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<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p>

<h1>MY EXPERIENCES
AS AN
EXECUTIONER.</h1>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a><br /><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p>
<div class="center"><div class="ilb">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-frontis.jpg" width="403" height="600" alt="James Berry" />
<p class="right"><img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-frontis_sig.png" width="289" height="83" alt="James Berry's signature" /></p>
</div></div>

<hr class="chap" />

<div class="center">
<img id="coverpage" src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-title.jpg" width="387" height="600" alt="" />
</div>

<hr class="chap" />

<p class="center">PRINTED BY</p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-printer.png" width="104" height="111" alt="" />
</div>

<p class="center">PERCY LUND AND CO.,<br />
BRADFORD.</p>

<p class="center p4">Copyright in United States and British Isles.
</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p>

<h2><a name="Contents" id="Contents"><span class="smcap">Contents.</span></a></h2>

<table summary="Contents">
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td class="tdr small">PAGE</td></tr>

<tr><td class="smcap"><a href="#INTRODUCTION">Introduction</a></td>
<td class="tdpn">7</td></tr>

<tr><td colspan="2"><h3><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a></h3></td></tr>

<tr><td class="smcap">The Executioner at Home</td>
<td class="tdpn">11</td></tr>

<tr><td colspan="2"><h3><a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a></h3></td></tr>

<tr><td class="smcap">How I Became an Executioner</td>
<td class="tdpn">16</td></tr>

<tr><td colspan="2"><h3><a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a></h3></td></tr>

<tr><td class="smcap">My First Execution</td>
<td class="tdpn">23</td></tr>

<tr><td colspan="2"><h3><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a></h3></td></tr>

<tr><td class="smcap">My Method of Execution&mdash;Calculations and Apparatus</td>
<td class="tdpn">30</td></tr>

<tr><td colspan="2"><h3><a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a></h3></td></tr>

<tr><td class="smcap">My Method of Execution&mdash;The Proceedings</td>
<td class="tdpn">45</td></tr>

<tr><td colspan="2"><h3><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a></h3></td></tr>

<tr><td class="smcap">Other Methods of Execution</td>
<td class="tdpn">50</td></tr>

<tr><td colspan="2"><h3><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a></h3></td></tr>

<tr><td class="smcap">Two Terrible Experiences</td>
<td class="tdpn">59</td></tr>

<tr><td colspan="2"><h3><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a></h3></td></tr>

<tr><td class="smcap">How Murderers Die</td>
<td class="tdpn">66</td></tr>

<tr><td colspan="2"><h3><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a></h3></td></tr>

<tr><td class="smcap">From the Murderer&rsquo;s Point of View</td>
<td class="tdpn">95</td></tr>

<tr><td colspan="2"><h3><a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a></h3></td></tr>

<tr><td class="smcap">On Capital Punishment</td>
<td class="tdpn">106</td></tr>

<tr><td colspan="2"><h3><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a></h3></td></tr>

<tr><td class="smcap">Hanging: From a Business Point of View</td>
<td class="tdpn">117</td></tr>

<tr><td colspan="2"><h3><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a></h3></td></tr>

<tr><td class="smcap">The Press and the Public</td>
<td class="tdpn">124</td></tr>

<tr><td colspan="2"><h3><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a></h3></td></tr>

<tr><td class="smcap">Incidents and Anecdotes</td>
<td class="tdpn">132</td></tr>

<tr><td colspan="2"><h3><a href="#Appendix">APPENDIX</a>.</h3></td></tr>

<tr><td class="smcap">The Trouble with &ldquo;Answers&rdquo; Limited</td>
<td class="tdpn">141</td></tr>
</table>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a><br /><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p>

<h2><a name="INTRODUCTION" id="INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION.</a></h2>

<div class="drop">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-dropt1.png" width="118" height="119" alt="T" />
</div>
<p class="afterdrop"><span class="fstwd"><span class="hidden">T</span>he</span> intention of both the author and the
editor of this little book has been to
set forth, as plainly and as simply as
possible, certain facts and opinions
with regard to what is undoubtedly a most important
subject&mdash;the carrying out of the ultimate sentence
of the law. While facts have not been in any way
shirked or misrepresented, much that is horrible in
detail has been suppressed; so that people who
may be tempted to take up the book in search of
ghastly descriptive writing, are warned at the outset
that they will be disappointed.</p>

<p>It is believed that a publication of Mr. Berry&rsquo;s
experiences will correct many errors and misconceptions
as to the way in which capital sentences are
carried out in England; and that it will lead to a
consideration of the whole subject, from a practical,
rather than from a sentimental, point of view.</p>

<p>The management, and, if possible, the regeneration
of the criminal classes, is one of the most
serious tasks that civilisation has to face; and those
who undertake such a task require all the light that
can possibly be thrown upon the subject. The public<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>
executioner has many and special opportunities of
studying the criminal classes, and of knowing their
attitude and feelings with regard to that capital
punishment which civilisation regards as its strongest
weapon in the war against crime. When, as in the
case of Mr. Berry, several years&rsquo; experience in various
police forces can be added to his experience as an
executioner, the man who has had these exceptional
opportunities of studying criminals and crime, must
necessarily have gathered much information and
formed opinions that are worthy of attention.</p>

<p>Therefore, this book has a higher aim than the
mere recording of the circumstances and incidents
of the most painful business in which a man can
engage. The recording is necessary, for without
the facts before them, readers could not form their
own opinions; but it is hoped that the facts will be
read with more than mere curiosity, that the readers
will be led to take a personal interest in the weak
and erring brethren who form the criminal classes,
the canker-worm of our social system.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>An explanation of how this book was written
may not be out of place. The statements are <i>entirely</i>
those of the author, though in many cases the words
are those of the editor, whose task consisted of
re-arranging and very greatly condensing the mass
of matter placed in his hands by Mr. Berry. The
narrative and descriptive portion of the work is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>
taken from a series of note-books and a news-cuttings
book kept by Mr. Berry; who includes the most
minute particulars in his diaries. One chapter&mdash;&ldquo;My
First Execution&rdquo;&mdash;is word for word as written in
the diary, with the exception that a few whole pages
of descriptive detail are omitted, and indicated by
points (thus....) The chapter &ldquo;On Capital
Punishment,&rdquo; and portions of other chapters, were
not written out at length by Mr. Berry, but were
supplied in the form of full notes, and the principal
portions dictated. In every case, however, the
opinions are those of the author, with whom the
editor is by no means in entire personal agreement.</p>

<div class="enddeco">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-end1.png" width="81" height="110" alt="" />
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a><br /><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p>

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a><br />
<span class="smaller">The Executioner at Home.<br />
<span class="smcap">By H. Snowden Ward.</span></span></h2>

<div class="drop">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-dropj.png" width="73" height="76" alt="J" />
</div>
<p class="afterdrop"><span class="fstwd"><span class="hidden">J</span>ames</span> Berry, though regarded by some
people as a monster, and by others as a
curiosity, is very much like any other working-man
when one comes to know him. He is neither a
paragon of perfection, nor an embodiment of all vice&mdash;though
different classes of people have at times placed
him under both these descriptions. His character is a
curious study&mdash;a mixture of very strong and very weak
traits, such as is seldom found in one person. And
although one of his weak points is his Yorkshire open-hearted
frankness, which he tries to control as much as
possible, the man who has only been with him a few
days has not by any means got to the depths of his
character. His wife has said to me more than once:&mdash;&ldquo;I
have lived with him for nineteen years, but I don&rsquo;t
thoroughly know him yet,&rdquo; and one can quite understand
it, as his character is so many-sided and in some respects
contradictory. This partly accounts for the varying
and contradictory views of his personality which have
been published in different papers.</p>

<p>His strongest point is his tender-heartedness. Perhaps
this may be doubted, but I state the fact from
ample knowledge. Mr. Berry&rsquo;s occupation was not by
any means taken up from a love of the ghastly, or any
pleasure in the work. Even in his business as executioner
his soft-heartedness has shown itself, for though it has
never caused him to flinch on the scaffold, it has led
him to study most carefully the science of his subject,
and to take great pains to make death painless.</p>

<p>Of this trait I have had many proofs. For instance,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>
I know that on some occasions when he has been due
to start for a place of execution, his repugnance to the
task has been so great that his wife and her mother
have been obliged to use the greatest possible force of
persuasion to prevent him shirking his duty. Another
instance of this characteristic appeared when I was
overhauling his manuscript and cuttings for the purpose
of this book. I came across a copy of a poem &ldquo;For one
under Sentence of Death,&rdquo; and made some enquiry about
it. I found that the lines were some which Mr. Berry
had copied from a Dorchester newspaper, and that for
a long time it had been his habit to make a copy of
them, to send to the chaplain in every case where a
prisoner was sentenced to death, with a request that
they should be read to the prisoner. This was continued
until the governor of one of the gaols resented
the sending of such a poem to the chaplain, and
intimated that in all cases the chaplain was best able
to judge of what was necessary for the condemned man,
and did not need any outside interference. After this
Mr. Berry sent no more poems, but he kept one or two
copies by him, and I think that it may interest the reader.</p>

<h3>LINES FOR ONE UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH.</h3>

<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="i0">My brother,&mdash;Sit and think,</div>
<div class="i2">While yet some hours on earth are left to thee;</div>
<div class="i0">Kneel to thy God, who does not from thee shrink,</div>
<div class="i2">And lay thy sins on Christ, who died for thee.</div>
</div><div class="stanza">
<div class="i0">He rests His wounded hand</div>
<div class="i2">With loving kindness, on thy sin-stained brow,</div>
<div class="i0">And says&mdash;&ldquo;Here at thy side I ready stand,</div>
<div class="i2">To make thy scarlet sins as white as snow.</div>
</div><div class="stanza">
<div class="i0">&ldquo;I did not shed My blood</div>
<div class="i2">For sinless angels, good and pure and true;</div>
<div class="i0">For hopeless sinners flowed that crimson flood,</div>
<div class="i2">My heart&rsquo;s blood ran for you, my son, for you.</div>
</div><div class="stanza">
<div class="i0">&ldquo;Though thou hast grieved me sore,</div>
<div class="i2">My arms of mercy still are open wide,</div>
<div class="i0">I still hold open Heaven&rsquo;s shining door,</div>
<div class="i2">Come then&mdash;take refuge in My wounded side.</div>
</div><div class="stanza">
<div class="i0">&ldquo;Men shun thee&mdash;but not I,</div>
<div class="i2">Come close to me&mdash;I love my erring sheep.</div>
<div class="i0">My blood can cleanse thy sins of blackest dye,</div>
<div class="i2">I understand, if thou canst only weep.&rdquo;</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<div class="i0">Words fail thee&mdash;never mind,</div>
<div class="i2">Thy Saviour can read e&rsquo;en a sigh, or tear;</div>
<div class="i0">I came, sin-stricken heart, to heal and bind,</div>
<div class="i2">And died to save thee&mdash;to My heart thou&rsquo;rt dear.</div>
</div><div class="stanza">
<div class="i0">Come now&mdash;the time is short,</div>
<div class="i2">Longing to pardon and to bless, I wait;</div>
<div class="i0">Look up to Me, My sheep so dearly bought,</div>
<div class="i2">And say, &ldquo;forgive me, e&rsquo;er it is too late.&rdquo;</div>
</div>

<p class="right">E. B. C.
</p></div></div>

<p>The soft-heartedness of Mr. Berry&rsquo;s nature would
quite unfit him for his post if it were not that he possesses
a strong resolution, and can control his feelings
when he finds duty warring against inclination.</p>

<p>In personal appearance he is a kindly-looking man,
thickset and muscular, with a florid complexion and
sandy hair. He stands 5ft. 8½in. high, weighs 13 stones,
and does not look the sort of man to willingly injure
anyone. The appearance of his right cheek is somewhat
marred by a long, deep scar, extending downwards from
the corner of the eye, which has given rise to one or
two sensational stories from the pens of imaginative
newspaper men. The scar was caused by the kick of a
horse which he attempted to ride when he was a boy
about ten years old. The horse was young, unbroken
and vicious, and its kick narrowly missed being fatal.
Across his forehead is another great scar, the result of
a terrible blow received when arresting a desperate
character in a Bradford public-house. The man was
one of a gang of six, and his comrades helped him to
violently resist arrest, but Berry stuck to his captive
until he was safely locked in the Bradford Town Hall,
and the six men all had to &ldquo;do time&rdquo; for the assault.</p>

<p>Mr. Berry was born on February 8th, 1852, at
Heckmondwike, in Yorkshire. His father was a wool-stapler,
holding a good position in the district. Young
Berry&rsquo;s education was obtained at the Wrea Green
School, near Lytham, where he gained several prizes
for his writing and drawing. His writing ability was
useful to him later in life, when he was employed by a
lithographer, to write &ldquo;copper-plate&rdquo; transfers. In
1874 he was married, and has had six children. Of
these, two boys and a girl died while young, and two
boys and a girl are living.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p>

<p>The &ldquo;executioner&rsquo;s office,&rdquo; as Mr. Berry likes to
call it on his official communications, is a house just off
City Road, Bradford. It is one of six owned by Mr.
Berry. When he first took the position of executioner
some of his neighbours were so prejudiced against the
work, that they refused to live &ldquo;next door to a hangman,&rdquo;
and as landlords naturally object to losing two or
three tenants for the sake of keeping one, Mr. Berry
was obliged to move once or twice, and came to the
conclusion that he had better be his own landlord.
The prejudice which then existed has been lived down,
and there is now no difficulty in letting neighbouring
houses to respectable tenants.</p>

<p>The house in Bilton Place is furnished just the
same as hundred of other houses in the district that are
occupied by better-class artisans, and there is nothing
at all gloomy or gruesome about the place. In fact,
there is no indication of the business of the occupant.
There are, in the front room, two frames of small photographs,
which are really portraits of some of the
murderers who have been executed by Mr. Berry, but
the frames bear no inscription. In a glass-fronted sideboard,
too, there are a few handsome electro goblets,
cruet stands and similar articles that have been given
to Mr. Berry by some of his admirers, but no one would
connect them with his business. In drawers and
cupboards about the place there are (or were, for they
have now gone to Madame Tussaud&rsquo;s) a large number
of relics and mementos of executions and other incidents.
Amongst them is the great knife, once used by the
executioner of Canton for the beheading of nine pirates.
This was obtained in exchange for a rope with which
several persons had been hanged. These relics were
all stowed well away, and were not by any means &ldquo;on
show,&rdquo; though the executioner did not object to producing
them if a personal friend wished to see them.</p>

<p>In conversation Mr. Berry is fluent, apt in anecdote
and illustration, and full of a subtle Yorkshire humour
which he cannot entirely shake off even when talking
on serious subjects. He has a very good memory for
facts, and is very observant, so that he is always ready
with a personal experience or observation on almost any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>
topic. His tastes are simple. His favourite occupations
are fishing and otter hunting, of both of which sports
he is passionately fond. Frequently when going to an
execution in a country town he takes his rod and basket,
and gets a half-day&rsquo;s fishing before or after the execution.
He seems to like the sport on account of its quiet and
contemplative nature, and says that he enjoys the fishing
even if he never gets a nibble.</p>

<p>At home Mr. Berry devotes himself largely to
mechanical pursuits. At the present time he is working
a patent which he bought recently, and has the topmost
room of his house fitted as a mechanic&rsquo;s workshop, with
lathe, bench, etc. In spare time he devotes a good
deal of attention to his pigeons and rabbits, for he is an
ardent fancier, and keeps a large number of live pets.</p>

<div class="enddeco">
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</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p>

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a><br />
<span class="smaller">How I became an Executioner.</span></h2>

<div class="drop">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-dropi.png" width="73" height="76" alt="I" />
</div>
<p class="afterdrop"><span class="fstwd"><span class="hidden">I</span>t</span> has been said by some of those goody-goody
moralists who are always anxious to point out
sad examples of the depravity of man, and
who are not very particular about the genuineness of
the &ldquo;facts&rdquo; with which they support their theories,
that I was fond, even as a boy, of revelling in the
revolting details of crime, and that I was a reader of all
the police literature that I could obtain. Such statements
are absolutely false. As a boy I was not a great
reader on any subject, and the proceedings of the courts
and the careers of criminals were in no wise interesting
to me until I became a member of the Bradford Borough
Police Force, in 1874.</p>

<p>When a policeman I strove to do my duty as well
as any man could, and often wished that I could make
some better provision for my wife and family, but I
never so much as dreamed of becoming an executioner,
or took any interest in the subject of hanging.</p>

<p>One day, when I called at a friend&rsquo;s house that was
on my beat, it happened that Mr. Marwood was staying
there, and I was introduced to him, and a few days later
I again met him and spent an evening in his company.
He was a quiet, unassuming man, kindly and almost
benevolent in his manner, who was in no way ashamed
of his calling, though very reticent about speaking of it,
excepting to those whom he knew well. He keenly felt
the odium with which his office was regarded by the
public, and aimed, by performing his duties in a satisfactory
manner, and by conducting his private life
respectably, at removing the stigma which he felt was
undeserved. At times the attitude of the public towards
him was very keenly felt, and I well remember one time
when this subject was the topic of conversation at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>
supper table, that he remarked to a gentleman present,
&ldquo;my position is not a pleasant one,&rdquo; and turning to me,
repeated with emphasis, &ldquo;no! it is <i>not</i> a pleasant one.&rdquo;
The words seemed to come from the depths of a full
heart, and I shall never forget their pathos and feeling.
Altogether, Mr. Marwood never encouraged me in any
way to think of his calling with feelings of envy, and
though he did give me all particulars of his methods
and apparatus, it was merely because I asked all sorts
of questions from natural curiosity.</p>

<p>It was only when in company with Mr. Marwood,
with whom I became quite friendly, that I ever contemplated
the question of capital punishment. At other
times it was far from my thoughts. My application for
the post, which was left vacant at his death, was, therefore,
in no way the result of a personal desire for the
work or of a pre-conceived plan. I was simply driven to
it by the poverty-stricken condition of my family, which
I was unable to keep in reasonable comfort upon my
earnings (I was then engaged as a boot-salesman, at a
small salary). I knew that in the line on which I was
then working there was no prospect of a material
improvement in my position; I knew that I was a man of
no extraordinary ability, so that my chances of rising
were few, and I looked upon the vacancy of the executioner&rsquo;s
post as being probably my one chance in life,
my &ldquo;tide in the affairs of men.&rdquo; Personally I had a
great distaste for the work, though I did not consider it
in any way dishonourable or degrading, and I had to
weigh my family&rsquo;s wants against my personal inclination.
It seemed to me at the time that my duty was clear, so
I made application for the vacant position.</p>

<p>It may be said that I decided to better myself without
any regard to the means of that betterment, or to
my fitness for the position; but when I carefully considered
the matter, in the few days before sending in
my application, I was convinced that I could do the
work as well as anyone, and that I could make practical
improvements in some of the methods and somewhat
improve the lot of those appointed to die. This last
consideration finally decided me.</p>

<p>I made application to the Sheriffs of London and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>
Middlesex in September, 1883. There were some 1400
applicants for the post, but after waiting some time I
received the following letter intimating that I was one
of the few from amongst whom the final choice was to
be made:&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<blockquote>

<p class="right">London.</p>

<p>The Sheriffs of London and Middlesex will be at
the Old Bailey on Monday next, the 24th instant, at
2 o&rsquo;clock p.m., for the purpose of seeing the selected
applicants for the post of Executioner.</p>

<p>If you (as one of those selected for consideration)
are disposed to attend at the above time and place
you are at liberty, at your own expense, to do so.</p>

