“New Prison, Clerkenwell, April 5.“Everything that ingenuity and malice could invent to influence the minds of the ignorant, and to fill the minds of the good and religious with awe, has been the result of newspaper comment against me. It is said that the finger of God is manifested in bringing this horrid and wilful murder to light, the day only before my flight to America! I contend that this manifestation of Divine Providence is to serve my case, or the cause of a suffering mind, to prevent me from a life of continual dread of being fetched back from America upon this awful charge, and which would certainly have been the result, if the deceased had not been recognised until I had departed; thus it may be shown that Providence is on my side. Again, if in my crossing the Atlantic, or by any other means, my death had ensued, the fatal conviction of an innocent female would certainly have been the result—suspicion would have been too strong against her to have saved her; it was for God, and God only, to prevent this fatal termination—no human mind could have discerned anything in her favour, if my death had preceded this investigation. God is just; and God be praised for this timely interference to prevent my premature death through either my crossing the seas, or the distracted state of my mind. I hope, therefore, that my unfortunate situation may not be prejudiced by malice and perverted comments.”
“New Prison, Clerkenwell, April 5.
“Everything that ingenuity and malice could invent to influence the minds of the ignorant, and to fill the minds of the good and religious with awe, has been the result of newspaper comment against me. It is said that the finger of God is manifested in bringing this horrid and wilful murder to light, the day only before my flight to America! I contend that this manifestation of Divine Providence is to serve my case, or the cause of a suffering mind, to prevent me from a life of continual dread of being fetched back from America upon this awful charge, and which would certainly have been the result, if the deceased had not been recognised until I had departed; thus it may be shown that Providence is on my side. Again, if in my crossing the Atlantic, or by any other means, my death had ensued, the fatal conviction of an innocent female would certainly have been the result—suspicion would have been too strong against her to have saved her; it was for God, and God only, to prevent this fatal termination—no human mind could have discerned anything in her favour, if my death had preceded this investigation. God is just; and God be praised for this timely interference to prevent my premature death through either my crossing the seas, or the distracted state of my mind. I hope, therefore, that my unfortunate situation may not be prejudiced by malice and perverted comments.”
Monday, the 10th of April 1837, was the day fixed for the trial of theseoffenders, and on that day they were placed at the bar of the Central Criminal Court, and arraigned upon the indictment found against them. Greenacre was charged, as the principal, with the wilful murder of the deceased, and Gale was indicted for being an accessory after the fact, in comforting, aiding, and assisting her fellow-prisoner.
Chief Justice Tindal, Mr. Justice Coleridge, and Mr. Justice Coltman, were the judges who sat to try these offenders, and the court was crowded in every corner.
The evidence produced now was a repetition of that which had been brought forward at the various examinations at the police-office. Mr. Adolphus, Mr. Clarkson, and Mr. Bodkin, appeared to conduct the case for the prosecution; and Mr. Price and Mr. Payne defended the prisoners. The line of defence was consistent with the statements which had been made by the prisoners at Marylebone police-office. The witnesses who were competent to give any evidence as to the possibility of the truth of these declarations being cross-examined with a view to its being shown, that Greenacre’s account of the transaction might be correct; and, further, that in the direction in which he stated Mrs. Brown to have fallen, she might have passed through a doorway, which was behind her, and into the back-room. This suggestion was, however, negatived by the declaration of the witnesses; and the testimony of the surgeons who were examined also tended to prove that the injuries which had been received by the deceased could not have been the result of such a state of facts. Mr. Girdwood underwent a long examination, and exhibited throughout an extensive acquaintance with those branches of his profession which were material to the inquiry. He declared his belief that many of the appearances of wounds or bruises on the head were the result of injuries inflicted during life; and, further, that the bloodless state of the arteries of the head exhibited that the process of disseveration had been commenced before life was extinct.
Mr. Price addressed the jury for the prisoners, urging those topics in his argument to which he had applied himself on his cross-examination.
The Lord Chief Justice began to sum up at a quarter past six o’clock on the second day of the trial. Having recapitulated the terms of the indictment in form, his lordship proceeded to observe, that the conviction of the prisoner Greenacre of murder or manslaughter would not necessarily involve the prisoner Gale in the charge, unless the jury were satisfied that the evidence was sufficient to bear out the allegation of her having been an accomplice in the transactions connected with the death of the deceased. He had no doubt the case would receive the most benevolent and patient attention of the jury. He would read over the evidence, and leave them to say whether they considered the prisoner Greenacre to have been the author of the woman’s death, and whether the evidence amounted to proof of murder, or of manslaughter of an aggravated kind. There were certain undoubted principles of law which must be kept in mind. One was, that where a person met his death from the hand of another person, that other person was bound, either by direct evidence or out of the circumstances of the case as they appeared in evidence before the jury, to mitigate or reduce the charge to the lower or minor class of offence. But then some circumstance of alleviation, mitigation, excuse, or justification must be brought before the court and jury, or be derivable by fair inferencefrom the evidence. What they would have to say, therefore, whether, looking at the whole of the case, they were satisfied that it was left on the broad ground on which it was started by the counsel for the prosecution—namely, the actual murder of the deceased individual, or whether there were any circumstances in the case to induce them to come to a conclusion of a milder character—namely, that of a felonious manslaughter or accidental homicide. The learned judge then proceeded to refer to the evidence which had been adduced, commenting with great minuteness and perspicuity upon every circumstance from which the guilt or innocence of the prisoners was argued. He observed that the male prisoner had, by his own statement, admitted that he was guilty of manslaughter, unless they came to the conclusion that by an act of carelessness, or of playfulness in tilting up the chair, the woman had met her death. If, on the other hand, they were of opinion that the prisoner had occasioned the death of Hannah Brown, either by premeditated malice or by a malignity of feeling, caused by conduct of an exasperating nature, thereby giving rise to a spirit of revenge, then they must find him guilty of the higher offence. They would observe that the doctors had given it as their opinion, that the knife had been applied to the neck during life; they would therefore have to say whether, being possessed of a malignant spirit, the prisoner had not taken the knife and completed that act which he had wickedly intended to effect. He would exhort them to weigh well the circumstances of the case, which was one of extreme difficulty. Above all things, it behoved them to turn a deaf ear to any manifestations of clamour which might have been exhibited on the part of the public; such impressions ought at all times, but more especially upon an occasion like the present, to be banished from a court of justice. They would enter upon the performance of their solemn and painful duty with feelings of patience and calmness, giving to every portion of the evidence such favourable interpretation as it would allow, and they would give any benefit which might arise therefrom to the prisoners; they would look into all the evidence watchfully and narrowly, and if upon mature reflection they entertained a doubt of the guilt of the prisoner of the charge of murder, they would let him derive the full advantage and benefit of such a doubt. If, on the other hand, the evidence was so clear and satisfactory as that in their minds it brought the commission of the crime home to the prisoner, they would doubtless do their duty. With respect to the other prisoner, Sarah Gale, if they found the male prisoner guilty, either of the crime of murder or manslaughter, they would say whether by her assistance and aid she had protected, comforted, and enabled him to screen himself from the justice of the country. If so, they would find her guilty of the charge for which she was indicted. If, on the other hand, they thought that she had not in any way acted as an accessory, and had had no guilty knowledge of the crime, then they would give her the benefit of such opinion, and return a verdict of acquittal.
