Tuesday, September 4th, was the day appointed for the execution of Youngman, the perpetrator of four murders at Walworth. At an early hour people of the lowest order began to assemble in the neighbourhood of the prison, and by five o’clock every available space was occupied. At seven o’clock the chaplain entered the condemned cell to administer religious consolation to the criminal, and remained with him until the time of his execution. In reply to exhortations addressed to him by the chaplain, he repeated substantially the story he had always told as to his share in the crime. The chaplain urged him not to leave the world with a lie in his mouth. “Well, if I wanted to tell a lie it would be to say that I did it.” He, nevertheless, conducted himself towards the chaplain with respect, listened to him with attention, and joined in prayer; but, beyond those mechanical observances, he showed no evidence whatever of feeling.
The minutes which remained to him to live might now be numbered. He was then conducted to a gateway; in which a corridor he had to traverse terminated, and there, a few minutes before nine, he was pinioned. The procession then formed, the gates were opened, the chaplain commenced reading the burial service, and, so escorted, the convict proceeded to the beam. On arriving at the drop and confronting the mass of human beings he looked wild and startled, but, recovering his composure he allowed himself to be placed on the drop, and, with evident fervency and an audible voice, he followed the chaplain in a prayer, clasping his hands in unmismakeable devotion. For a moment he paused to request the exeeutioner, who was adjusting the noose, to pinion his legs, which was done; and his parting words addressed to the chaplain—were, “Thank you, Mr. Jessop, for your great kindness; see my brother, and take my love to him and all at home.”
The drop fell, and he died in a few minutes.
H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, New Oxford Street.
EXAMINATION AND CONFESSIONOFJOHN HEALEY.
John Healey, who stands charged on his confession with having been concerned with four others in the murder of James Barton, at the Button or Bawkhouse Pit, Haigh, near Wigan, on the morning of the 3rd of January, 1863, was re-examined at Wigan, yesterday. The confession having been read over, Mr. Lamb asked the prisoner if it was correct. He said: it is not all correct, sir. I own to it that I had liquor with the men, but then I do not recollect where I went.—Mr. Lamb: But that portion about the murder?—Healey: I can then recollect the men and then getting drunk, but I do not know what occurred after.—Mr. Lamb: Well, then, how was it that you made that statement?—A man may be in drink and not know what he is doing.—Mr. Lamb: You were not in drink when you made the statement.—The prisoner: No.—Mr. Lamb: Then how was it you made it? The prisoner made no reply. Evidence was then tendered as to the discovery of the few remains of Barton, but nothing fresh was elicited. The only evidence bearing upon the confession of Healey, was that of Jane Little, a collier girl. She deposed that on the morning of the murder she was assisting to load a boat with coal at the Bridge or Pigeon Pit, situated on the canal bank, between the Bawkhouse Colliery and Wigan. The towering path was on the opposite side of the canal to the colliery, and the path was lighted by a light on the pit bank. About a quarter-past two she was in the boat, and a man, named Jordan, was above lowering the coals. He was approaching with a full tub, when she saw four men come in the direction of Haigh. Jordan was just lowering a tub as they came near, and when the men saw him they stopped suddenly by a heap of ashes. Whilst he was fetching another tub they walked sharply past and over the bridge, where they waited till Jordan had gone away again. The men had caps on.—Having been charged in the usual way, the prisoner said he had nothing to say, and he was committed for trial at the next Liverpool assizes.—The evidence of Little is, so far as it goes, corroborative of Healey’s confession, and as it was never made public till yesterday, there is no probability that the story of the prisoner with regard to the four men can have been manufactured from the newspapers or from hearsay.
Come all you wild and wicked youth,Listen to me, I will tell the truthFor that sad and dreadful deedHas caused my very heart to bleed,I could not sleep or take my rest,I compelled was to confess.Chorus.Though justice strictly searched about,They could not find the murderer out.Two long years have gone and pass’d,And I, John Healey, have confessed.At last to my grief and sad downfall,I was taken to Wigan Town Hall,Where I had to face Justice Lamb,To answer was I the guilty man.John Healey is my name,It was strong whiskey did my head inflame,With four companions at their desire,At Button Pit near WiganTo thrust poor James Barton in the furnace flames of fire.Though, &c.A warning take young men I pray,For fear like me you should be led astray,For nights rambling is my downfall,And strong drink is the ruin of all;I have taken father,The mother left orphans to deplore,May the Lord have mercy on his soul,They will never see him more.Alas in Kirkdale Gaol I lay,A-waiting for the trial-day.
Come all you wild and wicked youth,Listen to me, I will tell the truthFor that sad and dreadful deedHas caused my very heart to bleed,I could not sleep or take my rest,I compelled was to confess.Chorus.Though justice strictly searched about,They could not find the murderer out.Two long years have gone and pass’d,And I, John Healey, have confessed.At last to my grief and sad downfall,I was taken to Wigan Town Hall,Where I had to face Justice Lamb,To answer was I the guilty man.John Healey is my name,It was strong whiskey did my head inflame,With four companions at their desire,At Button Pit near WiganTo thrust poor James Barton in the furnace flames of fire.Though, &c.A warning take young men I pray,For fear like me you should be led astray,For nights rambling is my downfall,And strong drink is the ruin of all;I have taken father,The mother left orphans to deplore,May the Lord have mercy on his soul,They will never see him more.Alas in Kirkdale Gaol I lay,A-waiting for the trial-day.
Come all you wild and wicked youth,Listen to me, I will tell the truthFor that sad and dreadful deedHas caused my very heart to bleed,I could not sleep or take my rest,I compelled was to confess.
Come all you wild and wicked youth,
Listen to me, I will tell the truth
For that sad and dreadful deed
Has caused my very heart to bleed,
I could not sleep or take my rest,
I compelled was to confess.
Chorus.
Chorus.
Though justice strictly searched about,They could not find the murderer out.
Though justice strictly searched about,
They could not find the murderer out.
Two long years have gone and pass’d,And I, John Healey, have confessed.At last to my grief and sad downfall,I was taken to Wigan Town Hall,Where I had to face Justice Lamb,To answer was I the guilty man.
Two long years have gone and pass’d,
And I, John Healey, have confessed.
At last to my grief and sad downfall,
I was taken to Wigan Town Hall,
Where I had to face Justice Lamb,
To answer was I the guilty man.
John Healey is my name,It was strong whiskey did my head inflame,With four companions at their desire,At Button Pit near WiganTo thrust poor James Barton in the furnace flames of fire.
John Healey is my name,
It was strong whiskey did my head inflame,
With four companions at their desire,
At Button Pit near Wigan
To thrust poor James Barton in the furnace flames of fire.
Though, &c.
Though, &c.
A warning take young men I pray,For fear like me you should be led astray,For nights rambling is my downfall,And strong drink is the ruin of all;I have taken father,The mother left orphans to deplore,May the Lord have mercy on his soul,They will never see him more.
A warning take young men I pray,
For fear like me you should be led astray,
For nights rambling is my downfall,
And strong drink is the ruin of all;
I have taken father,
The mother left orphans to deplore,
May the Lord have mercy on his soul,
They will never see him more.
Alas in Kirkdale Gaol I lay,A-waiting for the trial-day.
Alas in Kirkdale Gaol I lay,
A-waiting for the trial-day.
Harkness, Printer, Preston.
Priscilla Biggadike, who was sentenced to death at the recent Lincoln Assizes, for the wilful murder of her husband by poisoning, at Stickney, a village near Boston, in Lincolnshire, was executed on Monday morning, at nine o’clock.
The unfortunate woman has appearod to pay considerable attention to the ministrations of the chaplain, but she declined to make any confession of her guilt. On Saturday, she was visited by a brother and three sisters, who remained with her upwards of three hours, and strongly urged her to confess, but still she refused, and at length became passionate at their repeated entreaties. George Ironmonger, one of the persons who lodged at her house, also applied for permission to to see her on Saturday, but was refused.
On Sunday she attended Divine service in the prison. She slept well during the night, and was visited at seven o’clock yesterday morning by the Rev. W. Richter, the chaplain, who again, without avail, implored her to confess her guilt. At a quarter to nine she was pinioned by Askerne the executioner, and although she fainted under the operation, she immediately recovered. Five minutes afterwards, the sad procession left the prison for the scaffold, which was erected within the castle walls, on the east side of the Crown Court, a distance of nearly 200 yards from the prison door.
