The Rope.

The apparatus for carrying out the extreme penalty of the law is very simple. The most important item is the rope, which must necessarily possess certain properties if the death of the condemned person is to be instantaneous and painless.

For successful working the rope must, of course, be strong, and it must also be pliable in order to tighten freely. It should be as thin as possible, consistent with strength, in order that the noose may be free running, but of course, it must not be so thin as to be liable to outwardly rupture the blood vessels of the neck.

Before undertaking my first execution I gave careful consideration to the question of the most suitable class of rope, and after trying and examining many varieties, I decided upon one which I still use. It is made of the finest Italian hemp, ¾ of an inch in thickness. Before using a rope for an execution, I thoroughly test it with bags of cement of about the weight of the condemned person, and this preliminary testing stretches the cord and at the same time reduces its diameter to ⅝ of an inch. The rope consists of 5 strands, each of which has a breaking strain of one ton dead weight, so that it would seem unnecessary to test it from any fear of its proving too weak, but the stretching and hardeningwhich it undergoes in the testing makes it far more “fit” and satisfactory for its work than a new, unused rope would be.

It has been said that I use a rope with a wire strand down the centre, but the notion is so ridiculous that I should not refer to it if it were not that many people seem to believe it, and that more than once it has been stated in the newspapers. A rope with a wire strand would possess no possible advantage that I can see, and it would have so many practical disadvantages that I do not think anyone who had studied the matter would dream of using such a thing. At any rate I have not done so, and I know that neither Mr. Binns nor Mr. Marwood ever did. Mr. Marwood used ropes of about the same quality and thickness as my own, while Mr. Binns used a much thicker rope (about 1¼ inch diameter after use), of a rougher and less pliable class of hemp.

Until the commencement of 1890 I supplied my own ropes, some of which, however, were made to order of the Government, and I was able to use the same rope again and again. One I used for no less than sixteen executions, and five others I have used for twelve executions each. These are now in the possession of Madame Tussaud. At the beginning of 1890 a new rule was made under which a new rope is ordered to be supplied and used for most of the executions in England, and to be burned, together with the clothes of the person executed (which were formerly a perquisite of the executioner) by the prison officials immediately after the execution. In Scotland and Ireland I still provide my own ropes.

The rope I use is thirteen feet long and has a one-inch brass ring worked into one end, through which the other end of the rope is passed to form the noose. A leather washer which fits the rope pretty tightly, is used to slip up behind the brass ring, in order to prevent the noose slipping or slackening after it has been adjusted.

In using the rope I always adjust it with the ring just behind the left ear. This position I never alter, though of course, if there were any special reason for doing so, for instance, if the convict had attemptedsuicide and were wounded on the side of the throat, death could be caused by placing the ring under the chin or even behind the head. The position behind the ear, however, has distinct advantages and is the best calculated to cause instantaneous and painless death, because it acts in three different ways towards the same end. In the first place, it will cause death by strangulation, which was really the only cause of death in the old method of hanging, before the long drop was introduced. Secondly, it dislocates the vertebra, which is now the actual cause of death. And thirdly, if a third factor were necessary, it has a tendency to internally rupture the jugular vein, which in itself is sufficient to cause practically instantaneous death.

The pinioning arrangement, like the rest of the arrangements for an execution, are very simple. A broad leathern body-belt is clasped round the convict’s waist, and to this the arm-straps are fastened. Two straps, an inch and a half wide, with strong steel buckles, clasp the elbows and fasten them to the body-belt, while another strap of the same strength goes round the wrists, and is fastened into the body-belt in front. The legs are pinioned by means of a single two-inch strap below the knees. The rest of the apparatus consists of a white cap, shaped somewhat like a bag, which pulls down over the eyes of the criminal to prevent his seeing the final preparations.

Plan and elevation of the Drop.

Plan and elevation of the Drop.

Until recently, the scaffolds in use in the various gaols differed very much in the details of their construction, as there was no official model, but in each case the local authorities followed their own idea. In 1885, however, a design was drawn, in the Surveyors’ Department of the Home Office, by Lieut.-Col. Alten Beamish, R.E. Before being finally adopted, the design was submitted to me; and it seemed a thoroughly good one, as, indeed, it has since proved to be, in actualpractice. The design is supplied to the authorities of any gaol where a scaffold is to be erected, from the Engineers’ Department at the Home Office; and, with a slight alteration, has been the pattern in general use to the present day. The alteration of which I speak, is a little one suggested by myself, and consists of the substitution of a slope, or a level gangway, in place of the steps. I had found in some cases, when the criminals were nervous or prostrated, that the steps formed a practical difficulty. The slope, or gangway, was approved by the Home Office, and was first usedon April 15th, 1890, at Kirkdale Gaol, for the execution of Wm. Chadwick. It was a simple improvement, but it has turned out to be a very useful one.

At most of the gaols in the country the scaffold is taken to pieces and laid away immediately after use, but in Newgate, Wandsworth, Liverpool, and Strangeways (Manchester), it is kept standing permanently.

The essential parts of the scaffold are few. There is a heavy cross-beam, into which bolts terminating in hooks are usually fastened. In some cases this cross-beam stands on two upright posts, but usually its ends are let into the walls of the scaffold house. Of course, the hooks fastened to it are intended to hold the rope.

The scaffold proper, or trap, or drop, as it is variously called, is the portion of the structure to which most importance is attached, and of which the Government furnishes a plan. It consists of two massive oaken doors, fixed in an oak frame-work on a level with the floor, and over a deep bricked pit. The plan and section will explain the arrangement. The two doors are markedA AandB Bon the plan. The doorA Ais hung on three strong hinges, markedC C C, which are continued under the doorB B. When the trap is set the ends of these long hinges rest on a draw-barE E, as shown in the plan. The draw-bar is of iron, 1¼ in. square, sliding in strong iron staples,F F F, which fit it exactly. When the leverDis pulled over in the direction of the little arrow, it moves the draw-bar in the opposite direction, so that the ends of the long hinges drop through the openingsH H H, and the two doors fall. To set the trap the doorB Bhas to be raised into a perpendicular position, until the other door is raised and its hinges placed on the draw-bar. The arrangement is a very good one; as both doors must necessarily fall at exactly the same moment. Their great weight—for they are of three inch oak—causes them to drop very suddenly, even without the weight of the criminal, and they are caught by spring catches to prevent any possibility of rebound.

Newgate.

Newgate.

T

Thehour fixed for executions is 8-0 a.m. in all the prisons, except Wandsworth and Lincoln, where it is 9-0 a.m. Of course, the scaffold and rope are arranged, and the drop decided, beforehand. I calculate for three minutes to be occupied from the time of entering the condemned cell to the finish of life’s great tragedy for the doomed man, so I enter the cell punctually at three minutes to eight. In order that my action in hanging a man may be legal, it is necessary that I should have what is known as an “authority to hang,” which is drawn up and signed by the Sheriff, and handed to me a few minutes before the time for the execution. Its form varies a good deal. In some cases it is a long, wordy document, full of the “wherefores” and “whatsoevers” in which the law delights. But usually it is a simple, official-looking form, engrossed by the gaol clerk, and running somewhat as follows:—

To JAMES BERRY.I, ——, of ——, in the County of ——, Esquire, Sheriff of the said County of ——, do hereby authorise you to hang A—— B——, who now lies under Sentence of Death in Her Majesty’s Prison at ——.Dated this —— day of ——, ——.—— ——, Sheriff.

To JAMES BERRY.

I, ——, of ——, in the County of ——, Esquire, Sheriff of the said County of ——, do hereby authorise you to hang A—— B——, who now lies under Sentence of Death in Her Majesty’s Prison at ——.

Dated this —— day of ——, ——.

—— ——, Sheriff.

This is folded in three, and endorsed outside.