<div>
<p class="ilb center">19th September, 1883.<br />
To Mr. J. Berry.</p></div></blockquote>

<p>Of course, I kept the appointment, was duly examined,
amongst some nineteen others, and was told that the
chosen executioner would be communicated with.</p>

<p>My action in applying for the post was not at all
in accordance with the wishes of my relatives, who did
everything they possibly could to prevent my obtaining
it. Some of my friends and neighbours wrote, either
through solicitors or personally, to the sheriffs. Certain
members of my own family petitioned the Home Secretary
to dismiss the application, on the ground that if
the appointment was given to me, a hitherto respectable
family would be disgraced. I believe that it was mainly
in consequence of these representations that I was
passed over, and the post given to Mr. Bartholomew
Binns. Upon myself the opposition had an effect that
was not intended. It made me devote considerable
thought and care to the details of the work of an executioner,
and made me determine that if ever the
opportunity again offered I should do my best to secure
the work. During the four months that Mr. Binns held
the appointment I had consultations with some eminent
medical men, and when, much earlier than I expected,
a new executioner was wanted, I was very well grounded
in the theory of the subject. It was in March, 1884,
that the magistrates of the city of Edinburgh wanted
a man to execute Vickers and Innes, two poachers.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>
The Sheriffs of London and Middlesex gave me a recommendation,
and I addressed the following letter to the
Magistrates of Edinburgh:&mdash;</p>

<blockquote>

<div class="right">
<p class="ilb center">
<i>March</i> 13<i>th</i>, 1884.<br />
52, Thorpe Street, Shearbridge,<br />
Bradford, Yorkshire.</p></div>

<p>
To the Magistrates<br />
<span class="i2">of the City of Edinburgh.</span>
</p>

<p>Dear Sirs,</p>

<p>I beg most respectfully to apply to you, to ask
if you will permit me to conduct the execution of the
two Convicts now lying under sentence of death at
Edinburgh. I was very intimate with the late Mr.
Marwood, and he made me thoroughly acquainted
with his system of carrying out his work, and also the
information which he learnt from the Doctors of
different Prisons which he had to visit to carry out
the last sentence of the law. I have now one rope
of his which I bought from him at Horncastle, and
have had two made from it. I have also two Pinioning
straps made from his, also two leg straps. I have
seen Mr. Calcraft execute three convicts at Manchester
13 years ago, and should you think fit to give me the
appointment I would endeavour to merit your patronage.
I have served 8 years in Bradford &amp; West
Riding Police Force, and resigned without a stain on
my character, and could satisfy you as to my abilities
and fitness for the appointment. You can apply to
Mr. Jas. Withers, Chief Constable, Bradford, also to
the High Sheriff for the City of London, Mr. Clarence
Smith, Mansion House Buildings, 4, Queen Victoria
Street, London, E.C., who will testify as to my
character and fitness to carry out the Law. Should
you require me I could be at your command at 24
hours&rsquo; notice. Hoping these few lines will meet with
your approval. I remain, Sirs,</p>

<p class="right">
Your Most Obedient Servant,<br />
<span class="smcap">James Berry</span>.
</p>

<div>
<p class="ilb">
To The Chief Magistrates,<br />
<span class="i2">Borough of Edinburgh,</span><br />
<span class="i4">Scotland.</span>
</p></div>

<p class="hanging">P.S. An answer would greatly oblige as I should
take it as a favour.</p></blockquote>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p>

<p>A brief correspondence followed, and on March 21st I
received the following letter from the Magistrates&rsquo; Clerk:</p>

<blockquote>

<div class="right">
<p class="ilb center">
City Chambers, Edinburgh,<br />
<i>21st March, 1884.</i>
</p></div>

<p>Sir,</p>

<p>With reference to your letters of the 13th and
15th instant, I am now directed by the Magistrates
to inform you that they accept the offer you have
made of your services to act as Executioner here on
Monday, the 31st March current, on condition (1)
that you bring your Assistant with you, and (2) that
you and your Assistant arrive in Edinburgh on the
morning of Friday the 28th instant, and reside within
the Prison (at the Magistrates&rsquo; expense) till after the
Executions are over.</p>

<p>The Magistrates agree to your terms of ten
guineas for each person executed and 20s. for each
person executed to your Assistant, with second-class
railway fares for both of you, you finding all necessary
requisites for the Executions.</p>

<div class="aspara">
<div class="center"><div class="ilb left">I am, Sir,<br />
<span class="i2">Your obedient servant,</span></div></div>
<div class="right"><div class="ilb center"><span class="smcap">A Campbell</span>,<br />
Deputy City Clerk.</div></div>
</div>

<p>
Mr. James Berry,<br />
<span class="i2">52, Thorpe Street,</span><br />
<span class="i4">Shearbridge,</span><br />
<span class="i6">Bradford, Yorks.</span>
</p>

<p class="hanging">P.S. Please acknowledge receipt of this letter immediately.&mdash;A. C.</p></blockquote>

<p>Of course, my reply was to the effect that I accepted
the engagement, and although I felt many misgivings
between that time and the day appointed for the execution,
the work was carried through satisfactorily.</p>

<div class="enddeco">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-end3.png" width="215" height="41" alt="" />
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_021.png" width="600" height="347" alt="" />
<p class="caption">Calton Gaol, from Calton Hill.</p>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a><br /><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p>

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a><br />
<span class="smaller">My First Execution.<a name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a></span></h2>

<div class="drop">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-dropo.png" width="73" height="78" alt="O" />
</div>
<p class="afterdrop"><span class="fstwd"><span class="hidden">O</span>n</span> the 21st March, 1884, I received a letter
from the Magistrates&rsquo; Clerk, City Chambers,
Edinburgh, appointing me to act as Executioner
on 31st March, 1884, at Calton Gaol; and that I
was to provide all necessary appliances for carrying out
the same. I undertook the duties; and on Thursday,
March 27th, 1884, I departed from my home, Bradford,
and made my way to the Midland Station, and booked
3rd class for Edinburgh, to carry out the execution of
the Gorebridge murderers. I arrived at Waverley
Station 4-20 p.m., and I hired a cab to drive me to the
gaol. On arrival at the prison I was met at the doors
by a good-looking warder, dressed in ordinary prison
garb, and very courteous; and on entering the large
portal gate, was asked my name, and after entering it
down in the prison book, time, etc., he pulled a string,
which rang the Governor&rsquo;s bell, and in a few moments
I was confronted with the Governor, a very nice
gentleman, of military appearance, and very good
looking. After passing the usual conversation of the
day, and the weather, and what kind of journey I had
up from Bradford, he said after such a long journey I
should require a good, substantial tea; and as soon as
I had washed, and combed my hair, the tea was there,
everything that could be desired. I sat down, and quite
enjoyed my first Scotch meal in Bonnie Scotland....</p>

<p>[An examination of himself and his apparatus by
the Governor, and his own inspection of the scaffold,
are then described at length.]... I returned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>
to my room, and stayed in during the daytime. I spent
the Thursday night smoking and reading. At 10-0
o&rsquo;clock p.m. I was escorted to my bedroom, a round
house at the back part of the gaol, about 40 yards
from the back entrance, a snug little place, and was
informed that the last man who slept inside that room
was Wm. Marwood, five years previous to my visit.
He was then there for the same purpose as myself, but
the culprit in his case was a poisoner. The chief
warder, whom I spoke to, seemed to touch upon the
subject with great reluctance, and said that he felt
quite upset concerning the two culprits, and that he
hoped they would get a reprieve. I could see in his
countenance a deep expression of grief, which was
making him look no better for his occupation....
I sat me down on my bed after he had gone, locked my
door, and could hear the trains depart from the station
under the prison wall. I looked out of my window at
the mail taking its departure for the South....
I then knelt down and asked the Almighty to help me
in my most painful task, which I had undertaken to
carry out.... [The night was much disturbed
by the persistent smoking of the chimney.]...
At 8-0 a.m. on the morning of the 28th, Friday, my
breakfast was brought into my room, consisting of toast,
ham and eggs, and coffee.... At 10-0 a.m. on
Friday morning, 28th March, 1884, I was introduced to
the Magistrates and those responsible to see the
execution carried out. I exposed my ropes and straps
for their inspection, and, after a long and careful
investigation of all points, they retired, quite satisfied
with their visit. After that we paid another visit to
the scaffold; the builders, not having finished the
contract, were making a final touch to the new-erected
shed to keep the execution private, and so that nobody
outside could see. After testing it with bags of cement,
same weight as the prisoners, and calculating the length
of drop and its consequences, and other details, the
committee departed. After, I filled my time walking
about the prison grounds, and thinking of the poor
men who were nearing their end, full of life, and
knowing the fatal hour, which made me quite ill to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>
think about. My meals did not seem to do me good,
my appetite began to fall off, nothing felt good to me,
everything that I put into my mouth felt like sand, and
I felt as I wished I had never undertaken such an awful
calling. I regretted for a while, and then I thought
the public would only think I had not the pluck, and I
would not allow my feelings to overthrow me, so I
never gave way to such thoughts again. At 1-0 p.m.
my dinner had arrived. I went up to my room, and
sat down to pudding, beef, and vegetables, Scotch
broth, and Cochrane &amp; Cantrell&rsquo;s ginger ale. At that
time I was a total abstainer; and I think it is the safest
side, since what I have seen brought on by its sad
consequences of taking too much alcoholic liquor....
After tea, I had a chat with the warders
coming off duty for the day. As they passed through
the wicket gate, one remarked, &ldquo;He looks a nice
fellow for a job like that;&rdquo; another says, &ldquo;But he has
a wicked eye,&rdquo; and he would be sure I could do it....
I was left smoking in the lodge with the
gate-keeper and one (warder) who stayed behind to see
what he could hear me say; but I looked him over,
and could see by the look of his face that I was not to
say much in his presence, as he was built that way....
I was left alone with the gate-keeper, and he
looked like a straight, honest man, and he was like
myself. He said, &ldquo;I am glad you never began to say
anything in the presence of that man, as he would stop
until morning.&rdquo;... Saturday morning, 29th....
After breakfast, had another interview with
the Magistrates, and made the final arrangements. I
tested the scaffold in their presence, with the ropes I
was going to use on the Monday morning, with bags of
cement, each bag being placed in the same places as
was marked for the criminals; Vickers, weighing 10
stones and over, 8 feet (drop); and Innes, 9 stones, 10
feet. One bag represented one, and the other bag the
other. I tested the ropes by letting off the traps, and
down went the bags, and I got my calculations from
that point, after seeing the ropes tested with the weight
of cement. They all looked quite satisfied with the
results. The rope was of Italian silk hemp, made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>
specially for the work, &#8541; inch in thickness, and very
pliable, running through a brass thimble, which causes
dislocation and a painless death if rightly adjusted....
After dining, I had the honour of having a
drive in an open carriage (provided by the Governor)
for a couple of hours, ... which I enjoyed,
after being inside the prison gates since my arrival on
Thursday.... I gave my friend another night&rsquo;s
visit at the lodge gate. We chatted on different topics
of the day, and spent a nice, jovial evening together,
smoking our weed; when a voice came to the door from
a visitor from the offices of the town, that a reprieve
was refused, and the law was to take its course, and I
had a paper sent, with the words in full, <span class="smcap">Gorebridge
Murderers, No Reprieve</span>, which made me feel as bad
as the condemned men for a time. But, what with the
jolly gate-keeper, and another of the warders, I drove it
out of my mind for a while.... I retired to
bed as usual at 10-0 p.m., after reciting my prayers,
and thinking only another night and I shall be back
with my wife and children. Saturday night I was very
restless, and I did not feel so much refreshed for my
night&rsquo;s sleep, as I was thinking of the poor creatures
who was slumbering their hours away, in the prison
cell, just beyond where I was laid, thinking of the
dreadful fate that awaited them in such a short space
of time. Two men, in full bloom, and had to come to
such an untimely end, leaving wives and large families.
One poor woman, I was informed, her mind was so
affected that she was removed to the asylum, she took
it so to heart.... I retired to my day-room at
the front entrance, where I only partook very sparingly
of the nice and tempting ham and poached eggs put
before me. I spent most of the forenoon looking round
inside the prison, while the prisoners was at chapel,
until dinner time. My dinner did not arrive until 4-0
o&rsquo;clock, which is called late dinner, consisting of rice
pudding, black currants, chicken, vegetables, potatoes,
bread, and the usual teetotal beverages. I tried to
make the best of it, but all that I could do was to look
at it, as my appetite was gone; but I managed to eat a
little before going to roost for the last night....<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>
I retired at 10-0 on Sunday, but only had cat naps all
night, one eye shut and the other open, thinking and
fancying things that never will be, and which is
impossible. I was dressed and up at 5-0 a.m.; and felt
more dead than alive as I had such a responsible part
to play in the programme for the day. I fancied the
ropes breaking; I fancied I was trembling, and could
not do it; I fancied I fell sick just at the last push. I
was nearly frantic in my mind, but I never let them
know. 6-0 a.m. arrived. I heard the sound of the
keys, clattering of doors, sliding of bolts. Breakfast
had to be served earlier than usual. No prisoner
allowed out of his cell until all was over. The public
had begun to assemble on Calton Hill in groups. 7-0
a.m. arrived. I made my way to the scaffold, made
my arrangements secure, and cleared the scaffold shed,
the principal warder locking the door, not to be opened
again until the procession enters for the great event of
the day.... At 7-45 the living group wended
their way to the prison, and into the doctor&rsquo;s room,
ready for the last scene of the drama. The prisoners
were brought face to face for the first time since their
conviction. They kissed each other; and the scene
was a very painful one, to see mates going to meet
their end on the gallows. They were conducted to
the room adjoining the doctor&rsquo;s room, and were in
prayer with the two ministers in attendance after 8-5.
I was called to do my duty. I was handed the warrant,
which was made out by the judge who condemned
them to die. I then proceeded to pinion the prisoners,
previously shaking hands, bidding good-bye to this
world. Both men seemed to feel the position very
much. The procession was formed, headed by the
High Bailiff, the Chaplain reading the litany for the
dead. Both the prisoners walked without assistance to
place of execution; they was at once placed under the
beam on the drop, where everything was done as quick
as lightning, and both culprits paid the highest penalty
of the law.... The magistrates, and doctors,
and even the pressmen, admitted that the execution of
the two men had been carried out in an humane
manner as possibly could be, and that the poor fellows<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>
had not suffered the slightest pain in going through the
execution; doctors giving me a testimonial as to the
skilful way I had carried out the execution. 9-0 a.m.,
my breakfast arrived; and I was so much affected by
the sad sight I had witnessed, that I had no appetite,
but just merely drank a cup of coffee; but eating was
out of the question.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>As this was my first execution, I was naturally
anxious to have an assurance from my employers that
it had been satisfactorily carried out. The magistrates,
the governor, and the surgeons all signified their satisfaction,
in the following terms:&mdash;</p>

<blockquote>

<div class="right">
<p class="ilb center">City Chambers, Edinburgh,<br />
<i>1st May, 1884.</i></p></div>

<p>We, the Magistrates who were charged with
seeing the sentence of death carried into effect, on
the 31st March last, on Robert F. Vickers and
William Innes, in the Prison of Edinburgh, hereby
certify that James Berry, of Bradford, who acted as
Executioner, performed his duties in a thoroughly
efficient manner; and that his conduct during the time
he was here was in every way satisfactory.</p>

<div class="right"><p class="ilb left"><span class="smcap">George Roberts</span>, Magistrate.<br />
<span class="smcap">Thomas Clark</span>, Magistrate.
</p></div></blockquote>

<blockquote class="p2">

<div class="right">
<p class="ilb center">H.M. Prison, Edinburgh,<br />
<i>31 March, 1884.</i></p></div>

<p>I hereby certify that Mr. James Berry, assisted
by Mr. Richard Chester, carried out a double
Execution in this Prison on this date, and that the
whole of his arrangements were gone about in a most
satisfactory and skilful manner; and, further, that
the conduct of Messrs. Berry and Chester, during
the four days that they resided here, has been all
that could be desired.</p>

<div class="right"><p class="ilb center"><span class="smcap">J. E. Christie</span>,
Governor of H.M. Prison.
</p></div></blockquote>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p>

<blockquote class="p2">

<p class="right">
Edinburgh, <i>31st March, 1884</i>.
</p>

<p>We hereby certify that we have this day witnessed
the Execution of Vickers and Innes, and examined
their bodies. We are of opinion that the Execution
of these men was admirably managed; and that the
Executioner Berry and his Assistant conducted themselves
in a cool, business-like manner, to our entire
satisfaction; death being instantaneous.</p>

<div class="right"><div class="ilb left"><p><span class="smcap">James A. Sidey</span>, M.D.,<br />
Surgeon to H.M. Prison of Edinburgh.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Henry D. Littlejohn</span>, M.D.,<br />
Surgeon of Police.
</p></div></div>
</blockquote>

<p>I fear it seems like self-praise to publish these
&ldquo;testimonials,&rdquo; but my work is so often maligned in
common conversation, that I feel that it is a duty to
give the opinions of a few of the men on the spot, who
are most competent to judge of the matter. I believe
that in every case where I have conducted an execution,
the authorities have been perfectly satisfied, and I could
produce numerous letters to that effect, but I will
content myself with one, from the prison where I have
had the greatest number of executions. It is dated a
few years ago, but it would be endorsed now, and such
testimony is very gratifying to me.</p>

<blockquote>

<div class="right"><p class="ilb center">
Strangeways Prison,<br />
<i>11th June, 1887</i>.
</p></div>

<p>During the period Mr. James Berry has been
public Executioner he has always given satisfaction
at this Prison in carrying out Capital Sentences, and
his conduct has been marked by firmness and discretion.</p>

<p class="right"><span class="smcap">J. H. Purton</span>, Jr.
</p></blockquote>

<div class="enddeco">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-end4.png" width="191" height="28" alt="" />
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p>

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a><br />
<span class="smaller">My Method of Execution.<br />
CALCULATIONS AND APPARATUS.</span></h2>

<div class="drop">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-dropm.png" width="74" height="77" alt="M" />
</div>
<p class="afterdrop"><span class="fstwd"><span class="hidden">M</span>y</span> method of execution is the outcome of the
experience of my predecessors and myself,
aided by suggestions from the doctors, and is
rather the result of gradual growth than the invention
of any one man.</p>

<h3>The Drop.</h3>

<p>The matter which requires the greatest attention in
connection with an execution is the allowance of a suitable
drop for each person executed, and the adjustment of
this matter is not nearly so simple as an outsider would
imagine.</p>

<p>It is, of course, necessary that the drop should be of
sufficient length to cause instantaneous death, that is to
say, to cause death by dislocation rather than by strangulation;
and on the other hand, the drop must not be
so great as to outwardly mutilate the victim. If all
murderers who have to be hanged were of precisely the
same weight and build it would be very easy to find out
the most suitable length of drop, and always to give
the same, but as a matter of fact they vary enormously.</p>

