Executioners

by Phil Clarke

  The last known occurrence of this pressing torture and execution took place in Cambridge in 1741. Little is known of the victim and whether or not his silence or his chest broke under the load. However, it would be another thirty-one years until this co­ercive method was stamped out, ending 366 years of crushing pain. This abolition brought both good news and bad. From 1772, any prisoner who took a vow of silence would not escape conviction as his plea would automatically be recorded as guilty! No more were alleged criminals able to prevent their wealth from passing from their willed nominees to their God-appointed monarch. This lawful injustice was soon corrected when in 1827 an Act was passed that called for the court to enter a plea of not guilty whenever a prisoner remained mute.

  The Executioners

  The public executioner Edward (Ned) Dennis is probably best known for appearing as a character in Charles Dicken’s historical novel Barnaby Rudge. In the book, he was cast as a ringleader of a gang of Gordon rioters who was very much at the centre of the action. Dennis’s own story differed quite dramatic­ally. He claimed to be nothing more than a passer-by, forced to join the violence on pain of death. The true version of events in Holborn on that warm summer’s evening in June 1780 is now beyond our reach. If, however, there is any truth in the theory that Dennis was in fact a Gordon sympathiser, and a willing participant in the Gordon riots, it is difficult to imagine how he might have felt when, having received his repreive, he and his assistant William Brunskill were then charged with the responsibility for executing his brothers and sister in arms.

  The Gordon Riots began on Friday 2 June 1780, when the president of the Protestant Association, MP Lord George Gordon, led a protest calling for the repeal of the 1780 Roman Catholic Relief Act. The purpose of the act was to repeal the severely anti-Catholic laws which were introduced in Britain during the 1600s. The Protestant Association wanted these laws reinstated, and they marched on the Houses of Parliament brandishing the legendary slogan ‘No Popery’. The protest quickly got out of hand and a violent mob began to attack Catholic churches and chapels, including the Sardinian Chapel, near Lincoln’s Inn Fields and the Bavarian Chapel in Warwick Street. Later, the angry rioters turned their attention to the homes and business practices of Catholic Londoners, as well as institu­tional buildings such as the Bank of England, the King’s Bench Prison, Newgate, Fleet and Marchelsea Prison. Legend has it that by the evening of the following Wednesday, one could see no less than thirty-six separate properties alight from Tower Bridge.

  Fortunately, weather conditions meant that the flames were well-contained, but the king had had enough and ordered the army to close down the riot at whatever cost. In the battle that ensued between rebels and the soldiers, 285 people were killed, 173 wounded and thirty-nine arrested. Most of the casualties were rioters themselves, who didn’t stand much chance against the might of the British army. The hangman Edward Dennis was one of those arrested and brought to face the judge. In court, he claimed that he was passing through Holborn when a group of marauding rioters recognised him as the famous hangman Ned Dennis, and threatened to kill him there and then if he didn’t participate in the destruction of a house belonging to a man named Edmund Boggis. In fear of his life, he assisted them.

  The likelihood that anyone would threaten a man like Ned Dennis is a matter for debate. Executioners were generally seen as people to be feared and avoided under all circumstances. The judge did not believe Dennis’s story – and sentenced him to death. Aware of the poverty awaiting his family on the occasion of his execution, Ned begged the court that his son may be able to take on the job of executioner, claiming that he was ‘a youth of sobriety and ability, who would be a credit to the profession’. This appeal was rejected on the grounds that such a move would mean the son was forced to execute the father.

  Dennis eventually received a reprieve, the judge was wise enough to recognise the urgent need for an experienced executioner during this time of political and social unrest. He was, therefore, free to execute those who had not been so fortunate. Thirty-five people were sentenced to death. During this time the judge had the power to order that the execution take place near to the scene of the crime. It is likely that he chose to utilise this power in order to send out the message loud and clear that anyone convicted of breaching the peace could expect to be hung in the streets. Gallows were especially constructed all over London for the purpose of punishing the rioters. We have no way of knowing how Dennis felt as he operated the drop and sent these particular men and women to meet their maker. Perhaps he saw them as martyrs for the cause who would receive a bountiful reward in heaven; on the other hand perhaps he just forgot about politics and went ahead regardless. The experience can’t have changed his view of the job that significantly, because he continued to act as public executioner for a further six years.