Re A—— B——.Authority to Hang.—— ——, Sheriff,——shire.When we enter the condemned cell, the chaplain is already there, and has been for some time. Two attendants, who have watched through the convict’s last nights on earth are also present. At my appearance the convict takes leave of his attendants, to whom he generally gives some little token or keepsake, and I at once proceed to pinion his arms.As soon as the pinioning is done, a procession is formed, generally in the following order:—Chief Warder.Warder.Warder.Warder.⎰⎱Chaplain.Convict.⎱⎰Warder.Executioner.Principal Warder.Principal Warder.Warder.Warder.Governor and Sheriff.Wand Bearer.Wand Bearer.Gaol Surgeon and Attendant.In some few cases, where the prisoner has not confessed before the time for the execution, I have approached him in the cell in a kindly manner, asking him, as it can make no difference to his fate, to confess the justice of the sentence, in order that I may feel sure that I am not hanging an innocent person. In most cases they have done so, either in the cell, or at the last moment on the scaffold. Of course, the confidences reposed in me at such moments I have never divulged, and it would be most improper to do so; but I am at liberty to state, that of all the people I have executed, only two or three have died without fully and freely confessing their guilt.On the way from the cell to the scaffold the chaplain reads the service for the burial of the dead, and as the procession moves I place the white cap upon the head of the convict. Just as we reach the scaffold I pull the cap over his eyes. Then I place the convict under the beam, pinion the legs just below the knees, with a strap similar to the one used for the elbows, adjust the rope, pull the bolt and the trap falls. Death is instantaneous, but the body is left hanging for an hour, and isthen lowered into a coffin, made in the prison, and carried to the mortuary to await the inquest. The inquest usually takes place at ten o’clock, but in some few places it is held at noon. After the inquest the body is surrounded by quick-lime and buried in the prison grounds.In the carrying out of the last penalty of the law, everything is conducted with decorum and solemnity, and so far as I can see there is no way in which the arrangements at an execution can be improved, unless it is in regard to the admission of reporters. In years gone by a large number of reporters were often admitted, some of them with probably little or no real connection with the papers they professed to represent. Occasionally also there would be one or two feather-brained juniors who seemed to have no proper idea of the solemnity of a death scene, and whose conduct was hardly such as serious persons could approve. The result has been that in many prisons the admission of press representatives has been very rigidly curtailed, and in some cases admission has been absolutely refused. It seems to me that the admittance of a large number of spectators, and the absolute refusal to admit any, are alike mistakes. I speak in this matter as a man whose own work comes under the criticism of the press, and although so far as I am personally concerned, I am perfectly satisfied if I can satisfy the Governor or High Sheriff, I know that there is a large section of the public that thinks the exclusion of the reporters must mean that there is something going on which there is a desire to hush up. I am a servant of the public, as also are the sheriffs, the governor, and the other officials connected with an execution, and the public, through its representatives on the press, ought to have some assurance that the details of each execution are carried out decently and in order. The presence or absence of the press, of course, makes no difference in the conduct of the execution, but it makes a good deal of difference to a certain section of the public. If the Governor of the gaol or the Sheriff were to give three admissions for each execution, with the understanding that any representative suspected of not beingbona fidewould berefused admission even if he presented his ticket, I think that every real objection would be met.After the execution is over the fact that the sentence of the law has been carried out is announced to the public by a notice fixed to the door of the prison. The form of this notice varies somewhat, but I append one of which I happen to have a copy.COUNTY OF OXFORD.EXECUTION of CHARLES SMITH for MURDER.(The Capital Punishment Amendment Act, 1868.)Copies are subjoined of the official declaration that judgement of death has been executed; and of the Surgeon’s certificate of the death of Charles Smith.Thomas M. Davenport,Under-Sheriff of the County of Oxford.9th May, 1887.OFFICIAL DECLARATION.We, the undersigned, do hereby declare that Judgement of Death was this day, in our presence, executed on Charles Smith, within the walls of Her Majesty’s Prison at Oxford.Dated this Ninth day of May, One thousand eight hundred and eighty-seven.Thomas M. Davenport, Under-Sheriff of Oxfordshire.H. B. Isaacson, Governor of the Prison.J. K. Newton, Chaplain of the Prison.J. Riordon, Chief Warder of the Prison.Henry Ives, Sheriff’s Officer.Thos. Wm. Austin, Reporter,Oxford Journal.Robert Brazies, Reporter,Oxford Chronicle.Joseph Henry Warner, Reporter,Oxford Times.J. Lansbury, Warder.SURGICAL CERTIFICATE.I,Henry Banks Spencer, the Surgeon of Her Majesty’s Prison at Oxford, hereby certify that I this day examined the body of Charles Smith, on whom judgement of death was this day executed in the said prison; and that, on such examination, I found that the said Charles Smith was dead.Dated this Ninth day of May, One thousand eight hundred and eighty-seven.Henry B. Spencer,Surgeon of the Prison.CHAPTER VI.Other Methods of Execution.FFromtime to time people raise an outcry against the English mode of putting criminals to death, and there are many Englishmen who have a firm conviction that hanging is the very worst and most unscientific form of capital punishment. The prejudices of these people seem to be based on an utterly wrong idea of how an English execution is conducted, and I hope that the chapter dealing with my method will form the basis for a truer judgment.English Axe and Block, now in the Tower of London.Of methods of execution that have been suggested as substitutes for hanging, there are some which hardly deserve consideration, because there is no considerablenumber of people who would approve of them. The various methods of beheading are hardly likely to be ever in favour with Englishmen generally, for they want executions to be as free as possible from revolting details. The old headsman’s axe and block which are still to be seen in the Tower, are in themselves sufficient argument against a revival of their use. Apart from the fact that beheading under the best conditions is revolting, we must further consider that from the very nature of the office, the executioner who has to hack off his victim’s head must be a brutal and degraded man, and the chances are that he will not be so skilful or so careful as he ought to be for the performance of such a task. Even amongst races which are not so highly civilised as the English, and where it is easier to obtain headsmen of proportionately better standing, we occasionally hear of more than one blow being required to cause death, and such a state of things is very horrible. In China decapitation has been reduced to almost a science, and the Chinese executioners are probably the most skilful headsmen in the world. I have in my possession a Chinese executioner’s knife, with which the heads of nine pirates were severed in nine successive blows, and a terrible knife it is, and well fitted for the purpose. Yet even with such a weapon, and with the skill and experience which Chinese executioners attain from frequent practice, the blow sometimes fails, as was the case in one of the last batch of Chinese executions reported in the English newspapers.Executioner’s Sword, Canton.Even the guillotine, which is often spoken of as the only perfect and certain method, has been known to fail, and we have cases in which the knife has been raised and dropped a second time before causing death. Inany case, whether the guillotine, the axe, or the Chinese knife is used, and whatever care may be taken to render the death painless and instantaneous, there is a horrible mutilation of the sufferer that must be revolting to all sensitive people.The Guillotine.The Spanish and Spanish-American method of execution, by means of the garotte, has been much praised by some advocates of reform. The prisoner to be garotted is placed in a chair, to the back of which an iron collar is attached in such a manner that it can be drawn partly through the chair-back by means of a heavily weighted lever. When the lever and weight are raised the head can be passed through the collar, and by dropping the weight the collar is drawn tight and causes strangulation. This method is certain, but I do not consider it so good as the present English system of hanging, because death by strangulation is much slower and more painful than death by dislocation. In one form of the garotting chair this fact has been recognised, and an iron spike is placed immediately behind the neck, so that when the pressure is applied the spike enters between two of the vertebræ and seversthe spinal cord. This I consider worse than our own system, because the iron spike must cause a certain amount of bleeding, which the English method avoids.The Garotte.The American system of hanging, which has been recently superseded by electrocution, was but a slightmodification of the ancient system of Jack Ketch, or the time-honoured method of Judge Lynch. In these older systems the convict stood upon the ground while the rope was placed round his neck, and the other end passed over the arm of the gallows, or the limb of a tree. Then the executioner and his assistants hauled on the other end of the rope, until the victim was swung clear off the ground and was gradually strangled. In the improved American method the place of the executioner was taken by a heavy weight which was attached to the rope and which rapidly ran up the convict to a height of some feet. In some few very extreme cases of heavy bodies with frail necks this may have caused dislocation, but as a rule strangulation would be the cause of death.Old Methods.When the use of electricity for executions began to be talked of as a practical possibility, I naturally took much interest in the subject. As the result of all the enquiries I was enabled to make, I concluded that although electrocution—as the Americans call it—is theoretically perfect, it presents many practical difficulties. The experience of the authorities in the case of the wretched man, Kremmler, who was executed by electricity in New York, fully proves that as yet we donot know enough about the conditions under which electricity will cause painless and sudden death. When particulars of the method that was to be adopted for executions in New York were first published, I was with a small committee of gentlemen in Manchester who were investigating the subject. They made all arrangements for experiments to test the reliability of the method. Two animals were obtained that had to be killed in any case, namely, a calf and an old dog of a large breed. In the case of the calf the connections were made in the manner prescribed, and the current was turned on. This was repeated twice, but the only result was to cause the calf to drop on its knees and bellow with fear and pain, and the butcher at once killed it in the ordinary way with his poleaxe. When the shock was applied to the dog he fell down and seemed to be paralysed, but it was some time before life was extinct. The latest reports of American executions say that the deaths were instantaneous and painless, but the value of such statements is lessened by the fact of reporters being excluded. The total exclusion of the press at any rate seemed like an admission of the authorities that they had no confidence in the certainty of the method they were using.Altogether, after a careful consideration of all the principal modes of execution, I am convinced that our English method as at present in use is the best yet known, because it is absolutely certain, instantaneous and painless.It may be interesting to close this chapter with a list of the principal methods of execution in use in foreign countries.AustriaHanging, public.BavariaGuillotine, private.BelgiumGuillotine, public.BrunswickAxe, private.ChinaSword or bow-string, public.DenmarkGuillotine, public.FranceGuillotine, nominally public; but really so surrounded by cordons of gens d’armes, &c., as to be virtually private.GermanySword or hanging, private.HanoverGuillotine, private.ItalyNo capital punishment.NetherlandsHanging, public.PortugalHanging, public.PrussiaSword, private.RussiaRifle shot, hanging or sword, public; but capital punishment is practically abolished except for political offences.SpainGarotte, public.SwitzerlandFifteen cantons, sword, public. Two cantons, guillotine, public. Two cantons, guillotine, private.United StatesNew York State, electric shock, private. Other states, hanging, private.Wandsworth Gaol (after an execution).CHAPTER VII.Two Terrible Experiences.TThewhole of the duties of an executioner are unpleasant, but there are exceptional incidents occurring at times, which stand out upon the tablet of one’s memory, and which can not be recalled without an involuntary shudder. I have had two of these experiences, and as people should always learn by their failures, have turned them to practical account as lessons for the future. The first was the attempted execution of John Lee, which resulted in the Home Office making an investigation into the arrangements for executions in the different gaols, and eventually to their issuing an official plan for the drop, which has been used in all prisons where scaffolds have since been erected. The second of these experiences was at the execution of Robert Goodale, when the length of the drop caused the head to be severed from the body. This taught me that the long-drop system then in use, and introduced by Mr. Marwood, was faulty in some cases, and caused me to work out my present table of lengths of drop, as explained in the chapter on “My Method of Execution.”There are so many erroneous ideas afloat about the details of these two cases that I think a good purpose may be served by giving the actual particulars, especially as no true explanation has ever been published of the difficulty which occurred in the case of Lee.Lee was found guilty of the murder of Miss Keyse, in whose house at Babbacombe he was employed as a servant. Eight o’clock on Monday, February 23rd, 1885, was the time fixed for his execution. The scaffold and its arrangements had not been used for a previous execution, in their then position, though the drop had been used once, for the execution of Mrs. Took,but it was then fixed in another place. On the Saturday I examined this drop, and reported that it was much too frail for its purpose, but I worked the lever and found that the doors dropped all right. On the Monday morning, at the appointed time, I brought out the prisoner in the usual way, pinioned him and adjusted the noose. He was perfectly calm, almost indifferent. When the noose was adjusted I stood back and pulled over the lever. The noise of the bolts sliding could be plainly heard, but the doors did not fall. I stamped on the drop, to shake it loose, and so did some of the warders, but none of our efforts could stir it. Lee stood like a statue, making no sound or sign. As soon as we found our efforts useless we led the condemned man away. We tried the doors, which fell easily; then Lee was placed in position again, and again the doors refused to fall. Then the prisoner was taken away, and eventually his sentence was commuted. Perhaps it would be well to state here that the report to the effect that Lee has been since executed, and another report to the effect that he has been liberated, are both equally false; for he is still in prison.Various reasons were given to account for the failure of the workings, but it was most generally believed that it was caused by the doors being swollen with the rain which fell on the Sunday night. That this was not the cause is proved, firstly, by the fact that the doors fell all right when the weight of the prisoner was not on them, and secondly, by the fact that they would not fall with the prisoner on them, even when we had chopped and planed down the sides where it was supposed that they stuck.The Governor of the Gaol, and the Under-Sheriff, who were present, were terribly upset about the failure of the attempted execution, and the prolonged and terrible suspense in which the prisoner was kept. They were almost frantic about it, but nothing could be done in the matter.The Under-Sheriff asked me to write out a brief statement of the facts, together with my opinion of the cause of the difficulty, and I give a copy of my letter below.Executioner’s Office,1, Bilton Place, City Road,Bradford, Yorks.,4th March, 1885.ReJohn Lee.Sir,In accordance with the request contained in your letter of the 30th inst., I beg to say that on the morning of Friday, the 20th ult., I travelled from Bradford to Bristol, and on the morning of Saturday, the 21st, from Bristol to Exeter, arriving at Exeter at 11-50 a.m., when I walked direct to the County Gaol, signed my name in your Gaol Register Book at 12 o’clock exactly. I was shown to the Governor’s office, and arranged with him that I would go and dine and return to the Gaol at 2-0. p.m. I accordingly left the Gaol, partook of dinner, and returned at 1-50 p.m., when I was shown to the bedroom allotted to me which was an officer’s room in the new Hospital Ward. Shortly afterwards I made an inspection of the place of Execution. The execution was to take place in a Coach-house in which the Prison Van was usually kept. Two Warders accompanied me on the inspection. In the Coach-house I found a Beam about four inches thick, and about a foot in depth, was placed across the top of the Coach-house. Through this beam an iron bolt was fastened with an iron nut on the upper side, and to this bolt a wrought-iron rod was fixed, about three-quarters of a yard long with a hole at the lower end to which the rope was to be attached. Two Trap-doors were placed in the floor of the Coach-house, which is flagged with stone, and these doors cover a pit about 2 yards by 1½ yards across, and about 11 feet deep. On inspecting these doors I found they were only about an inch thick, but to have been constructed properly should have been three or four inches thick. The ironwork of the doors was of a frail kind, and much too weak for the purpose. There was a lever to these doors, and it was placed near the top of them. I pulled the lever and the doors dropped, the catches acting all right. I had the doors raised, and tried the lever a second time,when the catch again acted all right. The Governor was watching me through the window of his office and saw me try the doors. After the examination I went to him, explained how I found the doors, and suggested to him that for future executions new trap-doors should be made about three times as thick as those then fixed. I also suggested that a spring should be fixed in the Wall to hold the doors back when they fell, so that no rebounding occurred, and that the ironwork of the doors should be stronger. The Governor said he would see to these matters in future. I spent all the Sunday in the room allotted to me, and did not go outside the Gaol. I retired to bed about 9-45 that night. The execution was fixed to take place at eight o’clock on the morning of Monday the 23rd ultimo.On the Monday morning I arose at 6-30, and was conducted from the Bedroom by a Warder, at 7-30, to the place of execution. Everything appeared to be as I had left it on the Saturday afternoon. I fixed the rope in my ordinary manner, and placed everything in readiness. I did not try the Trap-doors as they appeared to be just as I had left them. It had rained heavily during the nights of Saturday and Sunday. About four minutes to eight o’clock I was conducted by the Governor to the condemned Cell and introduced to John Lee. I proceeded at once to pinion him, which was done in the usual manner, and then gave a signal to the Governor that I was ready. The procession was formed, headed by the Governor, the Chief Warder, and the Chaplain followed by Lee. I walked behind Lee and 6 or 8 warders came after me. On reaching the place of execution I found you were there with the Prison Surgeon. Lee was at once placed upon the trap-doors. I pinioned his legs, pulled down the white cap, adjusted the Rope, stepped on one side, and drew the lever—but the trap-door did not fall. I had previously stood upon the doors and thought they would fall quite easily. I unloosed the strap from his legs, took the rope from his neck, removed the White Cap, and took Lee away into an adjoining room until I made an examination of the doors. I worked the lever after Lee had been taken off, drew it, and the doors fell easily. With the assistance of the warders the doors were pulled up, and the lever drawn a second time, when the doors again fell easily. Lee was then brought from the adjoining room, placed in position, the cap and rope adjusted, but when I again pulled the lever it did not act, and in trying to force it the lever was slightly strained. Lee was then taken off a second time and conducted to the adjoining room.It was suggested to me that the woodwork fitted too tightly in the centre of the doors, and one of the warders fetched an axe and another a plane. I again tried the lever but it did not act. A piece of wood was then sawn off one of the doors close to where the iron catches were, and by the aid of an iron crowbar the catches were knocked off, and the doors fell down. You then gave orders that the execution should not be proceeded with until you had communicated with the Home Secretary, and Lee was taken back to the Condemned Cell. I am of opinion that the ironwork catches of the trap-doors were not strong enough for the purpose, that the woodwork of the doors should have been about three or four times as heavy, and with iron-work to correspond, so that when a man of Lee’s weight was placed upon the doors the iron catches would not have become locked, as I feel sure they did on this occasion, but would respond readily. So far as I am concerned, everything was performed in a careful manner, and had the iron and woodwork been sufficiently strong, the execution would have been satisfactorily accomplished.I am, Sir,Your obedient Servant,James Berry.Henry M. James, Esq.,Under-Sheriff of Devon,The Close, Exeter.The other miserable experience which lingers in my memory was, as before stated, the execution of Robert Goodale. He was condemned to death for the murder of his wife, and on November 30th, 1885, I wasat Norwich Castle to conduct the execution. At that time I was working with my original table of lengths of drop, which I had based upon Mr. Marwood’s system. This table, and some particulars of Goodale’s case, or