<p>In the earliest days of hanging it was the practice
for the executioner to place his noose round the victim&rsquo;s
neck, and then to haul upon the other end of the rope,
which was passed through a ring on the scaffold pole
until the culprit was strangled, without any drop at all.
After a while the drop system was introduced, but the
length of drop given was never more than three feet, so
that death was still generally caused by strangulation,
and not by dislocation, as it is at present. One after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>
another, all our English executioners followed the same
plan without thought of change or improvement, until
Mr. Marwood took the appointment. He, as a humane
man, carefully considered the subject, and came to the
conclusion that the then existing method, though certain,
was not so rapid or painless as it ought to be. In
consequence he introduced his long-drop system with a
fall of from seven to ten feet, which caused instantaneous
death by severance of the spinal cord. I was slightly
acquainted with Mr. Marwood before his death, and I
had gained some particulars of his method from conversation
with him; so that when I undertook my first
execution, at Edinburgh, I naturally worked upon his
lines. This first commission was to execute Robert
Vickers and William Innes, two miners who were condemned
to death for the murder of two game-keepers.
The respective weights were 10 stone 4 lbs. and 9 stone
6 lbs., and I gave them drops of 8 ft. 6 in. and 10 ft.
respectively. In both cases death was instantaneous,
and the prison surgeon gave me a testimonial to the
effect that the execution was satisfactory in every
respect. Upon this experience I based a table of weights
and drops. Taking a man of 14 stones as a basis, and
giving him a drop of 8 ft., which is what I thought
necessary, I calculated that every half-stone lighter
weight would require a two inches longer drop, and the
full table, as I entered it in my books at the time, stood
as follows:&mdash;</p>

<table summary="Old drop table">
<tr><td class="tdl">14</td>
<td class="tdc">stones</td>
<td class="padl tdr">8&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">ft.</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;0&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">in.</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdl">13½</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">8&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;2&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdl">13</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">8&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;4&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdl">12½</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">8&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;6&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdl">12</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">8&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;8&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdl">11½</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">8&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;10&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdl">11</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">9&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;0&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdl">10½</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">9&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;2&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdl">10</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">9&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;4&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdl">&#8199;9½</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">9&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;6&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdl">&#8199;9</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">9&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;8&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdl">&#8199;8½</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">9&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;10&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdl">&#8199;8</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">10&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;0&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>
</table>

<p>This table I calculated for persons of what I might call<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>
&ldquo;average&rdquo; build, but it could not by any means be
rigidly adhered to with safety. For instance, I have
more than once had to execute persons who had
attempted suicide by cutting their throats, or who had
been otherwise wounded about the neck, and to prevent
re-opening the wounds I have reduced the drop by
nearly half. Again, in the case of persons of very
fleshy build, who often have weak bones and muscles
about the neck, I have reduced the drop by a quarter
or half of the distance indicated by the table. If I had
not done so, no doubt two or three of those whom I
have executed would have had their heads entirely
jerked off,&mdash;which did occur in one case to which I
shall again refer. In the case of persons with scrofulous
tendencies it is especially necessary that the fall should
be unusually short, and in these cases I have at times
received useful hints from the gaol doctors.</p>

<p>Until November 30th, 1885, I worked to the scale
already given, but on that date I had the awful experience
above referred to, which caused me to reconsider
the whole subject and to construct a general table on
what I believe to be a truly scientific basis. The
experience referred to is dealt with in another chapter.
The man with whom it occurred was Robert Goodale,
whom I executed at Norwich Castle. He weighed 15
stones, and the drop indicated by the first table would
therefore be 7 ft. 8 in., but in consequence of his appearance
I reduced it to 5 ft. 9 in., because the muscles of
his neck did not appear well developed and strong.
But even this, as it turned out, was not short enough,
and the result was one of the most horrible mishaps
that I have ever had. As will be seen from the full
report of this case, in another chapter, the coroner
exonerated me from all blame and testified to the careful
way in which I had done my work; but I felt that it
was most necessary to take every possible precaution
against the recurrence of such an affair. I, therefore,
worked out a table of the striking force of falling bodies
of various weights falling through different distances;
which table I give on <a href="#Page_34">page 34</a>. Working with
this, I calculate that an &ldquo;average&rdquo; man, of any weight,
requires a fall that will finish with a striking force of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>
24 cwt., and if the convict seems to require less, I
mentally estimate the striking force that is necessary,
and then by referring to the table I can instantly find
the length of drop required. To see how this new table
works out we may take the case of Robert Goodale
again. As he weighed 15 stones his striking force with
a drop of 2 feet would be 21 cwt. 21 lbs., or with a drop
of 3 feet 26 cwt. 7 lbs., so that if he were a man of
ordinary build the drop necessary would be 2 ft. 6 in.
As I estimated from his appearance that his drop ought
to have been about one-sixth less than the standard, I
should have given him, working on this new table, about
2 ft. 1 in. instead of the 5 ft. 9 in. which was actually
given. This is an extreme case, with a very heavy man,
but all through the table it will be found that the drop
works out shorter than in the first table. For instance,
Vickers and Innes, the two Edinburgh murderers previously
referred to would have had their drops reduced
from 8 ft. 6 in. and 10 ft. to 5 ft. 6 in. and 7 ft.
respectively if they had been treated according to the
present revised table.</p>

<p>On August 20th, 1891, at Kirkdale Gaol, Liverpool,
at the execution of John Conway, an attempt was
made to dictate to me the length of drop, and a
most unfortunate scene ensued. From seeing the
convict, Conway, I had decided that the drop ought
to be 4 ft. 6 in., a little under the scale rate; and
I was surprised and annoyed at being told by Dr.
Barr, acting, I believe, under authority, that I was to
give a drop of 6 ft. 9 in. I said that it would pull the
man&rsquo;s head off altogether, and finally refused to go on
with the execution if such a long drop were given. Dr.
Barr then measured off a shorter drop, some ten or
twelve inches shorter, but still much longer than I
thought necessary, and I reluctantly agreed to go on.
The result, everyone knows. The drop was not so long
as to absolutely pull off the victim&rsquo;s head, but it ruptured
the principal blood-vessels of the neck.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p>

<h3>SCALE SHOWING THE STRIKING FORCE OF FALLING BODIES
AT DIFFERENT DISTANCES.</h3>

<table summary="Striking force Part 1" class="ruled">
<tr><th>Distance<br />Falling<br />in Feet<br />Zero</th>
<th>8 Stone</th>
<th>9 Stone</th>
<th>10 Stone</th>
<th>11 Stone</th></tr>
<tr class="toprow"><td>&nbsp;</td>
<td>Cw.&nbsp;Qr.&nbsp;lb.</td>
<td>Cw.&nbsp;Qr.&nbsp;lb.</td>
<td>Cw.&nbsp;Qr.&nbsp;lb.</td>
<td>Cw.&nbsp;Qr.&nbsp;lb.</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;1&nbsp;Ft.</td>
<td>&#8199;8&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td>
<td>&#8199;9&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td>
<td>10&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td>
<td>11&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;2&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>11&nbsp;&nbsp;1&nbsp;&nbsp;15</td>
<td>12&nbsp;&nbsp;2&nbsp;&nbsp;23</td>
<td>14&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;14</td>
<td>15&nbsp;&nbsp;2&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;4</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;3&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>13&nbsp;&nbsp;3&nbsp;&nbsp;16</td>
<td>15&nbsp;&nbsp;2&nbsp;&nbsp;15</td>
<td>17&nbsp;&nbsp;1&nbsp;&nbsp;14</td>
<td>19&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;12</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;4&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>16&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td>
<td>18&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td>
<td>20&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td>
<td>22&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;5&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>17&nbsp;&nbsp;2&nbsp;&nbsp;11</td>
<td>19&nbsp;&nbsp;3&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;5</td>
<td>22&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td>
<td>24&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;22</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;6&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>19&nbsp;&nbsp;2&nbsp;&nbsp;11</td>
<td>22&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;5</td>
<td>24&nbsp;&nbsp;2&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td>
<td>26&nbsp;&nbsp;3&nbsp;&nbsp;22</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;7&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>21&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;22</td>
<td>23&nbsp;&nbsp;3&nbsp;&nbsp;11</td>
<td>26&nbsp;&nbsp;2&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td>
<td>29&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;16</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;8&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>22&nbsp;&nbsp;2&nbsp;&nbsp;22</td>
<td>25&nbsp;&nbsp;2&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;4</td>
<td>28&nbsp;&nbsp;1&nbsp;&nbsp;14</td>
<td>31&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;23</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;9&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>24&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;11</td>
<td>27&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;12</td>
<td>30&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;14</td>
<td>33&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;23</td></tr>
<tr class="bottomrow"><td class="tdl padl">10&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>25&nbsp;&nbsp;1&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;5</td>
<td>28&nbsp;&nbsp;1&nbsp;&nbsp;23</td>
<td>31&nbsp;&nbsp;2&nbsp;&nbsp;14</td>
<td>34&nbsp;&nbsp;3&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;4</td></tr>
</table>

<table summary="Striking force Part 2" class="ruled">
<tr><th>Distance<br />Falling<br />in Feet<br />Zero</th>
<th>12 Stone</th>
<th>13 Stone</th>
<th>14 Stone</th>
<th>15 Stone</th></tr>
<tr class="toprow"><td>&nbsp;</td>
<td>Cw.&nbsp;Qr.&nbsp;lb.</td>
<td>Cw.&nbsp;Qr.&nbsp;lb.</td>
<td>Cw.&nbsp;Qr.&nbsp;lb.</td>
<td>Cw.&nbsp;Qr.&nbsp;lb.</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;1&nbsp;Ft.</td>
<td>12&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td>
<td>13&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td>
<td>14&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td>
<td>15&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;2&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>16&nbsp;&nbsp;3&nbsp;&nbsp;22</td>
<td>18&nbsp;&nbsp;1&nbsp;&nbsp;12</td>
<td>19&nbsp;&nbsp;3&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;2</td>
<td>21&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;21</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;3&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>20&nbsp;&nbsp;3&nbsp;&nbsp;11</td>
<td>22&nbsp;&nbsp;2&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;9</td>
<td>24&nbsp;&nbsp;1&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;8</td>
<td>26&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;7</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;4&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>24&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td>
<td>26&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td>
<td>28&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td>
<td>30&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;5&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>26&nbsp;&nbsp;1&nbsp;&nbsp;16</td>
<td>28&nbsp;&nbsp;2&nbsp;&nbsp;11</td>
<td>30&nbsp;&nbsp;3&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;5</td>
<td>33&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;6&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>29&nbsp;&nbsp;1&nbsp;&nbsp;16</td>
<td>31&nbsp;&nbsp;3&nbsp;nbsp;&nbsp;11</td>
<td>34&nbsp;&nbsp;1&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;5</td>
<td>36&nbsp;&nbsp;3&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;7&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>31&nbsp;&nbsp;3&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;5</td>
<td>34&nbsp;&nbsp;1&nbsp;&nbsp;22</td>
<td>37&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;11</td>
<td>39&nbsp;&nbsp;3&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;8&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>34&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;5</td>
<td>36&nbsp;&nbsp;3&nbsp;&nbsp;15</td>
<td>39&nbsp;&nbsp;2&nbsp;&nbsp;25</td>
<td>42&nbsp;&nbsp;2&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;7</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;9&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>36&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;16</td>
<td>39&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;18</td>
<td>42&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;19</td>
<td>45&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;21</td></tr>
<tr class="bottomrow"><td class="tdl padl">10&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>37&nbsp;&nbsp;3&nbsp;&nbsp;22</td>
<td>41&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;12</td>
<td>44&nbsp;&nbsp;1&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;2</td>
<td>47&nbsp;&nbsp;1&nbsp;&nbsp;21</td></tr>
</table>

<table summary="Striking force Part 3" class="ruled">
<tr><th>Distance<br />Falling<br />in Feet<br />Zero</th>
<th>16 Stone</th>
<th>17 Stone</th>
<th>18 Stone</th>
<th>19 Stone</th></tr>
<tr class="toprow"><td>&nbsp;</td>
<td>Cw.&nbsp;Qr.&nbsp;lb.</td>
<td>Cw.&nbsp;Qr.&nbsp;lb.</td>
<td>Cw.&nbsp;Qr.&nbsp;lb.</td>
<td>Cw.&nbsp;Qr.&nbsp;lb.</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;1&nbsp;Ft.</td>
<td>16&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td>
<td>17&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td>
<td>18&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td>
<td>19&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;2&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>22&nbsp;&nbsp;2&nbsp;&nbsp;11</td>
<td>24&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;1</td>
<td>25&nbsp;&nbsp;1&nbsp;&nbsp;19</td>
<td>26&nbsp;&nbsp;3&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;9</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;3&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>27&nbsp;&nbsp;3&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;5</td>
<td>29&nbsp;&nbsp;2&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;4</td>
<td>31&nbsp;&nbsp;1&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;2</td>
<td>33&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;1</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;4&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>32&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td>
<td>34&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td>
<td>36&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td>
<td>40&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;0</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;5&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>35&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;22</td>
<td>37&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;16</td>
<td>39&nbsp;&nbsp;2&nbsp;&nbsp;11</td>
<td>41&nbsp;&nbsp;3&nbsp;&nbsp;15</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;6&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>39&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;22</td>
<td>41&nbsp;&nbsp;2&nbsp;&nbsp;16</td>
<td>44&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;11</td>
<td>46&nbsp;&nbsp;2&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;5</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;7&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>42&nbsp;&nbsp;1&nbsp;&nbsp;16</td>
<td>45&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;5</td>
<td>47&nbsp;&nbsp;2&nbsp;&nbsp;22</td>
<td>50&nbsp;&nbsp;1&nbsp;&nbsp;11</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;8&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>45&nbsp;&nbsp;1&nbsp;&nbsp;16</td>
<td>48&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;26</td>
<td>51&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;8</td>
<td>53&nbsp;&nbsp;3&nbsp;&nbsp;18</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl padl">&#8199;9&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>48&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;22</td>
<td>51&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;23</td>
<td>54&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;25</td>
<td>57&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;26</td></tr>
<tr class="bottomrow"><td class="tdl padl">10&nbsp;&nbsp;"</td>
<td>50&nbsp;&nbsp;2&nbsp;&nbsp;11</td>
<td>53&nbsp;&nbsp;3&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;1</td>
<td>56&nbsp;&nbsp;3&nbsp;&nbsp;19</td>
<td>60&nbsp;&nbsp;0&nbsp;&nbsp;&#8199;9</td></tr>
</table>

<p>I do not know who was really responsible for the
interference with my calculation, but do not think that
the long drop was Dr. Barr&rsquo;s own idea, as the drop
which I suggested was on the same system as he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>
previously commended, and was almost identical with
the drop that would have worked out on the basis of his
own recommendation in a letter to the <i>Times</i> some years
ago. Dr. Barr&rsquo;s letter to me, written in 1884, was as
follows:&mdash;</p>

<blockquote>

<div class="right"><p class="ilb center">
1, St. Domingo Grove,<br />
Everton,<br />
Liverpool, <i>Sept. 2nd, 1884</i>.
</p></div>

<p>Sir,</p>

<p>In compliance with your request I have pleasure
in giving you a certificate as to the manner in which
you conducted the execution of Peter Cassidy in H.M.
Prison, Kirkdale. I may now report the statement
which I gave in evidence at the Inquest, &ldquo;that I had
never seen an execution more satisfactorily performed.&rdquo;
This was very gratifying to me.</p>

<p>Your rope was of excellent quality; fine, soft,
pliable, and strong. You adjusted the ring, directed
forwards in the manner in which I have recommended
in my pamphlet, &ldquo;Judicial Hanging.&rdquo; You gave a
sufficient length of drop, considering the weight of
the culprit, and completely dislocated the cervical
vertebræ between the atlas and axis (first and second
vertebræ). I have reckoned that the weight of the
criminal, multiplied by the length of the drop, might
range from 1120 to 1260 foot pounds, and I have
calculated that this <i>vis viva</i> in the case of Cassidy
amounted to 1140 foot pounds.</p>

<p>The pinioning and other details were carried
out with due decorum, I hope, whoever be appointed
to the post of public Executioner, may be prohibited
from also performing the part of a &ldquo;showman&rdquo; to
gratify a depraved and morbid public curiosity.</p>

<div class="right"><p class="ilb center"><span class="smcap">James Barr</span>, M.D.,<br />
Medical Officer, H.M. Prison, Kirkdale.
</p></div>

<p>To Mr. James Berry.</p></blockquote>

<p>A few days after Conway&rsquo;s execution I received a
letter from a gentleman in the South of London, shortly
followed by a second letter, and as they throw some
useful light upon the subject I give them in full&mdash;omitting
the writer&rsquo;s name, as he does not wish it to be published.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p>

<blockquote>

<p class="right">
<i>August 22nd, 1891.</i></p>

<p class="center"><i>Re</i> the Execution at Kirkdale.
</p>

<p>Sir,</p>

<p>As the accident attending the execution on the
20th inst. at Kirkdale may be falsely, and very
unjustly, charged to your account, and at the same
time be brought forward by a mass of misguided
people as a reason for the total abolition of capital
punishment, I think the following remarks on the
subject of hanging may not be out of place.</p>

<p>Some years ago, Dr. James Barr, medical officer
at Kirkdale Gaol, published a letter in the <i>Times</i>
regarding what he considered the proper length of
drop. He said that the length of drop ought to be such
as to produce a momentum of 2600 lbs., meaning by
&ldquo;momentum,&rdquo; the convict&rsquo;s weight multiplied by the
velocity of his descent at the end of the fall. Now,
in estimating the convict&rsquo;s weight, I conceive that you
ought to leave out the weight (as far as you can guess
it) of his head, because the weight of his head is
supported by the noose when the jerk takes place,
and, therefore, cannot affect the amount of pull, or
strain, on the neck. From what Dr. Barr says
regarding the 2600 lbs. momentum, it is easy, by a
little mathematics, to deduce the following rule.</p>

<p>To find length of drop in feet, divide the
number 412 by the square of the convict&rsquo;s weight of
body in stones.</p>

<p>By the above rule I constructed the following
table:&mdash;</p>

<table summary="New drop table">
<tr><th colspan="2">Weight of body<br />without head.</th>
<th colspan="4" class="padl">Length<br />of drop.</th></tr>
<tr><td class="tdr">15</td>
<td class="tdl">&nbsp;stones</td>
<td class="padl tdr">1&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">ft.</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;10&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">in.</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">14</td>
<td class="padl tdl">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">2&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;2&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">13</td>
<td class="padl tdl">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">2&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;6&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">12</td>
<td class="padl tdl">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">2&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;11&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">11</td>
<td class="padl tdl">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">3&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;5&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">10</td>
<td class="padl tdl">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">4&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;2&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">9</td>
<td class="padl tdl">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">5&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;1&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">8</td>
<td class="padl tdl">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">6&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;6&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">7</td>
<td class="padl tdl">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">8&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;5&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>
</table>

<p>Convict Conway&rsquo;s weight, you are reported to
have said, was 11 stones 2 lbs. Leaving 1 stone for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>
the weight of his head, which is perhaps more than
sufficient, his hanging weight would be 10 stones 2
lbs, so that a drop of 4 feet and a few inches<a name="FNanchor_2" id="FNanchor_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a> would
have been, according to the doctor&rsquo;s rule, quite
enough for him. Regarding the value of the rule, I
am, of course, unable to speak; nor do I know, from
what I remember of the doctor&rsquo;s letter, that he meant
the 2600 lbs. momentum to apply in all cases. Much
depends on the convict&rsquo;s build, strength of neck, etc.</p>

<p class="right">Yours truly,<br />
X. Y.
</p></blockquote>

<p class="center">(Second letter.)
</p>

<blockquote>

<p class="right">
<i>August 25th, 1891.</i></p>

<p class="center"><i>Re</i> the Execution at Kirkdale.
</p>

<p>Sir,</p>

<p>In constructing the table I sent you two days
ago, I find that I have made an absurd mistake. It
arose from my carelessly taking a stone weight as 16
lbs., instead of 14 lbs., which I beg you to allow me
correct. Instead of the number 412, I ought to have
given the number 539. The corrected rule based on
Dr. Barr&rsquo;s momentum of 2600 lbs. is, therefore, as
follows:&mdash;Length of drop, in feet, is found by dividing
the number 539 by the square of the number of stones
in weight of convict&rsquo;s body, exclusive of the weight of
his head. Thus, if a convict weighs 11 stones altogether,
and we take his head as 1 stone, we have
length of drop = 539/100 = 5·39 feet (5 ft. 5 in. nearly).</p>