The jury having retired from the box for the purpose of considering their verdict, after an absence of a quarter of an hour only, returned into court to deliver their decision upon the case. As they passed to their box, Greenacre surveyed each of them with a keen, searching, and eager glance, as if to read in their expressions the fate which awaited him, and of which the jury were now the arbiters. His countenance, however, remained unchanged; and he still appeared to preserve the same degree of firmnessand self-possession which distinguished his demeanour throughout the whole of the trial, and seemed as a man who had already anticipated his fate, and whose mind was made up to the worst that could befall him. The prisoner Gale, on the contrary, seemed lost and bewildered, and almost unconscious of her awful situation: but with that feeling of attachment for her paramour which women will evince even under circumstances of misery, shame, and peril, she fixed her look during this painful interval of suspense and agony upon the countenance of him to whose fate she appeared to cling, even in this trying moment, when life or death was about to unite them once more, or sever their unfortunate connexion for ever.
The clerk of the arraigns having called over the names of the jury, said, “Gentlemen, how say you; do you find the prisoner at the bar, James Greenacre, guilty or not guilty of the felony of murder with which he is charged?”
The foreman of the jury answered, “Guilty.”
The question was then asked with regard to the prisoner Gale, and the foreman of the jury again answered “Guilty.”
The countenance of Greenacre remained unaltered. He exhibited no emotion, but leaned back in his chair and seemed perfectly indifferent to what might follow. Gale appeared almost unconscious of what was passing around her.
Upon the announcement of the result of the case outside the Court, the huzzaings of the crowd, who were impatiently awaiting its termination, were of the most deafening description; and several well-dressed persons were observed in elevated positions, waving their hats to the mob, as if upon the intelligence of some important victory.
The recent alteration in the law with regard to the period of the execution of murderers, rendered it unnecessary that sentence should be immediately passed on the prisoners; but on the following day, the 12th of April, they were brought up to receive the judgment of the Court.
Upon their being called upon in the usual way, to say any thing they had to urge why sentence should not be pronounced upon them:
Greenacre (in a husky, but firm tone) said—“My Lord, my unhappy condition in this unfortunate affair has given rise to abundance of evidence against me, such as might be collected in any pot-house or gin-shop, owing to the reports spread abroad to my prejudice, upon which the jurymen have acted. It is contrary to reason and common sense to suppose that I should have meditated the death of the woman, much less that I should effect it in the manner described, because of the property she had. If that had been my object, I could have had it all on the next morning, when our marriage was to have taken place, and then it would have been mine. What, then, was my motive for murdering of her? It is—”
The Recorder.—“This is all very proper matter to have been urged by your counsel at the trial, but should not be pressed upon the Court now. The only question now is, as to the matter of law. If there are the slightest grounds for questioning the verdict of the jury, your only course is to apply to the Secretary of State, the Court having no power of itself to interfere. Have you anything more to say?”
Greenacre.—“In the next place, my lord, I beg to say that this woman was utterly ignorant of the affair up to the time of my being taken to thepolice-office. She had no knowledge whatever of it, and is as innocent as any lady or gentleman in this court. This I say, as I am going into my grave—that she is innocent. I invited her back to the house after the body was removed, and she never knew anything of it. I deem it a religious duty to exculpate her from having any concern in this unfortunate affair. I have no more to say.”
The Recorder.—“I shall make the same observation to you, Gale, that I have just addressed to the other prisoner. If there be any ground for a further inquiry into your case, you must apply to the Secretary of State, who will exercise his best discretion upon the subject, under the advice of the responsible officers of the crown.”