rather, of the new calculations which I made in consequence of the lesson then learned, will be found in the chapter on “My Method of Execution.” He weighed fifteen stones, and the calculated drop for a man of that weight, according to the old table, was 7 ft. 8 in. As Goodale did not seem very muscular, I reduced the drop by about two feet—in fact, as closely as I could measure it, to 5 ft. 9 in. The rope that I used was one made and supplied by the Government, and I had used it seven days previously for the execution of John Williams, at Hereford. The drop was built on a plan supplied by the Government, and had been used before. In fact, everything was in perfect working order. The Governor of the gaol had been specially anxious that everything should be right, and had taken all possible precautions to avoid a hitch. He had personally tested the drop on the Thursday morning before, and on the Saturday had again tested it, in company with an engineer. The whole of the arrangements were carried out in the usual manner, and when I pulled the lever the drop fell properly, and the prisoner dropped out of sight. We were horrified, however, to see that the rope jerked upwards, and for an instant I thought that the noose had slipped from the culprit’s head, or that the rope had broken. But it was worse than that, for the jerk had severed the head entirely from the body, and both had fallen together to the bottom of the pit. Of course, death was instantaneous, so that the poor fellow had not suffered in any way; but it was terrible to think that such a revolting thing should have occurred. We were all unnerved and shocked. The Governor, whose efforts to prevent any accident had kept his nerves at full strain, fairly broke down and wept.The inquest was a trying ordeal for all concerned, and it was a great comfort to me to find that the Governor and the Gaol Surgeon both gave evidence as to the care with which every detail had been carried out. In the evidence I mentioned that I had hangedone heavier man previously, namely, Joseph Lawson, who weighed 16 stones 8 lbs., and to whom I gave a drop of 8 feet. In his case there was not even abrasion of the skin of the neck. When I finished my evidence the Coroner said:—“I am bound to say, before you leave the room, that as far as the evidence has gone there seems to be nothing to throw any blame upon you, either from want of skill or being in an improper condition.” After this the evidence of the Gaol Surgeon was taken, and the jury returned a verdict to the effect that “Robert Goodale came to his death by hanging, according to the judgment of the law; and that no one was to blame for what had occurred.”In the foregoing I have spoken oftwoterrible experiences, and some of my readers, with the execution of Conway, at Kirkdale, fresh in their memories, will ask why it is not mentioned. The fact is, the foregoing was written before Conway’s execution took place, and as the mishap which occurred on that occasion was in no way due to my own ignorance or carelessness, but was exactly what I expected would happen in consequence of my arrangements being interfered with by others, the shock that I received was by no means so great as on the two other occasions. Particulars of this execution will be found in the section headed, “The Drop,” of the chapter on “My Method of Execution.”CHAPTER VIII.How Murderers Die.AAsone of my objects in writing this book is to give the public a solid basis for the formation of a sound public opinion upon the subject of capital punishment, it is necessary that the present chapter should be a long one, and that many of its details should be painful—because they are true. If I glossed over the facts I should signally fail in my duty to my readers, but I have endeavoured, so far as possible, to avoid revolting details.To the ordinary Englishman a murderer is a murderer and nothing else. He is a vile creature who has taken life, and who by law, divine and national, must die because of his deed. He is a creature different from the rest of humanity, a fiend, a monster, who has outraged Justice, and must die like a dog. To me, a murderer is a study. He is a man who has done an ill deed, who may or may not be naturally vicious; who may or may not be really responsible for his actions; who may or may not be devoutly penitent. My own ideas on capital punishment are given in another chapter. I believe, honestly, and from long study of the subject, with unique opportunities of judging, that with a certain low class of the human brute, the fear of death is the only check that can in any way curb their lusts and passions. But I have sometimes thought that amongst those whom I have executed, for crimes which they have undoubtedly committed, there were men to whom their crime was a trouble more terrible than death; men who had not premeditated murder, who had taken no pleasure in it and expected no profit from it, and who, if they could by any means have been set at liberty, had within them the making of model citizens. Logically, and as a matter of conviction, Ifeel that if one sheddeth man’s blood, by man should his blood be shed; but as a matter of sentiment, I sometimes feel sorry that certain murderers can not go free. The power of reprieve is, of course, often exercised, and very rightly so, and yet it sometimes seems as if murderers who have been wilful, deliberate and thoroughly vicious in their acts and characters are reprieved because they possess interesting personalities or influential friends, while others are executed who have a better plea for mercy, but no one to present it. The whole subject is a very difficult one; I must lay the facts before my readers and let them draw their own conclusions. But I may say that the executions which have given me the most trouble have not been those in which the convicts were violent or hysterical, not those in which they struggled and fought and cursed, or doggedly and stubbornly resisted; but the few cases in which they have been devoutly penitent, and almost seemed to welcome death as a release from a burden too heavy to be borne and an expiation for the sin which they deplored. In such cases the executioner’s task is, indeed, a painful one.The conduct of the condemned in the cell and on the scaffold throws much light upon the various phases of human character, and to me it has always been an interesting study.Robert F. Vickers and William Innes.The first two men whom I executed, though strong chums and partners in crime, were totally different from each other in their conduct. They both showed deep emotion, although they belonged to a low type of humanity, and they both attentively listened to the chaplain as often as he was willing to visit them, and to such outside ministers as took any interest in their fate, but I believe they did this with the view of making the best of a bad job—if any “best” were possible—rather than from any deep conviction of the sinfulness of their offence. Beyond this, their demeanour was totally different. Vickers was buoyed up with hope throughout, and continually asked if “the reprieve”had come. Even when I was introduced to him on the morning of the execution he had not despaired, and his hope rendered him almost cheerful. Even when we were on the scaffold he was convinced that he was not to die, and seemed to listen as people on the scaffold did in olden times, for the horseman wildly dashing across the court-yard and crying, “Reprieve! Reprieve!” at the very last moment. It was not until the noose touched his neck that he realised that his execution was to be an actual solemn fact, and when the dread reality burst upon him, he fainted.His companion in crime and death stood unmoved upon the scaffold, resigned and calm, without either hope or fear. The white cap was over his face when Vickers fainted, and no sound from the bystanders gave him any hint that Vickers was overcome. The fainting man was supported for a moment, then a touch on the lever, and it was necessary to support him no longer. The Gorebridge murder, for which these men were executed, caused a great sensation at the time.Mary Lefley.Mary Lefley.My next execution, in which the condemned person was a woman, was a very different experience. Mary Lefley, the culprit, was before her marriage a companion of Priscilla Biggadike, who was executed at Lincoln for poisoning her husband. Mary Lefley committed the same crime, poisoning her husband by inserting arsenic in a rice pudding. After the sentence of death, even up to the time of the execution, she expected a reprieve, and to the last she protested her innocence; though on the night before she was very restless and constantly exclaimed, “Lord! Thou knowest all,” and prayed fervently. She would have no breakfast, and when I approached her she was in a nervous, agitated state, praying to God for salvation, not as a murderess but as an innocent woman. On my approach she threw up her hands and shrieked, “Murder! Murder!” and she had to be led to the scaffold by two female warders, shrieking wildly all the time. She died as she had lived, impenitent and untruthful, denying her guilt to the last.Joseph Lawson,the principal actor in the Butterknowle tragedy, when Sergeant Smith was murdered, was a terrible combination of craven fear and reckless bravado. During the last few days of his life he was dull and despondent, and during the night before his execution his sleep was frequently broken by fits of terror and nervous exhaustion, when he shivered like one in an ague. On the morning of the last day he arose at six o’clock, and tried to appear cheerful or even jovial. In the pinioning-room he saluted the warders with a cheerful “good morning,” and on his way to the scaffold laughed hilariously at a stumble of his own. Then he commenced using foul, blasphemous language, and not ceasing even when the white cap was drawn over his face. His oaths drowned the voice of the chaplain who was reading the usual burial service, and with awful words on his lips he was launched into a dark eternity.Peter Cassidy.My very next case was a strong contrast to the foregoing. The condemned man was Peter Cassidy; his offence, wife-murder. It was one of those cases in which it is difficult to know whether the man should be most pitied or blamed, whether he was not more sinned against than sinning. That he committed the murder, in a fit of drunken frenzy, was undoubted—he did not deny it; but that he had received great and frequent provocation is certain. Both he and his wife were addicted to drink—which was most to blame for it I do not know—but on the day of the murder his wife was away from home for some time without his consent or knowledge of her whereabouts. When she returned she was drunk, so was he, and in the quarrel that ensued he slew her. But when he was sober again, his remorse was as deep as his drunken passion had been violent. He realised the gravity of his offence and the justice of his death sentence. To the ministrations of the Rev. Father Bonté, the Roman Catholic chaplain, he paid great attention, and on his last day on earth he seemed peaceful and resigned. He walked to the scaffold with a free, firm stride. The morning was dark and gloomy, but just as we passed across the prison yard a thin bright gleam of sunlight pierced the leaden clouds and rested for a moment upon the little procession. In that moment of sunshine Cassidy breathed convulsively, but the sky clouded over almost instantly and he regained his composure. On the scaffold he entered into the Roman Catholic service, which Father Bonté was reading, repeating the responses firmly and fervently, in fact, he was so engrossed in the service that I do not think he knew that I pinioned his legs. He continued his prayers as I adjusted the white cap over his eyes, but when the rope touched his neck he blushed crimson to the very roots of his hair, and his lips twitched. Intense shame and sorrow were never more plainly expressed by any man. A very large proportion of murders are directly traceable to drink, and in almost every case where a murderer has said anything about the motive for his crime he has blamed the drinking habit.Moses Shrimpton.Moses Shrimpton.As a rule, it is the first offender—there are many murderers whose great crime is their first offence—who is most affected by the terrible nature of his position when condemned to death. The old and practised criminal, though he has a great dread of the scaffold and the rope so long as he is at large, and though he usually takes more interest in his trial and uses greater efforts for his acquittal than the novice in crime, is usually resigned and indifferent as soon as the sentence is passed. As a rule, he pays but little heed to the ministrations of the chaplain, or the condolences of his friends. He is neither piously inclined, nor hysterically fearful, nor abusively rebellious—he simply waits his fate. A kind of hard stoicism seems to keep him quiet; he has played a desperate game with his eyes open, has played for high stakes—and lost. I say that this is generally the case with the gaol-bird; and yet there are exceptions, and amongst such exceptions in my own experience, Moses Shrimpton was notable. His life,almost from the cradle to the grave, was one long career of crime and punishment. He was a man of strong character and much determination of purpose, a leader amongst the ruffians of his district. He was sentenced to one month’s imprisonment for poaching in February, 1848, and from that time until his execution in May, 1885, he was seldom out of prison for many months together. He gloried in his success as a poacher, and told the tales of his desperate adventures in a most interesting manner to the warders in Worcester Gaol, where he was a well-known and frequent inmate. He was sentenced to death for the violent and brutal murder of a policeman, who arrested him red-handed when fowl-stealing. He expressed no surprise or sentiment of any kind when he found that he was condemned to death, but to the astonishment of all who knew him, he appeared to be entirely changed in character by the thought of death. Those who administered spiritual consolation to him during his last three weeks of life were persuaded that his repentance and amendment were real, and certainly his actions appeared like those of a man who was really convinced. He paid great attention to the chaplain who visited him, and he read the Bible hour after hour. Certain passages that puzzled him he carefully noted down, and asked for an explanation at the chaplain’s next visit. When the time for his execution came he was confident, almost defiant, and walked to the scaffold erect and firm. As he stepped on to the drop he glanced downwards and drew his feet together to assist me in fixing the strap that pinioned his legs. Before I pulled down the white cap he looked around as if to see the last of the world, and then, nodding to signify that he was ready, awaited the adjusting of the noose.Rudge, Martin and Baker.Some more ordinary examples of the deaths of hardened criminals were presented in the cases of Rudge, Martin and Baker. It will be remembered that these men committed a jewel robbery at Netherby, in Cumberland, and afterwards murdered police-constableByrnes and made a murderous attack on other policemen, while endeavouring to escape arrest. These men, when once their sentence was passed, had no further interest in life; and I believe that if the choice could have been offered to them they would have preferred to walk straight from the dock to the scaffold, rather than to have had the three weeks’ grace which is given to condemned men. In the case of almost all habitual criminals I believe this is so—they do not fear death and they do not repent of their crime. So long as there is a ghost of a chance of acquittal or reprieve, they cling to life, but as soon as the death sentence is passed they become indifferent, and would like to “get it over” as soon as possible, mainly because the prison life bores them.Of the three men I have instanced, Rudge was the only one who seemed to care to take any interest in life. He spent a good deal of his time in writing a statement of his views upon the present system of penal servitude, for the information of the Home Office. As he had undergone two long sentences he knew his subject thoroughly from the inside. With his attendants he talked freely, both about himself and about other matters of interest. He insisted that there was something wrong with his head, which had caused him trouble several times in his life. He did not ask for any reprieve on this account, but he begged the prison chaplain to examine his brain after death, and repeated the request almost the last thing before the time for the execution. Martin and Baker spent most of the three weeks in bed. They would neither talk nor do anything else. Rudge and Martin were baptised Roman Catholics, whilst Baker had received some Protestant education, but none of them seemed to care for the ministrations of the priest or the gaol chaplain. To them it seemed cowardly and unreasonable to ask God for mercy simply because they were condemned to death, when they knew very well that they would have been living in defiance of God and man if they had remained free. After some time they yielded to the counsel and entreaties of their spiritual advisers so far as to listen to all they had to say. Baker appeared to attend carefully to the chaplain’s ministration, and partook of HolyCommunion an hour before the execution. Baker was troubled about the welfare of his sweetheart, Nellie, and spent part of the night before his execution in writing a long letter to her. In this letter he assured her of his love and constancy, and begged her to keep in the path of right.All the three men walked firmly to the scaffold, where they shook hands all round, saying, “Good-bye, old pal, good-bye”—nothing more. The drop was already chalked with their names—Martin in the centre, with Rudge on the right and Baker on the left. The men stepped at once to their places and gave all the assistance they could in the final pinioning and in the adjustment of the nooses. Just before the drop fell Baker cried, “Keep straight, Nellie!” and then the three men died together, without a word of fear or even a quiver or a pallid cheek amongst them. The youth and manly bearing of Baker, and the strong affection of which he was capable, as shown by the way in which his Nellie was always uppermost in his thoughts, affected me very much. His execution was one of the saddest of my many experiences.Mrs. Britland.Mary Ann Britland.I have said that the people who are most cruel and callous in their murderous deeds are often most cowardly after conviction. The class of cruel and callous murderers is quite distinct from that of the violent murderers, like Rudge, Martin and Baker. These men, fighting against the law, fight fairly according to their lights. They take risks and meet the consequences in a straightforward manner. But the cruel and callous class show a cowardice and selfishness of which Rudge, Martin, and Baker were incapable. An instance of this occurs to me in the case of Mary Ann Britland, whom I executed at Strangeways Gaol, Manchester. She was an example of the class of persons to whom the three weeks’ respite before death is the greatest possible cruelty. She was condemned for the murder of a woman who had befriended her, and in whose house she was living as a guest at the time of the murder.She was also proved to have murdered her own husband and daughter by the same means, namely, poison. It seems hard to conceive of any adequate motive for such a series of crimes, extending over a considerable time, but a theory was advanced, and supported by her confession, to the effect that she desired to marry the husband of her latest victim. To accomplish this object she first killed her daughter (for what exact reason is not clear, unless she feared that the girl had some suspicion of her design upon the others), then her husband, and finally her friend, who had pitied her lonely and widowed circumstances, and given her food and shelter. The husband of the third victim was tried, with a view to bringing him in as an accomplice, but the investigation showed that he had never shown any friendliness for Mrs. Britland, and that it was clearly impossible that he could have had any connection with the murders. At her trial she was completely unnerved,not by remorse, but by fear. When the verdict was announced, and she was asked if she had anything to say why sentence should not be passed, she burst into tears. During the passing of the sentence she incessantly interrupted the judge with cries for mercy, but finding such appeals of no avail, she screamed to Heaven in tones of the greatest agony. Even after she had been removed to the cells, her screams could be heard for a long time by people outside. During the time that elapsed before her execution she was partly buoyed up by the hope of a reprieve, and protested her innocence almost to the very last. In spite of her hope, she could not shut out the terrible fear that the reprieve might not come, and the dread of death was so heavy upon her as to reduce her in three weeks to a haggard wreck of her former self. She prayed long and apparently earnestly for God’s help, but did not acknowledge her guilt until almost the last moment, when she saw that there was no hope of reprieve. When the morning of the execution came, she was so weakened as to be utterly unable to support herself, and she had to be practically carried to the scaffold by two female warders. For an hour before the time of the execution she had been moaning and crying most dismally, and when I entered her cell she commenced to shriek and call aloud. All the way to the scaffold her cries were heart-rending, though her voice was weak through suffering, and as the white cap was placed over her head she uttered cries which one of the reporters described as “such as one might expect at the actual separation of body and spirit through mortal terror.” The female warders held her on the drop until the noose was fixed, then their places were taken by two male warders who stepped quickly back at a signal which I gave them, and before she had time to sway sideways or to collapse the drop fell and the wretched woman was dead.James Murphy.James Murphy.Some condemned persons are unconsciously humorous, whilst others that I have met with have shown an unconcerned and designedly humorous disposition, whichis surprising when one considers the grave nature of my business with them. James Murphy, whom I executed at York, in November of 1886, for the murder of police-constable Austwick, of Barnsley, seemed to look upon his sentence and death rather as a joke than otherwise, and perhaps partly as a matter of pride. He never seemed to think that it was a very serious matter, and the principal reference that he made to the subject was a frequent assurance to his attendants that he would die firmly and show no fear on the scaffold. I was introduced to him by the Governor of York Castle the day before the execution, while he was at dinner. He was told that “a gentleman from Bradford” had come to see him, but he feigned not to understand my identity, and muttered, “Bradford! Bradford!