Female Executions: Martyrs, Murderesses and Madwomen

by Abbott, Geoffrey

  In that era every execution was invariably used as a lesson supporting Victorian morality, and the next edition of the Preston Chronicle was no exception, the editor commenting that, ‘It may be useful to attribute her course of criminal excess to an early departure from the path of virtue, having borne an illegitimate child when she was sixteen years of age. She also confessed to having carried out a systematic pattern of robberies on her parents, the proceeds of which she shared among the most abandoned company she could meet with.’ And space for words such as ‘fiendish-like depravity’, brutal insensibility’, ‘sensual appetite’ and, of course, ‘terrible example’ was also found in later paragraphs.

  Had she been executed in London, her cadaver might well have been taken to Surgeons’ Hall as a specimen to be used in dissection classes, but in this case it was purchased by Dr John Monks of Preston, doubtless for the same medical purpose. Some sixty years later he died, and Jane’s skeleton, its bones wired together in their correct order, left its usual place in the corner of the good doctor’s consulting room for the shop of a herbalist, Mr Livesey, who probably used it as an advertisement for his patented brand of calcium tablets, or as a warning of what would happen to children if they didn’t eat their greens. Jane’s appearance had been enhanced by a coat of whitewash, and she looked quite eye-catching except for a pink spot on her skull, due to rain which had dripped through a leaky roof. Later withdrawn into the living quarters behind the shop, ‘Old Jane’ became a member of the family, the Livesey grandchildren welcoming her as an uncomplaining and highly flexible playmate. But during a break-in the burglar stole the skull, and while some of the remaining bones were given a decent burial in the garden, others were presented to a local museum. Poor Jane!

  Other times, other souvenirs: as Queen Marie Antoinette mounted the steps of the scaffold one of her shoes, of black silk but now shabby and in sad need of repair, slipped from her foot. Not stopping to pick it up, she continued on to the platform where the guillotine awaited. A soldier later retrieved the royal shoe and sold it to a souvenir collector for one gold louis.

  Shuttleworth, Margaret (Scotland)

  Margaret had married a sailor named Henry Shuttleworth, and they settled down in Montrose, Scotland. She was a heavy drinker, and it was no doubt due to her forceful personality and perpetual thirst that they went into business selling whisky and similar intoxicants. She might have enjoyed her tipple, but Henry bore the brunt of it, for it was common knowledge among the neighbours that when drunk, his wife turned extremely violent, hitting him with whatever came to hand. Matters came to a head – Henry’s head – on 28 April 1821: Henry was found dead with a severe head wound, his clothes covered with blood. Although Margaret insisted that he must have sustained the injury by falling downstairs, the post-mortem found that the wound could only have been caused by a blow – and a bloodstained poker was found in her bedroom.

  Margaret was arrested, charged with murder, and taken to Perth Prison. En route, stops were made for meals; at one inn her air of confidence was commented on, for she tucked into toast and two eggs, with numerous cups of tea. But her self-assured attitude did not support her for long; on 19 September she appeared in the Perth Circuit Court before Lord Justice Clerk Boyle and Lord Pitmilly, the jury being made up of members of the local landed gentry. Any defence that might have been made on her behalf proved ineffective, for the bloodstained poker was produced, and further evidence given that all the windows and doors of the house were found to be fastened from the inside.

  The jury returned a unanimous verdict of guilty and Margaret was sentenced to be hanged between the hours of two and four o’clock in the afternoon of 7 November. However, an appeal was submitted on the grounds that there was no apparent motive, that the condemned woman was drunk when put to bed by the maid who had then gone out, and that Margaret had been the one who had raised the alarm. A one-month reprieve was granted, but to no avail.

  On 7 December of that year nearly 5,000 inhabitants of Montrose and the surrounding districts gathered round the scaffold in the pouring rain as Margaret was led out of the gaol to be executed. Wearing a black dress frilled at the neck, with black stockings and gloves, a handkerchief about her head, she stood on the platform while the hangman struggled to pull the white hood over her head, it having shrunk with the rain. There was no problem in positioning the noose, however, and even as he adjusted it, she was heard to say, ‘I loved my husband as I loved my life.’ But just as she had lost the one, so she lost the other, as the rope holding the trapdoors was severed, bringing her world to an end.