The prisoner Gale was then led to a chair at the back of the dock, and the usual proclamation for silence, preparatory to the passing of the sentence of death, having been made,—
The Recorder, in a solemn and impressive tone, proceeded to address the male prisoner in the following words:—“James Greenacre, after a protracted trial, which endured for two entire days, upon a patient and impartial investigation of all the circumstances connected with your case, a jury of your country have found themselves inevitably compelled to find you guilty of the dreadful offence for which you were indicted. You have been convicted upon evidence, indeed the most satisfactory, of the crime of wilful murder. The appalling details of your dreadful case must be fresh in the recollection of all who now hear my voice, and will long live in the memory and (may I not add?) in the execration of mankind; and generations yet to come will shudder at your guilt. You have, indeed, acquired for yourself a revolting celebrity: an odious notoriety in the annals of cruelty and crime. The means to which you were prompted to resort, in order to conceal the mangled and dismembered portions of your victim, were for a season attended with partial success. You disposed of her remains, as you thought, in places secure from discovery, but that course availed you not; for after a short interval accumulated evidence and irrefragable proofs of your guilty contrivance became apparent. The amputated limbs and the dissevered body were united to the bloodless head of the murdered woman, and every injury by you inflicted after death has afforded the means of proving by comparison, beyond doubt, that the wound on the eye was inflicted by you while your victim was in life, and strength, and health. Horrible and revolting to humanity as was the spectacle presented by the mutilated trunk and mangled remains, fresh details and discoveries suggested both the means and manner by which you accomplished the destruction of the deceased. Both surgical skill and medical science came to the assistance of common observation; and it was clearly and beyond all doubt demonstrated that the wounds on the eye and skull were sufficient to produce death; and it was still further proved, that while the blood was yet in a fluid state, and circulating through the veins and arteries, you accomplished your horrible object, by severing the head from the body. Stupor of the senses and suspended animation were the effect of your blows; and then you embrued your hands in the gushing life’s-blood of the wretched and unhappy being who was stretched senseless and unconscious at your feet. The still warm corpse was then barbarously mutilated and mangled by you, in the hope that the eye of man would not detect your guilt: but the eye of God was upon you. Thenatural disgust and horror which your conduct in this respect excites, compels me to throw a veil over the frightful and appalling particulars of that hideous scene. But even that scene, revolting as it is, may be useful in a moral point of view, for it shows how the hand of Providence points out the guilty, and proves both the means of detection and the certainty of punishment. The certain but unseen agency of Providence is exhibited in the development of the peculiar and complicated circumstances of your case. The curiosity excited, the alarm produced, and the peculiarity of each succeeding discovery of the mangled members of the body, and the seemingly impenetrable mystery in which the circumstances of such a murder were shrouded, all conspired to awaken suspicion, renew inquiry, and incite to fresh exertion, until at last the mystery was developed by the family of the deceased. The embalmed head was identified, the name of the murdered woman came to light, and sufficient evidence was produced to point out you as the author of her death, and bring you before the tribunal of public justice. The circumstances attending the discovery of this murder lead to the inevitable conclusion that neither cunning nor ferocity can shelter and secure a murderer; for although the crime may be hidden for a time—although delays may occur, and the mystery of the transaction almost preclude the hope of its discovery, yet the all-seeing eye of God is cognizant of the deed, and man becomes the agent of its discovery. Indeed, instances of escape from such a crime are so rare, that the detection is almost as sure as the punishment is certain. It is plain from the attention with which I perceive you are listening to what I now say, that I am addressing an individual not devoid of education, of reasoning faculties, and strength of mind. The occasion you must indeed be aware is, as regards yourself, standing where you do, and under the circumstances in which you are placed, awful and solemn to the last degree, both as regards your fate in this world and the world to come. I will not draw arguments from my own feeble resources alone, to endeavour to induce and implore you to repent before it is too late. Let me, then, before I proceed to pass upon you the dreadful sentence, entreat you to consider well your past life, and the chances which await you in the life which is to come. In making this last appeal, in attempting to revive within your breast the last remaining sparks of virtue and religion, let me refer you to an extract which I am about to read to you from an excellent work, called ‘The Analogy of Religion, Natural and Revealed.’ I have selected the passage because I think it may be applicable to your present state of mind, and because the sentiments it conveys are far better than I could ever hope to address to you from my own resources. The passage is as follow:—‘Indeed,’ says the learned author, ‘when one has been recollecting the proper proofs of a future state of rewards and punishment, nothing, methinks, can give one so sensible an apprehension of the latter or representation of it to the mind, as observing the many disregard-checks, admonitions, and warnings which people meet with in the ways of vice and folly, and extravagance—warnings from their very nature, from the example of others, from the lesser inconveniences which they bring upon themselves—from the instruction of wise and virtuous men; after these had been so long despised, scorned, ridiculed—after the chief bad consequences, temporal consequences of their follies, have been delayed for a great while, at length they break in irresistibly like an armed force—repentance is too late to relieve, and canserve only to aggravate their distress: the case is become desperate, and poverty and sickness, remorse and anguish, infamy and death—the effects of their own doings—overwhelm them beyond the possibility of remedy or escape.’ The limits of time and the span of this present life furnish no obstacles in the way of a repentant sinner. Turn, therefore, I implore you, with an humble and penitent heart, to the source of all hope and mercy—the blessed Redeemer of mankind, and employ the brief interval which is yet left you on this side of eternity in penitence and prayer, as the only means of obtaining that mercy hereafter which the laws of God and man deny to you in this world. It now only remains for me to pass upon you the dreadful sentence of the law; and that sentence is, that you be taken from hence to the prison from which you came, and from thence to a place of execution, where you shall be hanged by the neck until you are dead, and that your body be then buried within the precincts of the jail; and may the Lord God Almighty take compassion on your sinful soul.”
The learned Recorder towards the end of this address was sensibly affected; and he could scarcely give utterance to the concluding words.
The prisoner Greenacre remained apparently unmoved, but he listened with attention, and never once changed his position or relaxed a muscle. He was then led back, and
Gale was brought forward to receive her sentence.
The Recorder said—“Sarah Gale, I will not aggravate the sufferings which you must now endure with any observations tending to increase those sufferings. The unhappy man who a short time ago stood beside you at that bar has declared that you had no guilty knowledge of the transaction in which he was involved. I cannot but observe, however, with regard to that remark, that you had united yourself to him, sharing his society and bed, and comforting, assisting, and sheltering him, without being joined to him by any moral or religious tie. As he has stated that you were ignorant of the dreadful transaction, I think it right to remind you that the ear-rings found in your pocket had belonged to the unfortunate woman who had been slaughtered by his hands; that duplicates of property which belonged to her were also found in your possession; and that in an adjoining room a box was found, proved to have been hers, besides other property. I cannot, therefore, as at present advised, entertain any doubt but that the verdict of the jury in your case was well and justly grounded. How far your attachment to the prisoner induced you to continue your intercourse with him, notwithstanding his possession of the property of the deceased under circumstances which I should think must at least have excited suspicion on your mind, it is not for me to judge. Perhaps you considered that what had been done could not be undone; but whatever feeling actuated your conduct in connexion with the circumstances of the case, I feel that I am bound to pass upon you the full sentence directed by the act of parliament; and if upon further investigation of your case, should you be disposed to apply to the Secretary of State for a revision of your sentence, any favourable circumstances should arise, that matter will be considered and disposed of by the competent authorities. At present I have only to pronounce upon you the sentence of the law; and that sentence is, and this Court do adjudge, that you be transported beyond the sea to such place as His Majesty, with the advice of his privy council, shall direct and appoint, for the term of your natural life.”
