Female Executions: Martyrs, Murderesses and Madwomen

by Abbott, Geoffrey

  In the condemned cell in Sing Sing Prison Mary gave few signs of despair; on the contrary she was obviously buoyed up at the prospect of a favourable result being reached by the Court of Appeal. But when news came through that the original death sentence had been affirmed, her nerves gave way completely. Eating little but ice cream, she lay on the bed in her cell crying and moaning; she rarely slept but when she did she would wake up screaming, ‘I can’t stand it, I can’t stand it!’ What further exacerbated her already fragile mental condition was that while she was thus incarcerated, no fewer than ten men were electrocuted for their crimes within the prison, events that could not possibly be kept concealed from the other inmates. The strain on her emotions was such that two days before she was due to be escorted to the execution chamber, she became bedridden and hardly able to move.

  A special commission was authorised to examine her both physically and mentally, its results stating:

  We find no evidence of organic disease of the central nervous system or the body as a whole. Mrs Creighton is well developed, well nourished and muscular. If she has lost weight, it is not apparent. Her disturbances in motor power, in sensation and in speech are in part hysterical. They are grossly exaggerated by conscious malingering. Her mind appears to be clear and she fully appreciates her present position. She is suffering from a type of disability which would improve rapidly if she were encouraged, and get worse if she were discouraged. Her condition is the reaction to the situation in which she finds herself.

  The executioner was Robert G. Elliott, not only an expert in his profession, but also noted for his humane and compassionate attitude towards his victims. When on 16 July 1936 he reported to the prison, he was shocked to find Mrs Creighton in a state of total collapse. Clad only in a pink nightdress and black dressing gown, wearing black slippers and holding a rosary, she was placed in a wheelchair – the first time a victim had ever been transported in that manner on such an occasion – and in the execution chamber was lifted into the electric chair. Limp and unresisting, her eyes closed and all the colour drained from her face, she was obviously unconscious and the warders had no difficulty in strapping her into the chair and attaching the electrodes. After checking that all necessary connections had been made, Mr Elliott gently raised her head and, pressing it back against the rubber headrest, secured it in position.

  To block the view of the helpless woman from would-be photographers among the official witnesses in the audience, the guards placed themselves between the chair and the observation window, and as soon as they did so the executioner moved swiftly to throw the switch – and Mary Frances Creighton died without even knowing.

  As an indication of the heat that is generated in a person being electrocuted, one of the warders on duty that night suffered severe burns on coming into contact with Mrs Creighton’s body while releasing her from the chair; normally this would have been prevented by the thick clothing usually worn by the victim, but on this occasion her flimsy apparel proved inadequate.

  American tabloids were never averse to giving criminals lurid labels, especially the female ones, as evidenced by those given to murderess Ada LeBoeuf by one southern newspaper in the 1920s, ‘the Siren of the Swamps’, ‘Louisiana’s Love Pirate’ and ‘Small Town Cleopatra’ being just a few. Nor were the details of her appearance ignored, repeated allusions to her entertaining guests in her cell wearing a white organdie dress, and when someone suggested that she have her long black hair bobbed, she allegedly answered, ‘Oh no, bobbed hair suits some women but I don’t think I’d like it; I’ve never had my hair cut and I don’t intend to now.’

  D

  Davy, Margaret (England)

  A man named Richard Roose was indirectly instrumental in Margaret Davy being executed in a particularly gruesome manner, for in 1531 he added poison to the yeast in some porridge which had been prepared for the family and servants of the Bishop of Rochester, and for the poor of the parish, causing serious illness in many victims and two deaths. The Bishop himself was not affected, he not having partaken of porridge that day.

  Henry VIII was so appalled at such a secretive and indiscriminate method of killing people that he caused an Act to be passed in that year, to deal with the crime, chapter 9 stating in part that:

  Our Sayde Sovereign Lord The Kynge, of his blessed Disposicion, inwardly abhorrying all such abhomynable offences because that in no persone can lyve in suretye out of daunger of death by that meane yf practyse thereof shulde not be exchued, hath ordeyned and enacted by auctorytie of thys presente parlyment that the sayde poysonyng be adjudged and demed as high treason [...] and requyeth condigne punysshemente for the same, and it is ordeyned and enacted by auctoritie of this presente parlyment that the sayd Richard Roose shalbe therfore boyled to deathe.

  And because that was the penalty for poisoning, poor Margaret Davy, who was found guilty of poisoning three households in which she had been employed, was similarly ‘boyled to death’, being immersed in a cauldron of water in the marketplace in Smithfield, London, on 17 March 1542 and watched by crowds of ghoulish spectators. Whether the water was boiling at the time or subsequently heated was not disclosed.

  By the nineteenth century condemned women, having mounted the scaffold and being positioned on the drop, had their arms and ankles tied, the latter thereby preventing their long skirts rising as they fell. Regrettably this precaution was not in force in 1751 when well-educated though naive Mary Blandy met her end. She had succumbed to the blandishments of Captain William Henry Cranstoun who was intent on securing her dowry; her father objected so she agreed to put a potion, sent by the captain, in his food, which poisoned him. She was tried at Oxford, found guilty and sentenced to death.