  Margaret’s corpse was taken to Edinburgh, the route necessitating a crossing of the Firth of Forth, and it was reported that the Customs and Excise officers on duty there, by their very nature suspicious of possible smugglers, insisted on the coffin being opened for inspection of the contents before they allowed it to continue on its way. In the capital city it was delivered to the University where it was dissected as part of the training of students learning to become surgeons.

  That there remained some doubt regarding her guilt was manifested by the entry in the parish register, for it read: ‘Margaret Tyndal [her maiden name] was executed in front of the jail for the supposed murder of her husband, Henry Shuttleworth, having been condemned on presumptive evidence.’ That doubt could well have been correct, for some years later an Irishman convicted of murder confessed that he, not Margaret, had killed Henry Shuttleworth. He explained that after the maid had put her mistress to bed and left the house, Henry had let him in and they had had a drinking session, during which a quarrel had developed. He had struck Henry with the poker, and in order to divert suspicion, had put it beside the woman asleep in the next room. Not only that, but he had left the house via the traditionally wide chimney, a means of entry and exit commonly used by burglars. So was Margaret innocent after all?

  Like Margaret Shuttleworth, American Emilene Meaker, awaiting execution in 1883, also enjoyed some toast and two boiled eggs – plus a potato, a doughnut and a cup of coffee. That was for lunch; earlier she had eaten a king-sized breakfast consisting of a large beefsteak, a piece of meat pie, three potatoes, and a slice of bread and butter, and of course the inevitable cup of coffee. She had obviously decided that it was far too late to go on worrying about her weight!

  Snyder, Ruth (USA)

  Just as Irene Schroeder had dominated Glenn Dague, so Ruth Snyder had a stronger character than Henry Judd Gray, hence her nickname in the press of ‘The Granite Woman’ and his of ‘Putty Man’. Ruth, tall, blonde and attractive despite her ice-cold eyes, had married Albert Snyder, thirteen years older than her, but the marriage was not a success. It was hardly surprising that on meeting corset salesman Henry, weak-chinned with a nature to match, whose marriage was also on the rocks, they found much in common and started a passionate relationship. But Ruth wanted more, she wanted money, and so insured Albert for $96,000. Then she tried gassing him, adding poison to his food, and arranging near fatal household ‘accidents’; when she told Henry what she was doing, he naively asked her why. ‘To kill the poor guy!’ she replied, and she persisted in keeping up the pressure on her lover until he agreed to help her.

  On 19 March 1927 Ruth and Henry went shopping, buying a 5 lb sash weight, some chloroform and lengths of picture wire.

  The next evening, while the Snyders were out at a party, Henry entered their house and hid. Husband and wife returned later, Ruth having plied Albert with sufficient drink to dull his senses; he staggered up to bed, whereupon Ruth and Henry followed shortly afterwards and Henry struck him a crushing blow with the sash weight. It didn’t kill him, whereupon the would-be killer shouted desperately to Ruth, ‘Momsie, Momsie, for God’s sake, help!’ She responded by joining in with a chloroform-soaked cloth, and when Albert had lost consciousness, they strangled him with the picture wire. Gray then tied Ruth’s wrists and ankles, and after gagging her – not too tightly – left the house.

  The next morning she managed to rais
e the alarm, telling the police that she and her husband had been attacked by a burglar who had also stolen several valuable items. Things went pear-shaped for her when, in searching the house for clues, they not only found the ‘stolen’ objects but also a tie-clip with Henry’s initials engraved on it and his name in her address book. Taking a chance, they told her that Henry had already been arrested and had confessed everything; panicking, she then accused Henry of plotting the murder and claimed that she had only stood and watched him killing her husband.