The prisoners were then led away from the bar; but Greenacre, instead of being conducted to the condemned cell, as is customary, was re-taken to the apartment which he had previously occupied. The reason for this alteration in his case, was the necessity which existed for a strict watch being maintained over him, to prevent a repetition of the attempt which he had made upon his own life, which there was good reason to apprehend; and it was felt that the inclemency of the weather would render such a duty in the lower cells of the prison, a punishment upon the attendant turnkeys of no ordinary severity. The demeanour of Greenacre, after his conviction, partook of the same firmness and determination which he had hitherto maintained; and upon the day after his condemnation he requested to be supplied with pens, ink, and paper. His desire was instantly complied with; and from this time he appeared to be occupied in the fabrication of a new statement, bearing the impress of truth, in reference to the foul crime for which he had been tried. He industriously applied himself for several days to this task; but none of the productions of his pen appeared to afford him satisfaction, and each was committed to the flames almost immediately upon its completion. In the course of the day after he received sentence of death, he was visited by the sheriffs, and to them he made a new confession of the circumstances of his crime. The general facts which he now detailed corresponded with the story he had told at the police-office; but in one most important particular he admitted the falsehood of that statement. This was with reference to the immediate cause of the death of Mrs. Brown; and he now stated that the unfortunate woman, having accompanied him home, as proved in evidence, they had taken tea together. Mrs. Brown afterwards proceeded to wash up the tea-things, and while she was so occupied, they continued a conversation which had before commenced, upon the subject of her property. He became enraged at the deception which she had practised on him, and seizing a rolling-pin which lay on the dresser, he menaced her with it, and at length struck her on the eye. She fell to the ground, and on his going to her, he was shocked to find that she was insensible, and apparently dead. He paced the room for some time, in terror at the act which he had committed, as he conjectured that he should be charged as her murderer, and began to reflect upon the best means of screening himself from the consequences of his guilt. A variety of methods presented themselves to his mind; but at length he hit upon the horrible expedient of dividing the limbs from the body, and disposing of the dissevered members separately. He, in consequence, immediately set about cutting off the head, and having done so, he suffered the whole of the blood to drain from it. This done, he determined instantly to get rid of this portion of the frame of his victim, and wrapping it in a silk pocket-handkerchief, he quitted the house with the horrible burden. On reaching Camberwell he got into an omnibus, which conveyed him to Gracechurch-street, and without alarm for the discovery of the contents of his bundle, he carried it on his knee during the whole journey. When he left the vehicle he scarcely knew which way to turn, but a Mile-End omnibus overtaking him as he reached Cornhill, he jumped into it, and was conveyed to the East end of the town, still carrying his dreadful load on his lap, in the same manner in which he had supported it before. On his leaving this second conveyance, he walked on until he reached the Regent’s Canal, and he pursued the course of it,until he came to the Lock at Stepney. An idea suddenly suggested itself to his mind, that this was the fitting place to get rid of the head, and without more ado he “shot it from the handkerchief into the water.” He then directly turned back, and on his way home he called at Mrs. Davis’s, in Bartholomew-close, with whom he entered into conversation, as described in the evidence. He slept in Carpenter’s-buildings alone on that night, out on the morning he went to Mrs. Gale’s lodgings, where he staid until the next day. At an early hour on the morning of the 26th of December, he proceeded to his own house, to dispose of the remaining parts of the body. He began by separating the legs from the trunk, and having done so, he packed them up in a sack and took them to Cold Harbour-lane (it being quite daylight at the time), and threw them into the osier bed. He then once more resumed his dreadful task at his house, in Carpenter’s-buildings, the trunk of the body being now all that he had to get rid of. The sack and the remnants of a gown which were discovered with the body, were the only coverings in which he could wrap these remains, and having securely corded them up, he took the bundle on his back and went out, undetermined as to the course which he should pursue to dispose of this remaining evidence of his guilt. A carrier’s cart passed him soon after he reached the public road, and his load being heavy, he requested permission to place it on the tail-board. This was acceded to, and he walked behind the cart as far as the Elephant and Castle, at Newington. The carrier there stopped to procure his dinner, and left him in the street to take care of the cart; but alarmed lest, during the prolonged absence of the driver, some accident might occur which should procure his detection, he called a hackney cab, and having thrown his bundle under the seat, directed that he should be driven to the Edgeware-road. On his arrival at the Pine Apple Gate, he quitted the vehicle, and paid the driver, and the man having turned back, he walked on towards Kilburn. A favourable opportunity soon presented itself for disposing of the load, and he deposited it behind the stone in the position in which it was found two days afterwards. This, also, he declared took place in the day-time, and he conceived that he underwent less risk in pursuing his operations thus openly, than in endeavouring to conceal them under the shades of night. On his return home, he burned the handkerchief in which he had carried the head, and he also wiped up the blood from the floor with flannels, which he disposed of by throwing them down the privy. This confession was not reduced to writing; but the evident object of the prisoner was to screen Mrs. Gale from the punishment which awaited her, and to raise a belief of her innocence. This, however, failed, for the evidence which was adduced with reference to her implication in the murder, was too clear to admit of any doubt being entertained; and indeed the general impression was, that the murder was the result of a pre-conceived determination, both of Greenacre and his paramour, in order to the accomplishment of which by the former, the latter only temporarily quitted his house. During the subsequent imprisonment of Greenacre, he appeared to be little anxious for the spiritual consolation of the reverend gentleman, who was the ordinary of the jail. He occasionally employed himself in the perusal of religious works, but was generally engaged in writing, although the result of his labours in this respect were, as we have already stated, usually burned. In the conversationswhich he had with the official persons, by whom he was visited, he complained loudly of the prejudices which had been excited against him by the circulation of a great many false accounts of circumstances which had occurred in his early life. He particularly referred to an allegation which had been made, of his having murdered one of his children, of which Mrs. Gale was the mother; and he asserted, and Mrs. Gale corroborated the truth of his declaration, upon her being separately questioned, that the child had died a natural death; although he admitted that he had disposed of it, by placing it at the door of a Mr. Dale, in Rupert-street, Haymarket, by whom it was sent to St. James’s Workhouse, where it lived for nine months.