  William Brunskill

  William Brunskill took over from Edward Dennis as chief executioner on 21 November 1786, following the death of his former boss. During his long and prolific career Brunskill executed a staggering 537 people outside Newgate Gaol, and a further sixty-eight at Horse­monger Lane Gaol in Surrey, from its opening in 1800 to 1814.

  The gallows he preferred to use were the ‘New Drop’ gallows, the same as those on which he had trained under Ned Dennis. It had two parallel beams from which a maximum of twelve people could be hung at once. Sometimes the executions were per­formed in batches. The platform measured 3 metres (10 feet) long and 2.4 metres (8 feet) wide, and was released by a pin acting on a drawbar underneath the trapdoor. The prisoners were afforded a drop of 30 to 60 centimetres (1 to 2 feet), so death was often a long and agonising process. The sight of twelve men and women struggling desperately for breath, simultaneous­ly choking to death, must have been a strange and obscene spectacle indeed. One wonders whether con­gre­gating spectators ever placed bets on which poor wretch would be the first to expire. Occasionally the pin contraption failed, the platform did not release properly and a simple beam and cart method would be used instead, like the one that was used to execute Ann Hurle.

  William Brunskill is probably most famous for con­duct­ing the last ever burning of a woman in England. The unfortunate woman in question was Catherine (or Christian) Murphy, who on 18 March 1798 was executed for coining (regarded as high treason at the time). Her four co-defendants, including her husband, were executed by hanging at the same time, but being a woman she was singled out for the flames.

  Officially women were burnt rather than hung for reasons of decency. It is hard for us to understand how this brutal punishment was any more ‘decent’ than a trip to the gallows. It is true that hanging allowed spectators to peer up the skirts of female prisoners, but when a woman was hung and then burnt, as in the case of Catherine Murphy, this argument becomes defunct. Perhaps the main reason for burning was to provide extra drama for the blood-thirsty audiences and, therefore, a more severe deter­rent from indulging in crime. It is also possible that the chief intention was to destroy the body by flame, thus removing it permanently from the reaches of body snatchers and other unsavoury characters who may otherwise pillage or abuse it.

  Catherine’s life was relatively uneventful and little is known about it. Her death, however, has gone down in history as a significant watershed point in the history of the British legal system. At the time of her execution the rules regarding capital punishment in Britain were beginning to change and so were society’s views surrounding it. In 1787, two years before Catherine’s state-sponsored death, trans­portation to Australia was introduced as an alter­native to incar­ceration and the gallows. Those criminals convicted of their first offence (except for those found guilty of the three most serious crimes: murder, high treason or petty treason) could expect to be transported to Australia rather than dance the Tyburn jig. Within a few years this practice meant the number of criminals being hanged had dramatically decreased. Great news for the criminal fraternity, but Brunskill would have been worried for his job, afterall an ex
ecutioner is only employed as long as there are plenty of criminals to execute! A new era beckoned, one of rehabilitation over retribution, but luckily for Brunskill and his successors it would be almost 180 years before capital punishment was abolished in Britain for good.

  The method used to kill Catherine Murphy on that spring day at Newgate was really more like a modi­fied form of hanging than a traditional stake burning. Murphy was mounted on a small platform in front of the large wooden stake. The noose, which was suspended from an iron bracket projecting from the stake, was placed around the prisoner’s neck and tightened. Then Brunskill removed the platform, leaving Catherine suspended by her neck. After thirty minutes, presuming that the noose had done its job, Brunskill placed the faggots around the stake and set light to them.

  Ann Hurle was only twenty-two years of age when she was hung by Brunskill for forgery on 14 January 1804. For reasons unknown the ‘New Drop’ method was not used, but instead a simple gallows was erected near to St Sepulchres Church. Despite her youth, Ann was highly educated and had devised a cunning plan to defraud the bank of England of the sum of £500 – a massive amount of money at the time and the equivalent of about £250,000 today.