—I have no friends at Bradford.” Then it was explained that the gentleman in question was his executioner, and he smilingly replied, “Oh! of course!” but continued picking themutton bone on which he had been engaged when we entered. In the last letter that he wrote, speaking of this incident, he said:—“I am in good spirits the Governor brought your letter to me at dinner time and the hangs man with him. I shaked hands with the hangs man and he ast me to forgive him and I did so.But I eat my dinner none the worse for that.” The same statement might also apply to his supper, and his breakfast next morning, for during the whole of his imprisonment his good humour and resolution never deserted him for a moment. He was perfectly contented with the arrangements made for him by the prison authorities; but the Roman Catholic priests in attendance could get no satisfaction out of him whatever. He parted from his brother, wife, and daughter without any sign of emotion, in the light-hearted manner of a working man who was starting for his day’s labour. He did justice to his last meal, and when it was finished asked for a “pipe of bacca,” the only request that he made with which the Governor was unable to comply. He seemed to take a great interest in the pinioning process, and helped me as well as he could. His request was that I would execute him quickly and painlessly, and this favour I was able to grant.Edward Pritchardwas hanged in Gloucester Prison on February 17th, 1887, for the murder of a boy at Stroud. The object was robbery, for the boy was carrying money to pay wages, from the bank. Pritchard practically pleaded guilty, and appeared to be sincerely sorry for his deed. He was not anxious to escape death, but took great pains to secure the forgiveness of the firm whose money he had taken, and of the parents of the boy whom he had murdered in order to get it. To the father of the lad he wrote a letter, earnestly begging for his forgiveness; and Mr. Allen, who was a good, kind-hearted man, journeyed to Gloucester to convey an assurance of that forgiveness in person, and to pray with the murderer. Owing to a prison regulation Pritchard was unable to receive Mr. Allen’s visit, but the factthat the visit was made seemed a great consolation to the prisoner. While waiting for execution Pritchard frequently showed much emotion and it was feared that there might be a “scene” at the last moment, but when the time came, he was composed. There was no reckless bravado, but a quiet submission. He walked uprightly to the scaffold and stood motionless upon the drop. For a second his glance wandered round the prison-yard, and in that second he seemed to comprehend everything. He saw his grave, ready dug, in a corner, and heaved a sob, but this was his only demonstration of feeling whilst in my hands.Walter Wood.Walter Wood.Another man who was apparently truly penitent was Walter Wood, executed at Strangeways, Manchester, on June 30th, 1887, for the murder of his wife. When the sentence of death was pronounced he wascalm, and so he remained up to the time of execution. He did not falter even when visited by his mother and his two sons. He neglected no means of showing his contrition and making his peace with God, and on the day before his execution he attended the prison chapel, occupying a screened pew, where he paid careful attention to the service and appeared much solaced by a portion of the sermon which was introduced for his special benefit. On the morning of his last day he was awake early and spent the time with the good chaplain of the gaol. As I entered the cell the poor fellow was slowly repeating the responses to the prayers read by the chaplain, and he continued to do so during the pinioning. The chaplain was assiduous in his attentions and did not weary of his good work even when on the scaffold, but continued to comfort and solace the doomed man with an earnestness that indicated the depth of his sympathy. At the last moment the calm, but wretched, culprit raised his head, drew a deep breath, and said in a deep, solemn, unshaken tone, “Lord have mercy upon me. Lord receive me.” And so he died. This execution affected me deeply. The man was fully conscious of the hideousness of his crime, and sincerely repented. He assured the chaplain that he beheld the world and all things in a totally new light, and that the consciousness of his crime had changed his whole character. What would have been the fate of such a man if he could have been allowed to go free.Alfred Sowrey.Alfred Sowrey.One of the worst cases I ever had to deal with was that of Alfred Sowrey, hanged at Lancaster Castle on August 1st, 1887, for shooting the girl to whom he was engaged to be married, at Preston. He was impenitent, violent, and half-dead with fear by the day of execution. At the time of his trial he glared about in such a mad way that those who stood near the dock feared for their personal safety. During the time between sentence and execution he became seriously ill through sheer terror, and it was thought that he could not possibly live to the day appointed for his execution. The effortsof the gaol chaplain to bring Sowrey to a calmer and more reasonable state of mind seemed utterly unavailing, the prisoner was too terrified to take much notice of anything that was said to him. On the morning of the execution he took his breakfast as usual, but rejected the chaplain’s ministrations. From the cell to the scaffold he had to be partly pushed and partly carried by two warders, in whose strong arms he struggled violently. His groans and cries could be heard all over the prison. His teeth chattered, and his face was alternately livid and deathly white. Every inch of ground over which the procession passed was violently contested by the criminal, who had to be bodily carried up the steps and placed on the drop. As he saw the beam above him a wilder paroxysm of fear seemed to seize the miserable youth, and four warders were required to hold him in position. Even with this assistance I had the greatest possible difficulty in pinioning his legs, and while doing so I received a nasty kick which took a piece of bone out of my shin, and has left a mark visibleeven to-day. After the completion of the pinioning process he still resisted the placing of the noose, throwing his head violently from side to side, and he continued his struggles until the drop fell. During the whole of this terrible scene the chaplain, who had taken much interest in his ungrateful charge, and who had done everything he could for Sowrey, continued reading the beautiful prayers for the dying; but Sowrey paid no heed.Dr. Cross.Dr. Philip Henry Eustace Cross.My first execution in 1888 was that of Dr. Philip Henry Eustace Cross, who poisoned his wife by slow degrees, administering doses almost daily for a long time. Dr. Cross was a retired army surgeon, of good family. His medical experience gave him a greatadvantage in the commission of his crime, and he was evidently convinced that there was not the slightest fear of discovery. After conviction he protested his innocence until he received the message to the effect that there would be no reprieve but that the law must take its course. He then relapsed into a mournful condition, and turned his attention entirely to the Bible. The last few days before his execution he was greatly prostrated, and on his last night of life he did not retire to bed until twelve o’clock. His sleep was restless and fitful. In the morning, however, he was resolute. He told his attendants that he did not fear death, for he had met it face to face more than once on the battlefield. He died unmoved, without a word.Joseph Walker.A sorrow-stricken face that often haunts me is that of Joseph Walker, executed at Oxford in November, 1887. He had murdered his second wife, after great provocation. Her reckless drinking habits and jealous disposition, developed soon after the marriage, had made the home absolutely miserable. On several occasions she threatened her husband with a knife, and the only way in which he could defend himself without injuring her was by seizing her wrists and holding her down on the floor until her fury abated. The climax was reached when one of Walker’s sons by his first wife, who had been driven from home by his step-mother, committed suicide. The father attributed this to the step-mother’s cruelty. She went to Croydon, where the suicide was committed, to attend the inquest, and instead of returning home remained in London until her husband went to fetch her. Up to this time he had been steady, but after the return from London he gave way to excessive drinking and neglected his work. On the day of the murder there was a violent quarrel between the man and his wife, and when he fell into a drunken sleep she rifled his pockets of a considerable sum of money. At night Walker cut his wife’s throat, killing her with one terrible blow, and then, sobered by his act, called a neighbour to witness what he had done,and surrendered to the police who had been fetched to the house. The verdict of “Guilty” was brought in by the jury, but a strong recommendation to mercy was at the same time handed to the judge. In consequence of the great provocation which had been received by Walker, strenuous efforts were made to induce the Home Secretary to commute the death sentence to one of penal servitude, but without avail. The condemned man was perfectly willing to die, and his earnest repentance greatly touched the chaplain who laboured early and late to comfort him. Walker spent much of his time in fervent prayer, not for himself, but for his children. He prayed continuously that his sin might not be visited on them, for he knew how our Christian country usually treats those who have the burden of a dishonoured name to bear. He besought both God and man to treat his children kindly, and to lead them in the way of sobriety and honesty. For himself, while confessing the murder, he denied any premeditation of the matter. At the time of execution he was perfectly composed, and walked calmly to the scaffold, but he seemed to see nothing—his thoughts were far away—and even after death his face wore the same expression of sad composure. Walker was a heavy man, weighing over sixteen stones, and received a drop of 2 ft. 10 in., the shortest I have ever given.John Jackson,whose daring murder of warder Webb and escape from Strangeways Gaol, as well as his success in hiding from the police, caused immense interest to be taken in his case, was executed by me in the same gaol in which his crime occurred. Although he was commonly supposed to be incapable of feeling, his emotion at the prospect of his own fate was so touching that the official who had to tell him that reprieve was refused was very loth to break the news. On hearing it, he bowed his head and burst into tears, for, strange as it may seem, he had hoped that the death sentence would not be carried out. His grief continued to the last, and to the last he maintained that he had only intended to stun,and not to kill the warder. On the night before his death he did not sleep two hours, and when I entered his cell in the morning he was engaged in fervent prayer. He shook hands with me in a manner that was most affecting, and submitted quietly to the pinioning. He walked resignedly to the scaffold, and died without uttering a sound.John Jackson.Charles Joseph Dobell and William Gower.One naturally expects a hard indifference from an old criminal, but it saddens me to see it in the young, and yet two of the youngest men—or rather, boys—that I have executed were callous to the last degree. They were Charles Joseph Dobell (aged 17) and William Gower (18), executed in Maidstone Gaol for the murder of a time-keeper at a saw-mill in Tunbridge Wells some six months before. So carefully was the crime committed that the police could obtain no clue, and it was onlyfound out by the confession of the lads to a Salvation Army officer. There is reason to believe that the lads’ natural taste for adventure had been morbidly stimulated by the reading of highly sensational literature—“penny dreadfuls” and the like. They seem to have conducted themselves with a sort of bravado or courage which, if genuine, would have done credit to a patriot or martyr sacrificing himself for country or for faith, or to one of their backwoods heroes fighting against “a horde of painted savages,” but which was distressing in two lads, almost children, sentenced to death for their crime. After they were sentenced they paid careful attention to the chaplain’s words, but they showed no sign of emotion, and it was said that “it is doubtful whether at any time they fully realised the serious nature of their position.” They walked to the scaffold in defiant manner, more upright than was their wont, and neither of them looked at or spoke to the other. There was no farewell, no word of repentance or regret, merely a brief supplication to God to receive them.Samuel and Joseph Boswell.It is a terrible trial to have to execute men who firmly believe, and apparently on reasonable, even if not correct grounds, that they are suffering an injustice. The worst instance that I remember of this kind was in the case of Samuel and Joseph Boswell, executed in Worcester Gaol for the murder of a game-keeper on the estate of the Duc d’Aumale, at Evesham. Three men, the Boswells and Alfred Hill, were found guilty of the murder, and the only difference which the jury could find in their guilt was that Hill was, if anything, the worst of the three. An application for a reprieve was made, apparently on the ground that though the men were guilty of poaching, they had not intended to commit murder. The Home Secretary responded to this application by reducing the penalty in Hill’s case to penal servitude for life. This action fairly astounded the people of Evesham, who thought that there was no possible reason for making any difference in the fate of the three culprits. The Vicar telegraphed to the HomeSecretary that his decision was “absolutely incomprehensible;” the Mayor, on behalf of the borough, telegraphed to the effect that “universal indignation” was “expressed by the whole community in Evesham and by county gentlemen.” Several other similar messages were sent from other bodies, and the Vicar of Evesham was dispatched to London to interview the Home Secretary. The news was communicated to Hill but not to the Boswells, and as the feeling amongst outsiders was so strong, it can be imagined that the two men who had to suffer the punishment were shocked with a sense of injustice when they met on the morning of the execution and found that Hill had been reprieved. When they met on that fatal morning the brothers kissed each other, and, looking round, they enquired simultaneously, “where’s Hill?” On being answered, they seemed utterly broken down with the feeling of the injustice of the arrangement. They asserted that Hill was the real murderer, whilst they were only accomplices. The men had been much troubled during their imprisonment by the thought of what would happen to their wives and children, and were in a terribly harassed and nervous condition. I put the white caps on their heads before leaving the cells, and a few steps from the door of the house in which the scaffold stood I pulled the caps over their eyes. This I always do when men are not quite firm and determined, before they see the scaffold. In the case of Samuel Boswell this simple act caused him to fall back into the arms of one of the warders in a state of collapse, and he had to be almost carried on to the scaffold. He moaned several times, until he heard his brother’s voice give the response, “Lord, have mercy upon us,” when he again drew himself together and answered, “Christ, have mercy upon us.” Then Joseph piteously cried, “Oh, my poor, dear wife,” “Yes,” answered Samuel, “and my dear wife and my poor children.” Joseph turned his head a little and said, “Good-bye, Sam,” to which his brother answered, “Good-bye, God bless you, Joe boy. Oh! dear, dear,” Joseph continued: “I hope everybody will do well,” and as he finished speaking the drop fell, and together the brothers expiated their crime.Richard Davies.Another case in which “the one was taken and the other left” was the Crewe murder case, in which Richard and George Davies were found guilty of the murder of their father, with a strong recommendation to mercy on account of their youth. So far as could be made out, there was absolutely no difference in the degrees of their guilt; but the sentence of George was commuted to penal servitude simply because he was the younger. At this there was great excitement throughout the country, and thousands of telegrams and petitions were poured into the Home Office, begging that the leniency might be equally extended to both since the guilt of both was equal. But all to no purpose. The condemned lad protested, to his last moments, that although he took part in the murder, he never struck his father nor handled the hatchet with which the deed was done. He wrote most affectionate letters to his mother, brothers and sisters; who seemed to fully believe the truth of his statements with regard to his share in the crime. Ten minutes before his death he wrote out the same declaration and handed it to the chaplain. He stated that he had no wish to live, but that he hoped and expected to meet his relations in heaven. When I entered his cell he was pale, but calm. After pinioning him his face seemed still paler and his mouth worked convulsively as he strove to keep back his emotion. Along the corridor he walked firmly, with bent head, but when we reached the yard where a fresh breeze was blowing and the blue sky was visible, he raised his head and eyes for a last look at the world and the sky. He died firmly, with a brief prayer on his lips.In both the cases last described the action of the Home Secretary was very severely commented upon by press and public, and it seems to me that such occurrences are the strongest possible arguments in favour of the re-arrangement of the law which I suggest in the chapter on “Capital Punishment.” It is decidedly injuriousfor the public to have the idea that the life or death of a man depends upon the urgency of the petitions in his favour and the amount of sympathy expressed for him, rather than upon the justice of the case. Moreover, it seems to me that by singling out special cases, and attacking the decision of the Home Office, the press and the public place themselves in a thoroughly illogical position. If they object to the system of leaving the matter in the hands of the Home Secretary, surely it is the system, and not the man, that should be attacked. On the other hand, if they are satisfied that the Home Secretary is the proper tribunal, they ought surely to rest content with his ruling, remembering that he has far better opportunities of judging the merits of the case and the whole of the evidence than any outsider can possibly have, and that his responsibility in the matter makes him more careful in his enquiry than any outsider possibly can be.The melancholy interest of the subject allures me to continue, yet the details of murderers’ deaths at the best are ghastly and grim, and I fear that my readers will shudderingly wish me to stop. Two more experiences, and I will close the sad record.Mary Eleanor Wheeler,better known as Mrs. Pearcey, was a woman of decidedly strong character. Her crime is so recent and aroused so much interest that I need not go over the circumstances. The night before her execution was spent in the condemned cell, watched by three female warders, who stated that her fortitude was remarkable. When introduced to her I said, “Good morning, Madam,” and she shook my proffered hand without any trace of emotion. She was certainly the most composed person in the whole party. Sir James Whitehead, the Sheriff of the County of London, asked her if she wished to make any statement, as her last opportunity for doing so was fast approaching, and after a moment’s pauseshe said:—“My sentence is a just one, but a good deal of the evidence against me was false.” As the procession was formed and one of the female warders stepped to each side of the prisoner, she turned to them with a considerate desire to save them the pain of the death scene, and said, “You have no need to assist me, I can walk by myself.” One of the women said that she did not mind, but was ready and willing to accompany Mrs. Pearcey, who answered, “Oh, well, if you don’t mind going with me, I am pleased.” She then kissed them all and quietly proceeded to her painless death.Mrs. Pearcey.John Conway,who murdered a boy of ten years old, at Liverpool, was a case that was most difficult to understand. His previous record did not indicate any quarrelsome or murderous tendency, though he was known to get drunk occasionally; and there seemed to be absolutely no motive that could be assigned for the crime. His confession wasmade privately, to the priest, the day before his execution, with instructions that it should be read as soon as he was dead, but it left the matter of motive as mysterious as ever. It was as follows:—“In confessing my guilt I protest that my motive was not outrage. Such a thought I never in all my life entertained. Drink has been my ruin, not lust. I was impelled to the crime while under the influence of drink, by a fit of murderous mania, and a morbid curiosity to observe the process of dying. A moment after the commission of the crime I experienced the deepest sorrow of it, and would have done anything in the world to undo it.” Conway was a very superstitious man, a believer in omens, witchcraft and all sorts of supernatural powers, and he had a firm idea that if one good man could be induced to pray for him he would be saved from execution. He was sure that his own prayers would avail nothing, and he thought that he was not fit to receive the sacrament of his church; but he attended the service at which the sacrament was administered, and begged that one of his fellow-prisoners, who partook of the rite, should prayfor him. As he reached the scaffold Conway stared wildly around and cried out that he wanted to say something. The priest interfered to induce me to stop the execution for a few seconds, and I did so, but the convict merely thanked the gaol officials and his Father Confessor for their kindness. And so he died.John Conway.Does the reader think that I have spun out this chapter too much? Does he think that I have unnecessarily harrowed his feelings? If so, let me assure him that I would not have given this chapter, I would not have written this book if I had not had what I believe to be good purposes in view. I have tried to avoid sensationalism, but I want to make every readerthink. I want to make him think that murderers are, after all, men and women, with human sympathies and passions. I want to make him think that there are degrees of murder, that justice, and not spasmodic leniency should be the aim of our laws, and a few other thoughts that will occur to the reader without any suggestion of mine.Lancaster Castle.