On Wednesday, the 26th of April, the case of Greenacre was reported to his majesty by the Recorder, and the following Tuesday, the 2d of May, was fixed for the execution. The intelligence was on the same evening conveyed to the prisoner, but he seemed to have made up his mind to the impossibility of there being any mitigation in his punishment, and was unmoved. He declared that he cared nothing for death, although he was sacrificed to the prejudices of the world; but he shuddered at the thought of quitting life with the brand upon him of a wilful murderer. He maintained that he had committed no murder, and that he was to blame for nothing except the mutilation of the body of the deceased. At his meeting now with the ordinary, he declined his spiritual assistance, and said that he could find no relief in anything but inward prayer.
On the following Sunday the condemned sermon was preached in the chapel of the jail by Dr. Cotton, and the most intense anxiety was exhibited on the part of the public, to procure admission to this ceremony. Greenacre throughout the service conducted himself with much propriety, and repeated the responses with accuracy and precision. During the sermon, however, in which he was spoken of as a murderer, he appeared to be much incensed; and on his being subsequently visited by the worthy ordinary, he complained of the application of that term to him, and not without warmth, he declared, that he thought the observations which had been made might have been spared. Subsequently, however, he resumed his wonted composure, and he appeared to receive the attentions of the clergyman with more satisfaction. On Monday night he was requested to join the ordinary in partaking of the sacrament, but he declined to do so; and in the course of a conversation which passed upon the subject, he asserted, that although he believed that the Saviour was a very good man, he placed no credit in the assertion that he was the Son of God. To further questions which were put to him, he said that he believed in the existence of a Deity, and in a future state of rewards and punishments, but that he had no doubt that he should be happy, for that the sufferings through which he had passed in life were a sufficient atonement for any faults of which he had been guilty. On Monday night he slept soundly for several hours; but about four in the morning he arose and dressed himself, and indited several letters. He had completed these by seven, and at that hour he partook of some refreshment, and now, for the first time since he had entered Newgate, he was observed to shed tears. As the hour of eight approached his agitation increased, but he remained absorbed in silent meditation. Upon the appearance of the usual officers he submitted with calmness to the operation of pinioning; and this being completed, he requestedas a favour, that he might not be long exposed to the gaze of the multitude without. The last words which he uttered conveyed a request that his spectacles might be given to Sarah Gale; and then, unheeding the remarks of Mr. Cotton, he joined the procession to the scaffold.
The exterior of the jail meanwhile presented a wondrous scene of confusion. The mob had begun to collect as early as ten o’clock on the night before, and at day-break on Tuesday morning, every spot was occupied from which a glimpse of the scaffold could be obtained. At four o’clock the erection of the scaffold was commenced; and the appearance of this instrument of death, as it was wheeled from the prison-yard, was hailed with three cheers of deafening applause. The same terrible welcome was given, at a subsequent period, to the transverse beam when it was raised above the platform; and again to the executioner, when he came forward to fasten the deadly halter on the chain which is suspended from it. The pressure of the crowd as the hour of execution approached became terrific; and many persons were carried from it, exhausted by their exertions. At a quarter before eight the bell of St. Sepulchre’s Church began to toll, and from that moment the screams and groans occasioned by the pressure from the two extremities of the crowd towards the centre were perfectly appalling. When the executioner again presented himself on the scaffold, however, to see that all the preparations were complete, every feeling seemed to give way to that of curiosity; but it became evident that there was a sensation in that immense assemblage, which would express itself in clamorous exultation as soon as ever the wretched criminal appeared, to atone for the blood which he had so unrelentingly shed. No sooner did those officers who usually precede the criminal to the place of execution, become visible, than it burst forth with a loud, deep, and sullen shout of execration against Greenacre, even before that miserable wretch came under the terrible ordeal of their indignant glance. As soon as he mounted the scaffold, the populace again exhibited their detestation of the bloody atrocity of which he had been convicted, by setting up a wild hurrah of approval of the retaliation which he was about to endure under the hands of the ministers of justice. He placed himself at once in the hands of the executioner, who was thus enabled to complete the final preparations for his death with unprecedented rapidity. The ordinary then read the commencing verse of the burial-service, and before it was concluded the bolt was withdrawn, Greenacre fell, and the vengeance of the law was accomplished. In two minutes from his first appearance on the platform he ceased to be a living man. One grasp of his hands was observed on the rope reaching its full tension,—nothing more, and then all but the relentless shout of the multitude, was still. In a few minutes afterwards the mob began to disperse; but a large concourse of persons remained until nine o’clock, when the body was cut down amidst a yell of triumph, which will live long in the memory of those who heard it. On the same night the body of the criminal was buried within the precincts of the jail, near to those of Thistlewood and others, who had been executed for high-treason.
Gale, it may be observed, during the latter part of her imprisonment, previously to the time of the execution of her late paramour, fell into a state of great despondency. She had been informed that an interview with Greenacre could not be permitted; and this, combined with the certainty of his death, and her apprehensions as to her own fate, reduced her to a state ofthe greatest mental weakness. The wretched woman, after some delay produced by the applications of her friends in her behalf, was, on the 26th of June, removed from Newgate to the Hulks, from whence eventually, accompanied by her child, she was transported.
