In 1761 Isaac Darking, a notorious highwayman, was caught and sentenced to death. Nonchalant to the last, he spent his last night drinking in the condemned cell and reading The Beggars’ Opera. Next morning on the scaffold he blithely waved the hangman away and casually positioned the noose around his own neck.
John M’Naughton
A dashing and debonair Irishman, M’Naughton proved attractive to most women, but the young lady he had set his sights on was the teenaged daughter of Richard Knox, a local landowner, and he redoubled his efforts on discovering that her dowry would amount to no less than £15,000. Accordingly he consistently declared the depth of his affections for her and, eventually finding her alone in her parents’ house one day, he produced a prayer book and read out the marriage service to her. It would seem that Miss Knox, although so overwhelmed by this handsome and much sought after man’s declaration of devotion for her that she gave the correct answers, was nevertheless cautious enough to add after each reply the proviso ‘provided my father consents.’
M’Naughton took no notice of the verbal codicil and proudly boasted of his married state to all and sundry. However, on then being warned by her father not to see her again, his mood changed to one of defiance and he repeated his claim in the local newspapers. The Knoxes retaliated by issuing a statement on oath, describing in detail the mock ceremony which had taken place in their house. On realising that the dowry was now beyond his reach and insensate with vengeful rage M’Naughton lay in wait for Miss Knox’s coach and, forcing the coachman to rein in the horses, flung open the door and fired five shots from his pistol, killing her outright.
Arrested and put on trial at Lifford, he claimed that his intention was not to harm her but simply to take her home as his lawfully wedded wife; moreover he produced in evidence a letter purportedly written by her, in which she declared her longing to be with him. His fate was sealed, however, when the letter was proved to be a forgery.
Despite the murder he had committed, the public had fallen victim to his daredevil charisma and found excuses for him, the general opinion being that he had been driven to it by being thwarted of winning the woman he loved; indeed, so inclined were they in his favour that the authorities found it impossible to find carpenters willing to construct a scaffold, and the girl’s family had to set to and make one themselves – though doubtless they took a certain amount of vengeful satisfaction in so doing. The carpenters were not the only ones declining to cooperate; before M’Naughton was led out to the scaffold it was necessary to have his leg-irons removed, however, the local blacksmith refused to do so until compelled by soldiers who had been summoned by the Sheriff.
The execution took place at Strabane on 13 December 1762. M’Naughton lived up to his reputation; smartly dressed, wearing a white waistcoat, he bowed to the immense crowd before the cap covered his face and the noose settled around his neck, a gesture the onlookers no doubt appreciated. But his moment of truth had arrived: he might have charmed women; he might have mesmerised the general public, but it was the hangman he really fell for! However, that official let him down – although not until he had hanged him twice, for without warning the condemned man suddenly leapt from the scaffold, snapping the rope, and so had to be brought back to wait until a new one was procured and its ends attached, one round the beam, the other encircling M’Naughton’s neck, death coming none too quickly.
An assassination attempt on 28 July 1835 by Corsican Marco Fieschi failed to kill King Louis-Philippe but caused death and injury among the crowd, the more so because the weapon employed consisted of nearly fifty rifles mounted in a wooden frame, all set to fire simultaneously. On leaving for the guillotine the executioner, noticing that the would-be assassin wore only vest and pants, offered him a coat. Cynical to the last, Fieschi replied, ‘Don’t waste your time – I’ll be a lot colder when they bury me!’
Mohammed Ali
Scaffolds are usually made large enough to accommodate not only the victim and executioner, but also officials such as the chaplain, prison governor, sheriff and surgeon, but this was definitely not the case at one particular execution in India, as related by Robert Elliot in The Experiences of a Planter in the Jungles of Mysore, published in 1871. He wrote:
‘The criminal, Mohammed Ali, after his fetters had been removed, was handed his breakfast, which, strange as it may seem, he slowly consumed in the presence of some five hundred onlookers, and within sight of the tree with its dangling rope, and the newly dug grave for the reception of his corpse.
Having eaten and drunk his fill, he took leave of his wife and relatives, and mounted the six-foot-high narrow platform directly under the rope. His hands and feet were pinioned, a bag fixed over his head, and the noose coiled in readiness. But the rope was then found to be too short; it was ordered to be lengthened, and in the confusion that ensued, the policemen who were supporting the victim both commenced to fumble at the rope. The bench on which they stood was not eighteen inches wide and the consequence was that, in a second, the prisoner, unable to see, lost his balance and fell off, with stunning force, on to his face. He uttered no cry, but groaned heavily two or three times. As they raised him off the ground, apparently half insensible, I shall never forget the impression made upon me by the sight of the limply dangling limbs, and the blood which, streaming down his face, stained crimson the white cotton cloth with which his head was enveloped.
The rope had now been lengthened, and the unhappy man was half-lifted, half-supported on to the bench, and he died without a struggle. I turned immediately to scan the countenances of the people, in order to gather, if possible, the impression the scene had made on them, and as I looked at man after man, and expression after expression, I felt convinced that these, at any rate, were not the apathetic Asiatics I had read of, and that, on the whole, they felt much as I did.’