<p>The table, corrected, stands thus:&mdash;</p>

<table summary="XYs drop table">
<tr><th colspan="2">Weight of body<br />without head.</th>
<th colspan="4" class="padl">Length<br />of drop.</th></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">15</td>
<td class="tdl">&nbsp;stones</td>
<td class="padl tdr">2&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">ft.</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;5&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">in.</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">14</td>
<td class="padl tdl">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">2&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;9&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">13</td>
<td class="padl tdl">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">3&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;2&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">12</td>
<td class="padl tdl">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">3&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;9&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">11</td>
<td class="padl tdl">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">4&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;6&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">10</td>
<td class="padl tdl">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">5&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;5&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">9</td>
<td class="padl tdl">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">6&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;8&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">8</td>
<td class="padl tdl">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">8&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;3&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">7</td>
<td class="padl tdl">"</td>
<td class="padl tdr">11&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td>
<td class="tdr">&nbsp;0&nbsp;</td>
<td class="tdc">"</td></tr>
</table>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p>

<p>In allowing, in the case of convict Conway, who
weighed 11 stones 2 lbs., 1 stone for the head, I may
be allowing too much; it is a mere guess. If his
head weighed 9 lbs., the drop ought to have been
4 ft. 10 in.</p>

<p class="right">Yours truly,<br />
X. Y.
</p>

<p class="hanging">P.S.&mdash;A mistake of 3 or 4 lbs. in estimating weight
of head makes, you will see, a considerable error
in calculating the drop.</p></blockquote>

<p>It will be seen that this calculation, which does not
include the weight of the head in a man&rsquo;s hanging
weight, works out the drop to a rather greater length
than my own table, but the difference is only small, and
I have always found my own table give quite sufficient
drop.</p>

<h3>The Rope.</h3>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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, &frac34; 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 &#8541; 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 hardening<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>
which it undergoes in the testing makes it far more
&ldquo;fit&rdquo; and satisfactory for its work than a new, unused
rope would be.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 attempted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>
suicide 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.</p>

<h3>Pinioning Straps, Etc.</h3>

<p>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&rsquo;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.</p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_041.png" width="488" height="600" alt="" />
<p class="caption">Plan and elevation of the Drop.</p>
</div>

<h3>The Scaffold.</h3>

<p>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&rsquo;
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 actual<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>
practice. The design is supplied to the authorities of
any gaol where a scaffold is to be erected, from the
Engineers&rsquo; 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 used<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>
on 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 marked <span class="smallnb">A A</span> and <span class="smallnb">B B</span> on the plan. The door
<span class="smallnb">A A</span> is hung on three strong hinges, marked <span class="smallnb">C C C</span>, which
are continued under the door <span class="smallnb">B B</span>. When the trap is
set the ends of these long hinges rest on a draw-bar <span class="smallnb">E E</span>,
as shown in the plan. The draw-bar is of iron, 1¼ in.
square, sliding in strong iron staples, <span class="smallnb">F F F</span>, which fit it
exactly. When the lever <span class="smallnb">D</span> is 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 openings <span class="smallnb">H H H</span>, and the two doors fall. To
set the trap the door <span class="smallnb">B B</span> has 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&mdash;for
they are of three inch oak&mdash;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.</p>

<div class="enddeco">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-end5.png" width="138" height="29" alt="" />
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_043.png" width="600" height="335" alt="" />
<p class="caption">Newgate.</p>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a><br /><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p>

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a><br />
<span class="smaller">My Method of Execution.<br />
THE PROCEEDINGS.</span></h2>

<div class="drop">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-dropt.png" width="73" height="76" alt="T" />
</div>
<p class="afterdrop"><span class="fstwd"><span class="hidden">T</span>he</span> hour 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&rsquo;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 &ldquo;authority to
hang,&rdquo; 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 &ldquo;wherefores&rdquo;
and &ldquo;whatsoevers&rdquo; in which the law delights.
But usually it is a simple, official-looking form,
engrossed by the gaol clerk, and running somewhat as
follows:&mdash;</p>

<blockquote>

<p class="center">
<i>To JAMES BERRY.</i>
</p>

<p><i>I, &mdash;&mdash;, of &mdash;&mdash;, in the County of &mdash;&mdash;,
Esquire, Sheriff of the said County of &mdash;&mdash;, do hereby
authorise you to hang A&mdash;&mdash; B&mdash;&mdash;, who now lies
under Sentence of Death in Her Majesty&rsquo;s Prison at
&mdash;&mdash;.</i></p>

<p class="center"><i>Dated this &mdash;&mdash; day of &mdash;&mdash;, &mdash;&mdash;.</i></p>

<p class="right"><i>&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;, Sheriff.</i>
</p></blockquote>

<p>This is folded in three, and endorsed outside.</p>

<div class="aspara center">
<div class="ilb">
<div class="left"><i>Re A&mdash;&mdash; B&mdash;&mdash;.</i></div>
<div class="left i4 ri4"><i>Authority to Hang.</i></div>
<div class="right ri4"><i>&mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;, Sheriff,</i></div>
<div class="right"><i>&mdash;&mdash;shire.</i></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p>

<p>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&rsquo;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.</p>

<p>As soon as the pinioning is done, a procession is
formed, generally in the following order:&mdash;</p>

<div class="aspara center">
<div>Chief Warder.</div>
<div>Warder.<span class="gap2">&nbsp;</span>Warder.</div>
<div class="valm">Warder.<span class="gap2"><span class="ilb brace">&#9136;<br />&#9137;</span><span class="ilb">Chaplain.<br />Convict.</span><span class="ilb brace">&#9137;<br />&#9136;</span></span>Warder.</div>
<div>Executioner.</div>
<div>Principal Warder.<span class="gap">&nbsp;</span>Principal Warder.</div>
<div>Warder.<span class="gap">&nbsp;</span>Warder.</div>
<div>Governor and Sheriff.</div>
<div>Wand Bearer.<span class="gap">&nbsp;</span>Wand Bearer.</div>
<div>Gaol Surgeon and Attendant.</div>
</div>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>
then 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&rsquo;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.</p>

<p>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 being <i>bona fide</i> would be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>
refused admission even if he presented his ticket, I
think that every real objection would be met.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<blockquote>

<p class="center">COUNTY OF OXFORD.</p>

<h3><span class="smcap">EXECUTION of CHARLES SMITH for MURDER.</span></h3>

<p class="center">(The Capital Punishment Amendment Act, 1868.)</p>

<p>Copies are subjoined of the official declaration
that judgement of death has been executed; and of the
Surgeon&rsquo;s certificate of the death of Charles Smith.</p>

<div class="right">
<p class="ilb center"><span class="smcap">Thomas M. Davenport</span>,<br />
Under-Sheriff of the County of Oxford.
</p></div>

<p>9th May, 1887.</p>

<h3>OFFICIAL DECLARATION.</h3>

<p>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&rsquo;s Prison at Oxford.</p>

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

<p><span class="smcap">Thomas M. Davenport</span>, Under-Sheriff of Oxfordshire.<br />
<span class="smcap">H. B. Isaacson</span>, Governor of the Prison.<br />
<span class="smcap">J. K. Newton</span>, Chaplain of the Prison.<br />
<span class="smcap">J. Riordon</span>, Chief Warder of the Prison.<br />
<span class="smcap">Henry Ives</span>, Sheriff&rsquo;s Officer.<br />
<span class="smcap">Thos. Wm. Austin</span>, Reporter, <i>Oxford Journal</i>.<br />
<span class="smcap">Robert Brazies</span>, Reporter, <i>Oxford Chronicle</i>.<br />
<span class="smcap">Joseph Henry Warner</span>, Reporter, <i>Oxford Times</i>.<br />
<span class="smcap">J. Lansbury</span>, Warder.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p>

<h3>SURGICAL CERTIFICATE.</h3>

<p>I, <span class="smcap">Henry Banks Spencer</span>, the Surgeon of Her
Majesty&rsquo;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.</p>

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

<div class="right"><p class="ilb left"><span class="smcap">Henry B. Spencer</span>,<br />
<span class="i2">Surgeon of the Prison.</span>
</p>
</div></blockquote>

<div class="enddeco">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-end6.png" width="81" height="133" alt="" />
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p>

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a><br />
<span class="smaller">Other Methods of Execution.</span></h2>

<div class="drop">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-dropf.png" width="71" height="75" alt="F" />
</div>
<p class="afterdrop"><span class="fstwd"><span class="hidden">F</span>rom</span> time 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.</p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_050.png" width="312" height="377" alt="" />
<p class="caption">English Axe and Block, now in the Tower of London.</p>
</div>

<p>Of methods of execution that have been suggested
as substitutes for hanging, there are some which hardly
deserve consideration, because there is no considerable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>
number 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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.</p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_051.png" width="512" height="130" alt="" />
<p class="caption">Executioner&rsquo;s Sword, Canton.</p>
</div>

<p>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. In<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>
any 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.</p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_052.png" width="353" height="368" alt="" />
<p class="caption">The Guillotine.</p>
</div>

<p>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 severs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>
the 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.</p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_053.png" width="349" height="600" alt="" />
<p class="caption">The Garotte.</p>
</div>

<p>The American system of hanging, which has been
recently superseded by electrocution, was but a slight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>
modification 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.</p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_054.png" width="317" height="342" alt="" />
<p class="caption">Old Methods.</p>
</div>

<p>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&mdash;as the Americans call it&mdash;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 do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>
not 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

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

<table summary="Means of execution" class="valt">
<tr><td class="tdl">Austria</td>
<td class="tdhp">Hanging, public.</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">Bavaria</td>
<td class="tdhp">Guillotine, private.</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">Belgium</td>
<td class="tdhp">Guillotine, public.</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">Brunswick</td>
<td class="tdhp">Axe, private.</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">China</td>
<td class="tdhp">Sword or bow-string, public.</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">Denmark</td>
<td class="tdhp">Guillotine, public.</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">France</td>
<td class="tdhp">Guillotine, nominally public; but really
so surrounded by cordons of gens
d&rsquo;armes, &amp;c., as to be virtually
private.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">Germany</td>
<td class="tdhp">Sword or hanging, private.</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">Hanover</td>
<td class="tdhp">Guillotine, private.</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">Italy</td>
<td class="tdhp">No capital punishment.</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">Netherlands</td>
<td class="tdhp">Hanging, public.</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">Portugal</td>
<td class="tdhp">Hanging, public.</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">Prussia</td>
<td class="tdhp">Sword, private.</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">Russia</td>
<td class="tdhp">Rifle shot, hanging or sword, public;
but capital punishment is practically
abolished except for political offences.</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">Spain</td>
<td class="tdhp">Garotte, public.</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">Switzerland</td>
<td class="tdhp">Fifteen cantons, sword, public. Two
cantons, guillotine, public. Two
cantons, guillotine, private.</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">United&nbsp;States</td>
<td class="tdhp">New York State, electric shock, private.
Other states, hanging, private.</td></tr>
</table>

<div class="enddeco">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-end2s.png" width="82" height="166" alt="" />
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_057.png" width="600" height="420" alt="" />
<p class="caption">Wandsworth Gaol (after an execution).</p>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a><br /><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p>

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a><br />
<span class="smaller">Two Terrible Experiences.</span></h2>

<div class="drop">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-dropt.png" width="73" height="76" alt="T" />
</div>
<p class="afterdrop"><span class="fstwd"><span class="hidden">T</span>he</span> whole of the duties of an executioner are
unpleasant, but there are exceptional incidents
occurring at times, which stand out upon the
tablet of one&rsquo;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 &ldquo;My
Method of Execution.&rdquo;</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>Lee was found guilty of the murder of Miss Keyse,
in whose house at Babbacombe he was employed as a
servant. Eight o&rsquo;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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p>

<blockquote>

<p class="right">
Executioner&rsquo;s Office,<br />
1, Bilton Place, City Road,<br />
Bradford, Yorks.,<br />
<i>4th March, 1885.</i>
</p>

<p class="center"><i>Re</i> <span class="smcap">John Lee</span>.
</p>

<p>Sir,</p>

<p>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&rsquo;clock exactly. I was shown to the Governor&rsquo;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&rsquo;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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>
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&rsquo;clock on the morning of
Monday the 23rd ultimo.</p>

<p>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&rsquo;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&mdash;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 examina<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>tion
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.</p>

<p>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&rsquo;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.</p>

<div class="aspara">
<div class="center">I am, Sir,</div>
<div class="right">Your obedient Servant,<br />
<span class="smcap">James Berry</span>.</div></div>

<p>
Henry M. James, Esq.,<br />
<span class="i2">Under-Sheriff of Devon,</span><br />
<span class="i4">The Close, Exeter.</span>
</p></blockquote>

<p>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 was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>
at 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&rsquo;s system.
This table, and some particulars of Goodale&rsquo;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 &ldquo;<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">My Method of Execution</a>.&rdquo; 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&mdash;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&rsquo;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.</p>

<p>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 hanged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>
one 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:&mdash;&ldquo;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.&rdquo;
After this the evidence of the Gaol Surgeon was
taken, and the jury returned a verdict to the effect that
&ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>In the foregoing I have spoken of <i>two</i> terrible
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&rsquo;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, &ldquo;The
Drop,&rdquo; of the chapter on &ldquo;<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">My Method of Execution</a>.&rdquo;</p>

<div class="enddeco">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-end3.png" width="215" height="41" alt="" />
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p>

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a><br />
<span class="smaller">How Murderers Die.</span></h2>

<div class="drop">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-dropa.png" width="73" height="76" alt="A" />
</div>
<p class="afterdrop"><span class="fstwd"><span class="hidden">A</span>s</span> one 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&mdash;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.</p>

<p>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, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>
feel that if one sheddeth man&rsquo;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&rsquo;s task is,
indeed, a painful one.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<h3><i>Robert F. Vickers and William Innes.</i></h3>

<p>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&mdash;if any &ldquo;best&rdquo; were possible&mdash;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 &ldquo;the reprieve&rdquo;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>
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, &ldquo;Reprieve! Reprieve!&rdquo;
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p><div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_068.png" width="299" height="429" alt="" />
<p class="caption">Mary Lefley.</p>
</div>

<h3><i>Mary Lefley.</i></h3>

<p>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, &ldquo;Lord! Thou knowest
all,&rdquo; 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, &ldquo;Murder!
Murder!&rdquo; 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.</p>

<h3><i>Joseph Lawson</i>,</h3>

<p>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&rsquo;clock, and tried
to appear cheerful or even jovial. In the pinioning-room
he saluted the warders with a cheerful &ldquo;good
morning,&rdquo; 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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p>

<h3><i>Peter Cassidy.</i></h3>

<p>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&mdash;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&mdash;which was most to blame for it I do
not know&mdash;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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_071.png" width="349" height="406" alt="" />
<p class="caption">Moses Shrimpton.</p>
</div>

<h3><i>Moses Shrimpton</i>.</h3>

<p>As a rule, it is the first offender&mdash;there are many
murderers whose great crime is their first offence&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>
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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.</p>

<h3><i>Rudge, Martin and Baker.</i></h3>

<p>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-constable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>
Byrnes 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&rsquo; grace which is given to condemned
men. In the case of almost all habitual criminals I
believe this is so&mdash;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 &ldquo;get it over&rdquo; as soon as
possible, mainly because the prison life bores them.</p>

<p>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&rsquo;s ministration, and partook of Holy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>
Communion 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.</p>

<p>All the three men walked firmly to the scaffold,
where they shook hands all round, saying, &ldquo;Good-bye,
old pal, good-bye&rdquo;&mdash;nothing more. The drop was
already chalked with their names&mdash;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, &ldquo;Keep straight, Nellie!&rdquo; 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.</p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_075.png" width="297" height="469" alt="" />
<p class="caption">Mrs. Britland.</p>
</div>

<h3><i>Mary Ann Britland.</i></h3>

<p>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&rsquo; 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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>
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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>
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&rsquo;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 &ldquo;such as
one might expect at the actual separation of body and
spirit through mortal terror.&rdquo; 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.</p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_077.png" width="342" height="475" alt="" />
<p class="caption">James Murphy.</p>
</div>

<h3><i>James Murphy.</i></h3>

<p>Some condemned persons are unconsciously humorous,
whilst others that I have met with have shown an
unconcerned and designedly humorous disposition, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>
is 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 &ldquo;a gentleman from Bradford&rdquo; had come
to see him, but he feigned not to understand my identity,
and muttered, &ldquo;Bradford! Bradford!&mdash;I have no friends
at Bradford.&rdquo; Then it was explained that the gentleman
in question was his executioner, and he smilingly
replied, &ldquo;Oh! of course!&rdquo; but continued picking the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>
mutton bone on which he had been engaged when we
entered. In the last letter that he wrote, speaking of
this incident, he said:&mdash;&ldquo;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.
<i>But I eat my dinner none the worse for that.</i>&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s labour. He
did justice to his last meal, and when it was finished
asked for a &ldquo;pipe of bacca,&rdquo; 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.</p>

<h3><i>Edward Pritchard</i></h3>

<p>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&rsquo;s visit, but the fact<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>
that 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 &ldquo;scene&rdquo; 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.</p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_079.png" width="295" height="440" alt="" />
<p class="caption">Walter Wood.</p>
</div>

<h3><i>Walter Wood.</i></h3>

<p>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 was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>
calm, 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, &ldquo;Lord have mercy upon me.
Lord receive me.&rdquo; 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.</p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_081.png" width="301" height="435" alt="" />
<p class="caption">Alfred Sowrey.</p>
</div>

<h3><i>Alfred Sowrey.</i></h3>

<p>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 efforts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>
of 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&rsquo;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 visible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>
even 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.</p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_082.png" width="341" height="567" alt="" />
<p class="caption">Dr. Cross.</p>
</div>

<h3><i>Dr. Philip Henry Eustace Cross.</i></h3>

<p>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 great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>
advantage 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&rsquo;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.</p>

<h3><i>Joseph Walker.</i></h3>

<p>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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s throat,
killing her with one terrible blow, and then, sobered by
his act, called a neighbour to witness what he had done,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>
and surrendered to the police who had been fetched to
the house. The verdict of &ldquo;Guilty&rdquo; 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&mdash;his thoughts were far away&mdash;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.</p>

<h3><i>John Jackson</i>,</h3>

<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>
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.</p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_085.png" width="301" height="467" alt="" />
<p class="caption">John Jackson.</p>
</div>

<h3><i>Charles Joseph Dobell and William Gower.</i></h3>

<p>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&mdash;or rather, boys&mdash;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 only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>
found out by the confession of the lads to a Salvation
Army officer. There is reason to believe that the lads&rsquo;
natural taste for adventure had been morbidly stimulated
by the reading of highly sensational literature&mdash;&ldquo;penny
dreadfuls&rdquo; 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 &ldquo;a horde of
painted savages,&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s words, but they showed no sign of
emotion, and it was said that &ldquo;it is doubtful whether
at any time they fully realised the serious nature of their
position.&rdquo; 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.</p>