  A makeshift scaffold had been constructed which required the victim to climb a high ladder instead of the usual flight of steps, and as Mary ascended it local men surged forward in an attempt to peer beneath her ankle-length skirts. Overwhelmed by embarrassment, she reached the platform and exclaimed to the waiting executioner as he positioned the noose around her neck: ‘Please don’t hang me high, for the sake of decency!’

  Deshayes, Catherine (France)

  If Catherine had ever written a recipe book, the contents would have given the diner rather more than a queasy stomach-ache, for the ingredients included bat’s blood, blister beetles and desiccated moles! Her culinary prowess proved more than useful, for the seventeenth century was an era in which love potions and philtres were the cocktails with which to entice reluctant lovers to succumb to one’s charms, or to dispose of enemies, all supplied by the local witch – at a price, of course.

  There was little doubt that Catherine Deshayes, also known as La Voisin, was one of the most renowned members of that particular profession. In her early thirties she decided to solve her severe financial difficulties by practising sorcery and fortune-telling, concentrating on clients needing advice on attracting the opposite sex and retaining their affection. Having made an initially favourable impression in Parisian circles, her business flourished to the extent that she was able to buy a house on the outskirts of the city, a stately residence which became a venue for the lovelorn among the aristocracy. In Archives de la Bastille, written by the celebrated author François Ravaisson and published in 1873, Catherine explained how:

  Some women asked whether they could not soon become widows, because they wanted to marry someone else; almost all asked this, and came for no other reason. When those who come to have their hand read do ask for anything else, they nevertheless always come to that point, given time, and ask to be ridded of someone, and when I gave those who come to me for that purpose my usual answer, that those they wished to be rid of would die when it pleased God, they told me that I was not very clever.

  It then became obvious to her that if she was to maintain her superiority among the other practising soothsayers and palmists, she would have to show some results of her prognostications. She had already amassed a considerable inventory of ‘magical’ aids, Tar
ot cards, crystal balls, charts of the heavens and astrological tables, but in order to offer more tangible means whereby her clients’ problems could be solved, she became a purveyor of poisons at prices which could be afforded only by the most affluent of Paris. Her efforts to satisfy her clientele resulted in an unidentifiable ailment sweeping the city, fatally affecting, curiously enough, older, unattractive men and women whose spouses just happened to have fancied someone else, and pregnant women who wished to lose their unborn children. Other potions benefited lovers, both men and women, much to their delight, who found their erotic performances considerably enhanced after having unknowingly partaken of one of La Voisin’s secret and extremely expensive philtres, administered by their partners.

  Swept along on a highly lucrative wave of sorcery, Catherine indulged in black magic at its very darkest. She gathered around her a veritable coven of other witches, sadists and perverts; animals were slaughtered, their entrails, suitably boiled and flavoured, providing infallible medicines; newborn babies were sacrificed during Black Masses; and she became so eminent among the elite that eventually word of her mystic powers reached the ears of the Marquise de Montespan, mistress of King Louis XIV, whose beauty was as much renowned as her volcanic temper was feared. Jealous of any possible competitors for the royal favours and fearing that the King might discard her for a younger woman, she paid La Voisin tens of thousands of francs for potions with which to remove suspected rivals from the scene – permanently. Nor was that all; the Marquise even took part in the Satanic rites arranged by Catherine, ceremonies involving severed limbs which La Voisin procured from her lover, the Paris executioner.

  But as reports of these clandestine orgies circulated, priests belonging to the Order of St Vincent de Paul, dedicated to tracking down and converting heretics, started to investigate such irreligious activities. On learning of this, the Marquise immediately assumed that their enquiries had been instigated by the King so that, having incriminated her, he could replace her with one of the younger and more tempting beauties of the royal court.

  At that, her already ungovernable temper knew no bounds; so venomously determined was she to prevent anyone else assuming her role as Louis’ mistress that, hastening to La Voisin, she presented her with a veritable fortune in gold and demanded that she poison the King.

  Made richer than she had ever been, Catherine formulated a plan whereby she would impregnate a scroll of paper with toxic fluids and hand it to the King as a petition; mixing with his perspiration, the poison would attack his nervous system and kill him within a short space of time. But before she could act, one of her circle of Satanists betrayed her to the police, who promptly arrested her. Loyal to her many aristocratic clients, when interrogated she refused to name names, but her daughter, doubtless hoping that by laying the blame on others, her mother would escape serious involvement, identified the hundreds of high society members who had participated in her mother’s demonic ceremonies.

  Most of the aristocrats she named were rounded up and put on trial, scores being subsequently imprisoned. As for the Marquise, she desperately begged Louis for mercy, artfully reminding him of the seven children she had borne him; her plea saved her life for the King banished her, forbidding her ever to return to Paris.