  Ann met and befriended a stockbroker named George Francillon, and persuaded him to obtain a power of attorney to allow her to sell some Bank of England stock on behalf of an elderly gentleman named Benjemin Allin. George had known Anne for sometime and, therefore, was not overly suspicious of her intentions. She claimed that Mr Allin had promised her the shares in return for her aunt’s ongoing help and compassion as his long-term housekeeper. Mr Francillon granted her request and she told him that she would take the document away and get it signed by Mr Allin.

  Ann returned with the papers signed (purportedly by Mr Allin) and witnessed by Thomas Noulden and Peter Verney, who both owned businesses in Green­wich. Mr Francillon took the document to be verified, and Anne set off to sell the shares. The verification department noticed that the signature on the form bore little resemblance to the sample signature held by the bank. Anne replied that Mr Allin was nearly ninety and did not often write, which would explain why the signature differed. She even offered to take out another power of attorney and obtain another signature from the wealthy gentlemen.

  Nevertheless, the seed of doubt had been sewn, and Mr Francillon began to question Miss Hurle’s story. He deferred his next meeting with Anne and investi­gated the matter a little further – making a visit to Mr Allin. Ann realised then that the game was up and tried to make a break for it, but it was too late. She was charged with attempted forgery.

  Both Benjimen Allin and George Francillon were principle witnesses for the prosecution – Allin testified that he had never seen or signed the document in question. Mr Verney and Mr Noulden also testified against her. Ann simply didn’t stand a chance.

  On the day of her execution Miss Hurle was brought out of the debtor’s door at Newgate Prison at 8.00 am. She was placed in a cart and drawn to the widest part of the Old Bailey, where she mounted the platform. She showed considerable remorse, begged forgiveness and prayed silently, fainting more than once. When Brunskill placed the noose around her neck she attempted to speak, but was unable. As with many who faced this destiny before her, her strength had well and truly failed her. Ann’s youthful, girlish appearance, that same quality that had most likely appealed to George Francillon, also appealed to the crowd. They began to feel sorry for her and became so clamorous that the sherrif was forced to intervene, shouting at the spectators to calm down. Brunskill then pulled the cap down over Anne’s face and the cart was drawn away. Anne gave a faint scream as she was lurched upwards, and for a couple of minutes she appeared to be in great pain and distress, struggling and waving her arms about wildly.

  John Langley

  John Langley took over from William Brunskill in 1814 as executioner of Newgate Gaol. He executed thirty-seven men and three women in three years as chief executioner. One of the few females he executed was Eliza Fenning in 1815.

  Eliza was just twenty years old when she went to the gallows. Very attractive girls often find themselves in trouble of one kind or another. They tend to excite the unwelcome passions of men and the passionate jealousy of their wives. This, some say, is what happened to Eliza Fenning.

  She was employed as a cook in the house of Robert and Charlotte Turner, a respectable family who lived with their servants in Chancery Lane, London. On 21 March 1815, Eliza prepared a lunch of rump steak and potatos with gravy and dumplings. Soon after eating the meal, the whole family (including Eliza and an apprentice in the household) went down with chronic stomach pains and violent vomiting. The doctor was sent for immediately and everyone was able to make a full recovery. Whoever attempted to dispatch the Turner family that afternoon, they hadn’t done a particularly good job. This error is the first clue to the identity of the would-be killer. The murderer obviously had no idea how much poison would kill the family, and one could conclude that they were not even that determined, considering that they only put enough in to give them all a nasty stomach ache, not nearly enough to kill anyone.

  Soon after the incident Mr Turner expressed suspicions that the family had been poisoned with arsenic, because a packet of the poision he kept in his office had recently disappeared. Arsenic was widely available at the time and often used for treating vermin infestations. The Turners had a problem with mice – they also had a problem with murderous servants – or so they believed. The police were called, and an investigation began.