Re A—— B——.Authority to Hang.—— ——, Sheriff,——shire.

Re A—— B——.

Authority to Hang.

—— ——, Sheriff,

——shire.

When we enter the condemned cell, the chaplain is already there, and has been for some time. Two attendants, who have watched through the convict’s last nights on earth are also present. At my appearance the convict takes leave of his attendants, to whom he generally gives some little token or keepsake, and I at once proceed to pinion his arms.

As soon as the pinioning is done, a procession is formed, generally in the following order:—

Chief Warder.Warder.Warder.Warder.⎰⎱Chaplain.Convict.⎱⎰Warder.Executioner.Principal Warder.Principal Warder.Warder.Warder.Governor and Sheriff.Wand Bearer.Wand Bearer.Gaol Surgeon and Attendant.

Chief Warder.

Warder.Warder.

Warder.⎰⎱Chaplain.Convict.⎱⎰Warder.

Executioner.

Principal Warder.Principal Warder.

Warder.Warder.

Governor and Sheriff.

Wand Bearer.Wand Bearer.

Gaol Surgeon and Attendant.

In some few cases, where the prisoner has not confessed before the time for the execution, I have approached him in the cell in a kindly manner, asking him, as it can make no difference to his fate, to confess the justice of the sentence, in order that I may feel sure that I am not hanging an innocent person. In most cases they have done so, either in the cell, or at the last moment on the scaffold. Of course, the confidences reposed in me at such moments I have never divulged, and it would be most improper to do so; but I am at liberty to state, that of all the people I have executed, only two or three have died without fully and freely confessing their guilt.

On the way from the cell to the scaffold the chaplain reads the service for the burial of the dead, and as the procession moves I place the white cap upon the head of the convict. Just as we reach the scaffold I pull the cap over his eyes. Then I place the convict under the beam, pinion the legs just below the knees, with a strap similar to the one used for the elbows, adjust the rope, pull the bolt and the trap falls. Death is instantaneous, but the body is left hanging for an hour, and isthen lowered into a coffin, made in the prison, and carried to the mortuary to await the inquest. The inquest usually takes place at ten o’clock, but in some few places it is held at noon. After the inquest the body is surrounded by quick-lime and buried in the prison grounds.

In the carrying out of the last penalty of the law, everything is conducted with decorum and solemnity, and so far as I can see there is no way in which the arrangements at an execution can be improved, unless it is in regard to the admission of reporters. In years gone by a large number of reporters were often admitted, some of them with probably little or no real connection with the papers they professed to represent. Occasionally also there would be one or two feather-brained juniors who seemed to have no proper idea of the solemnity of a death scene, and whose conduct was hardly such as serious persons could approve. The result has been that in many prisons the admission of press representatives has been very rigidly curtailed, and in some cases admission has been absolutely refused. It seems to me that the admittance of a large number of spectators, and the absolute refusal to admit any, are alike mistakes. I speak in this matter as a man whose own work comes under the criticism of the press, and although so far as I am personally concerned, I am perfectly satisfied if I can satisfy the Governor or High Sheriff, I know that there is a large section of the public that thinks the exclusion of the reporters must mean that there is something going on which there is a desire to hush up. I am a servant of the public, as also are the sheriffs, the governor, and the other officials connected with an execution, and the public, through its representatives on the press, ought to have some assurance that the details of each execution are carried out decently and in order. The presence or absence of the press, of course, makes no difference in the conduct of the execution, but it makes a good deal of difference to a certain section of the public. If the Governor of the gaol or the Sheriff were to give three admissions for each execution, with the understanding that any representative suspected of not beingbona fidewould berefused admission even if he presented his ticket, I think that every real objection would be met.

After the execution is over the fact that the sentence of the law has been carried out is announced to the public by a notice fixed to the door of the prison. The form of this notice varies somewhat, but I append one of which I happen to have a copy.

COUNTY OF OXFORD.EXECUTION of CHARLES SMITH for MURDER.(The Capital Punishment Amendment Act, 1868.)Copies are subjoined of the official declaration that judgement of death has been executed; and of the Surgeon’s certificate of the death of Charles Smith.Thomas M. Davenport,Under-Sheriff of the County of Oxford.9th May, 1887.OFFICIAL DECLARATION.We, the undersigned, do hereby declare that Judgement of Death was this day, in our presence, executed on Charles Smith, within the walls of Her Majesty’s Prison at Oxford.Dated this Ninth day of May, One thousand eight hundred and eighty-seven.Thomas M. Davenport, Under-Sheriff of Oxfordshire.H. B. Isaacson, Governor of the Prison.J. K. Newton, Chaplain of the Prison.J. Riordon, Chief Warder of the Prison.Henry Ives, Sheriff’s Officer.Thos. Wm. Austin, Reporter,Oxford Journal.Robert Brazies, Reporter,Oxford Chronicle.Joseph Henry Warner, Reporter,Oxford Times.J. Lansbury, Warder.SURGICAL CERTIFICATE.I,Henry Banks Spencer, the Surgeon of Her Majesty’s Prison at Oxford, hereby certify that I this day examined the body of Charles Smith, on whom judgement of death was this day executed in the said prison; and that, on such examination, I found that the said Charles Smith was dead.Dated this Ninth day of May, One thousand eight hundred and eighty-seven.Henry B. Spencer,Surgeon of the Prison.

COUNTY OF OXFORD.

(The Capital Punishment Amendment Act, 1868.)

Copies are subjoined of the official declaration that judgement of death has been executed; and of the Surgeon’s certificate of the death of Charles Smith.

Thomas M. Davenport,Under-Sheriff of the County of Oxford.

Thomas M. Davenport,Under-Sheriff of the County of Oxford.

9th May, 1887.

We, the undersigned, do hereby declare that Judgement of Death was this day, in our presence, executed on Charles Smith, within the walls of Her Majesty’s Prison at Oxford.

Dated this Ninth day of May, One thousand eight hundred and eighty-seven.

Thomas M. Davenport, Under-Sheriff of Oxfordshire.H. B. Isaacson, Governor of the Prison.J. K. Newton, Chaplain of the Prison.J. Riordon, Chief Warder of the Prison.Henry Ives, Sheriff’s Officer.Thos. Wm. Austin, Reporter,Oxford Journal.Robert Brazies, Reporter,Oxford Chronicle.Joseph Henry Warner, Reporter,Oxford Times.J. Lansbury, Warder.

I,Henry Banks Spencer, the Surgeon of Her Majesty’s Prison at Oxford, hereby certify that I this day examined the body of Charles Smith, on whom judgement of death was this day executed in the said prison; and that, on such examination, I found that the said Charles Smith was dead.

Dated this Ninth day of May, One thousand eight hundred and eighty-seven.

Henry B. Spencer,Surgeon of the Prison.

Henry B. Spencer,Surgeon of the Prison.

F

Fromtime to time people raise an outcry against the English mode of putting criminals to death, and there are many Englishmen who have a firm conviction that hanging is the very worst and most unscientific form of capital punishment. The prejudices of these people seem to be based on an utterly wrong idea of how an English execution is conducted, and I hope that the chapter dealing with my method will form the basis for a truer judgment.

English Axe and Block, now in the Tower of London.

English Axe and Block, now in the Tower of London.

Of methods of execution that have been suggested as substitutes for hanging, there are some which hardly deserve consideration, because there is no considerablenumber of people who would approve of them. The various methods of beheading are hardly likely to be ever in favour with Englishmen generally, for they want executions to be as free as possible from revolting details. The old headsman’s axe and block which are still to be seen in the Tower, are in themselves sufficient argument against a revival of their use. Apart from the fact that beheading under the best conditions is revolting, we must further consider that from the very nature of the office, the executioner who has to hack off his victim’s head must be a brutal and degraded man, and the chances are that he will not be so skilful or so careful as he ought to be for the performance of such a task. Even amongst races which are not so highly civilised as the English, and where it is easier to obtain headsmen of proportionately better standing, we occasionally hear of more than one blow being required to cause death, and such a state of things is very horrible. In China decapitation has been reduced to almost a science, and the Chinese executioners are probably the most skilful headsmen in the world. I have in my possession a Chinese executioner’s knife, with which the heads of nine pirates were severed in nine successive blows, and a terrible knife it is, and well fitted for the purpose. Yet even with such a weapon, and with the skill and experience which Chinese executioners attain from frequent practice, the blow sometimes fails, as was the case in one of the last batch of Chinese executions reported in the English newspapers.

Executioner’s Sword, Canton.

Executioner’s Sword, Canton.

Even the guillotine, which is often spoken of as the only perfect and certain method, has been known to fail, and we have cases in which the knife has been raised and dropped a second time before causing death. Inany case, whether the guillotine, the axe, or the Chinese knife is used, and whatever care may be taken to render the death painless and instantaneous, there is a horrible mutilation of the sufferer that must be revolting to all sensitive people.

The Guillotine.

The Guillotine.

The Spanish and Spanish-American method of execution, by means of the garotte, has been much praised by some advocates of reform. The prisoner to be garotted is placed in a chair, to the back of which an iron collar is attached in such a manner that it can be drawn partly through the chair-back by means of a heavily weighted lever. When the lever and weight are raised the head can be passed through the collar, and by dropping the weight the collar is drawn tight and causes strangulation. This method is certain, but I do not consider it so good as the present English system of hanging, because death by strangulation is much slower and more painful than death by dislocation. In one form of the garotting chair this fact has been recognised, and an iron spike is placed immediately behind the neck, so that when the pressure is applied the spike enters between two of the vertebræ and seversthe spinal cord. This I consider worse than our own system, because the iron spike must cause a certain amount of bleeding, which the English method avoids.

The Garotte.

The Garotte.

The American system of hanging, which has been recently superseded by electrocution, was but a slightmodification of the ancient system of Jack Ketch, or the time-honoured method of Judge Lynch. In these older systems the convict stood upon the ground while the rope was placed round his neck, and the other end passed over the arm of the gallows, or the limb of a tree. Then the executioner and his assistants hauled on the other end of the rope, until the victim was swung clear off the ground and was gradually strangled. In the improved American method the place of the executioner was taken by a heavy weight which was attached to the rope and which rapidly ran up the convict to a height of some feet. In some few very extreme cases of heavy bodies with frail necks this may have caused dislocation, but as a rule strangulation would be the cause of death.

Old Methods.

Old Methods.

When the use of electricity for executions began to be talked of as a practical possibility, I naturally took much interest in the subject. As the result of all the enquiries I was enabled to make, I concluded that although electrocution—as the Americans call it—is theoretically perfect, it presents many practical difficulties. The experience of the authorities in the case of the wretched man, Kremmler, who was executed by electricity in New York, fully proves that as yet we donot know enough about the conditions under which electricity will cause painless and sudden death. When particulars of the method that was to be adopted for executions in New York were first published, I was with a small committee of gentlemen in Manchester who were investigating the subject. They made all arrangements for experiments to test the reliability of the method. Two animals were obtained that had to be killed in any case, namely, a calf and an old dog of a large breed. In the case of the calf the connections were made in the manner prescribed, and the current was turned on. This was repeated twice, but the only result was to cause the calf to drop on its knees and bellow with fear and pain, and the butcher at once killed it in the ordinary way with his poleaxe. When the shock was applied to the dog he fell down and seemed to be paralysed, but it was some time before life was extinct. The latest reports of American executions say that the deaths were instantaneous and painless, but the value of such statements is lessened by the fact of reporters being excluded. The total exclusion of the press at any rate seemed like an admission of the authorities that they had no confidence in the certainty of the method they were using.

Altogether, after a careful consideration of all the principal modes of execution, I am convinced that our English method as at present in use is the best yet known, because it is absolutely certain, instantaneous and painless.

It may be interesting to close this chapter with a list of the principal methods of execution in use in foreign countries.

Wandsworth Gaol (after an execution).

Wandsworth Gaol (after an execution).

T

Thewhole of the duties of an executioner are unpleasant, but there are exceptional incidents occurring at times, which stand out upon the tablet of one’s memory, and which can not be recalled without an involuntary shudder. I have had two of these experiences, and as people should always learn by their failures, have turned them to practical account as lessons for the future. The first was the attempted execution of John Lee, which resulted in the Home Office making an investigation into the arrangements for executions in the different gaols, and eventually to their issuing an official plan for the drop, which has been used in all prisons where scaffolds have since been erected. The second of these experiences was at the execution of Robert Goodale, when the length of the drop caused the head to be severed from the body. This taught me that the long-drop system then in use, and introduced by Mr. Marwood, was faulty in some cases, and caused me to work out my present table of lengths of drop, as explained in the chapter on “My Method of Execution.”

There are so many erroneous ideas afloat about the details of these two cases that I think a good purpose may be served by giving the actual particulars, especially as no true explanation has ever been published of the difficulty which occurred in the case of Lee.

Lee was found guilty of the murder of Miss Keyse, in whose house at Babbacombe he was employed as a servant. Eight o’clock on Monday, February 23rd, 1885, was the time fixed for his execution. The scaffold and its arrangements had not been used for a previous execution, in their then position, though the drop had been used once, for the execution of Mrs. Took,but it was then fixed in another place. On the Saturday I examined this drop, and reported that it was much too frail for its purpose, but I worked the lever and found that the doors dropped all right. On the Monday morning, at the appointed time, I brought out the prisoner in the usual way, pinioned him and adjusted the noose. He was perfectly calm, almost indifferent. When the noose was adjusted I stood back and pulled over the lever. The noise of the bolts sliding could be plainly heard, but the doors did not fall. I stamped on the drop, to shake it loose, and so did some of the warders, but none of our efforts could stir it. Lee stood like a statue, making no sound or sign. As soon as we found our efforts useless we led the condemned man away. We tried the doors, which fell easily; then Lee was placed in position again, and again the doors refused to fall. Then the prisoner was taken away, and eventually his sentence was commuted. Perhaps it would be well to state here that the report to the effect that Lee has been since executed, and another report to the effect that he has been liberated, are both equally false; for he is still in prison.

Various reasons were given to account for the failure of the workings, but it was most generally believed that it was caused by the doors being swollen with the rain which fell on the Sunday night. That this was not the cause is proved, firstly, by the fact that the doors fell all right when the weight of the prisoner was not on them, and secondly, by the fact that they would not fall with the prisoner on them, even when we had chopped and planed down the sides where it was supposed that they stuck.

The Governor of the Gaol, and the Under-Sheriff, who were present, were terribly upset about the failure of the attempted execution, and the prolonged and terrible suspense in which the prisoner was kept. They were almost frantic about it, but nothing could be done in the matter.

