on; and soon after it was taken in one of the Sandwich’s boats and rowed to the east point of the garrison, and there being landed was carried to the new naval burying ground, out of the Red Barrier Gate, leading to Minster; the coffin lid was here taken off to the spectators for a few minutes; his countenance appeared not much altered, but his eyes were wide open. He was interred exactly at noon. His body was afterward secretly taken up, and conveyed to London, and decently interred in Whitechapel church yard.
Ye Gods above protect the widow,And with pity look on me,Help me, help me out of trouble,And out of all calamity.For by the death of my brave Parker,Fortune has proved to me unkind,Tho’ doom’d by law he was to sufferI can’t erase him from my mind.Parker he was my joyful husband,My bosom friend I love so dear;At the awful moment he was going to sufferI was not allowed to come near.In vain I strove, in vain I ask’dThree times o’er and o’er again,But they replied you must be denied,You must return on shore again.First time I ’tempted my love to seeI was obliged to go away,Oppres’t with grief and broken heartedTo think that they should me stay.I thought I saw the yellow flag flying,A signal for those who was to die;A gun was fired as they required,As the time it did draw nigh.The boatswain did his best endeavourTo get me on shore without delay,When I stood trembling and confounded,Ready to take his body away.Though his trembling hand did waveAs a signal of farewell,The grief I suffered at this momentNo heart can paint, no tongue can tell.My fleeting spirit I thought would followThe soul of him I lov’d most dear,No friend or neighbour would come nigh me,For to ease me of grief or care.Every moment I thought an hourTill the law its course had run;I wished to finish the doleful taskHis imprudence first began.In the dead of the night ’tis silent,And all the world are fast asleep;My trembling heart that knows no comfortO’er his grave does often weep.Each lingering minute that passesBrings me nearer to his grave,Where we shall shine in endless glory,Never to be parted more.Farewell Parker, thou bright genius,That was once my only pride;Tho’ parted now it won’t be longE’er I’m buried by thy side.All you that see my tender ditty,Don’t laugh at me in disdain,But look down with eyes of pity,For it is my only claim.
Ye Gods above protect the widow,And with pity look on me,Help me, help me out of trouble,And out of all calamity.For by the death of my brave Parker,Fortune has proved to me unkind,Tho’ doom’d by law he was to sufferI can’t erase him from my mind.Parker he was my joyful husband,My bosom friend I love so dear;At the awful moment he was going to sufferI was not allowed to come near.In vain I strove, in vain I ask’dThree times o’er and o’er again,But they replied you must be denied,You must return on shore again.First time I ’tempted my love to seeI was obliged to go away,Oppres’t with grief and broken heartedTo think that they should me stay.I thought I saw the yellow flag flying,A signal for those who was to die;A gun was fired as they required,As the time it did draw nigh.The boatswain did his best endeavourTo get me on shore without delay,When I stood trembling and confounded,Ready to take his body away.Though his trembling hand did waveAs a signal of farewell,The grief I suffered at this momentNo heart can paint, no tongue can tell.My fleeting spirit I thought would followThe soul of him I lov’d most dear,No friend or neighbour would come nigh me,For to ease me of grief or care.Every moment I thought an hourTill the law its course had run;I wished to finish the doleful taskHis imprudence first began.In the dead of the night ’tis silent,And all the world are fast asleep;My trembling heart that knows no comfortO’er his grave does often weep.Each lingering minute that passesBrings me nearer to his grave,Where we shall shine in endless glory,Never to be parted more.Farewell Parker, thou bright genius,That was once my only pride;Tho’ parted now it won’t be longE’er I’m buried by thy side.All you that see my tender ditty,Don’t laugh at me in disdain,But look down with eyes of pity,For it is my only claim.