  But no such good fortune or royal clemency favoured La Voisin. Retribution was demanded, and in the Middle Ages that was rather more than a reprimand and a smack on the wrist. Catherine Deshayes was taken away and after being severely racked, she was strapped immovable into the torture chair, an iron structure with spiked seat, back and armrests, under which a fire could be lighted. Nor were her legs neglected, for she was later subjected to the dreaded boots, metal legging which could be tightened, crushing the limbs until the wearer’s shin bones splintered and fractured. Even incoherent protests were out of the question, for her sentence also included the amputation of her tongue.

  The Torture Chair

  Her ghastly torture ended on 22 February 1680, when the authorities prepared her execution in accordance with regulations. After erecting the stake, a circular wall consisting of alternate layers of straw and wood was built around it, a passage being left for access to the centre. Catherine Deshayes, clad only in a sulphur-smeared tunic, was led to the stake, to which she was bound with ropes and chains. Before leaving the pyre the executioner heaped more combustible material around her, and, after closing the passage with further supplies of wood, he and his assistants ignited all sides of the kindling at the same time.

  Regardless of her crimes, one can only hope that the rising smoke brought suffocation before the leaping flames devoured her flesh; whichever horrific way she perished, she paid the price of her wickedness in full.

  During the French Revolution Mme Marie Jeanne Roland had been condemned to death by the Council and when visited by executioner Sanson who was to cut away the long black hair from her neck so that it would not impede the falling blade, she murmured, ‘At least leave me enough for you to hold up my head and show it to the people, if they wish to see it!’

  Dick, Alison (Scotland)

  Witches also existed in Scotland in the seventeenth century, their presence being suspected when cattle died, droughts occurred or illness spread through the residents of a village. To prove a woman was indeed a witch, they needed a witch-finder. There was no shortage of these ‘experts’ for they moved around the country, their travel expenses being paid by those who engaged them, plus about twenty shillings for each conviction. On arrival in a village the bellman would advertise the fact by walking round the streets announcing it to all and sundry. Suspects would then be arrested, or vengeful neighbours would inform on their enemies. It also worked in reverse, a woman anticipating being reported bribing her likely informer to keep quiet, or even bribing the witch-finder to find her innocent.

  In many cases the witness’s evidence was sufficient to prove guilty; if not, the fact that witches were secretly marked by Satan made it necessary to find the sign on the witch’s body. There were two kinds of marks, visible and invisible. The former was simple to locate, for after the suspect had been stripped naked and all her hair had been shaved off, all one had to look for was a pimple, mole or birthmark to prove her guilt. It was the invisible mark that called for all the professional expertise of the witch-finder. Based on the fact that the flesh where the invisible mark existed was not susceptible to pain and would not bleed, even under pressure from a sharp instrument (James I himself stated that the absence of blood was an infallible sign), he would proceed to probe her entire body with a long sharp needle. His search was usually successful, because as the time passed, continued prodding caused the flesh to become insensitive. Some witch-finders, determined not to be deprived of their fees, would use a spring-loaded instrument, the needle of which would retract into its holder when pressed against the skin, the suspect of course experiencing no pain.

  Sometimes additional measures had to be employed, such as that used on a suspect in 1591: ‘By tightening the pilliwinckes [thumbscrews] on her fingers they, upon search, found the enemy’s mark to be in her fore-crag, or forepart of her throat, and then she confessed all. In another witch, the Devil’s mark was found upon her privates.’

  One of those who thus suffered was Alison Dick who, found guilty of practising witchcraft in Kirkcaldy in 1633, was burnt to death on 19 November of that year, together with her male colleague William Coke, the itemised bill submitted to the treasurer of the local council being as follows:

  For ten loads of coal to burn them – £3.6.8

  For a tar barrel – 14.0

  For towes [kindling] – 6.0

  To him that brought the Executioner – £2.18.0

  To the Executioner for his pains – £8.14.0

  For his expenses here – 16.4

  For one to go to Tinmouth for the Laird [to preside over the burning] – 6.0

  Total – £17.1.0.

  Although her real name was Mary Young, she became known as Jenny Diver because of
the dexterity with which, as an expert pickpocket, she could dive her hand in and out of her victims’ pockets without being detected. Her sleight of hand was truly remarkable, although that phrase should be in the plural, because at times she had four of them! To further reduce the risk of being caught, she paid an amateur sculptor to make her two false arms, which she secured within her coat sleeves, and when seated she crossed the false gloved hands demurely in her lap. Slits in the sides of her coat allowed her to slide her own hands out and into the pockets or handbags of those sitting on each side of her in church or theatre. Similar ruses, such as graciously accepting assistance from men on crossing a muddy road, then deftly sliding the rings from their fingers as she did so, brought her a veritable fortune. In fact, the only thrift she ever experienced was when meeting hangman John Thrift on 18 March 1740; then, her false arms discarded, her real arms bound in front of her, she felt the noose tighten around her slim neck ’neath the gallows at Tyburn, and the trap fall away from beneath her feet.

  Druse, Roxalana (USA)

  When William Druse first met Roxalana Teftt in 1863 he was struck by her attractive figure and completely lost his head to her; twenty-one years later he was struck again, this time by the axe she wielded – as she beheaded him!