The Under-Sheriff asked me to write out a brief statement of the facts, together with my opinion of the cause of the difficulty, and I give a copy of my letter below.

Executioner’s Office,1, Bilton Place, City Road,Bradford, Yorks.,4th March, 1885.ReJohn Lee.Sir,In accordance with the request contained in your letter of the 30th inst., I beg to say that on the morning of Friday, the 20th ult., I travelled from Bradford to Bristol, and on the morning of Saturday, the 21st, from Bristol to Exeter, arriving at Exeter at 11-50 a.m., when I walked direct to the County Gaol, signed my name in your Gaol Register Book at 12 o’clock exactly. I was shown to the Governor’s office, and arranged with him that I would go and dine and return to the Gaol at 2-0. p.m. I accordingly left the Gaol, partook of dinner, and returned at 1-50 p.m., when I was shown to the bedroom allotted to me which was an officer’s room in the new Hospital Ward. Shortly afterwards I made an inspection of the place of Execution. The execution was to take place in a Coach-house in which the Prison Van was usually kept. Two Warders accompanied me on the inspection. In the Coach-house I found a Beam about four inches thick, and about a foot in depth, was placed across the top of the Coach-house. Through this beam an iron bolt was fastened with an iron nut on the upper side, and to this bolt a wrought-iron rod was fixed, about three-quarters of a yard long with a hole at the lower end to which the rope was to be attached. Two Trap-doors were placed in the floor of the Coach-house, which is flagged with stone, and these doors cover a pit about 2 yards by 1½ yards across, and about 11 feet deep. On inspecting these doors I found they were only about an inch thick, but to have been constructed properly should have been three or four inches thick. The ironwork of the doors was of a frail kind, and much too weak for the purpose. There was a lever to these doors, and it was placed near the top of them. I pulled the lever and the doors dropped, the catches acting all right. I had the doors raised, and tried the lever a second time,when the catch again acted all right. The Governor was watching me through the window of his office and saw me try the doors. After the examination I went to him, explained how I found the doors, and suggested to him that for future executions new trap-doors should be made about three times as thick as those then fixed. I also suggested that a spring should be fixed in the Wall to hold the doors back when they fell, so that no rebounding occurred, and that the ironwork of the doors should be stronger. The Governor said he would see to these matters in future. I spent all the Sunday in the room allotted to me, and did not go outside the Gaol. I retired to bed about 9-45 that night. The execution was fixed to take place at eight o’clock on the morning of Monday the 23rd ultimo.On the Monday morning I arose at 6-30, and was conducted from the Bedroom by a Warder, at 7-30, to the place of execution. Everything appeared to be as I had left it on the Saturday afternoon. I fixed the rope in my ordinary manner, and placed everything in readiness. I did not try the Trap-doors as they appeared to be just as I had left them. It had rained heavily during the nights of Saturday and Sunday. About four minutes to eight o’clock I was conducted by the Governor to the condemned Cell and introduced to John Lee. I proceeded at once to pinion him, which was done in the usual manner, and then gave a signal to the Governor that I was ready. The procession was formed, headed by the Governor, the Chief Warder, and the Chaplain followed by Lee. I walked behind Lee and 6 or 8 warders came after me. On reaching the place of execution I found you were there with the Prison Surgeon. Lee was at once placed upon the trap-doors. I pinioned his legs, pulled down the white cap, adjusted the Rope, stepped on one side, and drew the lever—but the trap-door did not fall. I had previously stood upon the doors and thought they would fall quite easily. I unloosed the strap from his legs, took the rope from his neck, removed the White Cap, and took Lee away into an adjoining room until I made an examination of the doors. I worked the lever after Lee had been taken off, drew it, and the doors fell easily. With the assistance of the warders the doors were pulled up, and the lever drawn a second time, when the doors again fell easily. Lee was then brought from the adjoining room, placed in position, the cap and rope adjusted, but when I again pulled the lever it did not act, and in trying to force it the lever was slightly strained. Lee was then taken off a second time and conducted to the adjoining room.It was suggested to me that the woodwork fitted too tightly in the centre of the doors, and one of the warders fetched an axe and another a plane. I again tried the lever but it did not act. A piece of wood was then sawn off one of the doors close to where the iron catches were, and by the aid of an iron crowbar the catches were knocked off, and the doors fell down. You then gave orders that the execution should not be proceeded with until you had communicated with the Home Secretary, and Lee was taken back to the Condemned Cell. I am of opinion that the ironwork catches of the trap-doors were not strong enough for the purpose, that the woodwork of the doors should have been about three or four times as heavy, and with iron-work to correspond, so that when a man of Lee’s weight was placed upon the doors the iron catches would not have become locked, as I feel sure they did on this occasion, but would respond readily. So far as I am concerned, everything was performed in a careful manner, and had the iron and woodwork been sufficiently strong, the execution would have been satisfactorily accomplished.I am, Sir,Your obedient Servant,James Berry.Henry M. James, Esq.,Under-Sheriff of Devon,The Close, Exeter.

Executioner’s Office,1, Bilton Place, City Road,Bradford, Yorks.,4th March, 1885.

ReJohn Lee.

Sir,

In accordance with the request contained in your letter of the 30th inst., I beg to say that on the morning of Friday, the 20th ult., I travelled from Bradford to Bristol, and on the morning of Saturday, the 21st, from Bristol to Exeter, arriving at Exeter at 11-50 a.m., when I walked direct to the County Gaol, signed my name in your Gaol Register Book at 12 o’clock exactly. I was shown to the Governor’s office, and arranged with him that I would go and dine and return to the Gaol at 2-0. p.m. I accordingly left the Gaol, partook of dinner, and returned at 1-50 p.m., when I was shown to the bedroom allotted to me which was an officer’s room in the new Hospital Ward. Shortly afterwards I made an inspection of the place of Execution. The execution was to take place in a Coach-house in which the Prison Van was usually kept. Two Warders accompanied me on the inspection. In the Coach-house I found a Beam about four inches thick, and about a foot in depth, was placed across the top of the Coach-house. Through this beam an iron bolt was fastened with an iron nut on the upper side, and to this bolt a wrought-iron rod was fixed, about three-quarters of a yard long with a hole at the lower end to which the rope was to be attached. Two Trap-doors were placed in the floor of the Coach-house, which is flagged with stone, and these doors cover a pit about 2 yards by 1½ yards across, and about 11 feet deep. On inspecting these doors I found they were only about an inch thick, but to have been constructed properly should have been three or four inches thick. The ironwork of the doors was of a frail kind, and much too weak for the purpose. There was a lever to these doors, and it was placed near the top of them. I pulled the lever and the doors dropped, the catches acting all right. I had the doors raised, and tried the lever a second time,when the catch again acted all right. The Governor was watching me through the window of his office and saw me try the doors. After the examination I went to him, explained how I found the doors, and suggested to him that for future executions new trap-doors should be made about three times as thick as those then fixed. I also suggested that a spring should be fixed in the Wall to hold the doors back when they fell, so that no rebounding occurred, and that the ironwork of the doors should be stronger. The Governor said he would see to these matters in future. I spent all the Sunday in the room allotted to me, and did not go outside the Gaol. I retired to bed about 9-45 that night. The execution was fixed to take place at eight o’clock on the morning of Monday the 23rd ultimo.

On the Monday morning I arose at 6-30, and was conducted from the Bedroom by a Warder, at 7-30, to the place of execution. Everything appeared to be as I had left it on the Saturday afternoon. I fixed the rope in my ordinary manner, and placed everything in readiness. I did not try the Trap-doors as they appeared to be just as I had left them. It had rained heavily during the nights of Saturday and Sunday. About four minutes to eight o’clock I was conducted by the Governor to the condemned Cell and introduced to John Lee. I proceeded at once to pinion him, which was done in the usual manner, and then gave a signal to the Governor that I was ready. The procession was formed, headed by the Governor, the Chief Warder, and the Chaplain followed by Lee. I walked behind Lee and 6 or 8 warders came after me. On reaching the place of execution I found you were there with the Prison Surgeon. Lee was at once placed upon the trap-doors. I pinioned his legs, pulled down the white cap, adjusted the Rope, stepped on one side, and drew the lever—but the trap-door did not fall. I had previously stood upon the doors and thought they would fall quite easily. I unloosed the strap from his legs, took the rope from his neck, removed the White Cap, and took Lee away into an adjoining room until I made an examination of the doors. I worked the lever after Lee had been taken off, drew it, and the doors fell easily. With the assistance of the warders the doors were pulled up, and the lever drawn a second time, when the doors again fell easily. Lee was then brought from the adjoining room, placed in position, the cap and rope adjusted, but when I again pulled the lever it did not act, and in trying to force it the lever was slightly strained. Lee was then taken off a second time and conducted to the adjoining room.

It was suggested to me that the woodwork fitted too tightly in the centre of the doors, and one of the warders fetched an axe and another a plane. I again tried the lever but it did not act. A piece of wood was then sawn off one of the doors close to where the iron catches were, and by the aid of an iron crowbar the catches were knocked off, and the doors fell down. You then gave orders that the execution should not be proceeded with until you had communicated with the Home Secretary, and Lee was taken back to the Condemned Cell. I am of opinion that the ironwork catches of the trap-doors were not strong enough for the purpose, that the woodwork of the doors should have been about three or four times as heavy, and with iron-work to correspond, so that when a man of Lee’s weight was placed upon the doors the iron catches would not have become locked, as I feel sure they did on this occasion, but would respond readily. So far as I am concerned, everything was performed in a careful manner, and had the iron and woodwork been sufficiently strong, the execution would have been satisfactorily accomplished.

I am, Sir,Your obedient Servant,James Berry.

I am, Sir,

Your obedient Servant,James Berry.

Henry M. James, Esq.,Under-Sheriff of Devon,The Close, Exeter.

The other miserable experience which lingers in my memory was, as before stated, the execution of Robert Goodale. He was condemned to death for the murder of his wife, and on November 30th, 1885, I wasat Norwich Castle to conduct the execution. At that time I was working with my original table of lengths of drop, which I had based upon Mr. Marwood’s system. This table, and some particulars of Goodale’s case, or rather, of the new calculations which I made in consequence of the lesson then learned, will be found in the chapter on “My Method of Execution.” He weighed fifteen stones, and the calculated drop for a man of that weight, according to the old table, was 7 ft. 8 in. As Goodale did not seem very muscular, I reduced the drop by about two feet—in fact, as closely as I could measure it, to 5 ft. 9 in. The rope that I used was one made and supplied by the Government, and I had used it seven days previously for the execution of John Williams, at Hereford. The drop was built on a plan supplied by the Government, and had been used before. In fact, everything was in perfect working order. The Governor of the gaol had been specially anxious that everything should be right, and had taken all possible precautions to avoid a hitch. He had personally tested the drop on the Thursday morning before, and on the Saturday had again tested it, in company with an engineer. The whole of the arrangements were carried out in the usual manner, and when I pulled the lever the drop fell properly, and the prisoner dropped out of sight. We were horrified, however, to see that the rope jerked upwards, and for an instant I thought that the noose had slipped from the culprit’s head, or that the rope had broken. But it was worse than that, for the jerk had severed the head entirely from the body, and both had fallen together to the bottom of the pit. Of course, death was instantaneous, so that the poor fellow had not suffered in any way; but it was terrible to think that such a revolting thing should have occurred. We were all unnerved and shocked. The Governor, whose efforts to prevent any accident had kept his nerves at full strain, fairly broke down and wept.

The inquest was a trying ordeal for all concerned, and it was a great comfort to me to find that the Governor and the Gaol Surgeon both gave evidence as to the care with which every detail had been carried out. In the evidence I mentioned that I had hangedone heavier man previously, namely, Joseph Lawson, who weighed 16 stones 8 lbs., and to whom I gave a drop of 8 feet. In his case there was not even abrasion of the skin of the neck. When I finished my evidence the Coroner said:—“I am bound to say, before you leave the room, that as far as the evidence has gone there seems to be nothing to throw any blame upon you, either from want of skill or being in an improper condition.” After this the evidence of the Gaol Surgeon was taken, and the jury returned a verdict to the effect that “Robert Goodale came to his death by hanging, according to the judgment of the law; and that no one was to blame for what had occurred.”

In the foregoing I have spoken oftwoterrible experiences, and some of my readers, with the execution of Conway, at Kirkdale, fresh in their memories, will ask why it is not mentioned. The fact is, the foregoing was written before Conway’s execution took place, and as the mishap which occurred on that occasion was in no way due to my own ignorance or carelessness, but was exactly what I expected would happen in consequence of my arrangements being interfered with by others, the shock that I received was by no means so great as on the two other occasions. Particulars of this execution will be found in the section headed, “The Drop,” of the chapter on “My Method of Execution.”

A

Asone of my objects in writing this book is to give the public a solid basis for the formation of a sound public opinion upon the subject of capital punishment, it is necessary that the present chapter should be a long one, and that many of its details should be painful—because they are true. If I glossed over the facts I should signally fail in my duty to my readers, but I have endeavoured, so far as possible, to avoid revolting details.

To the ordinary Englishman a murderer is a murderer and nothing else. He is a vile creature who has taken life, and who by law, divine and national, must die because of his deed. He is a creature different from the rest of humanity, a fiend, a monster, who has outraged Justice, and must die like a dog. To me, a murderer is a study. He is a man who has done an ill deed, who may or may not be naturally vicious; who may or may not be really responsible for his actions; who may or may not be devoutly penitent. My own ideas on capital punishment are given in another chapter. I believe, honestly, and from long study of the subject, with unique opportunities of judging, that with a certain low class of the human brute, the fear of death is the only check that can in any way curb their lusts and passions. But I have sometimes thought that amongst those whom I have executed, for crimes which they have undoubtedly committed, there were men to whom their crime was a trouble more terrible than death; men who had not premeditated murder, who had taken no pleasure in it and expected no profit from it, and who, if they could by any means have been set at liberty, had within them the making of model citizens. Logically, and as a matter of conviction, Ifeel that if one sheddeth man’s blood, by man should his blood be shed; but as a matter of sentiment, I sometimes feel sorry that certain murderers can not go free. The power of reprieve is, of course, often exercised, and very rightly so, and yet it sometimes seems as if murderers who have been wilful, deliberate and thoroughly vicious in their acts and characters are reprieved because they possess interesting personalities or influential friends, while others are executed who have a better plea for mercy, but no one to present it. The whole subject is a very difficult one; I must lay the facts before my readers and let them draw their own conclusions. But I may say that the executions which have given me the most trouble have not been those in which the convicts were violent or hysterical, not those in which they struggled and fought and cursed, or doggedly and stubbornly resisted; but the few cases in which they have been devoutly penitent, and almost seemed to welcome death as a release from a burden too heavy to be borne and an expiation for the sin which they deplored. In such cases the executioner’s task is, indeed, a painful one.

The conduct of the condemned in the cell and on the scaffold throws much light upon the various phases of human character, and to me it has always been an interesting study.