Ye Gods above protect the widow,And with pity look on me,Help me, help me out of trouble,And out of all calamity.For by the death of my brave Parker,Fortune has proved to me unkind,Tho’ doom’d by law he was to sufferI can’t erase him from my mind.Parker he was my joyful husband,My bosom friend I love so dear;At the awful moment he was going to sufferI was not allowed to come near.In vain I strove, in vain I ask’dThree times o’er and o’er again,But they replied you must be denied,You must return on shore again.First time I ’tempted my love to seeI was obliged to go away,Oppres’t with grief and broken heartedTo think that they should me stay.I thought I saw the yellow flag flying,A signal for those who was to die;A gun was fired as they required,As the time it did draw nigh.The boatswain did his best endeavourTo get me on shore without delay,When I stood trembling and confounded,Ready to take his body away.Though his trembling hand did waveAs a signal of farewell,The grief I suffered at this momentNo heart can paint, no tongue can tell.My fleeting spirit I thought would followThe soul of him I lov’d most dear,No friend or neighbour would come nigh me,For to ease me of grief or care.Every moment I thought an hourTill the law its course had run;I wished to finish the doleful taskHis imprudence first began.In the dead of the night ’tis silent,And all the world are fast asleep;My trembling heart that knows no comfortO’er his grave does often weep.Each lingering minute that passesBrings me nearer to his grave,Where we shall shine in endless glory,Never to be parted more.Farewell Parker, thou bright genius,That was once my only pride;Tho’ parted now it won’t be longE’er I’m buried by thy side.All you that see my tender ditty,Don’t laugh at me in disdain,But look down with eyes of pity,For it is my only claim.
Ye Gods above protect the widow,
And with pity look on me,
Help me, help me out of trouble,
And out of all calamity.
For by the death of my brave Parker,
Fortune has proved to me unkind,
Tho’ doom’d by law he was to suffer
I can’t erase him from my mind.
Parker he was my joyful husband,
My bosom friend I love so dear;
At the awful moment he was going to suffer
I was not allowed to come near.
In vain I strove, in vain I ask’d
Three times o’er and o’er again,
But they replied you must be denied,
You must return on shore again.
First time I ’tempted my love to see
I was obliged to go away,
Oppres’t with grief and broken hearted
To think that they should me stay.
I thought I saw the yellow flag flying,
A signal for those who was to die;
A gun was fired as they required,
As the time it did draw nigh.
The boatswain did his best endeavour
To get me on shore without delay,
When I stood trembling and confounded,
Ready to take his body away.
Though his trembling hand did wave
As a signal of farewell,
The grief I suffered at this moment
No heart can paint, no tongue can tell.
My fleeting spirit I thought would follow
The soul of him I lov’d most dear,
No friend or neighbour would come nigh me,
For to ease me of grief or care.
Every moment I thought an hour
Till the law its course had run;
I wished to finish the doleful task
His imprudence first began.
In the dead of the night ’tis silent,
And all the world are fast asleep;
My trembling heart that knows no comfort
O’er his grave does often weep.
Each lingering minute that passes
Brings me nearer to his grave,
Where we shall shine in endless glory,
Never to be parted more.
Farewell Parker, thou bright genius,
That was once my only pride;
Tho’ parted now it won’t be long
E’er I’m buried by thy side.
All you that see my tender ditty,
Don’t laugh at me in disdain,
But look down with eyes of pity,
For it is my only claim.
Pitts, Printer, Toy and Marble Warehouse, 9, Great St. Andrew Street, Seven Dials.