The unfortunate woman, who was supported by two of the warders, moaned piteously, and appeared to take little heed of the chaplain, while reading the solemn service of the dead. On her way to the place of execution, she said to the warders, I hope my trubles are ended, and then asked, ‘Shall we be much longer?’ to which a warder gave a negative reply. The service was brought to a close at the foot of a drop, and the chaplain turning to the prisoner, asked her whether she still persisted in the declaration of her innocence? whether she had anything to do with the crime, in thought, word, or deed? In a firm voice she replied, ‘I had not, sir.’ She was then accommodated with a chair, and the chaplain addressed her as follows:—I have spent an half an hour with you this morning, in endeavouring to impress upon you, a proper sense of your condition, for you are about to pass from this world into another, and to stand before God, to whom the secrets of all hearts are known, I implore you not to pass away without confessing all your sins; not only generally, but especially this particular one, for which you are about to suffer. I had hoped that you would have made that confession, and thus have enabled me, as a minister of Christ, to have pronounced the forgiveness of your sins, under the promise that Christ came into the world to save sinners. It has grieved me much to find that still persist in the declaration, that you are not accountable for your husband’s death; that you still say that you did not administer the poison yourself; that you did not see any other person administer it, and that you are entirely free from the crime. Do you say so, now?
The Prisoner, still in a firm voice, said, Yes.
The Chaplain.—There is only one left, that you have endeavoured to confess your sins to God, though you will not to you fellow creatures. All I can now say is, that I leave you in the hands of God; and may he have mercy on your soul. What a satisfaction it would be to your children, to your friends, to your relations, to know that you had passed from death into life, in the full persuasion that your sins were forgiven you, and that you were admitted into the blessed kingdom of God. I fear that I can hold out no further consolation to you—the matter rests between you and the Almighty. Had you made a declaration of your sins, I should have done what, as a minister of Christ, I am entitled to do—I should have told you that “your sins though many were forgiven.” I am sorry I cannot exercise that authority at the present moment. I must leave you to God.
The condemned woman was then assisted up the steps to the platform, and placed on the trap door. When the fatal rope was being affixed, she stood firm without assistance. The cap was then drawn over her face, and she the exclaimed “All my troubles are over;” then suddenly “Shame, you are not going to hang me!” “Surely my troubles are over.” The bell of the cathedral here tolled forth the hour of nine, at that instant the bolt was drawn, and the wretched woman was launched into eternity.
W. Smith, Printer, Lincoln.
This morning, the wretched criminal, Frederick Baker, suffered the extreme penalty of the law at Winchester Gaol, for the atrocious murder of Fanny Adams, at Alton, on the 24th of August last. It is satisfactory to state that since his condemnation, the conduct of the unhappy man underwent a total change for the better, and he began to realize the awful condition in which he was placed, and his callous demeanour was changed into one of deep dejection. The prisoner has been assiduously attended by the chaplain of the prison, and to such a state of religious feeling had he been brought, that he fully acknowledged the justice of his sentence. The sheriffs arrived at an early hour. When the operation of pinioning had been performed, the wretched man thanked the chaplain, the governor, and the other officials for their kindness. The procession was then formed, and slowly took its way towards the scene of execution. The cap and rope was adjusted, the bolt drawn, and the prisoner was launched into eternity.
You tender mothers pray give attention,To these few lines which I will relate,From a dreary cell, now to you I’ll mention,A wicked murderer has now met his fate;This villain’s name it is Frederick Baker,His trial is over and his time was come!On the gallows high he has met his Maker,To answer for that cruel deed he’d done.Prepare for death, wicked Frederick Baker,For on the scaffold you will shortly die,Your victim waits for you to meet your Maker,—She dwells with Angels and her God on high.On that Saturday, little Fanny Adams,Near the hop-garden with her sister played,With hearts so light they were filled with gladness,When that monster Baker towards them strayed;In that heart of stone not a spark of pity,When he those halfpence to the children gaveBut now in gaol in Winchester city,He soon must die and fill a murderer’s grave.He told those children to go and leave him,With little Fanny at the garden gateHe said, come with me, and she believing,In his arms he lifted her as I now state;Oh do not take me, my mother wants me,I must go home again, good sir, she cried;But on this earth she never saw thee,In that hop-garden, there, poor child, she died.When the deed was done, and that little darling,Her soul to God her Maker it had flown,She cannot return at her mother’s calling,He mutilated her it is well known;Her heart-broken parents in anguish weeping,For vengeance on her murderer cried,Her mother wrings her hands in sorrow grieving,Oh would for you, dear Fanny, I had died.The jury soon found this monster guilty,The judge on him the awful sentence passed,Saying, prepare yourself for the cruel murder,For in this world, now, your die is cast;And from your cell you will mount the scaffold,And many thousands will you behind,You must die the death of a malefactor,May the Lord have mercy on your guilty soul.What visions now must haunt his pillow,As in his cell he lays now almost wild,She points at him, and cries, oh tremble, murderer!’Tis I, your victim here—that little child!The hangman comes, hark, the bell is tolling,Your time has come, nothing can save you,He mounts the scaffold, the drop is falling,And Frederick Baker fills a murderer’s grave.
You tender mothers pray give attention,To these few lines which I will relate,From a dreary cell, now to you I’ll mention,A wicked murderer has now met his fate;This villain’s name it is Frederick Baker,His trial is over and his time was come!On the gallows high he has met his Maker,To answer for that cruel deed he’d done.Prepare for death, wicked Frederick Baker,For on the scaffold you will shortly die,Your victim waits for you to meet your Maker,—She dwells with Angels and her God on high.On that Saturday, little Fanny Adams,Near the hop-garden with her sister played,With hearts so light they were filled with gladness,When that monster Baker towards them strayed;In that heart of stone not a spark of pity,When he those halfpence to the children gaveBut now in gaol in Winchester city,He soon must die and fill a murderer’s grave.He told those children to go and leave him,With little Fanny at the garden gateHe said, come with me, and she believing,In his arms he lifted her as I now state;Oh do not take me, my mother wants me,I must go home again, good sir, she cried;But on this earth she never saw thee,In that hop-garden, there, poor child, she died.When the deed was done, and that little darling,Her soul to God her Maker it had flown,She cannot return at her mother’s calling,He mutilated her it is well known;Her heart-broken parents in anguish weeping,For vengeance on her murderer cried,Her mother wrings her hands in sorrow grieving,Oh would for you, dear Fanny, I had died.The jury soon found this monster guilty,The judge on him the awful sentence passed,Saying, prepare yourself for the cruel murder,For in this world, now, your die is cast;And from your cell you will mount the scaffold,And many thousands will you behind,You must die the death of a malefactor,May the Lord have mercy on your guilty soul.What visions now must haunt his pillow,As in his cell he lays now almost wild,She points at him, and cries, oh tremble, murderer!’Tis I, your victim here—that little child!The hangman comes, hark, the bell is tolling,Your time has come, nothing can save you,He mounts the scaffold, the drop is falling,And Frederick Baker fills a murderer’s grave.
You tender mothers pray give attention,To these few lines which I will relate,From a dreary cell, now to you I’ll mention,A wicked murderer has now met his fate;This villain’s name it is Frederick Baker,His trial is over and his time was come!On the gallows high he has met his Maker,To answer for that cruel deed he’d done.
You tender mothers pray give attention,
To these few lines which I will relate,
From a dreary cell, now to you I’ll mention,
A wicked murderer has now met his fate;
This villain’s name it is Frederick Baker,
His trial is over and his time was come!
On the gallows high he has met his Maker,
To answer for that cruel deed he’d done.
Prepare for death, wicked Frederick Baker,For on the scaffold you will shortly die,Your victim waits for you to meet your Maker,—She dwells with Angels and her God on high.
Prepare for death, wicked Frederick Baker,
For on the scaffold you will shortly die,
Your victim waits for you to meet your Maker,—
She dwells with Angels and her God on high.
On that Saturday, little Fanny Adams,Near the hop-garden with her sister played,With hearts so light they were filled with gladness,When that monster Baker towards them strayed;In that heart of stone not a spark of pity,When he those halfpence to the children gaveBut now in gaol in Winchester city,He soon must die and fill a murderer’s grave.