The first two men whom I executed, though strong chums and partners in crime, were totally different from each other in their conduct. They both showed deep emotion, although they belonged to a low type of humanity, and they both attentively listened to the chaplain as often as he was willing to visit them, and to such outside ministers as took any interest in their fate, but I believe they did this with the view of making the best of a bad job—if any “best” were possible—rather than from any deep conviction of the sinfulness of their offence. Beyond this, their demeanour was totally different. Vickers was buoyed up with hope throughout, and continually asked if “the reprieve”had come. Even when I was introduced to him on the morning of the execution he had not despaired, and his hope rendered him almost cheerful. Even when we were on the scaffold he was convinced that he was not to die, and seemed to listen as people on the scaffold did in olden times, for the horseman wildly dashing across the court-yard and crying, “Reprieve! Reprieve!” at the very last moment. It was not until the noose touched his neck that he realised that his execution was to be an actual solemn fact, and when the dread reality burst upon him, he fainted.

His companion in crime and death stood unmoved upon the scaffold, resigned and calm, without either hope or fear. The white cap was over his face when Vickers fainted, and no sound from the bystanders gave him any hint that Vickers was overcome. The fainting man was supported for a moment, then a touch on the lever, and it was necessary to support him no longer. The Gorebridge murder, for which these men were executed, caused a great sensation at the time.

Mary Lefley.

Mary Lefley.

My next execution, in which the condemned person was a woman, was a very different experience. Mary Lefley, the culprit, was before her marriage a companion of Priscilla Biggadike, who was executed at Lincoln for poisoning her husband. Mary Lefley committed the same crime, poisoning her husband by inserting arsenic in a rice pudding. After the sentence of death, even up to the time of the execution, she expected a reprieve, and to the last she protested her innocence; though on the night before she was very restless and constantly exclaimed, “Lord! Thou knowest all,” and prayed fervently. She would have no breakfast, and when I approached her she was in a nervous, agitated state, praying to God for salvation, not as a murderess but as an innocent woman. On my approach she threw up her hands and shrieked, “Murder! Murder!” and she had to be led to the scaffold by two female warders, shrieking wildly all the time. She died as she had lived, impenitent and untruthful, denying her guilt to the last.

the principal actor in the Butterknowle tragedy, when Sergeant Smith was murdered, was a terrible combination of craven fear and reckless bravado. During the last few days of his life he was dull and despondent, and during the night before his execution his sleep was frequently broken by fits of terror and nervous exhaustion, when he shivered like one in an ague. On the morning of the last day he arose at six o’clock, and tried to appear cheerful or even jovial. In the pinioning-room he saluted the warders with a cheerful “good morning,” and on his way to the scaffold laughed hilariously at a stumble of his own. Then he commenced using foul, blasphemous language, and not ceasing even when the white cap was drawn over his face. His oaths drowned the voice of the chaplain who was reading the usual burial service, and with awful words on his lips he was launched into a dark eternity.

My very next case was a strong contrast to the foregoing. The condemned man was Peter Cassidy; his offence, wife-murder. It was one of those cases in which it is difficult to know whether the man should be most pitied or blamed, whether he was not more sinned against than sinning. That he committed the murder, in a fit of drunken frenzy, was undoubted—he did not deny it; but that he had received great and frequent provocation is certain. Both he and his wife were addicted to drink—which was most to blame for it I do not know—but on the day of the murder his wife was away from home for some time without his consent or knowledge of her whereabouts. When she returned she was drunk, so was he, and in the quarrel that ensued he slew her. But when he was sober again, his remorse was as deep as his drunken passion had been violent. He realised the gravity of his offence and the justice of his death sentence. To the ministrations of the Rev. Father Bonté, the Roman Catholic chaplain, he paid great attention, and on his last day on earth he seemed peaceful and resigned. He walked to the scaffold with a free, firm stride. The morning was dark and gloomy, but just as we passed across the prison yard a thin bright gleam of sunlight pierced the leaden clouds and rested for a moment upon the little procession. In that moment of sunshine Cassidy breathed convulsively, but the sky clouded over almost instantly and he regained his composure. On the scaffold he entered into the Roman Catholic service, which Father Bonté was reading, repeating the responses firmly and fervently, in fact, he was so engrossed in the service that I do not think he knew that I pinioned his legs. He continued his prayers as I adjusted the white cap over his eyes, but when the rope touched his neck he blushed crimson to the very roots of his hair, and his lips twitched. Intense shame and sorrow were never more plainly expressed by any man. A very large proportion of murders are directly traceable to drink, and in almost every case where a murderer has said anything about the motive for his crime he has blamed the drinking habit.

Moses Shrimpton.

Moses Shrimpton.

As a rule, it is the first offender—there are many murderers whose great crime is their first offence—who is most affected by the terrible nature of his position when condemned to death. The old and practised criminal, though he has a great dread of the scaffold and the rope so long as he is at large, and though he usually takes more interest in his trial and uses greater efforts for his acquittal than the novice in crime, is usually resigned and indifferent as soon as the sentence is passed. As a rule, he pays but little heed to the ministrations of the chaplain, or the condolences of his friends. He is neither piously inclined, nor hysterically fearful, nor abusively rebellious—he simply waits his fate. A kind of hard stoicism seems to keep him quiet; he has played a desperate game with his eyes open, has played for high stakes—and lost. I say that this is generally the case with the gaol-bird; and yet there are exceptions, and amongst such exceptions in my own experience, Moses Shrimpton was notable. His life,almost from the cradle to the grave, was one long career of crime and punishment. He was a man of strong character and much determination of purpose, a leader amongst the ruffians of his district. He was sentenced to one month’s imprisonment for poaching in February, 1848, and from that time until his execution in May, 1885, he was seldom out of prison for many months together. He gloried in his success as a poacher, and told the tales of his desperate adventures in a most interesting manner to the warders in Worcester Gaol, where he was a well-known and frequent inmate. He was sentenced to death for the violent and brutal murder of a policeman, who arrested him red-handed when fowl-stealing. He expressed no surprise or sentiment of any kind when he found that he was condemned to death, but to the astonishment of all who knew him, he appeared to be entirely changed in character by the thought of death. Those who administered spiritual consolation to him during his last three weeks of life were persuaded that his repentance and amendment were real, and certainly his actions appeared like those of a man who was really convinced. He paid great attention to the chaplain who visited him, and he read the Bible hour after hour. Certain passages that puzzled him he carefully noted down, and asked for an explanation at the chaplain’s next visit. When the time for his execution came he was confident, almost defiant, and walked to the scaffold erect and firm. As he stepped on to the drop he glanced downwards and drew his feet together to assist me in fixing the strap that pinioned his legs. Before I pulled down the white cap he looked around as if to see the last of the world, and then, nodding to signify that he was ready, awaited the adjusting of the noose.

Some more ordinary examples of the deaths of hardened criminals were presented in the cases of Rudge, Martin and Baker. It will be remembered that these men committed a jewel robbery at Netherby, in Cumberland, and afterwards murdered police-constableByrnes and made a murderous attack on other policemen, while endeavouring to escape arrest. These men, when once their sentence was passed, had no further interest in life; and I believe that if the choice could have been offered to them they would have preferred to walk straight from the dock to the scaffold, rather than to have had the three weeks’ grace which is given to condemned men. In the case of almost all habitual criminals I believe this is so—they do not fear death and they do not repent of their crime. So long as there is a ghost of a chance of acquittal or reprieve, they cling to life, but as soon as the death sentence is passed they become indifferent, and would like to “get it over” as soon as possible, mainly because the prison life bores them.

Of the three men I have instanced, Rudge was the only one who seemed to care to take any interest in life. He spent a good deal of his time in writing a statement of his views upon the present system of penal servitude, for the information of the Home Office. As he had undergone two long sentences he knew his subject thoroughly from the inside. With his attendants he talked freely, both about himself and about other matters of interest. He insisted that there was something wrong with his head, which had caused him trouble several times in his life. He did not ask for any reprieve on this account, but he begged the prison chaplain to examine his brain after death, and repeated the request almost the last thing before the time for the execution. Martin and Baker spent most of the three weeks in bed. They would neither talk nor do anything else. Rudge and Martin were baptised Roman Catholics, whilst Baker had received some Protestant education, but none of them seemed to care for the ministrations of the priest or the gaol chaplain. To them it seemed cowardly and unreasonable to ask God for mercy simply because they were condemned to death, when they knew very well that they would have been living in defiance of God and man if they had remained free. After some time they yielded to the counsel and entreaties of their spiritual advisers so far as to listen to all they had to say. Baker appeared to attend carefully to the chaplain’s ministration, and partook of HolyCommunion an hour before the execution. Baker was troubled about the welfare of his sweetheart, Nellie, and spent part of the night before his execution in writing a long letter to her. In this letter he assured her of his love and constancy, and begged her to keep in the path of right.

All the three men walked firmly to the scaffold, where they shook hands all round, saying, “Good-bye, old pal, good-bye”—nothing more. The drop was already chalked with their names—Martin in the centre, with Rudge on the right and Baker on the left. The men stepped at once to their places and gave all the assistance they could in the final pinioning and in the adjustment of the nooses. Just before the drop fell Baker cried, “Keep straight, Nellie!” and then the three men died together, without a word of fear or even a quiver or a pallid cheek amongst them. The youth and manly bearing of Baker, and the strong affection of which he was capable, as shown by the way in which his Nellie was always uppermost in his thoughts, affected me very much. His execution was one of the saddest of my many experiences.

Mrs. Britland.

Mrs. Britland.

I have said that the people who are most cruel and callous in their murderous deeds are often most cowardly after conviction. The class of cruel and callous murderers is quite distinct from that of the violent murderers, like Rudge, Martin and Baker. These men, fighting against the law, fight fairly according to their lights. They take risks and meet the consequences in a straightforward manner. But the cruel and callous class show a cowardice and selfishness of which Rudge, Martin, and Baker were incapable. An instance of this occurs to me in the case of Mary Ann Britland, whom I executed at Strangeways Gaol, Manchester. She was an example of the class of persons to whom the three weeks’ respite before death is the greatest possible cruelty. She was condemned for the murder of a woman who had befriended her, and in whose house she was living as a guest at the time of the murder.She was also proved to have murdered her own husband and daughter by the same means, namely, poison. It seems hard to conceive of any adequate motive for such a series of crimes, extending over a considerable time, but a theory was advanced, and supported by her confession, to the effect that she desired to marry the husband of her latest victim. To accomplish this object she first killed her daughter (for what exact reason is not clear, unless she feared that the girl had some suspicion of her design upon the others), then her husband, and finally her friend, who had pitied her lonely and widowed circumstances, and given her food and shelter. The husband of the third victim was tried, with a view to bringing him in as an accomplice, but the investigation showed that he had never shown any friendliness for Mrs. Britland, and that it was clearly impossible that he could have had any connection with the murders. At her trial she was completely unnerved,not by remorse, but by fear. When the verdict was announced, and she was asked if she had anything to say why sentence should not be passed, she burst into tears. During the passing of the sentence she incessantly interrupted the judge with cries for mercy, but finding such appeals of no avail, she screamed to Heaven in tones of the greatest agony. Even after she had been removed to the cells, her screams could be heard for a long time by people outside. During the time that elapsed before her execution she was partly buoyed up by the hope of a reprieve, and protested her innocence almost to the very last. In spite of her hope, she could not shut out the terrible fear that the reprieve might not come, and the dread of death was so heavy upon her as to reduce her in three weeks to a haggard wreck of her former self. She prayed long and apparently earnestly for God’s help, but did not acknowledge her guilt until almost the last moment, when she saw that there was no hope of reprieve. When the morning of the execution came, she was so weakened as to be utterly unable to support herself, and she had to be practically carried to the scaffold by two female warders. For an hour before the time of the execution she had been moaning and crying most dismally, and when I entered her cell she commenced to shriek and call aloud. All the way to the scaffold her cries were heart-rending, though her voice was weak through suffering, and as the white cap was placed over her head she uttered cries which one of the reporters described as “such as one might expect at the actual separation of body and spirit through mortal terror.” The female warders held her on the drop until the noose was fixed, then their places were taken by two male warders who stepped quickly back at a signal which I gave them, and before she had time to sway sideways or to collapse the drop fell and the wretched woman was dead.

James Murphy.

James Murphy.

Some condemned persons are unconsciously humorous, whilst others that I have met with have shown an unconcerned and designedly humorous disposition, whichis surprising when one considers the grave nature of my business with them. James Murphy, whom I executed at York, in November of 1886, for the murder of police-constable Austwick, of Barnsley, seemed to look upon his sentence and death rather as a joke than otherwise, and perhaps partly as a matter of pride. He never seemed to think that it was a very serious matter, and the principal reference that he made to the subject was a frequent assurance to his attendants that he would die firmly and show no fear on the scaffold. I was introduced to him by the Governor of York Castle the day before the execution, while he was at dinner. He was told that “a gentleman from Bradford” had come to see him, but he feigned not to understand my identity, and muttered, “Bradford! Bradford!—I have no friends at Bradford.” Then it was explained that the gentleman in question was his executioner, and he smilingly replied, “Oh! of course!” but continued picking themutton bone on which he had been engaged when we entered. In the last letter that he wrote, speaking of this incident, he said:—“I am in good spirits the Governor brought your letter to me at dinner time and the hangs man with him. I shaked hands with the hangs man and he ast me to forgive him and I did so.But I eat my dinner none the worse for that.” The same statement might also apply to his supper, and his breakfast next morning, for during the whole of his imprisonment his good humour and resolution never deserted him for a moment. He was perfectly contented with the arrangements made for him by the prison authorities; but the Roman Catholic priests in attendance could get no satisfaction out of him whatever. He parted from his brother, wife, and daughter without any sign of emotion, in the light-hearted manner of a working man who was starting for his day’s labour. He did justice to his last meal, and when it was finished asked for a “pipe of bacca,” the only request that he made with which the Governor was unable to comply. He seemed to take a great interest in the pinioning process, and helped me as well as he could. His request was that I would execute him quickly and painlessly, and this favour I was able to grant.

was hanged in Gloucester Prison on February 17th, 1887, for the murder of a boy at Stroud. The object was robbery, for the boy was carrying money to pay wages, from the bank. Pritchard practically pleaded guilty, and appeared to be sincerely sorry for his deed. He was not anxious to escape death, but took great pains to secure the forgiveness of the firm whose money he had taken, and of the parents of the boy whom he had murdered in order to get it. To the father of the lad he wrote a letter, earnestly begging for his forgiveness; and Mr. Allen, who was a good, kind-hearted man, journeyed to Gloucester to convey an assurance of that forgiveness in person, and to pray with the murderer. Owing to a prison regulation Pritchard was unable to receive Mr. Allen’s visit, but the factthat the visit was made seemed a great consolation to the prisoner. While waiting for execution Pritchard frequently showed much emotion and it was feared that there might be a “scene” at the last moment, but when the time came, he was composed. There was no reckless bravado, but a quiet submission. He walked uprightly to the scaffold and stood motionless upon the drop. For a second his glance wandered round the prison-yard, and in that second he seemed to comprehend everything. He saw his grave, ready dug, in a corner, and heaved a sob, but this was his only demonstration of feeling whilst in my hands.

Walter Wood.

Walter Wood.