Mary Nott was tried at the Old Bailey, for the wilful murder of the Count de Greffiere de Laval, a French emigrant. It appeared in evidence, that she had the care of a house, which was let out in lodgings, in Monmouth court, Whitcomb street, the front room on the first floor of which was occupied by the count. The lodger in the room adjoining, not hearing the count as usual, had, for several mornings, enquired after him; when the prisoner said she supposed he was gone into the country with a French man and woman who used to call on him, but had not been there since his absence, for she had not seen him; that the key was not in his door, and, upon looking through the keyhole, she observed the room was just as she left it.—To another witness, who had called to see the count, she said that he had gone out very early that morning, and that she did not expect him home until it was late. Some doubts, however, arising from his absence, a ladder was procured, perfectly with the consent of the prisoner, to look into the room of the deceased; and upon the person’s calling out that there was a man upon the bed, she cried out, that she would not have remained there last night if she had known there was a man dead in the house; and upon which she, in fact, alarmed the neighbourhood. A smith was sent for, and the door forced open: the deceased was found lying on the bed with all his clothes on but his coat; he was wrapped up in the bedclothes, and pillows covered his head: there was a great deal of blood in the room, a wound was observed in the neck, and the body was nearly in a state of putrefaction. A woman, who lived in an opposite house, and who had observed the prisoner shut one of the windows, which prevented her seeing into the prisoner’s room, on the day the murder was supposed to have been committed, went up with her at the time the door was opened, and observing his right hand pocket was turned out, said, “He has been robbed;” to which the prisoner instantly replied, “He did it himself;” upon this witness made a similar remark that he must have been murdered, she again said, “He did it himself;” and upon her noticing a wash-hand basin with some water in it tinged with blood, as if some person had wrinsed their hands therein, the prisoner said, “It is not strange, not strange at all; what do you come here to raise suspicion for?” Another neighbour had heard a scream about two o’clock on that day, but could not say whence it came. The deceased was seen coming toward home between twelve and one o’clock, and as the lodger in the next room went home as early as five, the supposition was that the murder had been committed in that time. The surgeon who examined the body swore positively there was no wound in the side of the deceased, but that the raised skin, supposed to be such, was from the putrefaction; nor would he undertake to say what was the cause of his death, although a considerable quantity of blood might have issued from the wound in his neck.—Beside this testimony, which included all that related to the prisoner, it appeared that the deceased’s portmanteau had been cut; that there was a knife upon the table, which was by no means bloody; that in his left-hand pocket he had a knife and a key, the latter of which opened a drawer, wherein were several pieces of French coin and three guineas; that the deceased had been possessed of a very considerable property in France, and upon emigrating to this country, an agent in the city had allowed him twenty pounds per month: but affairs taking such a turn there, that pittance had been stopped, and he was so reduced, that a friend had forced upon him the loan of four guineas; he having no other clothes than those on his back. The prisoner denied the charge generally, and called three persons to her character, one of whom said she was of so humane a disposition, that if a worm lay in her way, she would turn aside rather than do it an injury. The jury returned a verdict of guilty. She is aged 63.—Richard Ludman, Ann Rhodes, Eleanor Hughes, and Mary Baker, were likewise indicted for the murder of George Hebner. This murder was committed in King street, East Smithfield, in one of those obscure receptacles of debauchery with which this metropolis abounds. The body of the deceased was found on the morning of Sunday, the 22nd of May, suspended by the neck from a bed-post, in a room on the second floor, with his hands tied behind his back. It was proved that the four prisoners were in the house (which belonged to Eleanor Hughes) on the evening of Saturday, the 21st, and next morning. They were seen, and some of their conversations heard, by two women who lived in an adjoining house; this house was separated from that in which the deceased was found by only a lath partition, perforated in several places, and the holes and crevices affording a distinct view of almost all the apartments of the latter.—The manner in which the hands of the deceased were bound with a piece of tape was described in the court. The knot that had been used was what seamen call a timber hitch, and it was obviously such could not have been done by himself. There was no direct and positive proof of the guilt of the prisoners; but there was a chain of most suspicious circumstances pointing strongly against Ludman and Hughes. The lord chief baron summed up the evidence with great precision, candour, and humanity. It was on the expressions used by the prisoners that the proof chiefly rested, and his lordship nicely discriminated between those which seemed to arise from surprise, on the discovery of the situation of the deceased, and those which could be supposed to proceed only from a knowledge of the murder. The jury returned a verdict, finding Richard Ludman and Eleanor Hughes guilty. Ann Rhodes and Mary Baker not guilty.—Eleanor Hughes pleaded pregnancy, to stay the execution of her sentence. On which a jury of matrons was collected and sworn, to examine her, and report their opinion to the court. They retired with the prisoner about half-an-hour, and at their return declared her to be “with child, but not quick with child.”
Yesterday, Mary Nott, convicted of the murder of Le Comte de Laval, an emigrant nobleman; and also Richard Ludman and Eleanor Hughes, convicted of the murder of George Hebner, were executed on a temporary platform in the Old Bailey, before the gaol of Newgate, pursuant to their sentence; after which the bodies were delivered at Surgeons’-hall for dissection.