Having now related the particulars of this atrocious case, we shall proceed to lay before our readers the sketch which Greenacre himself published of his life, during the period of his incarceration. It was in the following terms, and, as will be seen, was written before his trial.“Having furnished my counsel and legal advisers with every true and particular statement of my case, I conceive it to be my necessary duty towards myself, my family, and a reflecting public, to pen a brief outline of my history, in the hope of counteracting the vindictive feeling and public prejudice which have been excited against me, through falsehood and exaggerated statements that have appeared in the public newspapers, and which it is my duty to refute, by immediately committing this narrative to paper, to prove to the world that I am not that bloody-minded character which is reported of me, to the prejudice of my character in the minds of those persons in whose hands my life is placed.“I am not immaculate; neither am I without many sins of commission and omission; but that truth may appear, and that justice may be done to my name when I am no more, should the prejudice of my jury prevail over the extenuating facts of my case, I proceed to state the circumstances of my life.“I was born in 1785, in Norfolk (at a village called Westwinch, two miles and a half from Lynn, we believe), of honest and industrious parents, who were farmers. I only, of a large family, relinquished the business of a farmer, and was put into business in the grocery line, in the parish of St. George, in the Borough, by my own parents, at the age of nineteen. From the moment I became a landlord, no tenant of mine ever questioned the kindness of my disposition; I have been many years in the possession of three cottages, which I built in Jane-place, Old Kent-road, and have had many tenants, but never distrained upon any of them for rent, but have always taken pleasure in assisting them in any difficulty, and have often, very often, given up to them their back rents or arrears that unavoidably happen to poor persons in cases of sickness, and the want of employment. I had also eight cottages in Bowyer-lane, Camberwell, but I never once distrained upon a tenant in my life, but have absolutely felt all the sympathy of a near relative, when my claim for rent has been met by an apology through sickness, in times of accouchment, and other causes of distress. I can with perfect safeness say, that of these eleven cottages, and those two in Carpenter’s-place, I never distrained upon a poor tenant in my life.“Now, as regards my domestic history, I will just refer to a few demonstrations of my disposition and general character, as a husband, a father, and a respected friend. I have been a man of affliction, in losing three amiable companions, with whom I always lived in the most perfect harmony. It may be added, that I was no fortune-hunter in these cases; but I always sought after the prospects of my issue, by forming an alliance where my children might reap the advantages of their mother’s dower on the death of their parents; and I have much consolation in finding that mychildren, by each of my wives’ parents, are amply provided for by legacies. Before I pass over this trait in my character as a husband and a father, the scandalous reports of my enemies make it necessary to refer to the deaths of my wives. The first was the daughter of Charles Ware, of the Crown and Anchor Tavern, Woolwich, to whom I was married at the age of nineteen; my wife eighteen. I was then in business in the grocery line, by the assistance of my own parents, who were farmers in Norfolk. My wife died suddenly of a putrid sore throat. She was attended by that eminent physician, Dr. Blackburn, who, and whose assistants, admonished me not to go near my wife to receive her breath; but such being the result of my feelings, that I could not resist the force of affection, and there are many persons now living who can bear testimony to the fact, I took the complaint, and it nearly cost me my life. I engaged a respectable woman as housekeeper, who, as nurse and housekeeper, has since been in my service at intervals for a period equal to thirteen years, and who is now living. My next wife was the daughter of Mr. John Romford, a considerable land-owner in Essex. By this lady I also had two children. This wife died of a brain fever, brought on by exerting herself, I believe, riding on horseback, whilst on a visit at her own relations; and having an infant at the time, her milk was affected by the fever, which caused her death. Mr. Culthred, now residing in the Borough, attended her. My old housekeeper, who nursed my wife at each accouchment, now became my housekeeper again. I continued a widower fifteen months, and married Miss Simmonds, of Long-lane, Bermondsey, with whom I also lived in harmony and affection up to the time I went to America (May 1833). This amiable companion, with whom I had arranged to come after I had provided a home for her, died in London, of the cholera, about three weeks after my departure. By this wife I had seven children, two only of whom are living. My old housekeeper always attended as nurse to all my wives, and upon all occasions of sickness, making a period of near thirteen years. As a sober and affectionate husband, no person living can deny but this has uniformly been my character. I have always abhorred a public-house, and the babble of drunken men. The society of my books, and wife, and children, have always been to me the greatest source of delight that my mind could possibly enjoy.“As a master and a friend, I trust the following statement will show that kindness and liberality, and a desire to cultivate the friendship of my neighbours and the tranquillity of my home, have always been the object of my study, and a pleasure most dear to my heart. My apprentices and servants have always manifested much pleasure in their situations, and have always continued with me several years. My apprentices have always been the sons of respectable persons, and have generally been the means of recommending each other, through their connexions with each other’s families. I always received a good premium with each apprentice, one only excepted, who was a cast-off apprentice from the Foundling, but who became a good servant under a kind master and mistress, and staid with us many years after her apprenticeship was expired. I have had seven male apprentices since I commenced business, in 1814. Two were brothers, the sons of Mr. Falls, who was then measurer in his majesty’s dockyard, Deptford; and my last apprentice, in 1833, was the son of Mr. Green, of the Royal Oak, Sevenoaks, in Kent, whose eldest son had servedhis time, five years, with me, and with whom I received a large premium. I have always encouraged my servants and apprentices by very many indulgences and kind treatment, and have always found them obliging and assiduous in business. I had one who robbed me. This was the son of a highly respectable tradesman in London. I gave the boy in charge of the beadle, and, contrary to my wishes, he was remanded to Horsemonger-lane jail. I applied to the youth’s father, to consult upon his son’s escape. This gentleman’s tears and distress of mind I most acutely participated in, and had near been brought into trouble by refusing to prosecute. No servant or inmate of my house can say that I was ever intoxicated, or that I ever lifted my hand against my wife, or caused a tear by harsh treatment. Now, as a friend, I think I can give the most incontrovertible testimony; and had it not been for the infamous lying and slandering newspapers, who glory in any crime for the sale of their dangerous weapons, I might have received the visits, advice, and assistance of hundreds of friends, but all are frightened by those horrifying falsehoods. I have received anonymous letters whilst in jail, which I have shown to the governor of the prison, and have handed to my solicitor, wherein the writers express their wishes to aid me, but durst not avow their names. My counsel also have received instructions to aid me by the receipt of anonymous letters enclosing money, with the like expressions of the writers’ fear that their names may be known. Thus it is that I am compelled to give this brief outline of my life, in the hopes of defeating the power of falsehood and slander.“I have continued in business twenty years in the parish of St. George, in the Borough. I have always lived under the same firm, or landlord, and have always experienced an increasing connexion of customers and friends. This manifestation of friendship was evinced by my numerous fellow-parishioners in their electing me to the office of overseer, on Easter Tuesday, 1832, by the largest vestry that ever assembled in the parish church of St. George. A poll was demanded, and my friends increased, and never before or since have there been so many parishioners polled. These numerous parishioners, with whom I had resided so many years, would now most willingly aid me by a subscription or other means, but that they are naturally frightened by the false and slanderous newspaper reports.“As a debtor, when in business, no person was ever more punctual in his payments; and at the time I went to America, my debts, about 150l., were never before so trifling, and the number of my creditors were so few, I had left with my wife the invoices and the cash to pay them; but her illness and sudden death by the cholera caused the discharge of those bills to be neglected, when my creditors, who knew that I had houses, and who, misconstruing the cause of their not being called upon, proceeded by combining their small accounts to make me a bankrupt. Never before, I believe, was a person made a bankrupt whose debts were so trifling as mine. Had fraud been my object in going to America, I could have easily had ten times the debts and as many more creditors, with whom I had dealt for many years. I have one creditor only who has refused to sign my certificate, and from him I never demanded a stamp receipt, which has saved him a sum nearly equal to the debt I owed him.“I have mentioned my abhorrence of public-houses; I trust, therefore,that the vice of drinking, the foundation of error and crime, may not be considered the cause of my unhappy accident and subsequent resolve to put away the body, which has produced my disreputable notoriety. It was the horror of my feelings, and fear only that took possession of my mind. I was actuated by no feelings of a felonious or malicious kind. The unfortunate deceased was evidently very much in liquor, when her chair went backwards; and had candidly avowed her poverty when I talked to her on the consequences of our marrying in deception, and of her having been to a tally-shop to obtain a dress upon credit in my name. Felonious intentions cannot be attributed to me, since it is well known, that if she had property it might have been mine in a few hours’ time by the legal right of marriage.”