  The missing packet of arsenic was never found, but its contents were detected in the dumpling pan on the day following the alleged poisoning. The only person who had a part in cooking the lunch was Eliza, and although the dumplings had been burnt and heavy instead of light and pale coloured (she can’t have been a particularly good cook), no one else from the household had been near them.

  The apparent motive was revenge, at Eliza’s trial Mrs Turner testified that Miss Fenning had recently been discovered scantily clad in a bedroom shared by two of the male servants. Eliza had been severely reprimanded and threatened with the sack if she did not mend her ways. The young woman was actually engaged to be married, so it is odd that she should be frolicking with the hired help, but her prosecutors ignored this. In the following days and weeks, she had been unusually surly and un­co-operative with her master and her mistress. Would a serious ticking off such as this drive a young woman to try and murder an entire household? The jury must have thought so, because despite her pleas of innocence on all grounds (the accused wouldn’t have had a defence council at that time, and had to rely on his or her own wits to provide a defence), Eliza was sentenced to hang by the neck. And the following July, the responsibility for ending her life fell to John Langley.

  On the morning of her death, Eliza Fenning was made ready outside debtor’s door at Newgate. It was supposed to be her wedding day, and she was wearing her intended outfit – a white muslin gown and white cap with pretty lilac lace-up boots. But instead of a marriage band, she’d be accepting a very different gift – the hangman’s noose. Eliza was to be accompanied in her fate by two more convicted criminals – fifty-one-year-old Abraham Adams who’d been convicted of sodomy, and twenty-four-year-old William Oldfield, who had been convicted of the rape of a nine-year-old girl. Oldfield asked specifically to be hung at Eliza’s side.

  The crowds were already gathering. Reverend Horace Cotton was present to see to Miss Fenning’s spiritual needs, and he asked Eliza if she had anything she wanted to say. She made a short statement of her innocence:

  Before the just and almighty God, and by the faith of the holy sacrament I have taken, I am wholly innocent of the offence with which I am charged.

  The crowd fell silent and Eliza stood calmly and stoically while John Langley positioned the noose around her pretty young neck. Then things began to go wrong.

  He tried to pull the traditional white night-cap down over the young lady’s head, but it didn’t fit
because she was wearing a bonnet style cap contain­ing her long tresses, he then tried to blindfold her with a white muslin cloth, but it, too, was too small. There was only one option remaining for Langley. He drew out of his pocket his own, filthy pocket hankerchief – hardly the most sophisticated piece of equipment in a hangman’s arsenal, but infinitely useful in a situation such as this. At this point, Eliza – who had been so brave up to this point – frankly lost it. She begged the reverend not to let the hangman blind her with his filthy rag, but she had no choice. It would be a scandal if she were not blindfolded. On the rare occasions when a prisoner’s face had not been covered up, the gruesome grimaces and contor­tions expressed by the prisoner as he or she writhed and choked had so upset the spec­tators that violence and hysteria broke out among them. Langley went ahead and tied the hankerchief over Eliza’s eyes. At approximately 8.30 a.m. Langley operated the drop, but not before Eliza had once again proclaimed her innocence to the reverend. Eliza died quickly, almost without writhing.

  Many male executioners mention in their writings that not only is it much harder for them to execute a woman, both emotionally and practically, but it is even more difficult when the prisoner continues to plead innocence. One wonders how Langley would have coped if he suspected that he’d executed an innocent young woman.

  A large number of others certainly suspected that Eliza was indeed innocent of attempted murder, and two more investigations of the case were conducted to try and satisfy all concerned, including the Lord Chancellor himself, that Eliza was guilty and deserved to hang. No evidence could be found to prove her innocence, so hang she did. In the years following Eliza’s death there have been lots of theories about the mysterious matter of the arsenic in the dumpling pan. The most salacious being that Mr Turner had fallen in love with Eliza, and Mrs Turner had ‘cooked up’ a plot to frame her for murder. Another theory sees Mr Turner as the culprit, who driven mad with lust and jelousy by Mrs Turner’s story of Eliza’s frolicking with the household servants, decided to use his own arsenic to spike the dumplings and punish the entire household, including Eliza.