John Clarke, Printer, Swan Street, Minories, London.
This wretched criminal surrendered his life to-day to the outraged laws of his country, From the complication of crimes of which he was convicted, and from the probability that the murder of Mr. Parker and his housekeeper was not the first instance in which he had been guilty of a violation of the laws, great curiosity prevailed to witness his execution, in the expectation that, if he had not previously made any confession he would in his last moments be induced to reveal the particulars of his guilt.
After his family had taken leave of him, he made a full confession of his guilt. Some of the particulars which he communicated are said to be very important, and the whole of his statement is, for the present, kept strictly secret. Various rumours are, of course, in circulation respecting the nature of his confession to which it would be equally improper to give publicity, whether they be ill or well founded.
After his mind had been disburdened of the load of guilt which had pressed so heavily on it, he became more composed, and joined in the exercises of devotion with more fixed attention, and apparently with a greater degree of intelligence, than he had hitherto evinced. On Sunday night he slept for more than two hours; and this morning he was more tranquil than usual. The Rev. Mr Harker, whose humane exertions in administering to him the consolations of religion, have all along been unremitted, attended him at 6 o’clock, and remained with him till eight. He returned again at nine o’clock, to assist him in preparing for the last awful trial of his fortitude.
At a quarter past eleven the unhappy culprit was placed in a waggon, to be drawn to the place of execution, on Pennenden heath, about a mile from Maidstone gaol. The executioner was placed by his side, and two officers with loaded carbines were also seated in the waggon, fronting the criminal. His dress was the same that he had worn during his trial, consisting of a blue coat, a yellow waistcoat, a white neck cloth, and top boots. The procession moved slowly towards the heath, the criminal frequently turned up his eyes to heaven, and ejaculating “O Lord, have mercy upon me! Christ, have mercy upon me!”—About 100 yards from the prison gate his mother caught his eye in the crowd. He did not appear to be much moved at seeing her, but bent his head to one of the officers who sat before him, and said, “Mind, tell Mr Bowen to do something for my family.” The procession arrived at the place of execution about 10 minutes before 12, and the waggon was drawn up along the side of the scaffold. The chaplain then joined the criminal in prayer, and the stillest silence pervaded the immense crowd, who stood uncovered while the service was reading. The criminal, who had knelt down by Mr Harker’s side, joined in the prayers with as much fervour as his agitation would permit. His hands were clasped together and uplifted, and his eyes were sometimes directed downwards to the book in the chaplain’s hand, as if he did not understand what was read; occasionally they were turned up to heaven, but during the greater part of the time they wandered unconsciously over the crowd without any definite direction.
When the devotions were closed, and the criminal was about to be removed from the waggon, he observed near him Mr Hay, the barrack master of Woolwich, and said he wished to speak to him. Mr Hay come forward and said, “For God’s sake, Nisbett, be sincere; consider what you are about, and tell the truth.” He replied, “I have told the truth already, and nothing but the truth. My family knows nothing of my guilt, and I hope you will do something for them.” Mr Hay asked him if he had confessed his guilt; and he replied, “I have confessed it to another person.” He then mounted the stage with a firm step, and the executioner proceeded to put a cap over his eyes, and to adjust the rope round his neck. Having seen Mr Bowen, of Woolwich, near the scaffold, he called to him and said, “Mr Bowen, I hope you will have some regard for my family. Poor things! they are innocent. None that belongs to me know anything of my doings.” Mr Bowen called to him to confess his crime, on which he replied, “I have made all the confession I had to make. That will be known after I am gone. The people is convenient that has it. It is enough for one person to know.”
At 5 minutes after 12 o’clock the fatal signal was given. He did not seem to suffer more than one minute. The body, after hanging the usual time, was cut down, and conveyed in a shell to Messrs. Day and Watman’s to be anatomized, pursuant to his sentence.
Previously to his trial, Nesbett had prepared the following declaration, in his own hand-writing, to be delivered to Mr Hay, the barrack master of Woolwich, an intelligent and humane gentleman, who was anxious to have it ascertained that the family of the murderer were not implicated in his guilt:—