Having now related the particulars of this atrocious case, we shall proceed to lay before our readers the sketch which Greenacre himself published of his life, during the period of his incarceration. It was in the following terms, and, as will be seen, was written before his trial.
“Having furnished my counsel and legal advisers with every true and particular statement of my case, I conceive it to be my necessary duty towards myself, my family, and a reflecting public, to pen a brief outline of my history, in the hope of counteracting the vindictive feeling and public prejudice which have been excited against me, through falsehood and exaggerated statements that have appeared in the public newspapers, and which it is my duty to refute, by immediately committing this narrative to paper, to prove to the world that I am not that bloody-minded character which is reported of me, to the prejudice of my character in the minds of those persons in whose hands my life is placed.
“I am not immaculate; neither am I without many sins of commission and omission; but that truth may appear, and that justice may be done to my name when I am no more, should the prejudice of my jury prevail over the extenuating facts of my case, I proceed to state the circumstances of my life.
“I was born in 1785, in Norfolk (at a village called Westwinch, two miles and a half from Lynn, we believe), of honest and industrious parents, who were farmers. I only, of a large family, relinquished the business of a farmer, and was put into business in the grocery line, in the parish of St. George, in the Borough, by my own parents, at the age of nineteen. From the moment I became a landlord, no tenant of mine ever questioned the kindness of my disposition; I have been many years in the possession of three cottages, which I built in Jane-place, Old Kent-road, and have had many tenants, but never distrained upon any of them for rent, but have always taken pleasure in assisting them in any difficulty, and have often, very often, given up to them their back rents or arrears that unavoidably happen to poor persons in cases of sickness, and the want of employment. I had also eight cottages in Bowyer-lane, Camberwell, but I never once distrained upon a tenant in my life, but have absolutely felt all the sympathy of a near relative, when my claim for rent has been met by an apology through sickness, in times of accouchment, and other causes of distress. I can with perfect safeness say, that of these eleven cottages, and those two in Carpenter’s-place, I never distrained upon a poor tenant in my life.
“Now, as regards my domestic history, I will just refer to a few demonstrations of my disposition and general character, as a husband, a father, and a respected friend. I have been a man of affliction, in losing three amiable companions, with whom I always lived in the most perfect harmony. It may be added, that I was no fortune-hunter in these cases; but I always sought after the prospects of my issue, by forming an alliance where my children might reap the advantages of their mother’s dower on the death of their parents; and I have much consolation in finding that mychildren, by each of my wives’ parents, are amply provided for by legacies. Before I pass over this trait in my character as a husband and a father, the scandalous reports of my enemies make it necessary to refer to the deaths of my wives. The first was the daughter of Charles Ware, of the Crown and Anchor Tavern, Woolwich, to whom I was married at the age of nineteen; my wife eighteen. I was then in business in the grocery line, by the assistance of my own parents, who were farmers in Norfolk. My wife died suddenly of a putrid sore throat. She was attended by that eminent physician, Dr. Blackburn, who, and whose assistants, admonished me not to go near my wife to receive her breath; but such being the result of my feelings, that I could not resist the force of affection, and there are many persons now living who can bear testimony to the fact, I took the complaint, and it nearly cost me my life. I engaged a respectable woman as housekeeper, who, as nurse and housekeeper, has since been in my service at intervals for a period equal to thirteen years, and who is now living. My next wife was the daughter of Mr. John Romford, a considerable land-owner in Essex. By this lady I also had two children. This wife died of a brain fever, brought on by exerting herself, I believe, riding on horseback, whilst on a visit at her own relations; and having an infant at the time, her milk was affected by the fever, which caused her death. Mr. Culthred, now residing in the Borough, attended her. My old housekeeper, who nursed my wife at each accouchment, now became my housekeeper again. I continued a widower fifteen months, and married Miss Simmonds, of Long-lane, Bermondsey, with whom I also lived in harmony and affection up to the time I went to America (May 1833). This amiable companion, with whom I had arranged to come after I had provided a home for her, died in London, of the cholera, about three weeks after my departure. By this wife I had seven children, two only of whom are living. My old housekeeper always attended as nurse to all my wives, and upon all occasions of sickness, making a period of near thirteen years. As a sober and affectionate husband, no person living can deny but this has uniformly been my character. I have always abhorred a public-house, and the babble of drunken men. The society of my books, and wife, and children, have always been to me the greatest source of delight that my mind could possibly enjoy.