On that Saturday, little Fanny Adams,
Near the hop-garden with her sister played,
With hearts so light they were filled with gladness,
When that monster Baker towards them strayed;
In that heart of stone not a spark of pity,
When he those halfpence to the children gave
But now in gaol in Winchester city,
He soon must die and fill a murderer’s grave.
He told those children to go and leave him,With little Fanny at the garden gateHe said, come with me, and she believing,In his arms he lifted her as I now state;Oh do not take me, my mother wants me,I must go home again, good sir, she cried;But on this earth she never saw thee,In that hop-garden, there, poor child, she died.
He told those children to go and leave him,
With little Fanny at the garden gate
He said, come with me, and she believing,
In his arms he lifted her as I now state;
Oh do not take me, my mother wants me,
I must go home again, good sir, she cried;
But on this earth she never saw thee,
In that hop-garden, there, poor child, she died.
When the deed was done, and that little darling,Her soul to God her Maker it had flown,She cannot return at her mother’s calling,He mutilated her it is well known;Her heart-broken parents in anguish weeping,For vengeance on her murderer cried,Her mother wrings her hands in sorrow grieving,Oh would for you, dear Fanny, I had died.
When the deed was done, and that little darling,
Her soul to God her Maker it had flown,
She cannot return at her mother’s calling,
He mutilated her it is well known;
Her heart-broken parents in anguish weeping,
For vengeance on her murderer cried,
Her mother wrings her hands in sorrow grieving,
Oh would for you, dear Fanny, I had died.
The jury soon found this monster guilty,The judge on him the awful sentence passed,Saying, prepare yourself for the cruel murder,For in this world, now, your die is cast;And from your cell you will mount the scaffold,And many thousands will you behind,You must die the death of a malefactor,May the Lord have mercy on your guilty soul.
The jury soon found this monster guilty,
The judge on him the awful sentence passed,
Saying, prepare yourself for the cruel murder,
For in this world, now, your die is cast;
And from your cell you will mount the scaffold,
And many thousands will you behind,
You must die the death of a malefactor,
May the Lord have mercy on your guilty soul.
What visions now must haunt his pillow,As in his cell he lays now almost wild,She points at him, and cries, oh tremble, murderer!’Tis I, your victim here—that little child!The hangman comes, hark, the bell is tolling,Your time has come, nothing can save you,He mounts the scaffold, the drop is falling,And Frederick Baker fills a murderer’s grave.
What visions now must haunt his pillow,
As in his cell he lays now almost wild,
She points at him, and cries, oh tremble, murderer!
’Tis I, your victim here—that little child!
The hangman comes, hark, the bell is tolling,
Your time has come, nothing can save you,
He mounts the scaffold, the drop is falling,
And Frederick Baker fills a murderer’s grave.
For the Murder of Philip Trainer, of Darlington, and Hugh John Ward, of Sunderland, in the County Prison, at Durham, on the 22nd instant.
Yesterday the two murderers, Dolan and M’Conville, were executed within the precincts of the goal at Durham. M’Conville, who who was 23 years of age, worked as a furnace-man at Darlington, and was convicted of the murder of Philip Trainer, on the 30th of January last, Dolan murdered a man named Hugh John Ward, at Sunderland, on the 8th of last December. The two convicts left the condemned cell shortly after eight o’clock, each supported by a couple of warders, and attended by the Rev. Canon Consett and Rev. G. Waterton, Roman Catholic priests. A procession, headed by the under sheriff, moved to the west wing of the prison, where the scaffold was erected. The warders conducted the men chained from their cells, and they were taken through the corridors to the pinioning room, where Calcraft commenced his duties. Both men submitted quitetly, and prayed unceasingly with the priests. Canon Consett ministered to M’Conville, and the Rev. Waterton to Dolan. At 6 minutes to eight the prison bell began to toll, the hour had scarcely struck before the outer door of the pinioning room opened and the procession issued into the inner court of the prison. It passed along a narrow passage between two wards and abruptly turning to the left, come into the open work yard, where the low gallows was erected. In passing across the yard neither criminal seemed to notice the slight swelling among the cinders and gravel close to their path, which indicated the spot where their graves already dug were lightly covered until the tenants for them were ready. Close to the gallows Calcraft stepped forward and conducted M’Conville under the beam. The criminal was deadly pale, but with upright bearing and steady steps advanced without faltering, Calcraft completed his work in full view of Dolan, who shuddered perceptibly, but never ceased joining in the prayers & responses with the Rev. Waterton. At length Calcraft finished with M’Conville, and then conducted Dolan under the beam. In a few seconds this convict was made fast to the beam, the Clergy and Calcraft crept off the drop, and while petitions for mercy were spoken aloud by both the victims, the bolt was drawn. Dolan died almost instantaneously, but M’Conville struggled for several seconds. After hanging an hour the bodies were cut down, and an inquest was held at eleven.
A double murder we have to tell,Most dreadful to relate,Dolan and M’Conville named,Who met an awful fate.Philip Trainer, of Darlington,Was by M’Conville slain;And Hugh Ward, of Sunderland,Dolan murdered in the lane.Two Roman priests attended themIn prayer the night before,Who begged for mercy from on high,And their sad crime deplore.At eight o’clock precisely,The prison bell did toll;Each being led and supported,Under the warders’ controul.Where the gallows was erected,And loosened from their chains;Their graves too was constructed,To receive their sad remains.Within the prison they met their fate,Now according to the law;And Calcraft performed his duty,For crimes mankind abhor.A black flag was hoisted,On the prison walls,Denoting all was over,The death that men appals.May the Lord have mercy on their souls,For their most dreadful crime;And a warning let it be allTo the end of time.
A double murder we have to tell,Most dreadful to relate,Dolan and M’Conville named,Who met an awful fate.Philip Trainer, of Darlington,Was by M’Conville slain;And Hugh Ward, of Sunderland,Dolan murdered in the lane.Two Roman priests attended themIn prayer the night before,Who begged for mercy from on high,And their sad crime deplore.At eight o’clock precisely,The prison bell did toll;Each being led and supported,Under the warders’ controul.Where the gallows was erected,And loosened from their chains;Their graves too was constructed,To receive their sad remains.Within the prison they met their fate,Now according to the law;And Calcraft performed his duty,For crimes mankind abhor.A black flag was hoisted,On the prison walls,Denoting all was over,The death that men appals.May the Lord have mercy on their souls,For their most dreadful crime;And a warning let it be allTo the end of time.
A double murder we have to tell,Most dreadful to relate,Dolan and M’Conville named,Who met an awful fate.
A double murder we have to tell,
Most dreadful to relate,
Dolan and M’Conville named,
Who met an awful fate.
Philip Trainer, of Darlington,Was by M’Conville slain;And Hugh Ward, of Sunderland,Dolan murdered in the lane.
Philip Trainer, of Darlington,
Was by M’Conville slain;
And Hugh Ward, of Sunderland,
Dolan murdered in the lane.
Two Roman priests attended themIn prayer the night before,Who begged for mercy from on high,And their sad crime deplore.
Two Roman priests attended them
In prayer the night before,
Who begged for mercy from on high,
And their sad crime deplore.
At eight o’clock precisely,The prison bell did toll;Each being led and supported,Under the warders’ controul.
At eight o’clock precisely,
The prison bell did toll;
Each being led and supported,
Under the warders’ controul.
Where the gallows was erected,And loosened from their chains;Their graves too was constructed,To receive their sad remains.
Where the gallows was erected,
And loosened from their chains;
Their graves too was constructed,
To receive their sad remains.
Within the prison they met their fate,Now according to the law;And Calcraft performed his duty,For crimes mankind abhor.
Within the prison they met their fate,
Now according to the law;
And Calcraft performed his duty,
For crimes mankind abhor.
A black flag was hoisted,On the prison walls,Denoting all was over,The death that men appals.
A black flag was hoisted,
On the prison walls,
Denoting all was over,
The death that men appals.
May the Lord have mercy on their souls,For their most dreadful crime;And a warning let it be allTo the end of time.
May the Lord have mercy on their souls,
For their most dreadful crime;
And a warning let it be all
To the end of time.