<h3><i>Samuel and Joseph Boswell.</i></h3>

<p>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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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 Home<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>
Secretary that his decision was &ldquo;absolutely incomprehensible;&rdquo;
the Mayor, on behalf of the borough,
telegraphed to the effect that &ldquo;universal indignation&rdquo;
was &ldquo;expressed by the whole community in Evesham
and by county gentlemen.&rdquo; 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,
&ldquo;where&rsquo;s Hill?&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s voice give the response,
&ldquo;Lord, have mercy upon us,&rdquo; when he again drew himself
together and answered, &ldquo;Christ, have mercy upon us.&rdquo;
Then Joseph piteously cried, &ldquo;Oh, my poor, dear wife,&rdquo;
&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; answered Samuel, &ldquo;and my dear wife and my
poor children.&rdquo; Joseph turned his head a little and said,
&ldquo;Good-bye, Sam,&rdquo; to which his brother answered,
&ldquo;Good-bye, God bless you, Joe boy. Oh! dear, dear,&rdquo;
Joseph continued: &ldquo;I hope everybody will do well,&rdquo;
and as he finished speaking the drop fell, and together
the brothers expiated their crime.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p>

<h3><i>Richard Davies.</i></h3>

<p>Another case in which &ldquo;the one was taken and the
other left&rdquo; 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.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>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 &ldquo;<a href="#CHAPTER_X">Capital Punishment</a>.&rdquo; It is decidedly injurious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>
for 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.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The melancholy interest of the subject allures me
to continue, yet the details of murderers&rsquo; 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.</p>

<h3><i>Mary Eleanor Wheeler</i>,</h3>

<p>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, &ldquo;Good morning, Madam,&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s pause<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>
she said:&mdash;&ldquo;My sentence is a just one, but a good deal
of the evidence against me was false.&rdquo; 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, &ldquo;You have no need to assist me, I can
walk by myself.&rdquo; One of the women said that she did
not mind, but was ready and willing to accompany Mrs.
Pearcey, who answered, &ldquo;Oh, well, if you don&rsquo;t mind
going with me, I am pleased.&rdquo; She then kissed them
all and quietly proceeded to her painless death.</p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_090.png" width="332" height="403" alt="" />
<p class="caption">Mrs. Pearcey.</p>
</div>

<h3><i>John Conway</i>,</h3>

<p>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 was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>
made 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:&mdash;&ldquo;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.&rdquo; 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 pray<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>
for 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.</p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_091.png" width="303" height="394" alt="" />
<p class="caption">John Conway.</p>
</div>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>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 reader <i>think</i>.
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.</p>

<div class="enddeco">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-end7.png" width="81" height="139" alt="" />
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p>

<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_093.png" width="600" height="342" alt="" />
<p class="caption">Lancaster Castle.</p>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a><br /><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p>

<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a><br />
<span class="smaller">From the Murderer&rsquo;s point of view.</span></h2>

<div class="drop">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-dropb.png" width="74" height="76" alt="B" />
</div>
<p class="afterdrop"><span class="fstwd"><span class="hidden">B</span>urns</span> sang, and we are fond of repeating his
singing:&mdash;</p>

<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="i0">Oh! wad some power the giftie gie us,</div>
<div class="i0">To see oursels as ithers see us;</div>
</div></div></div>

<p>but I never heard anybody utter the opposite aspiration,
for the gift to see others as they see themselves. And
yet I am not quite sure that this gift is not as desirable
as the other. At any rate, if we are to legislate wisely
and well for any class of people it is absolutely necessary
that we should be able to see things from their own
point of view. It is with much hesitation that I start
this chapter, for I know that my power to analyze
thought and character is not great enough to enable me
to deal with the subject on broad lines. But if I can
induce a few people to consider the question of murder
and its punishment from the murderer&rsquo;s point of view,
the chapter will do good.</p>

<p>On the whole, I think that our attitude towards
murderers is based too much on sentiment and too little
on reason. Many people pity all murderers, whether
they deserve it or not; many others condemn them body,
soul and spirit, without considering to what extent they
are the result of circumstances. If I can induce my
readers to consider that a murderer has as much right
to judge the State as the State has to judge him, I think
this book will have achieved one good purpose.</p>

<p>I do not wish to work out an argument, but will
just give a few of the expressed ideas of the murderers,
in the hope that they may give rise to fruitful trains of
thought. I would point out, however, that many of the
people who have died on the scaffold have lived in such
deplorable circumstances&mdash;assailed by every sort of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>
temptation, surrounded by an atmosphere of gay and hollow
vice, cradled in misery and educated in wretchedness
and sin, with little of the good and the beautiful entering
into their lives to raise them, but with the accursed
facility for obtaining drink to lure them down&mdash;in such
deplorable circumstances, I say, that even an angel
could hardly keep himself unspotted from such a world.
When men commit a horrible crime it is our duty to
exact the penalty; but it will do us no harm to consider
whether we are in any way responsible for the conditions
which may have driven them to crime; and
whether we cannot do even more than we are doing for
the prevention of crime by the improvement of the
conditions.</p>

<p>Besides the conditions of life, the mental status of
the wretched culprits should be worthy of attention, and
I think we might ask ourselves whether it would not
have been better for some of the murderers, as well
as for society, if they had been placed under life-long
restraint years before their careers reached the murder
stage.</p>

<p>There are many other questions which will naturally
occur to the thoughtful reader, and which I need not
indicate.</p>

<h3><i>Arthur Shaw.</i></h3>

<p>Amongst my earlier executions was that of Arthur
Shaw at Liverpool. Shaw was a tailor, thirty-one
years of age, who lived in Manchester. He was married,
but his married life was not happy, for his wife seems
to have drunk heavily, and he himself was not steady.
On November 3rd, 1884, they quarrelled, and fought for
some time, and shortly afterwards the woman was found
dead&mdash;killed, according to the doctors, by strangulation.
Shaw did not deny the murder, but pleaded that it was
unintentional, and that he had been greatly provoked by
his wife&rsquo;s long-continued dissipation. The jury strongly
recommended him to mercy. Immediately before meeting
his fate, in a last conversation with the chaplain,
the man admitted his guilt but earnestly insisted that
he had never intended to cause his wife&rsquo;s death. He
stated that he was not drunk at the time of the murder,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>
but that he had been driven to drink by his wife&rsquo;s drunkenness
and neglect of the home, which was always miserable;
and that her drunkenness and neglect exasperated him
until he was perfectly wild. He concluded by saying:
&ldquo;When we were having the scuffle I had no idea I was
killing the poor woman.&rdquo;</p>

<h3><i>Thomas Parry</i>,</h3>

<p>hanged in Galway on January 20th, 1885, for the murder
of Miss Burns, wrote a long statement, which he handed
to the governor to be read after his death. The gist of
it was given in the following paragraph:&mdash;&ldquo;I wish to
assure the public and my family and friends that I was
of unsound mind for a week previous to the murder and
for some time afterwards. I am happy to suffer for the
crime which I committed, and confident that I shall
enter upon an eternity of bliss. I die at peace with all
men, and hope that anyone that I have ever injured will
forgive me.&rdquo;</p>

<h3><i>George Horton</i>,</h3>

<p>of Swanwick, poisoned his little daughter; for the purpose,
it is supposed, of obtaining the sum of £7 for
which her life was insured; and was executed at Derby
on February 1st, 1886. It is difficult, or impossible, for
an ordinary person to understand such a man&rsquo;s frame of
mind. One would think him absolutely callous, yet he
wept over the body of his child when he found that she
was dead, and wrote most affectionate letters to his
other children when he was in prison. A portion of his
last letter to his eldest daughter was as follows:&mdash;</p>

<blockquote>

<p>You must be sure to pray to God to gide you all
you life through and you must pray for your Brothers
and Sisters i do pray to God to gard you all you life
through. So my dear Daughter you must think of
what i have told you. you must always tell the truth
&amp; when you are tempted to do wrong you must pray
to God for his help and he will hear you. Always
remember that my Dear Children, and you must tell
the others the same, you that is your brothers and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>
sisters God has promised to be a father to you all ways,
remember that he sees all you do and all you think,
then if you do his will while here on earth he will
receive you to his throne in glory where all is peace
and rest. So my Dear Children you will be able to
meat all your brothers and sisters and your poore dear
Mother in heaven, and by the help of God i shall meat
you there to.... may God help you all and
bless you and keep you all your lifes through. He
will do it if you pray to him and ask him. You no
you must take every think to God in prayer for you
no you will have no one els to help you now. so no
more from your loving father, <span class="smcap">George Horton</span>.
May God bless you all. Kisses for you all.</p></blockquote>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_099.png" width="336" height="491" alt="" />
<p class="caption">Edward Pritchard.</p>
</div>

<h3><i>Edward Pritchard</i></h3>

<p>was an instance of how &ldquo;evil communications corrupt
good manners,&rdquo; and a striking example of the unfortunate
uselessness of our reformatory system. At twelve
years of age he was convicted for being an &ldquo;associate
of thieves,&rdquo; and sentenced to two years in a reformatory.
For three years after leaving the reformatory he managed
to keep out of prison, but when seventeen he was sentenced
to four months&rsquo; imprisonment for shop-breaking,
and after this he was frequently in gaol. About a year
before the murder he appeared to have reformed,
attended Sunday-school and chapel, and took an active
part in religious work right up to the time of committing
the murder. He murdered a small boy of fourteen who
was in the habit of regularly fetching money from the
bank to pay the wages at a large factory, and stole from
him the wages money, amounting to over £200. The
evidence of the deed was absolutely conclusive and
overwhelming, and Pritchard had no hope of reprieve.
A day or two after his conviction he wrote a letter to
one of his Sunday-school teachers, in which he professed
to have seen the error of his ways, urged all his companions
to shun bad company, drinking and smoking,
spoke of the delight with which he remembered some
of the Sunday-school hymns, and anticipated the
pleasure of soon singing them &ldquo;up there.&rdquo; All through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>
his life there seems to have been a struggle between
good and evil, with an unfortunate balance of power on
the side of evil. It is difficult to believe that he would
have devoted his spare time for a year to religious work
if he had not felt strong aspirations for the higher life.
After conviction he said but little about himself, and
made no formal statement or confession, but a letter
which he wrote to the father of the murdered boy will
throw some light upon his mental state. In this letter
Pritchard distinctly affirms that he was led to commit
the crime by the instigation of a companion, and though
the statements of a convicted murderer must always be
received with caution, it is possible that there was some
ground for this assertion. If the crime was really suggested
and the criminal encouraged by the influence of
another, and probably a stronger mind, we may well ask<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span>
ourselves how much of the moral blame attaches to the
instigator, and how much to the weak tool. The
letter was as follows:&mdash;</p>

<blockquote>

<p class="right">
Her Majesty&rsquo;s Prison,<br />
<i>Monday, Feb. 14th</i>.
</p>

<p>Sir,</p>

<p>I write these lines to you to express my deep
sorrow for the dreadful crime I have done to you and to
your master. I write to ask you if you and your wife
will forgive me for killing your boy, and please ask
the master if he will forgive me for taking his money
from him. It would not have happened if I had not
been incited to do it, and it was by no other person
than &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;, who was a witness against me.
He persuaded me to do it, and said he might do it
himself if I did not; so I done the unhappy affair. I
am very sorry I ever met with &mdash;&mdash; at all, but it
cannot be called back now. I have cried to God for
mercy; I must still cry, and I hope I shall gain a better
home. I have asked Him to forgive me and blot out all
my sins, and wash me in my Saviour&rsquo;s precious blood;
and I think and feel He will do it. I&rsquo;m going to
receive the Holy Communion on Wednesday, and I
should like to hear from you by Wednesday, before I
go to be partaker of that holy feast. If you will
forgive me, I shall be more at peace.</p>

<p>I am very, very sorry indeed, for what I have
done. There is nothing that can save me from my
doom, which will be on Thursday, but I can ask God
to have mercy on my poor soul.</p>

<p>I have no more to say at present, only that I was
a great friend of poor Harry, and I went nearly mad
about it the first few nights, and could not sleep;
but now I find comfort in Jesus. Good-bye, Sir.
Please send me an answer by return of post, and I
hope we shall meet in Heaven.</p>

<p class="center">From <span class="smcap">Edward Pritchard</span>.</p>

<div>
<p class="ilb center">Gloucester County Gaol,<br />
Gloucestershire.
</p></div></blockquote>

<p>A few particulars of Pritchard&rsquo;s last moments are given
in &ldquo;How Murderers Die,&rdquo; <a href="#Page_78">p. 78</a>.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_101.png" width="339" height="409" alt="" />
<p class="caption">Alfred Scandrett.</p>
</div>

<h3><i>Alfred Scandrett</i>,</h3>

<p>another young man&mdash;only just twenty-one years old&mdash;was
another example of the result of bad influences.
His father deserted the home when Alfred was about
ten years old. His mother was a hard-working woman
who contrived to support her family by mangling and
by selling papers in the streets, in which latter work she
was assisted by Alfred and several other children. The
lad was fond of hanging round street corners and public-houses,
and his mother found it impossible to keep him
at home like the other children. He continually made
resolutions, but again and again he was led away by his
companions, and at twelve years of age he was convicted
for stealing cigars from a shop, but discharged with a
caution. A month later he was charged with another
offence and sentenced to 21 days. Other imprisonments
followed, then five years in a reformatory, but punishment
was no cure. His love for his mother was his one
redeeming feature, and if she had not been forced by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>
grinding poverty to work almost day and night at her
mangling and paper-hawking she might have succeeded
in saving him from himself. He tried to break away
from his evil associations, and at one time begged his
mother to find money to take him to Canada, but she
was utterly unable to scrape together enough to pay the
passage. A youth called Jones, who was hanged with
Scandrett, was his companion in his final crime&mdash;a
burglary, ending in murder. Although attached to his
mother, who said he had always been &ldquo;a good lad&rdquo; to
her, Scandrett could not bear the idea of living at
home when he was engaged in crime, so that almost the
whole of the last eight years of his life was spent, when
out of gaol, in common lodging-houses. After his conviction
for murder and sentence to death, his great
anxiety was for his mother. And well might he be
anxious, for the poor woman suffered sadly for his sin.
As soon as it was known that she was &ldquo;the mother of
a murderer,&rdquo; her customers&mdash;to their eternal disgrace
be it said&mdash;withdrew their patronage to such an extent
that her mangling earnings dropped from 12s. or 14s.
to 2s. a week, and her newspaper trade fell away to
nothing. She was even &ldquo;hunted&rdquo; and insulted in the
streets when she went to her accustomed corner to sell
the papers. To get from her home in Birmingham to
Hereford Gaol for a last interview with her son, she
was obliged to pawn her dress, and even that only
raised enough money to pay the fare one way, so that
she had to trust to chance for the means of getting back
again. Some of the prison officials, more humane than
her &ldquo;friends&rdquo; at home, subscribed enough money to
pay the return fare. The last meeting was a very
affecting one. Scandrett comforted his mother by
assuring her that they would meet in heaven, and said,
&ldquo;Pray daily and hourly, mother, as I have done, and
then we shall meet in heaven.&rdquo;</p>

<h3><i>Arthur Delaney.</i></h3>

<p>The number of men who are driven to crime through
drink is something terrible, and I should think that no
temperance worker could read the real histories of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>
murderers who have come under my hands without redoubling
his efforts to save men from the curse of drink.
A case in point was Arthur Delaney, executed at
Chesterfield on August 10th, 1888. It may be said that
he was naturally a bad, violent man, but surely he
would never have become a murderer if he had not
consistently made himself worse and worse by hard
drinking. His victim was his wife, to whom he had
been married four years, and who was spoken of as a
respectable, hard-working woman. Not very long after
the marriage, in a drunken fit, he violently assaulted
her, for which action the magistrates imposed a fine and
granted a separation order. His wife, however, forgave
him, and in spite of his bad behaviour continued to live
with him. A few days before the murder he was unusually
violent, and treated his wife so brutally that she
was obliged to again appeal to the magistrates, who
again imposed a fine. This raised Delaney&rsquo;s anger to
such an extent that the next time he got drunk he
battered his wife so violently that she had to be removed
to the hospital, where she died. Like many other
culprits, Delaney saw the cause of the mischief when it
was done; and a letter written after his sentence, has a
ring of simple earnestness about it that makes it worth
preserving. It was written to some Good Templars
who had tried to reform him.</p>

<blockquote>

<p class="right">
H.M. Prison, Derby,<br />
<i>August 8th, 1888</i>.
</p>

<p>My Dear Friends,</p>

<p>I write you farewell on this earth, but hope with
gods great mercy to meet you all there, were there
will be no more sorrow or temptation. I do sincerely
thank you for your kindness to me, and hope that my
fall will be the means of, with god&rsquo;s help of lifting
others up from a drunkard&rsquo;s grave. Had I followed
your advise my poor wife would been alive now, and
we should have been happy, for she was a faithful
and good wife to me. God knows that I should not
have done such a dreadful crime if I had kept my
pledge, but hope it will be a warning to those that
play with the devil in solution. Will you tell &mdash;&mdash;
to give his heart to god, and he will be safe from his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>
great curse, the drink. Bid him and his wife farewell
for me, and tell him to put all his powers to work to
help the Noble work of Temperance onward, for it is
God&rsquo;s work. Oh! do implore them that is playing
with the drink to abstain from it, for it is a national
curse. Now farewell to you all, and may God prosper
your noble work.</p>

<div class="aspara">
<div class="center">From your unfortunate friend,</div>
<div class="right smcap">Arthur T. Delaney</div>.
</div></blockquote>

<p>What proportion of murders is directly traceable to
drink it would be very difficult to say, but time after time
we find that murderers who write to their friends state
that drink, and drink only, has caused their ruin.</p>

<h3><i>Elizabeth Berry.</i></h3>

<p>Although I am endeavouring in this chapter to
give a few ideas of the motives for murder as seen by
the murderers themselves, I am not by any means condoning
their crimes. My main object is to induce people
to look more into the pre-disposing causes of crime. I
want them to consider whether in many cases prevention
is not better than cure, and whether more can not be
done to remove the causes. Undoubtedly drink has to
answer for the largest number of such crimes. After
drink comes lust and jealousy, though these almost
invariably reach the murder climax through drink.
The other main motive is the love of money, which has
led to many of the most heartless, inhuman deeds that
it has been my lot to avenge. I have given one or two
instances of parents who murdered their own children
for the sake of a few pounds of insurance money, and
such instances could be multiplied. In fact, so apparent
did the motive become a year or two back, that the
Government was obliged to pass a law regulating the
insurance of the lives of infants. If such an act, or
even a further-reaching one, had been in existence
earlier, Elizabeth Berry might have been alive now
instead of lying in a felon&rsquo;s grave. Mrs. Berry
poisoned her daughter, aged 11. At the time of the
murder the child&rsquo;s life was insured for £10, for which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>
Mrs. Berry was paying a premium of 1d. per week. The
murderess had also made a proposal for a mutual
insurance on her own life and the child&rsquo;s by which £100
should be paid, on the death of either, to the survivor.
She was under the impression that the policy was completed,
but as a matter of fact, it was not. It seems
almost impossible that a woman should murder a child
for the sake of gaining even the full sum of £110; and
we might be justified in believing that there must be
some other motive if it were not for the fact that infanticide
has been committed again and again for much
smaller sums. From the point of view of the murderers
of children it would seem that a few pounds in money
appears a sufficient inducement to soil their hands with
the blood of a fellow-creature. It is well, therefore,
for the sake of child-life that the temptation should be
removed.</p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_105.png" width="326" height="490" alt="" />
<p class="caption">Mrs. Berry.</p>
</div>

<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p>

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a><br />
<span class="smaller">On Capital Punishment.</span></h2>

<div class="drop">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-dropo.png" width="73" height="78" alt="O" />
</div>
<p class="afterdrop"><span class="fstwd"><span class="hidden">O</span>ne</span> of the questions which is most frequently
put to me is, whether I consider capital punishment
is a right and proper thing. To this
I can truly answer that I do. For my own part I attach
much weight to the Scripture injunction, &ldquo;Whoso
sheddeth man&rsquo;s blood, by man shall his blood be shed,&rdquo;
and I think that the abolition of capital punishment
would be a defiance of the divine command. Therefore
I would not abolish capital punishment altogether, but,
as I shall explain later, I would greatly alter the conditions
under which it is imposed.</p>