“As a master and a friend, I trust the following statement will show that kindness and liberality, and a desire to cultivate the friendship of my neighbours and the tranquillity of my home, have always been the object of my study, and a pleasure most dear to my heart. My apprentices and servants have always manifested much pleasure in their situations, and have always continued with me several years. My apprentices have always been the sons of respectable persons, and have generally been the means of recommending each other, through their connexions with each other’s families. I always received a good premium with each apprentice, one only excepted, who was a cast-off apprentice from the Foundling, but who became a good servant under a kind master and mistress, and staid with us many years after her apprenticeship was expired. I have had seven male apprentices since I commenced business, in 1814. Two were brothers, the sons of Mr. Falls, who was then measurer in his majesty’s dockyard, Deptford; and my last apprentice, in 1833, was the son of Mr. Green, of the Royal Oak, Sevenoaks, in Kent, whose eldest son had servedhis time, five years, with me, and with whom I received a large premium. I have always encouraged my servants and apprentices by very many indulgences and kind treatment, and have always found them obliging and assiduous in business. I had one who robbed me. This was the son of a highly respectable tradesman in London. I gave the boy in charge of the beadle, and, contrary to my wishes, he was remanded to Horsemonger-lane jail. I applied to the youth’s father, to consult upon his son’s escape. This gentleman’s tears and distress of mind I most acutely participated in, and had near been brought into trouble by refusing to prosecute. No servant or inmate of my house can say that I was ever intoxicated, or that I ever lifted my hand against my wife, or caused a tear by harsh treatment. Now, as a friend, I think I can give the most incontrovertible testimony; and had it not been for the infamous lying and slandering newspapers, who glory in any crime for the sale of their dangerous weapons, I might have received the visits, advice, and assistance of hundreds of friends, but all are frightened by those horrifying falsehoods. I have received anonymous letters whilst in jail, which I have shown to the governor of the prison, and have handed to my solicitor, wherein the writers express their wishes to aid me, but durst not avow their names. My counsel also have received instructions to aid me by the receipt of anonymous letters enclosing money, with the like expressions of the writers’ fear that their names may be known. Thus it is that I am compelled to give this brief outline of my life, in the hopes of defeating the power of falsehood and slander.
“I have continued in business twenty years in the parish of St. George, in the Borough. I have always lived under the same firm, or landlord, and have always experienced an increasing connexion of customers and friends. This manifestation of friendship was evinced by my numerous fellow-parishioners in their electing me to the office of overseer, on Easter Tuesday, 1832, by the largest vestry that ever assembled in the parish church of St. George. A poll was demanded, and my friends increased, and never before or since have there been so many parishioners polled. These numerous parishioners, with whom I had resided so many years, would now most willingly aid me by a subscription or other means, but that they are naturally frightened by the false and slanderous newspaper reports.
“As a debtor, when in business, no person was ever more punctual in his payments; and at the time I went to America, my debts, about 150l., were never before so trifling, and the number of my creditors were so few, I had left with my wife the invoices and the cash to pay them; but her illness and sudden death by the cholera caused the discharge of those bills to be neglected, when my creditors, who knew that I had houses, and who, misconstruing the cause of their not being called upon, proceeded by combining their small accounts to make me a bankrupt. Never before, I believe, was a person made a bankrupt whose debts were so trifling as mine. Had fraud been my object in going to America, I could have easily had ten times the debts and as many more creditors, with whom I had dealt for many years. I have one creditor only who has refused to sign my certificate, and from him I never demanded a stamp receipt, which has saved him a sum nearly equal to the debt I owed him.
“I have mentioned my abhorrence of public-houses; I trust, therefore,that the vice of drinking, the foundation of error and crime, may not be considered the cause of my unhappy accident and subsequent resolve to put away the body, which has produced my disreputable notoriety. It was the horror of my feelings, and fear only that took possession of my mind. I was actuated by no feelings of a felonious or malicious kind. The unfortunate deceased was evidently very much in liquor, when her chair went backwards; and had candidly avowed her poverty when I talked to her on the consequences of our marrying in deception, and of her having been to a tally-shop to obtain a dress upon credit in my name. Felonious intentions cannot be attributed to me, since it is well known, that if she had property it might have been mine in a few hours’ time by the legal right of marriage.”
With reference to this autobiography, there is no reason to believe that any of the main facts which are stated are incorrect, but it appears that, throughout his life Greenacre had been notorious among his acquaintance for the violence of his political opinions, and the unreserved manner in which he stated them. Rumours were afloat during the period of his imprisonment, that he had been a party to the atrocious plots of the Thistlewood gang, and that he had escaped from the room where his coadjutors were apprehended in Cato-street, at the very moment of the entrance of the officers. This was a story, the truth of which, however, he utterly denied; but he admitted his acquaintance with a person implicated in the conspiracy who was apprehended in his presence, upon an occasion when he went to pay him a visit. We shall not go into the particulars of the whole of the tales which were circulated in reference to his past life. The public mind was so much excited during the continuance of the proceedings against him, that it would be both unfair and ungenerous to prejudice his memory by the repetition of every unproved assertion which was made. The fact which he stated of his being about to start for America on the day of his apprehension with Gale, was found to be perfectly true; for it appeared that a portion of his luggage had been put on board the vessel, which, however, had sailed without its passengers on the 3d of April. The most remarkable part of his conduct after the dreadful murder of which he had been guilty, was that which referred to a new attempt on his part to enter into the bonds of matrimony, by means of an advertisement in the public newspapers. The specious nature of his disposition is well depicted in this transaction. On the 23d of January, one month after the death of Mrs. Brown, an advertisement appeared in the “Times” newspaper in the following terms:—
“Wanted, a partner, who can command 300l., to join the advertiser in a patent to bring forward a new-invented machine, of great public benefit, that is certain of realising an ample reward. Applications by letter only (post-paid), for J. G., at Mr. Bishop’s, No. 1, Tudor-place, Tottenham Court-road.”
Among the answers to that advertisement was one from a female of great respectability, whose name and address we, for obvious reasons, abstain from making public; who, having a little money at her command, indiscreetly wrote to him on the subject, and afterwards had two or three interviews with him, without, however, coming to any arrangement. Greenacre, with that tact for which throughout the proceedings he has renderedhimself so remarkable, clearly saw that it would be more advantageous to him if he could form an alliance with the lady in question, and he accordingly determined, without delay, to make her an offer of his hand, which he did in a most specious letter, written on Saturday, the 4th of February, the very day on which the inquest was held on the limbs of his murdered victim, and probably at the very moment while it was sitting. The following is an authentic copy of his letter:—