W. Smith, Printer, Lincoln.
At an early hour on Monday evening the people began to congregate in front of the gaol and in the public-houses in the vicinity of Horsemonger-lane Gaol, but as the night wore on they gradually dispersed, until towards three o’clock there were only a few stragglers to be seen. About this time the last of the barricades was erected, and every precaution was taken to prevent any disturbance. It had been reported to the prison authorities and the police that an attempt would be made to rescue Wright, and in consequence 500 of the reserves from the A, C, H, K, L, M, and P divisions were on the spot keeping the ground round the prison clear. The arrangements made by Mr. Superintendent Bradford were well carried out by his colleagues, Superintendents White, Bray, Payne, and Gibbs, and Inspectors Silverton, Fyfe, and Turpin, As the hour for the execution approached the crowd began to increase, but all maintained the utmost decorum. At times men were seen pervading the place with a flag, on which was printed in large letters “Man’s Cry,” and several religious extracts, while some of them read aloud from the Scriptures. After them followed a number of young men singing psalms, the tunes of which were taken up by the populace.
As the hour of seven o’clock approached, the public-houses on each side of the gaol were cleared of their customers, and the doors and windows entirely closed, and at Mrs. Wrangham’s, the Masons’ Arms, a number of policemen took their station on the leads at the back and front of the house. When daylight began to break the morning was chilly, damp, and foggy; but, as the sun rose, it became more cheerful, and it was then observed that nearly every private house opposite the gaol had all the blinds down, as close as if a person lay dead within. Very few of the windows were occupied, and they seemed to be the inhabitants of the houses. The gardens were kept clear by the police.
Great surprise was felt as the hour of execution arrived at finding that there were so few persons to witness the awful tragedy. Many had refused to stay, saying they would have no hand in the murder of John Wright, and all felt that he was undergoing a penalty that ought to have been remitted. There were not on the whole more than 4,000 or 5,000 persons present, and being scattered round the avenues leading to the place of execution, there was no difficulty in walking about freely.
The unfortunate man slept soundly during the night, and rose about six o’clock. He was visited by the chaplain, who remained with him to the last.
Shortly before nine o’clock the governor of the gaol, Mr. Kean, the sheriffs, Calcraft, and other authorities, entered the cell and pinioned the culprit. They proceeded to the gallows, Wright walking under the drop with a firm step, followed by Calcraft, a warder, and the chaplain. He bowed to the crowd while the cap was put over his head and the rope adjusted round his neck. There were then loud shouts of “Shame,” “Murder,” “Disgraceful,” “Townley,” and other manifestations of displeasure on the part of the populace. Wright understood the feeling of sympathy in his favour, and several times bowed his acknowledgments, raising his hands spasmodically.
The fatal hour at length arrived, but there was some little delay before the doomed man ascended the scaffold. Since his condemnation he has behaved throughout with great decorum, and has seen the members of his family several times. The Rev. Mr. Jessop, the chaplain, has been unremitting in his attention to the unhappy man, and his ministrations have been received with the most happy results. Wright, it appears, was brought up a Roman Catholic at a place called Cossey, in Norfolk, and since he has been in prison he has received a letter from the Roman Catholic priest of that place, asking him not to desert the faith in which he was educated. Mr. Jessop asked him if he would like to see the Rev. Dr. Doyle, a Catholic priest, but he was perfectly satisfied with the instruction he was receiving from the chaplain. He took the sacrament on Monday at his own request.
At length the fatal bolt was withdrawn, and in a few moments the unhappy man was launched into eternity.
Wright saw his family and friends a few days ago, and took an affecting leave of them. He has also written two letters, of which the following are copies:—
“Jan. 10, 1864, Horsemonger-lane Gaol.
“Dear Mother,—I feel it my duty to write a few lines to you before I leave this world, although it is under such painful circumstances. Although I have not written to you before, you know how I am situated. I never thought that I should add to your sorrow. Dear mother, I call you by that name, for you have been to me as one, and I may say I to you as a son. I received a kind and welcome letter from Mr. Hazembeth, and was glad to hear that my Cossey friends showed so much sympathy towards me. It is a great crime that I have committed, and I feel that Almighty God will forgive me, and then I hope to join them that’s gone before me. Dear mother, it grieves me very much to think that my dear children will be left fatherless and motherless, but there’s one above that has promised to be a father to the fatherless.
“Since I have been here I have been treated with the greatest kindness, and I am visited daily by the chaplain, from whom I feel great comfort. I have but a few hours longer to live on this earth, and they will be taken up with reading and prayer. Dear Polly is quite well, and I will leave you to judge my parent’s care; I have seen them several times, but my dear mother does not know that I am condemned to die. I have had a great number of friends who have tried to save me from this end, and have failed; but thank God, I feel quite prepared to meet it. Dear mother, I conclude with my kindest love to you and my dear daughter. May the blessing of God Almighty be upon you now and for ever. No more from your unfortunate son,
“Good-bye.”
“Samuel Wright.”
“Jan. 11, 1864.
“Dear Mother,—I feel that I must write a few lines before I leave this world, as Almighty God has given me strength so to do. Dear Mother, although I am present here under a heavy crime, I feel as if the Almighty God had freely forgiven me, after all my sins. And what a blessing that is to think that your dear son feels so glorified—that he dies in peace with God, where I hope to meet them that are dear to us. I leave one with you, my dear child, in remembrance of me, and may the Almighty God give you health and strength to bring her up in the ways of the Lord. Dear mother, I feel as if I cannot last but a few days longer, and now I again take a farewell of father, mother, sisters, and brother, and wishing the blessing of God Almighty may be upon you, now and for ever, amen.
“Father’s blessing and a kiss for his child.
“Samuel Wright.”
He made a free confession of the whole of the shocking transaction. He said he could not exactly say how the murder originated, but it was something in this way: That he was asleep in bed, and that the woman came and took him by the waistcoat and said he should not lay sleeping there. Some words ensued, and she threatened to leave him and go with some other man with whom she had previously cohabited. Upon that he jumped out of bed, and as the razor with which he had recently shaved himself was lying on the table he took it up and cut her throat. It was all the work of a moment. The father, the brother, and the brother’s wife saw him for about an hour on Monday, and he has also seen his daughter, a little girl about four years old.
He was aware of the efforts that were being made out of doors to save his life, and appeared to feel very grateful to those who took so kind an interest in him. Mr. S. Gurney, M.P., and Mr. J. Phillips, one of the visiting justices, waited upon Mr Justice Blackburn on Monday, and had an interview of about half an hour with him, urging everything they could in Wright’s favour, but he refused to accede to their request, and said the law must take its course. Mr. Ebsworth, a surgeon, of Newington, took a petition to her Majesty at Frogmore Lodge. While he was presenting the petition to Colonel Knollys her Majesty passed up the stairs, and he saw Colonel Knollys deliver it into the Queen’s hands, but the answer he received to it was that the Queen could not undertake to advise her advisers.
Taylor, Printer, Brick Lane, London.
James Clitheroe, the culprit in this remarkable case, suffered death on Saturday, in front of the Kirkdale gaol, near Liverpool, though efforts had been made to secure a reprieve. The circumstances in connexion are of a somewhat peculiar description. Clitheroe was a married man with a family, but his affections appear to have been divided between his wife and Mary Woods, a poor paralytic woman, who earned a living by keeping a school and selling small beer. The prisoner was in the habit of sharing the murdered woman’s bed, and as his neighbours knew of this he was twitted by them, in the intensely acrimonious manner peculiar to vulgar and uneducated people, as to “the poor cripple Mary Woods” beingencienteby him. This seems to have annoyed Clitheroe very much, and his mortification and chagrin acting upon a morbid temperament prompted him to murder. On the night of the 28th of December last he visited Mary Woods’ house, and went to bed with her as was his wont, but early next morning he cut her throat and his own too, though the wound was only fatal in the case of the woman. Later in the morning the school children were unable to gain admission to the house as usual, and, as no one answered the door after repeated knocks, an entrance was effected at the rear of the premises, and an investigation took place. In an upstairs room the police found Mary Woods and the prisoner in bed together—the woman quite dead, and with her throat cut, and the man in an exhausted condition, with his throat cut also. The blood upon the woman’s throat was dry, and she had evidently been dead for several hours; whereas the blood upon Clitheroe was fresh, and his wound must have been recently inflicted, because the blood was flowing freely from the arteries of the neck when the police first entered. The prisoner, when asked what he had been doing, stated that he and Mary Woods had agreed to cut their throats, saying, “We made it up to cut our throats, She told me that the razor was in the drawer, under the looking-glass. I fetched the razor, got into bed, and first cut my own throat.” The prisoner never deviated from this account of the transaction, either before or after the trial, but it must have been untrue in point of fact, because the strong and irresistible probability is, that the woman’s throat was cut at five o’clock in the morning, and that she was dead several hours before the prisoner made the attempt upon his own life. When the prisoner was on his trial, Mr Justice Willes directed the jury that if the prisoner counselled, assisted, or directed the woman to destroy herself, he was guilty of murder.