<p>Perhaps many of my readers will say that the
Scriptural command should have no weight, and others
will say that it was a command given under the &ldquo;dispensation
of Law,&rdquo; while we live under the &ldquo;dispensation
of Grace.&rdquo; Therefore I would argue that, quite
apart from any consideration of a religious nature,
capital punishment is absolutely necessary for the
checking of the greatest criminals.</p>

<p>In the discharge of my duties as a policeman, both
in the Nottingham, in the Bradford, and in the West
Riding Police force, I have had many chances of studying
the ways of life and thought of the criminal classes,
and I have paid a great deal of attention to the subject.
As the result of my experience I can safely say that
capital punishment, and &ldquo;the cat,&rdquo; are the only legal
penalties that possess any real terrors for the hardened
criminal, for the man who might be called a &ldquo;professional&rdquo;
as distinguished from an &ldquo;amateur&rdquo; ruffian.
Such a man does what he can to keep out of prison,
because he dislikes restraint, and routine, and sobriety,
but this dislike is not strong enough to deter him from
any crime which offers even a chance of escaping scot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>-free;
and I do not think that the fear of imprisonment
ever occurs to him when he has once got criminal work
actually in hand. Penal servitude, even for life, has no
very acute terrifying influence, partly because no criminal
ever believes that it will be a reality in his case, as
he feels sure that he will get a commutation of sentence;
and partly because, even if he were sure that the imprisonment
were actually for life, he knows that prison
life is not such a dreadful fate, after all&mdash;when one gets
used to it. But when it comes to a question of a death
sentence it is quite another matter. Death is a horrible
mystery, and a death on the scaffold, a cold-blooded,
pre-determined, and ignominious death is especially
horrible to the criminal mind. As a rule the most
desperate criminals are those who are most terrified by
the thought of death at the hands of the executioner,
possibly, because the most desperate men spring from
the most superstitious class of the community, and have
the greatest dread of that &ldquo;something&rdquo; after death
which they cannot define.</p>

<p>The criminal classes do not neglect their newspapers,
but keep themselves pretty well posted, either
by reading or conversation, upon the subjects that are
of most direct interest to them, and follow all the details
of the most important criminal trials. In this way they
always keep more or less before them the thought of
the nature of capital punishment, and I believe that it
will be found that the number of capital crimes in any
given period is inversely proportionate to the number
of capital punishments in the immediately preceding
period. Whenever there is a series of executions,
without reprieves, the number of murders decreases,
and on the other hand, after a period in which several
persons have been tried for murder and acquitted, or
reprieved after sentence, the number of crimes appears
to increase. I do not think that this rule can be
demonstrated forcibly and convincingly by a reference
to the mere numbers of murders, convictions, reprieves,
and executions during the past few years, because there
are many considerations which bear upon the significance
of an execution or reprieve; but I think that
anyone who has given attention to the subject will bear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>
me out in my contention.</p>

<p>Undoubtedly the fear of death is a great deterring
power amongst abandoned men, and the fear is most
powerful when the death seems most certain and the
hope of reprieve most remote. This consideration leads
me to think that the deterrent value of the death sentence
would be greatly increased if it could be made
absolutely irrevocable. Considering capital punishment
as a moral power for frightening criminals still at
large, I think it would be much better, if in all cases
where there is the slightest possible chance of reprieve,
the sentence were suspended for a time.</p>

<p>I advocate that the sentence of death, once passed,
should be a sentence which the doomed man, as well as his
friends and sympathisers who are still at liberty, should
regard as quite irrevocable. At the same time I do not
advocate an increase in the number of executions&mdash;just
the reverse. As the best means to this end I think we
ought to have a considerable alteration in our criminal
law as it relates to murder cases. I think that the jury
should have more power over the sentence, and for this
purpose I think that they ought to have the choice of
five classes of verdict, namely:&mdash;</p>

<ol><li>Not guilty.</li>
<li>Not proven.</li>
<li>Murder in the third degree.</li>
<li>Murder in the second degree.</li>
<li>Murder in the first degree.</li>
</ol>

<p>In the case of a verdict of &ldquo;Not Guilty&rdquo; the
prisoner would, of course, be acquitted, and would be a
free man as he is with such a verdict at present.</p>

<p>In the case of the verdict of &ldquo;Not Proven&rdquo; it should
be within the power of the judge to remand the prisoner,
pending the further investigation of any clues that
might seem likely to throw light upon the case; or to
release him, either with or without bail or police supervision.</p>

<p>A verdict of &ldquo;Murder in the third degree&rdquo; would be
brought in in cases where there was undoubted proof
of the crime being committed by the prisoner, but in
which the circumstances were such as to make it extremely
unlikely that the prisoner would ever again<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>
commit a violent crime. This would cover the cases of
people who shoot their friends and then plead that they
&ldquo;did not think it was loaded,&rdquo; and would be a much
better verdict than the &ldquo;accidental death&rdquo; which is
generally returned at present. When the jury find this
verdict of murder in the third degree it should rest with
the judge to impose a term of imprisonment, long or
short, according to the circumstances.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Murder in the second degree&rdquo; would embrace cases
in which the murder was fully proved but in which
there was not premeditation or intent to murder. Under
this head would come a number of deaths resulting
from rows, brawls, and assaults without intent to kill.
The judge would have the power to pass a sentence of
death or of penal servitude for life.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Murder in the first degree,&rdquo; in which both intent
and result had been murder, would be a verdict leaving
the judge no option but to impose the death penalty.</p>

<p>Another question which ought to be considered in
this connection is the question of appeals. At present
appeals are made to the Home Secretary. He is really
assisted by a number of other gentlemen, who examine
most thoroughly into the original evidence, and any
additional evidence that may have turned up, but this
is a tribunal not legally appointed, and the public notion
is that in cases of appeal the reversal of the sentence
lies in the hands of one man. I do not think that even
the most abandoned wretches would impute any unfairness
to the English Home Secretary, but I know that
in many quarters there is an idea that the Home
Secretary is &ldquo;a very kind gentleman,&rdquo; who will &ldquo;let
&rsquo;em off&rdquo; if he possibly can, and such an idea seems to
be a very mischievous one. A court of appeal would
appear less personal, and would be far less likely to
be suspected of leniency if it consisted of three judges,
one of whom should be the judge who had originally
tried the case. To such a bench of judges I would
allow appeals to be made, and would give them power
to re-open cases, refer them back to the juries, or to
modify sentences, but not to reverse a jury&rsquo;s verdict.
This would mean that in the case of a verdict of &ldquo;murder
in the first degree,&rdquo; the only way in which the execution<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>
could be prevented would be by referring the case back
to the jury, and this should only be done on the production
of new evidence pointing to a miscarriage of
justice. In the extreme case of evidence turning up at
the last moment, the Home Secretary should have
power to grant a stay of execution for such length of
time as would allow the bench of judges to re-open the
case.</p>

<p>The drawing up and presentation of petitions by
people who are in no way connected with the case,
would to a great extent be done away with under such
a system as I have outlined, but in order to provide for
cases where the system might not have this effect, I
would make it a punishable offence to attempt to influence
the decision of the judges or jurymen, by an
appeal to any consideration other than the evidence.
This advice I give because in so many, nay, in most
cases, the appeals contained in petitions are based upon
considerations other than the justice of the case. If
the condemned person is an interesting character, or
if there is any sort of excuse upon which an appeal can
be based, there are always a great number of people
who have no special knowledge of the case, and who,
perhaps, have not even read the newspaper reports,
who are ready to get up petitions, collect signatures,
and stir up a lot of sympathy for one who too often
deserves nothing but execration and contempt. Such
agitations lead to much misrepresentation of facts, and
often to sweeping condemnations of the judge and jury.
They tend to infuse, in the minds of young people
especially, an incorrect notion that the administration
of the law is uncertain and ineffectual, even if it is not
unjust and corrupt.</p>

<p>The mere fact of the extent to which the consideration
of loathsome crimes and their punishment is brought
under the notice of children by this system of petitions,
is in my mind sufficient argument for its complete suppression.
One case I might instance, in which the
masters of two public schools led the whole of the
children under their charge through an ante-room in
which a petition was lying, and made them all sign it in
turn. This kind of thing occurs whenever a petition<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>
praying for a sentence of death to be reversed or commuted
is in the course of signature, and surely such a
thing should not be possible.</p>

<p>In many cases the people who draw up these petitions
are people who object on principle to all capital
punishment, but unfortunately the principle is entirely
lost to sight when dealing with individual cases.
The fact of big petitions being presented in one case,
while no effort is made in another case with similar
features, naturally leads uneducated people to think
that there is uncertainty and injustice about the whole
affair.</p>

<p>There is still one other respect in which I think
that our law with reference to murder and the death
penalty ought to be altered, and that is with regard to
the length of time allowed to elapse between sentence
and execution. In the interests of all concerned I would
reduce the time from three clear weeks, as at present,
to one week only. No doubt many readers will cry out
against this as an unnecessary cruelty to the condemned,
but I say that I would do it in the interests of <i>all</i> after full
consideration and an unusually full knowledge of the
ideas of the condemned upon the subject. It is not a
shorter time that would be a cruelty&mdash;the present long
time is where the real cruelty comes in.</p>

<p>So far as I know, the three weeks&rsquo; &ldquo;grace&rdquo; given
to the condemned man is intended as a time for repentance
and for attending to the affairs of the soul.
Therefore, the question of allowing a long or short time
is to a great extent a religious one, and dangerous for
me to tackle, so I will confine my remarks as far as
possible to matters of fact and mere common-sense considerations.
If the only purpose of the time allowed
between sentence and execution is to admit of conversion
and a preparation for heaven, it is fair to ask of anyone
who wishes to continue the present system, whether it
serves the purpose. If not, there would seem to be no
valid argument in favour of its continuance. Personally,
I am convinced by long experience, that the hope
of regeneration during three weeks in the case of
murderers is absolutely vain. There are many instances
in which the criminal becomes &ldquo;penitent,&rdquo; as it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>
sometimes termed, and these penitents may be divided
into two classes. Firstly, there is the class of those who
have committed murder without intent or premeditation.
In a fit of frenzy or under peculiar circumstances they
have killed a human being. It may be a half-starved
mother who has killed the baby she could not feed, or a
man who in a whirlwind of temper has killed the
unfaithful and miserable wife whose conduct has made
his life a hell upon earth for years. It may be many
another similar case which under the scheme of five
possible verdicts, propounded above, would be returned
as murder in the second or third degree. Under such a
law the extreme penalty would not be imposed; but
while we are under our present law, and supposing that
these persons are condemned, without chance of reprieve,
we may fairly ask whether the three weeks&rsquo; grace is an
advantage to them. Such criminals are truly repentant,
or rather, remorseful. As a rule, the enormity of the
crime bursts upon them in the first calm moment after
its commission. They recoil in horror from the deed
they have done and would gladly sacrifice anything,
even life itself, to undo that deed again. There is true
repentance, which I take it is the key to forgiveness,
even before their apprehension and condemnation.
Everything that can be done on earth by or for such
poor souls, can be done in a week, and they would not
ask for more. Their repentance is sincere, their horror
of their crime is greater than their dread of death, which
they welcome as a means of expiation. Is any good
purpose served by keeping such people for three weeks
in agony?</p>

<p>The second class of &ldquo;penitents&rdquo; consists of a
horrible section of humanity&mdash;the cowardly desperadoes.
These are usually men whose crimes have shown a refinement
of cruelty and callousness that is positively
revolting. They are the &ldquo;hardened&rdquo; or professional
criminals whose hearts are devoid of pity or remorse,
and equally devoid of the least spark of courage. They
are the miserable men whose lives have been spent in
defying and blaspheming God, but who, when they see
death before them, whine and howl, and beg for the
intercession of the chaplain or any other godly person<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>
they may meet with, not because they repent of their
sins, but because they are frightened almost to death
by the thought of a fiery hell, which has been painted
before their imaginations in glowing colours. To such
men as these I am sure that the shortening of the
waiting time would be the greatest possible mercy, for
the longer time only gives them opportunity to work
themselves into an almost demented state. At the end
of three weeks they are often so broken down and
hysterical as to be incapable of correctly understanding
anything, and their only remaining feeling is a wild,
frantic dread of the scaffold.</p>

<p>Besides the two classes of penitents, there only
remains the class who are not penitent at all. They
are mostly men who have been long acquainted with
crime, who have made it the business of their lives.
They look upon the law and its officers much as a
business man looks upon a clever and unscrupulous
competitor; and upon a sentence of death as one of the
business risks. Life ends for them, not at the scaffold,
but in the dock, when sentence is pronounced.
From that time they sink into a state of sullen indifference,
or take up any occupation that may offer, merely
to kill time. In some cases they take to Bible reading
and prayers, because they think &ldquo;it can&rsquo;t do any harm,
and may do a bit of good,&rdquo; and because they have
nothing else to do. No one can say that such men are
penitent, since on release they would return to their
vicious ways. They would not be likely to reach any
better state if they were allowed to live three months
instead of three weeks, for the only regret that they
can be brought to feel is personal and purely selfish.
It is founded on fear of hell, and is not a contrition for
having committed the crime, but a regret that the
crime carries with it a punishment in the next world.
Convicts of this class, when they have no hope of
reprieve, do not thank us for the three weeks of &ldquo;life&rdquo;
that are given to them. If they could have their own
choice, they would prefer to walk straight from the
dock to the scaffold, and to &ldquo;get it over&rdquo; at once.</p>

<p>In every case if the matter is thoroughly inquired
into, on lines of common sense instead of mere sentiment,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>
I think the conclusion will be that the three weeks
allowed are no advantage whatever to the convicts. In
most cases their position would be decidedly improved
by reducing the time.</p>

<p>There are other distinct advantages to be gained
by reducing the interval. In the first place it would
greatly improve the moral effect of the death sentence.
Retribution following directly after conviction is a distinct
object lesson, and the shorter the time between,
the more obvious is the connection between the crime
and the punishment. When even three weeks elapse
the connection is often lost.</p>

<p>In the second place, the alteration I advocate
would greatly prevent the stirring up of false sentiment
in favour of convicts who happen to have an interesting
personality. It would put a stop to the petition signing
which is often indulged in by people who know nothing
of the case, but who are worked upon to express
sympathy with the convict, and want of faith in the
justice of our system of trial. If only a week elapsed
between sentence and execution, the facts of the trial
and details of the evidence would remain fresher in the
public mind, and people would be less liable to be led
to mistrust the justice of the sentence.</p>

<p>To all the people who have charge of the convicts
before execution, a shortening of the time would be a
great blessing, for such a charge is often a soul-harrowing
experience. The chaplains especially, whose
experiences are often most unpleasant; and whose
earnest efforts meet with such disappointing return,
would, I think, welcome the change.</p>

<div class="enddeco">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-end8.png" width="81" height="71" alt="" />
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_115.png" width="600" height="347" alt="" />
<p class="caption">Norwich Castle.</p>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a><br /><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p>

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a><br />
<span class="smaller">Hanging: From a Business Point of View.</span></h2>

<div class="drop">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-dropi.png" width="73" height="76" alt="" />
</div>
<p class="afterdrop"><span class="fstwd"><span class="hidden">I</span>&nbsp;have</span> stated in <a href="#CHAPTER_II">Chapter II</a>. the reasons which
led me to take the office of executioner. The
reader will remember that I then claimed no
higher motive than a desire to obtain a living for my
family, by an honest trade. I am not ashamed of my
calling, because I consider that if it is right for men to
be executed (which I believe it is, in murder cases) it is
right that the office of executioner should be held
respectable. Therefore, I look at hanging from a
business point of view.</p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-card1.png" width="500" height="255" alt="" />
</div>

<p>When I first took up the work I was in the habit
of applying to the Sheriff of the County whenever a
murderer was condemned to death. I no longer consider
it necessary to apply for work in England, because
I am now well known, but I still send a simple address
card, as above, when an execution in Ireland is
announced.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p>

<p>In the earlier days I made application on a regular
printed form, which gave the terms and left no opening
for mistake or misunderstanding. Of this form I give
a reduced reproduction on opposite page. I still use this
circular when a sheriff from whom I have had no
previous commission writes for terms. The travelling
expenses are understood to include second-class railway
fare from Bradford to the place of execution and back,
and cab fare from railway station to gaol. If I am not
lodged in the gaol, hotel expenses are also allowed. As
a rule the expenses are not closely reckoned, but the
sheriffs vote a lump sum which they think will cover it;
and if the execution has been satisfactory the sum
granted is generally more than enough to cover what I
have spent.</p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-form.png" width="354" height="600" alt="" />
</div>

<p>There are, on an average, some twenty executions
annually, so that the reader can calculate pretty nearly
what is my remuneration for a work which carries with
it a great deal of popular odium, which is in many ways
disagreeable, and which may be accompanied, as it has
been in my own experience, by serious danger, resulting
in permanent bodily injury. It will be seen that the
net commission is not by any means an exorbitant
annual sum, considering all the circumstances of the
office; and that it does not approach the amount which
some people have stated that I was able to earn.</p>

<p>Of course, my earnings are entirely uncertain, since
they wholly depend upon the number of executions,
and this arrangement, by which my livelihood depends
upon the number of poor fellows condemned to die, is,
to me, the most repugnant feature of my work. It
seems a horrible thing that I should have to peruse
newspaper reports in the hope that a fellow-creature
may be condemned to death, whenever I wish to feel
sure that &ldquo;business is not falling off;&rdquo; and that I
should have to regard as evil days and hard times those
periods when there seem to be lulls in the annals of
crime, and when one might reasonably hope that a
better state of things was dawning in the land.</p>

<p>These considerations, and the more selfish but still
perfectly natural wish to be certain of my income and
of my ability to give my children a fair start in life,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a><br /><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>
have led me to strongly approve of the suggestion that
the executioner&rsquo;s office should be a Government appointment,
with a fixed salary instead of an uncertain
commission. When the Lords&rsquo; Committee on Capital
Punishment was sitting, early in 1887, I expressed my
views on this matter in a letter addressed to the
President of the Committee, Lord Aberdare. I am not
without hope that a change in the arrangements for
regulating the office of executioner will ere long be
made, and the lines on which I think that it might be
most reasonably and satisfactorily done, are set forth in
the letter to Lord Aberdare, which I append.</p>

<blockquote>

<p class="right">
1, Bilton Place,<br />
City Road, Bradford.<br />
<i>February, 1887.</i>
</p>

<p>My Lord,</p>

<p>I have been for some time past in correspondence
with Mr. Howard Vincent, M.P. for Sheffield, with
reference to alteration in the mode of remunerating
my services, in carrying into effect the Sentence of the
Law upon Criminals convicted of Capital Crimes.
Mr. Howard Vincent has suggested that I should
address myself to the Honourable Committee on
Capital Punishment, through your Lordship as their
President.</p>

<p>I would therefore respectfully point out to your
Lordship and your Honourable Committee that the
present mode of payment for my services is unsatisfactory
and undesirable, and that a change is needed.</p>

<p>As your Lordship is doubtless aware, under the
existing arrangements I am paid the sum of £10
together with travelling and other incidental expenses
for each Execution conducted by me. There are, on
an average, roughly speaking, 25 Executions yearly.
What I would respectfully suggest is, that, instead of
this payment by Commission, I should receive a fixed
salary from the Government of £350 per annum. I
may say that since accepting the Appointment I have
never received less than £270 in any one year. I am
informed that in determining a fixed Salary, or Compensation
in lieu of a payment by Commission, the
average annual amount received is made the basis for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>
the calculation.</p>