  Amid nationwide publicity they went on trial at Queens County Courthouse, Long Island City, in April 1927, thousands of people applying for tickets to see the Granite Woman and the Putty Man, and to savour the gruesome details of the crime. Outside the courthouse enterprising traders sold miniature sash weights mounted on tie-pins as souvenirs.

  Both Ruth and Henry blamed each other, both were found guilty and sentenced to death. While in Sing Sing Prison each wrote their life story, Ruth’s notoriety bringing offers of marriage from nearly 200 men. Executioner Robert G. Elliott also received letters, one of which read: ‘If you don’t want to do it, will you let me have first offer? I won’t mind one bit to execute Mrs Snyder. It is just what she should get, the chair. I could execute her with a good heart. I also think that if they did have a woman executioner to execute a woman, it would take a whole lot off your mind. If you would like to have me help you the night she is put in the chair, I would be more than glad to do so. I hope to hear from you soon.’ Needless to say, he didn’t.

  In an attempt to shift all the blame on to the adverse publicity she had received from the press and thereby obtain a reprieve by arousing public sympathy, Ruth wrote a self-pitying verse:

  You’ve blackened and besmeared a mother

  Once a man’s plaything – a Toy –

  What have you gained by all you’ve said,

  And has it brought you Joy?

  The ploy didn’t work, and on 12 January 1928, wearing a brown smock over a black, knee-length calico skirt, she was led to the execution chamber. Her blonde hair had been freshly combed; once thick, the tresses were now so thin that it was not necessary to clip it short where the electrode was to be positioned. On seeing the electric chair she swayed and almost collapsed, a wardress having to assist her to sit in it. There, she broke down and wept: ‘Jesus, have mercy on me, for I have sinned,’ she sobbed. The black stocking on her right leg had been rolled down so that the electrode could be attached, and the executioner, Robert G. Elliott, parted the hair at the back of her head so that the other electrode would make good contact, then fixed it in position. As he put the mask over her face, she cried, ‘Jesus, have mercy.’ He threw the switch, the series of high voltage currents surged through her body, and after two minutes it was turned off to allow the prison doctor to use his stethoscope and announce that Ruth Snyder was dead.

  Macabre souvenirs of executions were also all the rage during the French Revolution. The new plebeian Parisian society took the guillotine to their hearts (while aristocrats were taking it somewhat higher up). The popularity of the device was not overlooked by manufacturers, who wasted little time in bringing out miniature versions of the death-dealing device as toys for children, no doubt resulting in the early demise of many a household pet. Larger versions for adults included dolls resembling unpopular politicians which could be decapitated at the dinner party table and would exude ‘blood’, this being a liqueur or perfume, the latter for the benefit of the ladies present, many of whom wore silver or gold earrings in the shape of the guillotine, or brooches bearing the same image.

  Spinelli, Juanita (USA)

  With her spectacles, protruding ears and long nose ‘the Duchess’, as she became known, might have looked like ‘a mouse wearing glasses’, as San Quentin Warden Duffy described her, but she was tough and vicious. In the 1920–30s, when gang leaders were male, cold-blooded and ruthless, Juanita was the terrifying exception. Although then in her late thirties she dominated the gang of thugs which she and her partner Michael Simeone had recruited; physically strong, she effortlessly subdued any man who thought he could out-wrestle her. Nor was that all, for one of her favourite weapons was the throwing knife, which she used with uncanny accuracy. Ruled by fear and respect, her minions obeyed her every order implicitly, robbing shops, hijacking lorries, and mugging affluent looking residents.

  But it was inevitable that sooner or later someone was going to get killed, something that, up to now, the Duchess and her gang had strenuously avoided. In one raid on a café, the proprietor was shot dead and the gang had to flee. Among those who finally holed up in an obscure hotel in Sacramento was Robert Sherrard, a young man who had recently joined the gang and who was strongly suspected by Juanita to be not as fully committed as the others – that if arrested, might break under pressure and escape the death penalty by telling everything he knew. Never one to take chances, Juanita decided to dispense with his services, so after rendering him unconscious by means of knock-out drops in his whisky, the gang took him to the Sacramento River and dropped him over the bridge.