Sergeant Raoulx was one of the ‘Four Sergeants of La Rochelle’ who were condemned to death for plotting mutiny against the French royal family. On 21 September 1822 the executioners Henri Sanson and his son went to the prison for the routine preparation of their prisoners. Resigned but still spirited, they submitted to having their hair cut short; Raoulx was the most cheerful, alluding to his own lack of inches, he joked, ‘Poor me – how much will remain of me when my head is gone?’
James Murphy
Probably the most important piece of the hangman’s equipment was the rope. Of course it had to be strong; nineteenth-century English executioners generally used ropes made of Italian hemp, about three quarters of an inch thick, consisting of five strands, each of one-ton breaking strain. It also had to be pliable, so that the noose would tighten quickly, thin enough to run through the noose easily, but not thin enough to act like a cheesewire and decapitate the victim. It is to be regretted therefore that the American hangman who dispatched murderer James Murphy in 1876 did not follow the English example.
The execution took place in Ohio, and after the felon had been allowed to voice the almost traditional warnings to the audience against the inherent dangers of drink and sinful living, the hangman operated the drop. And the rope promptly snapped above Murphy’s head. He fell through the gaping hole beneath his feet and collapsed on the ground below in a huddled heap, where he was heard to moan, ‘My God, I ain’t dead!’
Warders rushed to his assistance and he was helped to his feet, being comforted by the priest while others hastily attached a new, thicker rope to the gallows’ beam. Then the limp, choking victim was supported up the steps, back on to the scaffold, there to be repositioned on the trapdoors where, with a warder on each side holding him upright at arm’s length lest they too accompanied him into the pit, the drop was operated – and this time the rope held.
Notorious murderer Charles Peace was condemned to be hanged on 25 February 1879. Eating his last breakfast, he exclaimed, ‘This is bloody rotten bacon!’
Later, in the lavatory, he shouted to an impatient warder, ‘You’re in a hell of a hurry – who’s going to be hanged
, me or you?’
Native Americans
During the American Civil War, Native Americans took advantage of the government’s preoccupation with hostilities to attack the white farming families who lived along the Minnesota border. Large numbers of braves, led by Little Crow, brutally killed more than 490 settlers, nor did they spare the women and children. A strong force of soldiers under the command of General John Pope met and defeated the warrior force, 308 of the survivors being captured and sentenced to death by military court. President Lincoln, however, ruled that only the most savage of the killers, 38 in number, should be hanged. Their executions were scheduled to take place simultaneously, on 26 December 1862, at Mankato, Minnesota.
The preparations were organised with military precision; four days earlier an order was read out for the benefit of everyone living in that township and the adjoining territory for a distance of ten miles from the headquarters, requiring them not to sell or give any intoxicating liquors to the enlisted men of the United States’ forces.
Meanwhile the 38 condemned Native Americans had been moved into a separate apartment away from their comrades, and were visited by the colonel and others, the officer reading out to them the President’s approval of their sentences and the order confirming their execution, the statement being translated into the Dakota language. It read:
‘Your Great Father in Washington, after carefully reading what the witnesses have testified in your several trials, has come to the conclusion that you have each been guilty of wantonly and wickedly murdering his white children; and for this reason he has directed that you each be hanged by the neck until you are dead, on next Friday, and the order will be carried into effect on that day at ten o’clock in the forenoon.’
The St Paul Pioneer reported:
‘the Indians listened attentively and at the end of each sentence, gave their usual grunt or signal of approval.
On the Tuesday evening they extemporised a dance with a wild Indian song. It was feared that this was only a cover for something else which might be attempted, and the chains which tied them in pairs were fastened to the floor. It seems, however, rather probable that they were singing their death song. Their friends from the other prison had been in to bid them farewell and they were now ready to die. On Thursday the women employed as cooks for the prisoners were admitted to the prison. Locks of hair, blankets, coats and almost every other article in the possession of the prisoners were given in trust for some relative or friend.
On the Friday the Revd Father Ravoux visited the condemned men, finding that little conversation passed between them, though occasionally one would mutter a few words to another in an unintelligible jargon. Most of them lay on the floor in as comfortable a position as their chains would allow, unconcernedly smoking their pipes as if they were engaged in council over some unimportant matter of tribal concern and their lives were not destined to end in three or four short hours’ time.
While the padre was speaking to them, one, Old Tazoo, broke out into a death wail, in which one after the other joined in, until the prison room was filled with a wild, unearthly plaint which was neither of grief or despair, but rather a paroxysm of savage passion. During the lulls in their death-song they would resume their pipes and, with the exception of an occasional mutter or the rattling of their chains, they sat motionless and impassive until one among the elder would break out in the wild wail, when all would join in again, in the solemn preparation for death.’
Following this, the Revd Dr Williamson addressed them in their native tongue, after which they broke out again into their song of death. This was described as:
‘thrilling beyond belief of expression; the trembling voices, their forms shaking with passionate emotion, the half-uttered words through set teeth, all made up a scene which no one who saw it can ever forget. The influence of the wild music of their death-song was almost magical, their whole manner changing after they had closed their singing, and an air of cheerful unconcern marked all of them. As their friends came about them they bade them cheerful farewell and in some cases there would be peals of laughter as they were wished pleasant journeys to the spirit world. They bestowed their pipes upon their favourites and so far as they had any, gave keepsakes to all.