The culprit, who was pinioned by Calcraft in the usual way, struggled hard. To the last he persisted in the story of suicide. The crowd was not so great as had been expected.
After hanging the usual time, the body was cut down, and the crowd soon after dispersed.
J. Harkness, Printer, Preston.
Another base and dreadful murder,Now again, alas, has been,One of the most atrocious murdersIt is, as ever yet was seen;Poor Thomas Briggs, how sad to mention,Was in a first-class railway carriage slain,Between Old Ford and Hackney Wick,Which caused excitement, care and pain.Oh, listen to this railway murderPoor Briggs received the fatal wound,Between Old Ford Bridge and Hackney WickAnd very near great London town.They found a hat in the railway carriage,Made in Crawford-street, St. Marylebone,In which poor Thomas Briggs was riding,On his journey to his home;Alas, poor man, he little thoughtThat he would be deprived of life,In the railway carriage, by a villain,At ten o’clock that fatal night.Oh, little did he think they’d kill him,He had no thought he was to die,Upon that fatal Saturday evening,On the 9th day of July;The villains in the carriage slew him,For plunder Thomas Briggs was killed,In a first-class carriage they did rob him,And all around his blood was spilled.Thomas Briggs was a faithful servant,To Robarts, Lubbock and Company,Three hundred pounds rewards is offered,Soon may the murderer taken be,And brought to justice for the dreadfulDeed he done, as we may hear,And glad we are there is before us,A clue to the wicked murderer.They have traced his watch-chain in the city,The very key, as we are told,Stole from poor Briggs that fatal evening,Albert curb, with swivel seal in gold.Robbed of nearly all that he possessed,He was, upon that fatal night,Between Old Ford and Hackney Wick,In the Railway Carriage in daylight.This sad affair has caused excitement,Far and near, for miles around,And thousands to the spot are goingFrom all around great London town.And on the spot they look with horror,Where poor Thomas Briggs was killed,They view with grief, with pain and sorrow,Where his crimson blood was spilled.Oh, God above, look down from Heaven,Point the murdering villains out,Let stern justice close pursue them,Never let them roam about;On him, or them, we all are certain,Has on the brow the mark of Cain,Thus ends the brutal horrid murder,Which has caused such grief and pain.On that fatal Saturday evening,They left him in his crimson gore,July the 9th, in a railway carriage,Eighteen hundred and sixty-four.
Another base and dreadful murder,Now again, alas, has been,One of the most atrocious murdersIt is, as ever yet was seen;Poor Thomas Briggs, how sad to mention,Was in a first-class railway carriage slain,Between Old Ford and Hackney Wick,Which caused excitement, care and pain.Oh, listen to this railway murderPoor Briggs received the fatal wound,Between Old Ford Bridge and Hackney WickAnd very near great London town.They found a hat in the railway carriage,Made in Crawford-street, St. Marylebone,In which poor Thomas Briggs was riding,On his journey to his home;Alas, poor man, he little thoughtThat he would be deprived of life,In the railway carriage, by a villain,At ten o’clock that fatal night.Oh, little did he think they’d kill him,He had no thought he was to die,Upon that fatal Saturday evening,On the 9th day of July;The villains in the carriage slew him,For plunder Thomas Briggs was killed,In a first-class carriage they did rob him,And all around his blood was spilled.Thomas Briggs was a faithful servant,To Robarts, Lubbock and Company,Three hundred pounds rewards is offered,Soon may the murderer taken be,And brought to justice for the dreadfulDeed he done, as we may hear,And glad we are there is before us,A clue to the wicked murderer.They have traced his watch-chain in the city,The very key, as we are told,Stole from poor Briggs that fatal evening,Albert curb, with swivel seal in gold.Robbed of nearly all that he possessed,He was, upon that fatal night,Between Old Ford and Hackney Wick,In the Railway Carriage in daylight.This sad affair has caused excitement,Far and near, for miles around,And thousands to the spot are goingFrom all around great London town.And on the spot they look with horror,Where poor Thomas Briggs was killed,They view with grief, with pain and sorrow,Where his crimson blood was spilled.Oh, God above, look down from Heaven,Point the murdering villains out,Let stern justice close pursue them,Never let them roam about;On him, or them, we all are certain,Has on the brow the mark of Cain,Thus ends the brutal horrid murder,Which has caused such grief and pain.On that fatal Saturday evening,They left him in his crimson gore,July the 9th, in a railway carriage,Eighteen hundred and sixty-four.
Another base and dreadful murder,Now again, alas, has been,One of the most atrocious murdersIt is, as ever yet was seen;Poor Thomas Briggs, how sad to mention,Was in a first-class railway carriage slain,Between Old Ford and Hackney Wick,Which caused excitement, care and pain.
Another base and dreadful murder,
Now again, alas, has been,
One of the most atrocious murders
It is, as ever yet was seen;
Poor Thomas Briggs, how sad to mention,
Was in a first-class railway carriage slain,
Between Old Ford and Hackney Wick,
Which caused excitement, care and pain.
Oh, listen to this railway murderPoor Briggs received the fatal wound,Between Old Ford Bridge and Hackney WickAnd very near great London town.
Oh, listen to this railway murder
Poor Briggs received the fatal wound,
Between Old Ford Bridge and Hackney Wick
And very near great London town.
They found a hat in the railway carriage,Made in Crawford-street, St. Marylebone,In which poor Thomas Briggs was riding,On his journey to his home;Alas, poor man, he little thoughtThat he would be deprived of life,In the railway carriage, by a villain,At ten o’clock that fatal night.
They found a hat in the railway carriage,
Made in Crawford-street, St. Marylebone,
In which poor Thomas Briggs was riding,
On his journey to his home;
Alas, poor man, he little thought
That he would be deprived of life,
In the railway carriage, by a villain,
At ten o’clock that fatal night.
Oh, little did he think they’d kill him,He had no thought he was to die,Upon that fatal Saturday evening,On the 9th day of July;The villains in the carriage slew him,For plunder Thomas Briggs was killed,In a first-class carriage they did rob him,And all around his blood was spilled.
Oh, little did he think they’d kill him,
He had no thought he was to die,
Upon that fatal Saturday evening,
On the 9th day of July;
The villains in the carriage slew him,
For plunder Thomas Briggs was killed,
In a first-class carriage they did rob him,
And all around his blood was spilled.
Thomas Briggs was a faithful servant,To Robarts, Lubbock and Company,Three hundred pounds rewards is offered,Soon may the murderer taken be,And brought to justice for the dreadfulDeed he done, as we may hear,And glad we are there is before us,A clue to the wicked murderer.
Thomas Briggs was a faithful servant,
To Robarts, Lubbock and Company,
Three hundred pounds rewards is offered,
Soon may the murderer taken be,
And brought to justice for the dreadful
Deed he done, as we may hear,
And glad we are there is before us,
A clue to the wicked murderer.
They have traced his watch-chain in the city,The very key, as we are told,Stole from poor Briggs that fatal evening,Albert curb, with swivel seal in gold.Robbed of nearly all that he possessed,He was, upon that fatal night,Between Old Ford and Hackney Wick,In the Railway Carriage in daylight.
They have traced his watch-chain in the city,
The very key, as we are told,
Stole from poor Briggs that fatal evening,
Albert curb, with swivel seal in gold.
Robbed of nearly all that he possessed,
He was, upon that fatal night,
Between Old Ford and Hackney Wick,
In the Railway Carriage in daylight.
This sad affair has caused excitement,Far and near, for miles around,And thousands to the spot are goingFrom all around great London town.And on the spot they look with horror,Where poor Thomas Briggs was killed,They view with grief, with pain and sorrow,Where his crimson blood was spilled.
This sad affair has caused excitement,
Far and near, for miles around,
And thousands to the spot are going
From all around great London town.