<p>It will be apparent to your Lordship that an offer
of a <i>less</i> sum than the former average would not be
sufficiently advantageous to induce me to exchange
the old system for the new. I may further, with your
Lordship&rsquo;s permission, draw attention to the peculiar
Social position in which I am placed by reason of
holding the office before referred to. I am to a great
extent alone in the world, as a certain social ostracism
is attendant upon such office, and extends, not to myself
alone, but also includes the members of my family.
It therefore becomes extremely desirable that my
children should, for their own sakes, be sent to a
school away from this town. To do this of course
would entail serious expenditure, only to be incurred
in the event of my being able to rely on a fixed source
of income, less liable to variation than the present
remuneration by Commission alone. I am also unable
for obvious reasons to obtain any other employment.
My situation as boot salesman held by me previous
to my acceptance of the Office of Executioner, had to
be given up on that account alone, my employer
having no fault to find with me, but giving that as the
sole reason for dispensing with my services.</p>

<p>My late Employer will give me a good reference
as to General character, and the Governors of Gaols
in which I have conducted Executions will be ready
to speak as to my steadiness and also my ability and
skill on performing the duties devolving upon me.</p>

<p>In conclusion I should be ready to give and call
Evidence on the points hereinbefore referred to (if it
should seem fit to your Lordship and your Honourable
Committee), on receiving a notification to that effect.</p>

<p>Under these circumstances I trust that your
Lordship will be able to see the way clear to embody
in your Honourable Committee&rsquo;s report a recommendation
to the effect that a fixed annual sum of £350
should be paid me for my services rendered in the
Office of Executioner.</p>

<div class="aspara">
<div class="center">I have the honour to be<br />
Your Lordship&rsquo;s Obedient humble servant,</div>
<div class="right smcap">James Berry.</div>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p>

<p>
To the Right Honourable Lord Aberdare.<br />
<span class="i4">President,</span><br />
Capital Punishment Committee,<br />
<span class="i2">Whitehall, London, S.W.</span>
</p>

<p class="hanging">P.S. If your Honourable Committee has an alternative
to the foregoing proposal I would respectfully
suggest that I am permanently retained by the
Home Office at a nominal sum of £100 a year, exclusive
of fees at present paid to me by Sheriffs of
different Counties and the usual Expenses.</p></blockquote>

<p>In connection with this subject I should like to
point out that in asking for the office of executioner to
be made a recognised and permanent appointment, I
am not suggesting any new thing, but merely a return
to the conditions in force not much more than fifteen
years ago. Up to 1874 the executioner was a permanently
established and recognised official. Mr. Calcraft,
the last who occupied this position, was retained by the
Sheriffs of the City of London, with a fee of £1 1s. 0d.
per week, and also had a retainer from Horsemonger
Lane Gaol. In addition to his fees he had various
perquisites, which made these two appointments alone
sufficient for his decent maintenance, and he also undertook
executions all over the country, for which he was
paid at about the same rate as I am at present, but
with perquisites in all cases. In 1874 he retired, and
the City of London allowed him a pension of twenty-five
shillings a week for life.</p>

<p>Mr. Calcraft&rsquo;s successor was Mr. Wm. Marwood,
who had no official status. He had a retaining fee of
£20 a year from the Sheriffs of the City of London, but
beyond that he had to depend upon the fees for individual
executions and reprieves. In his time, also,
there were considerable perquisites, for instance, the
clothing and personal property possessed by the criminal
at the time of his execution became the property of the
executioner. These relics were often sold for really
fancy prices and formed no mean item in the
annual takings. But the sale and exhibition of such
curiosities were only pandering to a morbid taste on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>
part of some sections of the public, and it was ordered
by the Government&mdash;very rightly, from a public point
of view, but very unfortunately for the executioner&mdash;that
personal property left by the criminals should be burned.</p>

<p>In many other countries the post of executioner
is permanent. In some cases it is hereditary, as in
France, where it has remained in the Deibler family,
passing from sire to son, for a great length of time.</p>

<p>Even in British territory at the present time a permanent
official hangsman is not entirely unknown, for
in Malta the post is a definite appointment, to which a
salary of £30 is attached.</p>

<p>In England the Sheriff is the officer appointed to
carry out the executions, and though he is allowed to
employ a substitute if he can find one, it would fall to
him to personally conduct the execution if no substitute
could be obtained. In certain cases, in days gone by,
there has been very great difficulty in securing anyone
who would undertake the unpleasant duty, though I do
not remember any recorded instance of the Sheriff being
absolutely unable to engage an executioner.</p>

<div class="enddeco">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-end9.png" width="191" height="84" alt="" />
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p>

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a><br />
<span class="smaller">The Press and the Public.</span></h2>

<div class="drop">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-dropi.png" width="73" height="76" alt="I" />
</div>
<p class="afterdrop"><span class="fstwd"><span class="hidden">I</span>&nbsp;might</span> almost head this chapter, &ldquo;My
Critics,&rdquo; for both press and public are
constantly criticising my doings. The criticism
is generally friendly, though often based on
incomplete knowledge of the facts. Of the press-men
I must say that they usually seem most kindly disposed,
and certainly many of them go to great trouble to
extract from me a few statements which they can
spin out into an &ldquo;interview.&rdquo; As a rule I dislike these
interviews, for I know that my employers very strongly
object to any more sensationalism than is absolutely
necessary being imported into the accounts of executions.
Unfortunately, with many of the papers, sensationalism
is the one thing needful, and when I meet with a really
energetic reporter attached to such a paper my position
is a very difficult one. If I say little or nothing in
answer to his questions, he may spin a fearful and
wonderful yarn out of his own head, and out of the
gossip and rumours which seem to be constantly afloat,
started, I imagine, by needy penny-a-liners. On the
other hand, if I submit to the interview as the best
way of keeping it within bounds, the &ldquo;touches of
colour&rdquo; which the interviewer generally thinks it
necessary to add, are pretty sure to land me in bother
and misunderstanding.</p>

<p>In several instances statements which were calculated
to seriously injure me professionally have been
published; and though I believe they were inserted
with no evil intent, I have been obliged to employ my
solicitors to secure their contradiction.</p>

<p>The instance which annoyed me, perhaps, more
than any other was the reporting of a supposed interview
in the <i>Essex County Chronicle</i>. It was said to be from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>
&ldquo;an occasional contributor.&rdquo; The interviewer in
question tackled me in the hotel where the Sheriff pays
the execution fee; entering the room immediately after
I had been paid, and just as the Sheriff was driving off.
He asked me two or three questions about private
matters, which I answered truthfully and straightforwardly,
though I was somewhat annoyed by the man
and his manner. The &ldquo;interview&rdquo; which appeared
quite shocked me. Several of the statements were
utterly wrong, but what troubled me most was the
following paragraph, which was quite at variance with
the actual facts, and with the statements which I had
made:&mdash;</p>

<blockquote>

<p>&ldquo;And what do your friends think of the profession
you have taken up?&rdquo; I asked.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It killed my mother and brother,&rdquo; he mournfully
replied. &ldquo;When Marwood died I was appointed in
his place, and directly my mother knew of it she was
taken ill. My father&rsquo;s solicitor then wrote to the
Home Office, informing the authorities of this. The
result was that I gave up the position, and Binns got
the appointment. My mother died soon afterwards,
though, and then, when I saw the way in which
Binns was going on, I came to the conclusion that he
would not hold the place long, and I again wrote to
the Home Office stating that my mother was dead
and that there was nothing now to prevent my accommodating
them if my assistance should be required.
Soon after that I was engaged to hang two men at
Edinburgh, and I have carried out nearly all the
executions since then. My brother had married a
girl with plenty of money, and his pride received a
blow on my appointment. That was the cause of his
death. He was a Liberal and in favour of abolishing
capital punishment, but I am a Conservative through
and through. Altogether I have buried my mother,
two brothers, and two aunts within the last three
years.&rdquo;</p></blockquote>

<p>This was a false and cruel paragraph, the actual
facts with regard to the deaths of my relatives being as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>
follows:&mdash;1. My aunts died before I took the office, or
thought of doing so. 2. My mother died from cancer
on the liver, from which she had been suffering for a
long time before I applied for the post; and she died
between the time of my first application and the time
of second application, when I was appointed for the
double execution at Edinburgh. 3. My brother died
of low fever, after I had held the office of executioner
for about four years.</p>

<p>I do not wish to deny that my choice of the calling
of executioner was a disappointment and annoyance to
my family; but to say that it caused, or hastened the
death of any one of them is to say that which is not
true. If I thought that it had really had any such
disastrous effect, I hope I am not such a callous and
hardened wretch as to make the matter the subject of
discussion with a stranger.</p>

<p>One would almost have thought that such statements
as the one extracted above would bear their refutation
on their face, and that there would be no need to
contradict them; but the matter was seriously taken
up by the <i>Daily News</i>, which made it the subject of a
leader, and other papers all over the country extracted
from, or commented upon the matter in the <i>Daily News</i>.</p>

<p>Of course, I put the matter into the hands of my
solicitors, who took steps to stop the original libel, but
they were naturally unable to stop its circulation
through the country.</p>

<p>Another affair which caused me much annoyance
at the time arose in Hereford, from the greed for
interesting and sensational &ldquo;copy&rdquo; shown by a member
of the staff of the <i>Hereford Times</i>. He got up some
sensational matter to the effect that after the execution
of Hill and Williams I retired to a neighbouring hotel
where a smoking concert was in progress, and there
held a ghastly levee. The worst of this report was
that it was based on some foundation of fact, and that
a mere colouration of the report made a reasonable and
perfectly innocent entertainment appear as if it was
something shameful.</p>

<p>The actual facts were that after the execution I
was in company with Alderman Barnet, Mayor of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>
Worcester, and a detective sergeant, both of whom
were personal friends of mine. With Alderman Barnet
I was invited to a social evening held by some of his
friends. It was a perfectly private party, and was
decorously conducted in every way. When the <i>Times</i>
representative appeared, as he was known to the
gentlemen present, he was invited to join us, simply as
a friend. The report of the party was much talked
about at the time, and Sir Edwin Lechmere, M.P. for
Hereford, made it the subject of a question in the
House of Commons.</p>

<p>From time to time a very great number of incorrect
and exaggerated statements have been made in the press
with regard to almost every detail of my work, and I
suppose that so long as the public have a love for the
marvellous, and so long as press-men have treacherous
memories or vivid imaginations, it will continue to be
so. My enormous income is one of the subjects on
which the papers most frequently get astray, and it has
often been asserted that my earnings amounted to a
thousand a year. I only wish that it might be so, if I
could make it from an increase of fee rather than an increase
in the number of executions, but the reader has
in other places correct statements of what my income
really amounts to. I never bear malice against my
friends of the press for these little distortions of fact, for
I know that they mean no harm, and on the whole they
have always used me very well.</p>

<p>With regard to the public, their curiosity to see me
is much greater than my desire to satisfy it. I have no
wish to be followed about and stared at by a crowd, as
if I were a monstrosity, and in many cases I have had
to go to some trouble to baulk them. This I can do to
a certain extent by travelling by other trains than the
one I am expected by. In some cases where there are
two or three railways into a town, one of which
is the direct line from Bradford, I take the direct line to
some local station, and there change into a train of
another line or into some train running on some local
branch line, and so arrive unobserved. At Newcastle,
after the execution of Judge, there was a big and
enthusiastic crowd waiting to see me and my assistant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>
depart. There were one or two men in the crowd who
knew me by sight, and they knew the train by which
we were to travel, so they made a raid on the station,
and in spite of the efforts of the railway officials and
police to keep the place clear they burst through the
barriers with a howl of exultation and filled the platform.
The plan by which we evaded them was very simple.
We walked over the river to Gateshead, and booked
from there to Newcastle. Arriving by train in the midst
of the people who were looking for us, we attracted no
attention whatever, because the folks who knew me were
near the entrance gates, expecting us to come into the
station in the ordinary way. As we had our tickets for
Bradford with us, we simply crossed the platform to
our own train, and in due time steamed southward,
leaving the disappointed crowd under the firm impression
that we had not entered the station.</p>

<p>The first time that I went to Swansea there was a
large crowd of people waiting to see me, but they were
disappointed, for I had made a little arrangement which
completely upset their calculations. It happened that
I travelled from Shrewsbury to Swansea with a gentleman
who is well known in the latter town. In the train
we entered into conversation, and I found that his
carriage was to meet him at the station. I therefore
asked him if he could recommend me to a good hotel,
and was delighted when he said that he would drive me
to one, which was just what I wanted. He did not
know who I was, and the little crowd that was watching
never imagined that the executioner would be riding in
their townsman&rsquo;s carriage. Of course, I did not want
to stay at the hotel, because I was to lodge in the gaol,
but I thanked my friend for the lift, walked into the
hotel for a glass of beer while he was driving away, and
then walked up to the prison without anyone suspecting
my errand.</p>

<p>Whenever I have been in actual contact with
crowds in England, their attitude has been friendly.
In Ireland such knots of people as may gather are
usually the reverse. In England, if there is any sort
of demonstration, it is a cheer; in Ireland it is hooting
and groaning. But it is seldom, in England, that I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>
meet with any personal demonstration. The crowds
that assemble outside the gaols when executions are
in progress, are interesting studies. They hail the
hoisting of the black flag with a cheer or a groan,
that indicates their opinion of the merits of the case.
It is curious to notice how the sympathies of this
section of the public lean one way or the other,
often without any apparent reason. This thought
occurred to me very forcibly at the executions of Israel
Lipski and William Hunter, who were hanged within a
few months of each other.</p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-i_129.png" width="308" height="479" alt="" />
<p class="caption">Israel Lipski.</p>
</div>

<p>At Lipski&rsquo;s execution the crowd was the largest I
have ever seen, many of the people remained hanging
about for hours. The excitement was intense, but
there was no sympathy for the prisoner. There were
many Jews in the crowd, and wherever they were
noticed they were hustled and kicked about, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>
insulted in every imaginable manner; for the hatred
displayed by the mob was extended from Lipski to his
race. When the black flag was hoisted it was received
with three ringing cheers. Altogether, the crowd showed
the utmost detestation of the murderer. And yet his
crime was no worse than the majority of murders, and
there were many things connected with it, and with the
circumstances of the miserable man&rsquo;s life, both before
and after, which I should have expected to excite some
little sympathy; at any rate, amongst people in a
similar station of life.</p>

<p>Hunter&rsquo;s execution was the next but one to Lipski&rsquo;s,
and his crime was one which has always seemed to me
about the most heartless I ever heard of. Hunter was
a striker in a foundry by trade, but a tramp by choice.
He left his wife and two children and went on tramp,
eventually striking up a sort of partnership with a
Scotch woman who had six illegitimate children. One
of these, a little girl between three and four years of age,
went tramping with them, and of course, the poor wee
mite was utterly unfit for the exposure and the many
miles of walking which they made her accomplish daily.
Hunter and the woman were both cruel to the child,
and carried their cruelty to such an extent that on one
occasion at any rate, they were remonstrated with, and
eventually turned out of a common lodging-house on
account of their conduct. At last, one day after a long
tramp, the little mite began to cry from weariness, and
Hunter, to stop her crying, beat her with a switch.
Later, for the same purpose, he thrashed her with a
stick that he picked up in the road. Still later in the
day he continued his ill-treatment until he had beaten
the life out of the poor little creature. In justice to the
man&mdash;or brute&mdash;it should be said that when he found
that the child was insensible (it was really dead), he
fetched water to bathe its poor battered head; and when
he realised that it was dead he cut his own throat and
very nearly killed himself&mdash;but these considerations
seem very little extenuation for the harsh brutality of
his conduct. One would have thought that the man
who had thus heartlessly tortured to death a helpless
child would have been execrated by all men; yet the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>
crowd that assembled at Hunter&rsquo;s execution wore quite
a holiday air. There were some 1500 people, most of
whom laughed and jested. When the flag was run up
there was no demonstration, perhaps the Carlisle people
are not demonstrative. However that may be, the
contrasted conduct of the crowds at the two executions
struck me forcibly; and though it is sad that men
should rejoice at the death of a fellow-man, if the cheers
had been given at Hunter&rsquo;s death which greeted the
death of Lipski, I think they would have been more
natural and more English than light jests and laughter.</p>

<div class="enddeco">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-end10.png" width="272" height="112" alt="" />
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p>

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a><br />
<span class="smaller">Incidents and Anecdotes.</span></h2>

<div class="drop">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-dropa.png" width="73" height="76" alt="A" />
</div>
<p class="afterdrop"><span class="fstwd"><span class="hidden">A</span>s</span> is always the case when a man attains any
prominence or notoriety, a number of utterly
groundless stories have got afloat about my
doings and adventures. Others, which were originally
founded on fact, have been so modified and altered that
I do not recognise them when they come back to me
again. Altogether I have been credited with being the
hero of so many surprising adventures that I am afraid
the few little incidents which have really occurred to
me will seem tame by the side of the fictions.</p>

<p>One of the most striking incidents that ever occurred
to me was on the journey from Lincoln to Durham,
after executing Mary Lefley, in 1884. At Doncaster
we changed from the Great Eastern to the Great
Northern Railway. I looked out for a carriage with a
vacant corner seat, and got into one containing three
rough-looking men. When the train had started they
began to talk amongst themselves, and to look at me, and
eventually began to chaff me. Of course I pretended
not to understand their allusions to the execution that
morning, and was indignant at their supposing me to
be an executioner, but they were confident that they were
right, and began offering to bet amongst themselves as
to which of them I should get first. I was glad to get
to York, where I parted from their company. Two
years afterwards I met the same three men under very
different circumstances. They were at Carlisle, condemned
to be executed for the Netherby Hall burglary,
and I carried out the sentence of the law. Their names
were Rudge, Martin, and Baker.</p>

<p>I always try to remain unknown while travelling,
but there is a certain class of people who will always
crowd round as if an executioner were a peep-show.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>
On the journey above mentioned, after changing at
York, I got into a carriage with a benevolent-looking
old gentleman. A little crowd collected round the door,
and just as we were starting a porter stuck his head
into the window, pointed to my fellow-passenger, and
with a silly attempt at jocularity said:&mdash;&ldquo;I hope you&rsquo;ll
give him the right tightener.&rdquo; The old gentleman
seemed much mystified, and of course I was quite
unable to imagine what it meant. At Darlington there
was another little crowd, which collected for a short
time about our carriage. Fortunately none of the
people knew me, so that when the old gentleman asked
them what was the matter they could only tell him that
Berry was travelling by that train and that they wanted
to have a look at him. The old gentleman seemed
anxious to see such an awful man as the executioner,
and asked me if I should know him if I saw him. I
pointed out a low-looking character as being possibly
the man, and my fellow-traveller said, &ldquo;Yes! very
much like him.&rdquo; I suppose he had seen a so-called
portrait of me in one of the newspapers. We got quite
friendly, and when we reached Durham, where I was
getting out, he asked for my card. The reader can
imagine his surprise when I handed it to him.</p>

<p>This little story has been much warped and magnified,
and has even been made the subject of a leading
article which takes me to task for &ldquo;glorying in my
gruesome calling,&rdquo; and shocking respectable people by
giving them my cards.</p>