  With no evidence of violence, should the body have been washed ashore, the Duchess and members of her court could have got away with it, had not another member been arrested for a minor transgression and talked – and talked! It spelt the end of Juanita’s reign of domination and terror. Taken into custody she was charged with murder and sentenced to death. Though defiant to the end – when all appeals were rejected, she snarled, ‘My blood will burn holes in their bodies!’ – a soft side of her nature was revealed when she requested that when executed she might have photographs of her three children and one grandchild pinned over her heart.

  But few could beat her when it came to sheer coolness under pressure. While imprisoned in San Quentin Gaol the warden, Clinton Duffy, treated the inmates with kindness and humanity, none more so than when, on 21 November 1941, Juanita became the first woman in the USA to be executed by the gas chamber. The warden and guards escorted her there only to find an inexcusable hold-up – the large number of officials and others necessary to witness the execution had not arrived. Juanita stood by the open door of the chamber and studied the two chairs therein, with the cyanide containers and the jars of sulphuric acid placed in readiness for her. Refusing the offer to return to her cell until the witnesses arrived, with incredible insouciance she started to discuss the weather, for all the world as if at home having a cup of tea. When eventually the audience arrived and was seated facing the glass windows of the chamber, Warden Clinton said, ‘It’s time – keep your chin up.’ The Duchess nodded. ‘OK,’ she replied and, entering the chamber, coolly took her seat in one of the chairs to await the end.

  She was confirmed dead ten and a half minutes after the cyanide eggs, dropping into the acid, caused the deadly fumes to rise.

  Those subsequently destined for the gas chamber in America usually wore minimal clothing to reduce the amount of cyanide gas which could be absorbed into the material and thereby pose a toxic risk to those entering the chamber afterwards to remove the corpses. Problems arose when it was decided that Bonnie Brown Heady and Carl Austin Hall, her accomplice in a kidnapping and murder case, would be executed together, it taking too long to gas one, then decontaminate the chamber before gassing the other. This was solved by allowing both to wear the standard prison uniforms. Further complications also arose regarding Bonnie’s hair; being long and thick, the gas could accumulate in it, but reportedly the risk was taken, with no dire results to anyone present – other than to Bonnie herself.

  Spooner, Bathsheba (USA)

  A tale of a husband loyal to his new country, a wife loyal to the old country; of deserters, a lover, two generals, and an American vice-president who was imprisoned in the Tower of London; surely a scenario worthy of Hollywood itself.

  The loyal husband was elderly Joshua Spooner, a fervent supporter of the revolutionary ambitions of the American colonists; his wife Bathsheba, daughter of an English general, was eq
ually supportive of King George III. To say that their views were incompatible would have been putting it mildly, and so it was not surprising that Bathsheba looked elsewhere for more congenial company. She found it in Ezra Ross, a young man with whom she soon commenced a torrid affair. And whether inspired by feelings of patriotism, or the overwhelming wish to marry Ezra, Bathsheba decided that her husband had to die. The means whereby that might be achieved came in the unexpected shape of two English soldiers who, in February 1778, sought sanctuary at her house, without Joshua’s knowledge, of course.

  The soldiers had deserted from the English forces which were then under the command of General Lord Cornwallis; that gallant officer was captured by the ‘enemy’ some months later and, as a prisoner of war, was exchanged in 1781 for Henry Laurens, the wealthy vice-president of South Carolina. Laurens had been captured on the high seas by English warships while en route to Holland, where he had hoped to persuade the Dutch to enter the conflict on the side of the Americans. Accused of high treason, he was imprisoned in the Tower of London where, on arrival, he was greeted by the Yeoman Warders (the ‘Beefeaters’) on duty whistling Yankee Doodle Dandy! Ironically, four years later, General Lord Cornwallis was appointed Constable of the Tower of London by George III!