And on the spot they look with horror,
Where poor Thomas Briggs was killed,
They view with grief, with pain and sorrow,
Where his crimson blood was spilled.
Oh, God above, look down from Heaven,Point the murdering villains out,Let stern justice close pursue them,Never let them roam about;On him, or them, we all are certain,Has on the brow the mark of Cain,Thus ends the brutal horrid murder,Which has caused such grief and pain.
Oh, God above, look down from Heaven,
Point the murdering villains out,
Let stern justice close pursue them,
Never let them roam about;
On him, or them, we all are certain,
Has on the brow the mark of Cain,
Thus ends the brutal horrid murder,
Which has caused such grief and pain.
On that fatal Saturday evening,They left him in his crimson gore,July the 9th, in a railway carriage,Eighteen hundred and sixty-four.
On that fatal Saturday evening,
They left him in his crimson gore,
July the 9th, in a railway carriage,
Eighteen hundred and sixty-four.
Listen to my song, and I will not detain you long,And then I will tell you of what I’ve heard.Of a murder that’s been done, by some wicked one,And the place where it all occurred;Between Stepney and Bow they struck the fatal blow,To resist he tried all in vain,Murdered by some prigs was poor Mr BriggsWhilst riding in a railway train.Muller is accused, at present we cannot refuseTo believe that he is the very one,But all his actions, you see, have been so very free,Ever since the murder it was done;From his home he never went, but such a happy time he spent,He never looked troubled on the brain,If he’d been the guilty man, he would have hid all he can,From the murder in the railway train.Muller he did state that he was going to emigrateLong before this dreadful tragedy;He often used to talk, about travelling to New York,In the Victoria, that was going to sea.Mr. Death, the jeweller, said, he was very much afraid,He might not know the same man again,When he heard of the reward, he started out abroad,About the murder in the railway train.If it’s Muller, we can’t deny, on the Cabman keep your eye,Remember what he said the other day,That Muller a ticket sold for money, which seems so very funny,When he had no expenses for to pay.They say his money he took, and his name entered on the book,Long before this tragedy he came;Like Muller’s, the Cabman had a hat, and it may be his, perhapsThat was found in the railway train.Would a murderer have forgot, to have destroyed the jeweller’s box,Or burnt up the sleeve of his coat,Would he the chain ticket have sold, and himself exposed so bold,And to all his friends a letter wrote,Before Muller went away, why did not the cabman say,And not give him so much start on the mainIf the cabman knew—it’s very wrong—to keep the secret up so long,About the murder in the railway train.When Muller does arrive, we shall not be much surprised,To hear that that’s him on the trial;Give him time to repent, though he is not innocent,To hear the evidence give no denial.Muller’s got the watch, you see, so it proves that he is guilty,But like Townley don’t prove that he’s insaneFor if it should be him, on the gallows let him swing,For the murder on the railway train.Now Muller’s caught at last, tho’ he’s been so very fast,And on him they found the watch and hat,Tho’ across the ocean he did roam, he had better stayed at home,And hid himself in some little crack,Tho’ he pleads his innocence, but that is all nonsense,For they’ll hang him as sure as he’s a man,For he got up to his rigs, and murdered Mr. BriggsWhile riding in a railway train.
Listen to my song, and I will not detain you long,And then I will tell you of what I’ve heard.Of a murder that’s been done, by some wicked one,And the place where it all occurred;Between Stepney and Bow they struck the fatal blow,To resist he tried all in vain,Murdered by some prigs was poor Mr BriggsWhilst riding in a railway train.Muller is accused, at present we cannot refuseTo believe that he is the very one,But all his actions, you see, have been so very free,Ever since the murder it was done;From his home he never went, but such a happy time he spent,He never looked troubled on the brain,If he’d been the guilty man, he would have hid all he can,From the murder in the railway train.Muller he did state that he was going to emigrateLong before this dreadful tragedy;He often used to talk, about travelling to New York,In the Victoria, that was going to sea.Mr. Death, the jeweller, said, he was very much afraid,He might not know the same man again,When he heard of the reward, he started out abroad,About the murder in the railway train.If it’s Muller, we can’t deny, on the Cabman keep your eye,Remember what he said the other day,That Muller a ticket sold for money, which seems so very funny,When he had no expenses for to pay.They say his money he took, and his name entered on the book,Long before this tragedy he came;Like Muller’s, the Cabman had a hat, and it may be his, perhapsThat was found in the railway train.Would a murderer have forgot, to have destroyed the jeweller’s box,Or burnt up the sleeve of his coat,Would he the chain ticket have sold, and himself exposed so bold,And to all his friends a letter wrote,Before Muller went away, why did not the cabman say,And not give him so much start on the mainIf the cabman knew—it’s very wrong—to keep the secret up so long,About the murder in the railway train.When Muller does arrive, we shall not be much surprised,To hear that that’s him on the trial;Give him time to repent, though he is not innocent,To hear the evidence give no denial.Muller’s got the watch, you see, so it proves that he is guilty,But like Townley don’t prove that he’s insaneFor if it should be him, on the gallows let him swing,For the murder on the railway train.Now Muller’s caught at last, tho’ he’s been so very fast,And on him they found the watch and hat,Tho’ across the ocean he did roam, he had better stayed at home,And hid himself in some little crack,Tho’ he pleads his innocence, but that is all nonsense,For they’ll hang him as sure as he’s a man,For he got up to his rigs, and murdered Mr. BriggsWhile riding in a railway train.
Listen to my song, and I will not detain you long,And then I will tell you of what I’ve heard.Of a murder that’s been done, by some wicked one,And the place where it all occurred;Between Stepney and Bow they struck the fatal blow,To resist he tried all in vain,Murdered by some prigs was poor Mr BriggsWhilst riding in a railway train.
Listen to my song, and I will not detain you long,
And then I will tell you of what I’ve heard.
Of a murder that’s been done, by some wicked one,
And the place where it all occurred;
Between Stepney and Bow they struck the fatal blow,
To resist he tried all in vain,
Murdered by some prigs was poor Mr Briggs
Whilst riding in a railway train.
Muller is accused, at present we cannot refuseTo believe that he is the very one,But all his actions, you see, have been so very free,Ever since the murder it was done;From his home he never went, but such a happy time he spent,He never looked troubled on the brain,If he’d been the guilty man, he would have hid all he can,From the murder in the railway train.
Muller is accused, at present we cannot refuse
To believe that he is the very one,
But all his actions, you see, have been so very free,
Ever since the murder it was done;
From his home he never went, but such a happy time he spent,
He never looked troubled on the brain,
If he’d been the guilty man, he would have hid all he can,
From the murder in the railway train.
Muller he did state that he was going to emigrateLong before this dreadful tragedy;He often used to talk, about travelling to New York,In the Victoria, that was going to sea.Mr. Death, the jeweller, said, he was very much afraid,He might not know the same man again,When he heard of the reward, he started out abroad,About the murder in the railway train.
Muller he did state that he was going to emigrate
Long before this dreadful tragedy;
He often used to talk, about travelling to New York,
In the Victoria, that was going to sea.
Mr. Death, the jeweller, said, he was very much afraid,
He might not know the same man again,
When he heard of the reward, he started out abroad,
About the murder in the railway train.
If it’s Muller, we can’t deny, on the Cabman keep your eye,Remember what he said the other day,That Muller a ticket sold for money, which seems so very funny,When he had no expenses for to pay.They say his money he took, and his name entered on the book,Long before this tragedy he came;Like Muller’s, the Cabman had a hat, and it may be his, perhapsThat was found in the railway train.
If it’s Muller, we can’t deny, on the Cabman keep your eye,
Remember what he said the other day,
That Muller a ticket sold for money, which seems so very funny,
When he had no expenses for to pay.
They say his money he took, and his name entered on the book,
Long before this tragedy he came;
Like Muller’s, the Cabman had a hat, and it may be his, perhaps
That was found in the railway train.
Would a murderer have forgot, to have destroyed the jeweller’s box,Or burnt up the sleeve of his coat,Would he the chain ticket have sold, and himself exposed so bold,And to all his friends a letter wrote,Before Muller went away, why did not the cabman say,And not give him so much start on the mainIf the cabman knew—it’s very wrong—to keep the secret up so long,About the murder in the railway train.