<p>Another little anecdote which has been greatly
distorted is what I call the toothache story. It happened
in 1887, when crossing from Ireland, that there was one
of the passengers who was terribly ill with mal de mer
and toothache combined. He was rather a bother to
several travellers who were not sick, and who wished to
enjoy the voyage, and he must have given a lot of
trouble to the stewards. I think that one of the latter
must have told him that I could cure him, for he came
and begged me to tell him what was the best thing for
his complaint. I admitted that I was in the habit of
giving drops that would instantaneously cure both the
toothache and the sea-sickness, but assured him that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>
would not be willing to take my remedy. Still he persisted,
so I handed him a card, and as he was a sensitive
man it gave his nerves a shock that was quite sufficient
to relieve him of the toothache, and me of his presence
for the rest of the voyage. As the card which I then used
has often been mentioned in the newspapers, I give a
fac-simile of it. The wording was in black, with the
fern in green, and the border in gold. I now use a
perfectly plain card, as reproduced on <a href="#Page_117">page 117</a>.</p>

<div class="center">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-card2.png" width="543" height="325" alt="" />
</div>

<p>A sad little incident in connection with the murder
of Warder Webb by John Jackson will always remain
in my memory. I had been to Strangeways Gaol once
or twice before on duty, and Webb had always been
my personal attendant during my residence, so that we
were quite friendly. At the execution previous to
Jackson&rsquo;s&mdash;that of John Alfred Gell, in May, 1888&mdash;we
had two or three long chats, and Webb was most
anxious that I should go to Manchester to spend a half-day
or a day with him in the city, when he could get
leave of absence. He hoped it would be a long time
before they should see me there again professionally,
but said that they would always be glad to see me if I
were in Manchester on other business, and could call.
Then, turning to the subject of executions, he began
wondering who would be the next that I should have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>
to go there for, and who would be the victim, and
shaking his head sadly, he said, &ldquo;A body never knows
who will be next.&rdquo; The poor fellow little thought that
he would be the next victim, and that the very next
time I visited Strangeways would be no friendly call,
but a visit to avenge his own death.</p>

<p>Of course, my duties take me about the country a
great deal, and I have met a great many interesting
people in the course of my travels. As a rule, I do not
make myself known unless I have some good reason for
doing so, because I have no fancy for making myself
into a cheap show. On one occasion I travelled from
Coventry to Warwick with the reporter of one of the
Coventry papers. He knew nothing of my identity,
and does not seem to have recognised me at the
execution; but while writing out his report the
connection between the gentleman in the train and the
executioner in the gaol seems to have dawned upon
him, and he wrote the following, which amused me
greatly when it appeared in his paper:&mdash;</p>

<blockquote>

<p>After writing this report and describing the
hangman&rsquo;s features and dress, it dawned upon the
writer for the first time that the description was that
of a gentleman with whom he had travelled from
Coventry to Warwick on the previous afternoon. On
reflecting upon all the circumstances of the journey,
he felt quite certain of the fact; and although amused
at the thought of having travelled and conversed
with an executioner without knowing it, he was a
little chagrined that he had not given the conversation
a &ldquo;professional&rdquo; turn, which he would have done
had he been aware who his fellow traveller was. The
incident is sufficient to show that persons travelling
by rail occasionally get into singular company without
having the slightest knowledge of the fact.</p></blockquote>

<p>In 1887 when I had to go to Dorchester, to hang
Henry William Young for the Poole murder, I stayed
at Bournemouth, and took a room in a Temperance
Hotel. During the evening I got into conversation
with the landlady, who was much interested in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>
subject of executions, and who appeared to like to
discuss it. She was decidedly &ldquo;down on&rdquo; Berry, &ldquo;the
hangsman,&rdquo; and expressed herself very freely as to
his character and disposition; amongst other pleasant
things, saying that he was a man without a soul, and
not fit to have intercourse with respectable people. Of
course, I smilingly agreed with everything that she had
to say, and chuckled quietly to myself about a little
surprise that I had in store for her. The surprise came
off at bed-time, when she handed me my bedroom
candle, and in return I handed her my card. The
good lady nearly fainted.</p>

<p>It is not often that I feel frightened, for I am pretty
well able to take care of myself, but I once had a little
adventure in the train, coming from Galway to Dublin,
that gave me one or two cold shivers. It was at a time
when Ireland was much disturbed by agrarian outrages,
and I knew that amongst some of the lower classes
there was a feeling of hatred against myself on account
of my occupation. Of this I had an example when
going down <i>to</i> Galway, and as it led up to, and somewhat
prepared me for the other incident, I may as well
mention it. My journey to Galway was undertaken for
the purpose of hanging four men who were condemned
to death for moonlighting. It was an exciting journey
altogether, for four men who were in the same compartment
as myself from Dublin to Mullingar got into an
excited discussion upon some political subject, and just
as we left Killucan they began to fight most violently,
using their sticks and fists to such an extent that all
their faces were soon covered with blood. As the train
drew into Mullingar the fury cooled as quickly as it had
begun, they all began to apologise to each other and
wipe the blood from one another&rsquo;s faces. At Mullingar
I got out for a drink, to steady my nerves, for the fight
at such close quarters had somewhat upset me, although
I took no part in it. On the platform two villainously
rough-looking characters spoke a few words to the men
who had got out of my compartment and then followed
me into the refreshment room, where they seemed
anxious to make my acquaintance, and so forcibly
insisted that I should have a drink with them, that I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>
had to consent for fear of causing a row. They asked
me where I was going, said that they were going to
Galway, and in what seemed to me a peculiarly significant
tone, asked me if I knew whether Mr. Barry, the
hangsman, was really in the train or not. They followed
me on to the platform like two shadows, and got into
the same compartment of the train. All this made me
feel rather uncomfortable, for though I was well armed,
there is nothing in life that I dread so much as the
possibility of having to kill a man in self-defence and of
being tried, and possibly convicted, for murder. I was,
therefore, very pleased when two plain-clothes men
whom I knew belonged to the Royal Irish Constabulary,
got into the other half of the carriage, which was one
of those in which there are two compartments divided
by a low partition. I do not know whether my two
rough companions even noticed that there was anyone
in the other half of the carriage, to which their backs
were turned. Their conduct, indeed, seemed to show
that they thought we were alone, but I could see that
the R. I. C. men were regarding them with interest and
taking note of every word they said. All the way from
Mullingar to Athenry the two fellows plied me with
questions, and tried by all means in their power to draw
me into discussion, and the expression of opinion. I
answered them as briefly as I could without being
uncivil, but took care that they should not gain much
solid information from my answers. At Athenry they
shuffled into the far corner of the compartment, and in
stage whispers, which they evidently thought I could not
hear, argued as to whether I was &ldquo;Barry&rdquo; or not. One
of them got quite excited, pointed out that I was an
Englishman, that I came from the North of England,
that there was no one else in the train that looked like
an executioner, that my tale about being a poultry-buyer
was &ldquo;all a loie,&rdquo; and finally that I had a scar on my
cheek which &ldquo;proved it intoirely, begorra!&rdquo; The other
fellow said that &ldquo;shure the gintleman in the corner was
a gintleman, and not a murtherin, blood-thirsty, blagyard
of a hangman,&rdquo; which opinion at last seemed to be
shared by both. As we steamed into Galway I used
my handkerchief, and then rested my hand on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>
window-ledge with the handkerchief hanging out. This
was the signal arranged with my police escort, who were
on the platform, and who managed to be just opposite
the door when the train stopped. As I marched off
amongst those strapping fellows, I looked round to see
my two travelling companions gesticulating wildly, and
abusing each other for having been deceived, and for
having treated &ldquo;the very blagyard we went to meet.&rdquo;
I never knew whether they had intended me any harm,
but the constabulary men told me that they were two of
the roughest characters in Galway.</p>

<p>The four men who were condemned to death were
reprieved, one after the other, as the days fixed for their
executions drew near, so that I was not required to
carry out my painful duty after all. But I was kept
waiting more than a week in Galway gaol, with nothing
more lively to do than to read the newspapers, and to
walk about in the dreary prison yard, because the
governor did not consider that it would be safe for me
to venture outside. I was heartily glad when the last
reprieve arrived and I was free to return home. To
avoid observation as much as possible, I took the midnight
train, and as there were very few passengers I
secured a compartment to myself, and made all snug
for a sleep. I was not disturbed until we reached
Mullingar, when I noticed a man who looked into my
compartment, then walked the whole length of the train,
and finally came into my compartment, although there
were others in the train quite empty. He at once
began to talk to me in a friendly sort of style, with a
strong American twang, but I did not like his looks at
all, so pretended to want to go to sleep. As I sized
him up from my half-shut lids I set him down as a
&ldquo;heavy swell&rdquo; Yankee. He wore a big slouch hat and
cape coat, carried an elaborately silver-mounted handbag,
and his coat pocket showed the unmistakable
outline of a revolver. He plied me with all sorts of
questions on Irish politics, asked me where I lived,
what was my business, where I was going to stay in
Dublin, and a host of other questions which I evaded
as far as I decently could. I did tell him, amongst
other things, that my name was Aykroyd, and that I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>
lived in the North of England, but not very much
beyond this. After a while he pulled out his revolver
and commenced examining it in a careless sort of
fashion. As I did not like this turn of affairs, I pulled
out my own weapon, which was built for business and
twice the size of the one carried by the stranger, and
made a pretence of looking it over very carefully. The
stranger asked me to let him examine my &ldquo;gun,&rdquo; but
I told him that it was a weapon that I did not like to
hand about for fear of accidents, and after a final look
at the charges, I put it back into my coat pocket in
such a position that it covered the stranger, and kept
my finger on the trigger until we reached Dublin. The
American tried to keep up a conversation all the way,
but I was not very encouraging, and I thought that by
the time we reached Dublin he would be heartily sick
of my company. But when I got out of the station
and was driving off to my hotel, I was surprised to find
that he jumped on to the same car, and said he would
go to the same hotel as I did. After having a wash I
came down into the breakfast room and heard the
American asking the waitress if she knew Mr. Berry, to
which she replied that she did; and then if Mr. Berry
was there that morning, to which she replied that she
had not seen him. As a matter of fact she had not, and
I slipped along the passage to tell her, as she went to
the kitchen, that my name, <i>pro tem</i>, was Aykroyd.
I found in the coffee room that there was a letter
addressed to me, on the mantel-piece. The stranger
was examining this, and asked me if I knew the hangman
by sight. When it was nearly time to catch my
boat the stranger still stuck to me, and at the last
moment he suggested that we should have a drink together.
We went to Mooney&rsquo;s, where I was known to
the bar-tender, to whom I tipped a vigorous wink as we
went in, which showed him there was something in the
wind. After ordering our drinks the American asked
him if he knew Berry, the hangman, to which he truthfully
replied that he did. The American then asked if
he knew whether Berry had come from Galway by the
night mail, adding &ldquo;he was expected to travel by that
train, but Mr. Aykroyd and myself came by it and we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>
saw nobody like him, though I carefully looked along
the whole train.&rdquo; The bar-tender of course knew
nothing, so we drank up, and I went out to my car, the
American shaking hands with me and wishing me a
pleasant voyage. I had run it rather close, and quick
driving only just brought us to the quay in time for me
to get aboard. As the ship swung out from the quay-side,
a car, driven at red-hot speed, came dashing along, and
the passenger, whom I recognised as my American,
gesticulated wildly, as if he wanted the vessel to stop.
But we swung out with steam and tide, and he drove
some distance along the quay-sides wildly but vainly
waving his hands.</p>

<p>The next time I was at Mooney&rsquo;s I heard some
further particulars. The stranger had gone back for
another drink, and after chatting for a few minutes, the
bar-tender told him that his friend Mr. Aykroyd was
the very Berry for whom he had been enquiring. On
hearing that, he rapped out half-a-dozen oaths, rushed
for a car, and drove off in mad haste.</p>

<p>I have never seen him since, nor has the bar-tender,
and I never knew what were the motives for his peculiar
conduct.</p>

<div class="enddeco">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-end11.png" width="137" height="139" alt="" />
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p>

<h2><a name="Appendix" id="Appendix">Appendix.</a><br />
<span class="smaller"><span class="smcap">The Trouble with &ldquo;Answers&rdquo; Limited.</span></span></h2>

<div class="drop">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:j:james-berry-my-life-executioner-drope.png" width="74" height="77" alt="E" />
</div>
<p class="afterdrop"><span class="fstwd"><span class="hidden">E</span>arly</span> last year (1890) I felt compelled to bring
an action for libel against the &ldquo;Answers&rdquo;
Newspaper Co., Ltd. As the case was fully
reported at the time, I think that a report condensed
from the columns of <i>The Bradford Observer</i>, of March 17th,
1890, may be more satisfactory than my own statement
of the case. I, therefore, give it, in the form of an
appendix, rather than in the chapter&mdash;&ldquo;<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">The Press and
the Public</a>&rdquo;&mdash;to which it belongs.</p>

<p>In this action Mr. Waddy, Q.C., M.P., and Mr.
Waugh (instructed by Mr. J. J. Wright) appeared for
the plaintiff, Mr. James Berry, the public executioner,
of 1, Bilton Place, Bradford; and Mr. Cyril Dodd, Q.C.,
appeared for the defendants, the &ldquo;Answers&rdquo; Newspaper
Company, Limited. The plaintiff claimed £500 for
libel, which was printed and published in the periodical
called &ldquo;Answers;&rdquo; the defendants admitted the printing
and publication of the libel, and by way of mitigation of
damages they withdrew all moral imputations against
Berry&rsquo;s character and paid a sum of 40s. into court, and
apologised for the words used.</p>

<p>Mr. Waddy said in behalf of the plaintiff&mdash;and he
thought the observation would commend itself to their
judgment&mdash;that no man in the kingdom, whatever he
might be, and whatever calling he might follow, as long
as he followed the duties of his calling in honesty and
integrity, ought to be deliberately insulted and flouted
for any reason whatever; and he believed that when
they heard what kinds of falsehoods were printed concerning
Berry they would agree with him that Mr.
Berry, although he was the common executioner, being
a sober and respectable man, was entitled at their hands
to be protected from wanton insult. He would tell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>
them what the facts were. It appeared that some time
in September or October of 1889 a man named White
came to him representing himself to be a correspondent
of an American newspaper, and told Mr. Berry that he
was anxious to hear his views upon the very interesting
subject of executions by means of electricity, and that
his opinion, in view of his experience at executions, was
of very great importance. He offered Mr. Berry a fee
of £3 if he would give him the interview which he
desired; and that fee was paid, and Mr. Berry did
discuss the question with him. He did that on the
promise, both by word of mouth and in writing, that
whatever he said should not be published in this
country. Mr. Waddy then read the article which had
appeared in &ldquo;Answers,&rdquo; from which I need only give
extracts.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>He is a powerful, thick-set man, of about medium
stature, and his countenance is not an unpleasant one
at a first glance, though upon closer study one discovers
that the face reveals the lack of several moral
elements in the man&rsquo;s composition, which seems to
indicate that the Creator designed him especially for
the ends he serves.</p>

<p>A critical observer would probably say that his
eyes are too close together, and that their brilliancy
is that of the codfish rather than the eagle, while,
though the mouth and chin indicate determination,
the forehead gives the impression of lack of balance.</p>

<p>A phrenologist would perhaps find that the
cranial bumps that indicate sense and shame, pity
and sympathy, are not particularly well developed
upon the head of Mr. Berry.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>&ldquo;Have you ever been threatened by the friends
of criminals whom you have hanged?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Often,&rdquo; replied Mr. Berry, &ldquo;but I don&rsquo;t pay no
attention to them. I&rsquo;m a doin&rsquo; o&rsquo; my duty, and I&rsquo;m
protected by th&rsquo; Government.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;It was said that if Mrs. Maybrick had not been
reprieved a mob would have been formed in Liverpool
to prevent your hanging her.&rdquo;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p>

<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;d never have seen me,&rdquo; said Mr. Berry,
&ldquo;I&rsquo;d &rsquo;a been in th&rsquo; jail and &rsquo;anged her before th&rsquo; mob
knew I was about, and I&rsquo;d been on th&rsquo; train and on my
way back &rsquo;ome before they knew she was dead. Why
when I &rsquo;anged Poole in Dublin, who murdered
informer Kenny&mdash;O&rsquo;Donnell, who murdered th&rsquo; other
informer, Carey, having been &rsquo;anged at Newgate th&rsquo;
day before&mdash;there was a great mob in Dublin to prevent
my getting into th&rsquo; prison, and nobody outside
knew Poole was &rsquo;anged until I was on th&rsquo; boat a
steaming away for Holyhead.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;How do you manage that?&rdquo; I asked again.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell you,&rdquo; said Mr. Berry in a burst of confidence.
&ldquo;I shaves off my whiskers and I puts on
women&rsquo;s clothes. That&rsquo;s th&rsquo; way I got into Dublin
Jail, with my ropes and straps under my clothes, and
that&rsquo;s th&rsquo; way I&rsquo;ve done many a job.&rdquo;</p></blockquote>

<p>Berry never did such a thing in his life as put on women&rsquo;s
clothes. He never had occasion to put them on, and
there was not the slightest shadow of foundation for
the statement. The people mentioned in the article as
having been hanged by Berry were not hanged by him
at all. This libel was printed upon November 23rd,
1889, and an action was commenced at once. The
defendants now stated in mitigation of damages that
they denied that the words bore the construction which
the plaintiff had put upon them, withdrew all imputations,
and admitted that any such were unfounded, and
apologised for the matter complained of. But the
apology and the withdrawal appeared upon the pleadings
only. From that day to this, with 158,000 of their
papers going out every week, there had net been one
single word in the paper apologising for their action.
It was open to them with a view to mitigation of damages,
to have taken this course, but they had done nothing
but put their apology upon the record, and paid into
court the majestic sum of 40s. as, in their opinion, sufficient
to atone for the wrong.</p>

<p>Mr. Berry was then put into the box and supported
Mr. Waddy&rsquo;s statements.</p>

<p>Mr. Waddy then spoke upon the whole case.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p>

<p>For the defendants Mr. Dodd said that the owners
of the newspaper which he represented were as anxious
as anybody could be that reasonable justice should be
done. Of course, Berry did not suggest that there was any
actual money out-of-pocket loss. Then another feature
of such a case was the question of whether the paper was
one of that class which feeds on personal attacks. He
submitted that the general character of the paper, a
point to which juries were apt to pay some attention,
was good. The articles in question were copied from
an American paper, and the proprietors of &ldquo;Answers&rdquo;
were in the position of having been misled, just as the
proprietors of the <i>New York Sun</i> had been misled by the
large imagination of Mr. White. Berry seemed to
be very quick in his methods, for his writ was served
within a very few days of the appearance of the article,
and without any opportunity being given to his clients to
try and make some kind of apology to suit him. His
clients had endeavoured to meet the case in a perfectly
reasonable way. They did not for a moment express
any doubt that they were dealing with an honest, a
decent, and an experienced man, they withdrew all
supposed imputations, and had had no intention of
making any; and he contended that the highest testimonial
possible was one from a person who had said
something derogatory to him. Berry had suffered no
monetary damage whatever beyond the actual costs of
the action. He suggested, therefore, that the jury
should give such a verdict as would show that the
plaintiff was quite right in bringing the matter into
court, but that they were of opinion that the defendants
had done everything that they could to mitigate the
mischief and annoyance occasioned by the publication
of the libel.</p>

<p>His Lordship then summed up, and the jury found
for the plaintiff, with £100 damages.</p>

<p class="p2 center">FINIS.
</p>

<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> This chapter is taken verbatim from Mr. Berry&rsquo;s note-book. Elisions
are marked....&mdash;<span class="smcap">Ed.</span></p></div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_2" id="Footnote_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> The length of drop you, yourself, thought sufficient, as I read in the <i>Standard</i>.</p></div></div>
</html>