They had evidently taken great pains to make themselves presentable for their last appearance on the stage of life. Most of them had little pocket mirrors, and before they were bound, employed themselves in putting on the finishing touches of paint and arranging their hair according to the Indian mode. Many were painted in war style, with bands and beads and feathers, and were decked as gaily as for a festival.
As those at the head of the procession came out of the basement, we heard a sort of death-wail sounded, which was immediately caught up by all the condemned and was chanted in unison until the foot of the scaffold was reached. At the foot of the steps there was no delay. Captain Redfield mounted the drop, at the head, and the Indians crowded after him as if it were a race to see who would get up first. They actually crowded on each other’s heels and as they got to the top, they took up their positions, forming long rows, without any assistance from those detailed for that purpose. They still kept up a mournful wail and occasionally there would be a piercing scream.
The ropes were soon arranged around their necks, not the least resistance being offered. One or two, feeling the noose uncomfortably tight, attempted to loosen it, and although their hands were tied, they partially succeeded. The movement, however, was noticed by the assistants, and the cords rearranged. The white caps, which had been placed on the top of their heads, were now drawn down over their faces, shutting out forever the light of day from their eyes.
Then ensued a scene that can hardly be described and which can never be forgotten. All joined in shouting and singing, as it appeared to those who were ignorant of the language. The tones seemed somewhat discordant and yet there was harmony to it. Their bodies swayed to and fro and their every limb seemed to be keeping time. The drop trembled and shook as if all were dancing. The most touching scene on the drop were their attempts to grasp each other’s hands, fettered as they were. They were very close to each other and many succeeded. Three or four in a row were hand in hand, swaying up and down with the rise and fall of their voices. One old man reached out each side but could not grasp a hand; his struggles were piteous and affected many onlookers. We were informed by those who understood the language that their singing and dancing was only to sustain each other, that there was nothing defiant in their last moments, and that no death-song, strictly speaking, was ever chanted on the gallows. Each one shouted his own name and called the name of his friend, saying in substance, ‘I’m here! I’m here!’
The traps were held in place by wooden posts placed upright beneath them, and at one tap of the drum, almost drowned by the voices of the Indians, first one, then another of the stays were knocked away by the soldiers, and with a crash, down came the drops. All the Indians were instantly jerked downwards by their own weight; however the rope by which one was suspended broke, and his body came down on the boards with a heavy crash and a thud. There was no struggling by any of the Indians for the space of half a minute; the only movements were the natural vibrations caused by the fall. In the meantime a new rope was placed round the neck of the one who had fallen and, it having been thrown over the beam, he was soon hanging with the others. After the lapse of a minute, several drew up their legs once or twice, and there was some movement of their arms. One Indian, at the expiration of ten minutes, still breathed, but the rope was better adjusted and life was soon extinct.
The bodies were left hanging for about half an hour, the physicians then reporting that life was extinct. Soon after, several United States’ mule teams appeared and the bodies were taken down and dumped into the wagons without much ceremony. They were transported down to the sandbar in front of the city and all buried in the same hole. Everything was conducted in the most orderly and quiet manner. As the wagons bore the bodies of the murder
ers off to burial, the people quietly dispersed.’
The journalist concluded by saying, ‘It is unnecessary to speak of the awful sight of 38 human beings being suspended in the air. Imagination will readily supply what we refrain from describing.’
It is unlikely that such a horrific scene will ever occur again; as far as is known, it was the greatest number of victims ever to be hanged at the same time.
A ruthless and cold-blooded murderer, John Thurtell was tried and condemned to death in 1824, a penalty which left him so unmoved that on hearing directions being given by a surgeon to the students who would be dissecting him after his execution, he listened unconcernedly and took a pinch of snuff. In the condemned cell he expressed much interest in the possible outcome of a bout of fisticuffs shortly to take place between two famous pugilists, Tom Spring and Langan, at Worcester racecourse. At dawn on the day following the bout, Thurtell, the gallows looming up before him, spoke his last words. ‘Who won the big fight, I wonder?’ he asked.
Elizabeth and Josiah Potts
Too long a drop decapitated, too short a drop strangled; although the former must have been the more horrendous spectacle for witnesses, it probably brought a quicker, more merciful death to the victim, and in 1890 in Nevada a story of both errors unfolded, the victims being Josiah Potts and his wife Elizabeth.
They had both been found guilty of murder; on the scaffold they embraced and declared their love for each other before the sheriff operated the drop, sending both plunging into the waiting pit. It was then that disaster struck. The noose tightened around Josiah’s throat, death taking seemingly aeons of time; it was reported that he lived for a further fifteen minutes. However, Elizabeth was a large lady and while the length of drop brought a slow death to her husband, her weight imposed such a strain on a rope of the same length that the noose severed her windpipe, an artery and the fleshy parts of her throat, blood thereby gushing copiously over her clothes. But she did at least suffer for a shorter time than did her husband.
Amazing True Stories of Execution Blunders Page 15