Would a murderer have forgot, to have destroyed the jeweller’s box,
Or burnt up the sleeve of his coat,
Would he the chain ticket have sold, and himself exposed so bold,
And to all his friends a letter wrote,
Before Muller went away, why did not the cabman say,
And not give him so much start on the main
If the cabman knew—it’s very wrong—to keep the secret up so long,
About the murder in the railway train.
When Muller does arrive, we shall not be much surprised,To hear that that’s him on the trial;Give him time to repent, though he is not innocent,To hear the evidence give no denial.Muller’s got the watch, you see, so it proves that he is guilty,But like Townley don’t prove that he’s insaneFor if it should be him, on the gallows let him swing,For the murder on the railway train.
When Muller does arrive, we shall not be much surprised,
To hear that that’s him on the trial;
Give him time to repent, though he is not innocent,
To hear the evidence give no denial.
Muller’s got the watch, you see, so it proves that he is guilty,
But like Townley don’t prove that he’s insane
For if it should be him, on the gallows let him swing,
For the murder on the railway train.
Now Muller’s caught at last, tho’ he’s been so very fast,And on him they found the watch and hat,Tho’ across the ocean he did roam, he had better stayed at home,And hid himself in some little crack,Tho’ he pleads his innocence, but that is all nonsense,For they’ll hang him as sure as he’s a man,For he got up to his rigs, and murdered Mr. BriggsWhile riding in a railway train.
Now Muller’s caught at last, tho’ he’s been so very fast,
And on him they found the watch and hat,
Tho’ across the ocean he did roam, he had better stayed at home,
And hid himself in some little crack,
Tho’ he pleads his innocence, but that is all nonsense,
For they’ll hang him as sure as he’s a man,
For he got up to his rigs, and murdered Mr. Briggs
While riding in a railway train.
London: Printed for the Vendors.
The clue to the murderer of Mr. Briggs was obtained as follows:—A little girl, the daughter of a cabman, was playing with a small card box, such as jewellers put small trinkets in, and upon exhibiting it to her father, he remembered the name of the jeweller with whom the chain of the late Mr. Briggs had been exchanged, and upon questioning the girl, she said that Franz Muller had given it her four days ago. Muller, who is a German, a tailor’s cutter, had previously lived at the house of the cabman. The police were immediately communicated with. On the box being shown to Mr. Death, he at once identified it. Mr. Death then accompanied the cabman and the police to a cottage at Bow, where Muller had lived, and upon seeing a photograph Muller had given the child, he at once recognised the features of the man who changed the chain. The cabman identified the hat found in the railway carriage as the one he had purchased for Muller about four months ago. Inquiries were made, and it was ascertained that the suspected murderer had sailed for New York, on board the Victoria. Inspector Tanner and other officers immediately started for New York, to await the arrival of Victoria. The Victoria, after a passage of forty days, arrived on the 24th of August, when Muller was arrested, and the missing property found in his possession. After certain forms were gone through, Muller started for England, Sept. 3rd, on board the Etna, and arrived at Queenstown on the 15th.
On Friday evening, September 16th, Muller arrived at Liverpool. Upon landing he was taken to the central police-station, Liverpool, and there remained till seven o’clock on Saturday morning. To avoid the crowd Inspector Tanner took the prisoner to Edgehill station. He was taken to a private room till the arrival of the nine a.m. train from Lime-street, when he walked between Inspector Tanner and Superintendent Wide to the carriage. When the train moved off attempts were made at groaning, but cries of “Good bye, Muller,” prevailed. At twenty-five minutes past three o’clock on Saturday afternoon the Liverpool express train drew up to the ticket platform at the London and North Western Railway, near Camden Town. Muller was taken to Bow-street police-station, and the charge formally entered against him by Inspector Tanner.
What a consternation there has been,And time has swiftly gone by,What great excitement has been seen,Since the ninth of last July,In Eighteen-hundred and sixty-four,When Thomas Briggs was slain,And found welt’ring in his crimson goreUpon the railway train.When Muller did the dreadful deed,He flew across the main,But Justice followed him with speed,And brought him back again.It was to New York, in America,That wretched man did sail;And justice for one moment,To find him did not fail.They followed the Victoria ship,Unto Columbia’s land,Determined, if ’twas possible,To take that wicked man.While the ship was on the ocean,The stormy winds did blow,She could not get a headway,—A murderer was below;The passengers did oft remark,We all must rest assured;There must something dreadful have been done,—A murderer is on board.On the twenty-fourth of August,The Victoria was espied,And the officers of justice,On board her quickly hied;All things were planned so cleverly,Just as it ought to be,That Muller had not the least chanceFrom Justice for to flee.They soon had him in custody,All on the raging main,And found upon the murderer,Poor Briggs’s watch, ’tis plain;Although the crime he did deny,When the property was found,The murderer was landedUpon America’s ground.In New York he was examined,Then in the Etna, o’er the main,They brought the wretched murdererTo England again.News flew like wind the country roundFranz Muller had arrived,They ran from every quarter,To behold him they did strive.Conversations on the murder,Has by thousands taken place;Though the circumstances are as clearAs the nose upon his face:His flying to America,Across the ocean wide,They found on him poor Briggs’s hatAnd the gold watch besides.Franz Muller now is landed,Once more on England’s ground,A verdict of wilful murderAgainst him has been found.He has caused great consternation,Great agony and pain,And he must answer for the deed he doneAll on the railway train.
What a consternation there has been,And time has swiftly gone by,What great excitement has been seen,Since the ninth of last July,In Eighteen-hundred and sixty-four,When Thomas Briggs was slain,And found welt’ring in his crimson goreUpon the railway train.When Muller did the dreadful deed,He flew across the main,But Justice followed him with speed,And brought him back again.It was to New York, in America,That wretched man did sail;And justice for one moment,To find him did not fail.They followed the Victoria ship,Unto Columbia’s land,Determined, if ’twas possible,To take that wicked man.While the ship was on the ocean,The stormy winds did blow,She could not get a headway,—A murderer was below;The passengers did oft remark,We all must rest assured;There must something dreadful have been done,—A murderer is on board.On the twenty-fourth of August,The Victoria was espied,And the officers of justice,On board her quickly hied;All things were planned so cleverly,Just as it ought to be,That Muller had not the least chanceFrom Justice for to flee.They soon had him in custody,All on the raging main,And found upon the murderer,Poor Briggs’s watch, ’tis plain;Although the crime he did deny,When the property was found,The murderer was landedUpon America’s ground.In New York he was examined,Then in the Etna, o’er the main,They brought the wretched murdererTo England again.News flew like wind the country roundFranz Muller had arrived,They ran from every quarter,To behold him they did strive.Conversations on the murder,Has by thousands taken place;Though the circumstances are as clearAs the nose upon his face:His flying to America,Across the ocean wide,They found on him poor Briggs’s hatAnd the gold watch besides.Franz Muller now is landed,Once more on England’s ground,A verdict of wilful murderAgainst him has been found.He has caused great consternation,Great agony and pain,And he must answer for the deed he doneAll on the railway train.
What a consternation there has been,And time has swiftly gone by,What great excitement has been seen,Since the ninth of last July,In Eighteen-hundred and sixty-four,When Thomas Briggs was slain,And found welt’ring in his crimson goreUpon the railway train.
What a consternation there has been,
And time has swiftly gone by,
What great excitement has been seen,
Since the ninth of last July,
In Eighteen-hundred and sixty-four,
When Thomas Briggs was slain,
And found welt’ring in his crimson gore
Upon the railway train.
When Muller did the dreadful deed,He flew across the main,But Justice followed him with speed,And brought him back again.
When Muller did the dreadful deed,
He flew across the main,
But Justice followed him with speed,
And brought him back again.
It was to New York, in America,That wretched man did sail;And justice for one moment,To find him did not fail.They followed the Victoria ship,Unto Columbia’s land,Determined, if ’twas possible,To take that wicked man.
It was to New York, in America,
That wretched man did sail;
And justice for one moment,
To find him did not fail.
They followed the Victoria ship,
Unto Columbia’s land,
Determined, if ’twas possible,
To take that wicked man.
While the ship was on the ocean,The stormy winds did blow,She could not get a headway,—A murderer was below;The passengers did oft remark,We all must rest assured;There must something dreadful have been done,—A murderer is on board.
While the ship was on the ocean,
The stormy winds did blow,
She could not get a headway,—
A murderer was below;
The passengers did oft remark,
We all must rest assured;
There must something dreadful have been done,—
A murderer is on board.