Another man who was apparently truly penitent was Walter Wood, executed at Strangeways, Manchester, on June 30th, 1887, for the murder of his wife. When the sentence of death was pronounced he wascalm, and so he remained up to the time of execution. He did not falter even when visited by his mother and his two sons. He neglected no means of showing his contrition and making his peace with God, and on the day before his execution he attended the prison chapel, occupying a screened pew, where he paid careful attention to the service and appeared much solaced by a portion of the sermon which was introduced for his special benefit. On the morning of his last day he was awake early and spent the time with the good chaplain of the gaol. As I entered the cell the poor fellow was slowly repeating the responses to the prayers read by the chaplain, and he continued to do so during the pinioning. The chaplain was assiduous in his attentions and did not weary of his good work even when on the scaffold, but continued to comfort and solace the doomed man with an earnestness that indicated the depth of his sympathy. At the last moment the calm, but wretched, culprit raised his head, drew a deep breath, and said in a deep, solemn, unshaken tone, “Lord have mercy upon me. Lord receive me.” And so he died. This execution affected me deeply. The man was fully conscious of the hideousness of his crime, and sincerely repented. He assured the chaplain that he beheld the world and all things in a totally new light, and that the consciousness of his crime had changed his whole character. What would have been the fate of such a man if he could have been allowed to go free.

Alfred Sowrey.

Alfred Sowrey.

One of the worst cases I ever had to deal with was that of Alfred Sowrey, hanged at Lancaster Castle on August 1st, 1887, for shooting the girl to whom he was engaged to be married, at Preston. He was impenitent, violent, and half-dead with fear by the day of execution. At the time of his trial he glared about in such a mad way that those who stood near the dock feared for their personal safety. During the time between sentence and execution he became seriously ill through sheer terror, and it was thought that he could not possibly live to the day appointed for his execution. The effortsof the gaol chaplain to bring Sowrey to a calmer and more reasonable state of mind seemed utterly unavailing, the prisoner was too terrified to take much notice of anything that was said to him. On the morning of the execution he took his breakfast as usual, but rejected the chaplain’s ministrations. From the cell to the scaffold he had to be partly pushed and partly carried by two warders, in whose strong arms he struggled violently. His groans and cries could be heard all over the prison. His teeth chattered, and his face was alternately livid and deathly white. Every inch of ground over which the procession passed was violently contested by the criminal, who had to be bodily carried up the steps and placed on the drop. As he saw the beam above him a wilder paroxysm of fear seemed to seize the miserable youth, and four warders were required to hold him in position. Even with this assistance I had the greatest possible difficulty in pinioning his legs, and while doing so I received a nasty kick which took a piece of bone out of my shin, and has left a mark visibleeven to-day. After the completion of the pinioning process he still resisted the placing of the noose, throwing his head violently from side to side, and he continued his struggles until the drop fell. During the whole of this terrible scene the chaplain, who had taken much interest in his ungrateful charge, and who had done everything he could for Sowrey, continued reading the beautiful prayers for the dying; but Sowrey paid no heed.

Dr. Cross.

Dr. Cross.

My first execution in 1888 was that of Dr. Philip Henry Eustace Cross, who poisoned his wife by slow degrees, administering doses almost daily for a long time. Dr. Cross was a retired army surgeon, of good family. His medical experience gave him a greatadvantage in the commission of his crime, and he was evidently convinced that there was not the slightest fear of discovery. After conviction he protested his innocence until he received the message to the effect that there would be no reprieve but that the law must take its course. He then relapsed into a mournful condition, and turned his attention entirely to the Bible. The last few days before his execution he was greatly prostrated, and on his last night of life he did not retire to bed until twelve o’clock. His sleep was restless and fitful. In the morning, however, he was resolute. He told his attendants that he did not fear death, for he had met it face to face more than once on the battlefield. He died unmoved, without a word.

A sorrow-stricken face that often haunts me is that of Joseph Walker, executed at Oxford in November, 1887. He had murdered his second wife, after great provocation. Her reckless drinking habits and jealous disposition, developed soon after the marriage, had made the home absolutely miserable. On several occasions she threatened her husband with a knife, and the only way in which he could defend himself without injuring her was by seizing her wrists and holding her down on the floor until her fury abated. The climax was reached when one of Walker’s sons by his first wife, who had been driven from home by his step-mother, committed suicide. The father attributed this to the step-mother’s cruelty. She went to Croydon, where the suicide was committed, to attend the inquest, and instead of returning home remained in London until her husband went to fetch her. Up to this time he had been steady, but after the return from London he gave way to excessive drinking and neglected his work. On the day of the murder there was a violent quarrel between the man and his wife, and when he fell into a drunken sleep she rifled his pockets of a considerable sum of money. At night Walker cut his wife’s throat, killing her with one terrible blow, and then, sobered by his act, called a neighbour to witness what he had done,and surrendered to the police who had been fetched to the house. The verdict of “Guilty” was brought in by the jury, but a strong recommendation to mercy was at the same time handed to the judge. In consequence of the great provocation which had been received by Walker, strenuous efforts were made to induce the Home Secretary to commute the death sentence to one of penal servitude, but without avail. The condemned man was perfectly willing to die, and his earnest repentance greatly touched the chaplain who laboured early and late to comfort him. Walker spent much of his time in fervent prayer, not for himself, but for his children. He prayed continuously that his sin might not be visited on them, for he knew how our Christian country usually treats those who have the burden of a dishonoured name to bear. He besought both God and man to treat his children kindly, and to lead them in the way of sobriety and honesty. For himself, while confessing the murder, he denied any premeditation of the matter. At the time of execution he was perfectly composed, and walked calmly to the scaffold, but he seemed to see nothing—his thoughts were far away—and even after death his face wore the same expression of sad composure. Walker was a heavy man, weighing over sixteen stones, and received a drop of 2 ft. 10 in., the shortest I have ever given.

whose daring murder of warder Webb and escape from Strangeways Gaol, as well as his success in hiding from the police, caused immense interest to be taken in his case, was executed by me in the same gaol in which his crime occurred. Although he was commonly supposed to be incapable of feeling, his emotion at the prospect of his own fate was so touching that the official who had to tell him that reprieve was refused was very loth to break the news. On hearing it, he bowed his head and burst into tears, for, strange as it may seem, he had hoped that the death sentence would not be carried out. His grief continued to the last, and to the last he maintained that he had only intended to stun,and not to kill the warder. On the night before his death he did not sleep two hours, and when I entered his cell in the morning he was engaged in fervent prayer. He shook hands with me in a manner that was most affecting, and submitted quietly to the pinioning. He walked resignedly to the scaffold, and died without uttering a sound.

John Jackson.

John Jackson.

One naturally expects a hard indifference from an old criminal, but it saddens me to see it in the young, and yet two of the youngest men—or rather, boys—that I have executed were callous to the last degree. They were Charles Joseph Dobell (aged 17) and William Gower (18), executed in Maidstone Gaol for the murder of a time-keeper at a saw-mill in Tunbridge Wells some six months before. So carefully was the crime committed that the police could obtain no clue, and it was onlyfound out by the confession of the lads to a Salvation Army officer. There is reason to believe that the lads’ natural taste for adventure had been morbidly stimulated by the reading of highly sensational literature—“penny dreadfuls” and the like. They seem to have conducted themselves with a sort of bravado or courage which, if genuine, would have done credit to a patriot or martyr sacrificing himself for country or for faith, or to one of their backwoods heroes fighting against “a horde of painted savages,” but which was distressing in two lads, almost children, sentenced to death for their crime. After they were sentenced they paid careful attention to the chaplain’s words, but they showed no sign of emotion, and it was said that “it is doubtful whether at any time they fully realised the serious nature of their position.” They walked to the scaffold in defiant manner, more upright than was their wont, and neither of them looked at or spoke to the other. There was no farewell, no word of repentance or regret, merely a brief supplication to God to receive them.

It is a terrible trial to have to execute men who firmly believe, and apparently on reasonable, even if not correct grounds, that they are suffering an injustice. The worst instance that I remember of this kind was in the case of Samuel and Joseph Boswell, executed in Worcester Gaol for the murder of a game-keeper on the estate of the Duc d’Aumale, at Evesham. Three men, the Boswells and Alfred Hill, were found guilty of the murder, and the only difference which the jury could find in their guilt was that Hill was, if anything, the worst of the three. An application for a reprieve was made, apparently on the ground that though the men were guilty of poaching, they had not intended to commit murder. The Home Secretary responded to this application by reducing the penalty in Hill’s case to penal servitude for life. This action fairly astounded the people of Evesham, who thought that there was no possible reason for making any difference in the fate of the three culprits. The Vicar telegraphed to the HomeSecretary that his decision was “absolutely incomprehensible;” the Mayor, on behalf of the borough, telegraphed to the effect that “universal indignation” was “expressed by the whole community in Evesham and by county gentlemen.” Several other similar messages were sent from other bodies, and the Vicar of Evesham was dispatched to London to interview the Home Secretary. The news was communicated to Hill but not to the Boswells, and as the feeling amongst outsiders was so strong, it can be imagined that the two men who had to suffer the punishment were shocked with a sense of injustice when they met on the morning of the execution and found that Hill had been reprieved. When they met on that fatal morning the brothers kissed each other, and, looking round, they enquired simultaneously, “where’s Hill?” On being answered, they seemed utterly broken down with the feeling of the injustice of the arrangement. They asserted that Hill was the real murderer, whilst they were only accomplices. The men had been much troubled during their imprisonment by the thought of what would happen to their wives and children, and were in a terribly harassed and nervous condition. I put the white caps on their heads before leaving the cells, and a few steps from the door of the house in which the scaffold stood I pulled the caps over their eyes. This I always do when men are not quite firm and determined, before they see the scaffold. In the case of Samuel Boswell this simple act caused him to fall back into the arms of one of the warders in a state of collapse, and he had to be almost carried on to the scaffold. He moaned several times, until he heard his brother’s voice give the response, “Lord, have mercy upon us,” when he again drew himself together and answered, “Christ, have mercy upon us.” Then Joseph piteously cried, “Oh, my poor, dear wife,” “Yes,” answered Samuel, “and my dear wife and my poor children.” Joseph turned his head a little and said, “Good-bye, Sam,” to which his brother answered, “Good-bye, God bless you, Joe boy. Oh! dear, dear,” Joseph continued: “I hope everybody will do well,” and as he finished speaking the drop fell, and together the brothers expiated their crime.

Another case in which “the one was taken and the other left” was the Crewe murder case, in which Richard and George Davies were found guilty of the murder of their father, with a strong recommendation to mercy on account of their youth. So far as could be made out, there was absolutely no difference in the degrees of their guilt; but the sentence of George was commuted to penal servitude simply because he was the younger. At this there was great excitement throughout the country, and thousands of telegrams and petitions were poured into the Home Office, begging that the leniency might be equally extended to both since the guilt of both was equal. But all to no purpose. The condemned lad protested, to his last moments, that although he took part in the murder, he never struck his father nor handled the hatchet with which the deed was done. He wrote most affectionate letters to his mother, brothers and sisters; who seemed to fully believe the truth of his statements with regard to his share in the crime. Ten minutes before his death he wrote out the same declaration and handed it to the chaplain. He stated that he had no wish to live, but that he hoped and expected to meet his relations in heaven. When I entered his cell he was pale, but calm. After pinioning him his face seemed still paler and his mouth worked convulsively as he strove to keep back his emotion. Along the corridor he walked firmly, with bent head, but when we reached the yard where a fresh breeze was blowing and the blue sky was visible, he raised his head and eyes for a last look at the world and the sky. He died firmly, with a brief prayer on his lips.

In both the cases last described the action of the Home Secretary was very severely commented upon by press and public, and it seems to me that such occurrences are the strongest possible arguments in favour of the re-arrangement of the law which I suggest in the chapter on “Capital Punishment.” It is decidedly injuriousfor the public to have the idea that the life or death of a man depends upon the urgency of the petitions in his favour and the amount of sympathy expressed for him, rather than upon the justice of the case. Moreover, it seems to me that by singling out special cases, and attacking the decision of the Home Office, the press and the public place themselves in a thoroughly illogical position. If they object to the system of leaving the matter in the hands of the Home Secretary, surely it is the system, and not the man, that should be attacked. On the other hand, if they are satisfied that the Home Secretary is the proper tribunal, they ought surely to rest content with his ruling, remembering that he has far better opportunities of judging the merits of the case and the whole of the evidence than any outsider can possibly have, and that his responsibility in the matter makes him more careful in his enquiry than any outsider possibly can be.

The melancholy interest of the subject allures me to continue, yet the details of murderers’ deaths at the best are ghastly and grim, and I fear that my readers will shudderingly wish me to stop. Two more experiences, and I will close the sad record.

better known as Mrs. Pearcey, was a woman of decidedly strong character. Her crime is so recent and aroused so much interest that I need not go over the circumstances. The night before her execution was spent in the condemned cell, watched by three female warders, who stated that her fortitude was remarkable. When introduced to her I said, “Good morning, Madam,” and she shook my proffered hand without any trace of emotion. She was certainly the most composed person in the whole party. Sir James Whitehead, the Sheriff of the County of London, asked her if she wished to make any statement, as her last opportunity for doing so was fast approaching, and after a moment’s pauseshe said:—“My sentence is a just one, but a good deal of the evidence against me was false.” As the procession was formed and one of the female warders stepped to each side of the prisoner, she turned to them with a considerate desire to save them the pain of the death scene, and said, “You have no need to assist me, I can walk by myself.” One of the women said that she did not mind, but was ready and willing to accompany Mrs. Pearcey, who answered, “Oh, well, if you don’t mind going with me, I am pleased.” She then kissed them all and quietly proceeded to her painless death.

Mrs. Pearcey.

Mrs. Pearcey.

who murdered a boy of ten years old, at Liverpool, was a case that was most difficult to understand. His previous record did not indicate any quarrelsome or murderous tendency, though he was known to get drunk occasionally; and there seemed to be absolutely no motive that could be assigned for the crime. His confession wasmade privately, to the priest, the day before his execution, with instructions that it should be read as soon as he was dead, but it left the matter of motive as mysterious as ever. It was as follows:—“In confessing my guilt I protest that my motive was not outrage. Such a thought I never in all my life entertained. Drink has been my ruin, not lust. I was impelled to the crime while under the influence of drink, by a fit of murderous mania, and a morbid curiosity to observe the process of dying. A moment after the commission of the crime I experienced the deepest sorrow of it, and would have done anything in the world to undo it.” Conway was a very superstitious man, a believer in omens, witchcraft and all sorts of supernatural powers, and he had a firm idea that if one good man could be induced to pray for him he would be saved from execution. He was sure that his own prayers would avail nothing, and he thought that he was not fit to receive the sacrament of his church; but he attended the service at which the sacrament was administered, and begged that one of his fellow-prisoners, who partook of the rite, should prayfor him. As he reached the scaffold Conway stared wildly around and cried out that he wanted to say something. The priest interfered to induce me to stop the execution for a few seconds, and I did so, but the convict merely thanked the gaol officials and his Father Confessor for their kindness. And so he died.

John Conway.

John Conway.

Does the reader think that I have spun out this chapter too much? Does he think that I have unnecessarily harrowed his feelings? If so, let me assure him that I would not have given this chapter, I would not have written this book if I had not had what I believe to be good purposes in view. I have tried to avoid sensationalism, but I want to make every readerthink. I want to make him think that murderers are, after all, men and women, with human sympathies and passions. I want to make him think that there are degrees of murder, that justice, and not spasmodic leniency should be the aim of our laws, and a few other thoughts that will occur to the reader without any suggestion of mine.

Lancaster Castle.

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