On the twenty-fourth of August,The Victoria was espied,And the officers of justice,On board her quickly hied;All things were planned so cleverly,Just as it ought to be,That Muller had not the least chanceFrom Justice for to flee.
On the twenty-fourth of August,
The Victoria was espied,
And the officers of justice,
On board her quickly hied;
All things were planned so cleverly,
Just as it ought to be,
That Muller had not the least chance
From Justice for to flee.
They soon had him in custody,All on the raging main,And found upon the murderer,Poor Briggs’s watch, ’tis plain;Although the crime he did deny,When the property was found,The murderer was landedUpon America’s ground.
They soon had him in custody,
All on the raging main,
And found upon the murderer,
Poor Briggs’s watch, ’tis plain;
Although the crime he did deny,
When the property was found,
The murderer was landed
Upon America’s ground.
In New York he was examined,Then in the Etna, o’er the main,They brought the wretched murdererTo England again.News flew like wind the country roundFranz Muller had arrived,They ran from every quarter,To behold him they did strive.
In New York he was examined,
Then in the Etna, o’er the main,
They brought the wretched murderer
To England again.
News flew like wind the country round
Franz Muller had arrived,
They ran from every quarter,
To behold him they did strive.
Conversations on the murder,Has by thousands taken place;Though the circumstances are as clearAs the nose upon his face:His flying to America,Across the ocean wide,They found on him poor Briggs’s hatAnd the gold watch besides.
Conversations on the murder,
Has by thousands taken place;
Though the circumstances are as clear
As the nose upon his face:
His flying to America,
Across the ocean wide,
They found on him poor Briggs’s hat
And the gold watch besides.
Franz Muller now is landed,Once more on England’s ground,A verdict of wilful murderAgainst him has been found.He has caused great consternation,Great agony and pain,And he must answer for the deed he doneAll on the railway train.
Franz Muller now is landed,
Once more on England’s ground,
A verdict of wilful murder
Against him has been found.
He has caused great consternation,
Great agony and pain,
And he must answer for the deed he done
All on the railway train.
H. DISLEY, Printer, 57, High street, St. Giles, London.
At two o’clock on Saturday afternoon Sir George Grey returned an answer to the memorial presented to him, praying for a respite of the convict Muller, by the German Legal Protection Society. Previous to the delivery of his decision he had a long conversation with the Lord Chief Baron Pollock and Mr. Baron Martin, which terminated in his arriving at the conclusion that the memorial did not warrant his interfering with the verdict of the jury.
Immediately upon the receipt of the letter, Mr. Beard, with Alderman Wilson, proceeded to communicate to Muller the result of the efforts that had been made on his behalf. They were received by Mr. Jonas, the governor of Newgate, who conducted them to the condemned cell. They found the prisoner engaged in writing. He immediately rose, and extended his hand to Mr. Beard, who asked him how he was. The convict said, “I am very well.” Mr. Jonas then informed the prisoner of the efforts that had been made to save his life, and that Mr. Beard had just received a reply from the Secretary of State, which he read to him. At the conclusion the convict said, in a low voice, “I did not expect anything else.” Mr. Beard then said to the prisoner, “Did you know that any efforts had been made on your behalf?” The prisoner replied, “Yes, I did think so.” Mr. Beard then said, “Have you any statement that you wish to make?” The prisoner, “No, nothing.” “Because,” continued Mr. Beard, “now that all has been done that can be done for you, and there is no hope in this world, if you have anything to acknowledge, you had better do so.” In reply to this Muller said, “I should be a very bad fellow if I had done it. I have no other statement to make than that which I have already made.” Mr. Beard then asked him if he had made his peace with God. The prisoner said, “Yes;” and in every respect appeared resigned to his fate. Mr. Beard then shook hands with him, and said, “Good-bye Muller; God bless you;” The prisoner returned the pressure of his hand, and was left to himself.
The prisoner on Sunday attended Divine service in the chapel, both in the morning and the afternoon, and listened apparently with deep attention to the discourse delivered by the Rev. Mr. Davis, the Ordinary. He was visited in the evening by Dr. Walbaum and Dr. Cappell.
Up to Sunday night Muller preserved the same quiet, firm demeanour, and although he occupied some of his time in writing, he did not lie down till considerably after his usual time, and slept but little. He rose at five o’clock on Monday in good spirits, and was soon afterwards joined by the Rev. Mr. Davis, the chaplain of the gaol, and the Rev. Mr. Walbaum. He in every respect appeared calm and resigned to meet his fate. He joined devoutly in prayer with the rev. gentleman, and otherwise conducted himself in a manner becoming his awful position. A little before seven o’clock he was visited by Mr. Jonas, the governor of the gaol, to whom he extended his hand, and feelingly thanked him for the kind attention he had received since his incarceration. Calcraft arrived at six, but was not recognised by the mob, and thus escaped the usual hooting.
Although the fixing of the scaffold was completed by four o’clock, still the clang of hammers in putting up barriers continued till day had dawned.
At five o’clock a heavy drenching rain set in, which had the effect of driving the majority of those who during the night had taken up positions, from their strongholds, and to hastily beat a retreat to the now open public-houses and coffee-shops, as well as to other places offering anything like shelter. At this time there could not have been more than five hundred people actually upon the scene. But at six o’clock the rain abated, and from this time the crowd was recruited by an increasing flow of new comers.
At six o’clock the main body of police, under Mr. Inspector Duddy, was stationed at the approaches to, and in the Old Bailey, and preserved throughout the morning in the strictest order.
Soon after seven o’clock, Mr. Alderman and Sheriff Besley, Mr. Alderman and Sheriff Dakin, and the Under Sheriffs, Messrs. Davidson and De Jersey, arrived at the Sessions House, where they remained until summoned to the prison by the governor. About twenty minutes to eight they were informed that the condemned man would soon leave his cell. Upon receiving this intimation these officials left the Sessions House. A few minutes after this, the procession reached the door which opens into the chapel-yard. Here they awaited the arrival of the culprit.
While the officials were on their way from the Sessions House to this spot, Mr. Jonas had gone to the cell of the prisoner, and informed him that it was time for him to leave. The prisoner, who was deadly pale, trembled with emotion, but sought to bear the awful announcement with all the fortitude possible. He rose up, shook hands with the gaolers who had been principally with him since his incarceration, and with a firm and rather quick step left his cell, accompanied by Mr. Jonas, followed by two or three other officials. As soon as they left the cell the shouts and cries of “They are coming,” “They are coming,” “Hats off.” At this moment the most intense excitement and confusion prevailed, in the midst of which terrible din reverberated the echoes of the solemn knell, which, from its increased rapid tolling, indicated that the mournful procession had gained the steps of the hideous, cloth-draped gibbet. A moment afterwards Calcraft, the hangman, made his appearance on the scaffold, and then withdrew to see that all was right. He had no sooner disappeared than Muller, accompanied by the Rev. J. Davis, chaplain, and Dr. Cappell, followed by other officials, made his appearance. This was a signal for the renewed excitement and clamour of the swerving multitude, who had largely, and as it were imperceptibly increased, and whose upturned anxious faces met the gaze at all points.
The culprit ascended the scaffold with a firm step, and placed himself under the drop. He cast his eyes once up towards the beam, and his lips quivered with emotion, but this he evidently sought to check. After the cap had been drawn over his head and the rope put round his neck, Dr. Cappell took hold of his hand and again prayed with him. This he did for some minutes, and concluded by addressing the following words to the now fast dying man:—“In a few moments you will be before your God. I ask you, for the last time, are you innocent or guilty?”
Muller: I am innocent.
Dr. Cappell: You are innocent?
Muller: God Almighty knows what I have done.
Dr. Cappell: Does God know that you have done this deed?
Muller was silent.
Dr. Cappell: I ask you now, solemnly, and for the last time, have you committed this crime?
Muller:Yes, I have done it.
Almost at the same instant, and while the words were upon the lips of the wretched man, the drop fell, and Muller died without a struggle.
Dr. Cappell nearly fainted.
Immediately after the execution the sheriffs despatched a communication to Sir George Grey, informing him that the culprit had confessed. A similar communication was made to Sir R. Mayne, at Scotland-yard.
The following despatch was immediately after the execution forwarded to the Home Secretary:—