Amazing True Stories of Execution Blunders

by Abbott, Geoffrey

  American Arthur Gooch, a habitual criminal, broke out of jail and in an ensuing gun battle, shot and injured a police officer. He was captured, tried and sentenced to death. Due to be hanged at midnight on 19 June 1936, he had previously persuaded the prison warden to obtain a radio for him so that he could listen to the world heavyweight championship fight between Joe Louis and Max Schmeling, scheduled for that evening, a Thursday. However, the fight was postponed for twenty-four hours, Gooch commenting dryly, ‘Won’t need a radio if it’s going to be Friday night – I’ll be up there somewhere; think I’ll float over and grab myself a seat right above the ring!’

  Dr William Pritchard

  William Calcraft

  The hangman William Calcraft was essentially a family man; he bred rabbits, kept a pony, grew flowers and loved fishing. He had only one failing: he rarely, if ever, gave his client a drop of more than three feet, if that; consequently most of them were throttled to death. At that time, such a method was standard practice; no one ever considered that there could be, or should be, a more humane alternative; the criminal deserved their punishment, and anyway, a speedy, merciful method of hanging would reduce entertainment time for the good folk clustered round the scaffold to a mere minute or two – and that would never do! One who stayed suspended on the end of Calcraft’s rope for an unconscionable length of time was Dr William Pritchard.

  A medical practitioner in Glasgow, Dr Pritchard was somewhat of a fantasist, constantly boasting of his close friendship with foreign statesmen whom he had never met and giving lectures about countries he had never visited. Such mild eccentricities could easily be overlooked by Victorian society; what could definitely not be ignored were the suspicious deaths, first of his mother-in-law, Mrs Jane Taylor, and later of his wife, Mary Jane (Minnie), whom he had married fifteen years earlier. Regrettably, suspicions initiated by an anonymous letter were confirmed, post-mortems revealing that they had both been poisoned by eating some tapioca pudding which contained opium, antimony and aconite.

  At his trial for murder in 1865 the accused man tried to blame one of the housemaids, a young girl named Mary M’Leod whom, he averred, had been his mistress (she had earlier become pregnant by him and he had employed his medical skills in carrying out an abortion), and he accused her of murdering his wife so that he could marry her. The maid, while agreeing that she had been his mistress, tearfully declared that he had indeed promised to marry her if his wife should die, but that she had played no part in the crimes. Even if she had, her defence pointed out, why should she have also killed her employer’s mother-in-law? And when the jury heard a local chemist testify that the prisoner had frequently purchased antimony from his pharmacy, and that Mrs Pritchard would inherit a large sum of money in the event of her mother’s death, the fact that the older lady had died first left them in no doubt as to Pritchard’s culpability. They brought in a verdict of guilty, and the judge wasted little time in pronouncing the death sentence.

  The date of the execution happened to coincide with the annual Glasgow Fair, a gala which always attracted a multitude of visitors, and the council had to arrange for the removal of some of the roundabouts and sideshows in order to accommodate what was definitely not a sideshow, the scaffold itself, around which, as the time drew near, more than 100,000 spectators thronged, order being maintained by some 750 police constables.

  Understandably the case and the verdict produced a furore in Scotland, the newspapers of the day selling a record number of copies, all devoting page after page to the poisoner’s and his family’s background, their way of life and his way of death. The Edinburgh Scotsman gave a ‘fly-on-the-wall’ account of the day’s proceedings:

  ‘the prisoner retired to bed a little before midnight on his last night, and although he was somewhat restless at first he soon fell into a deep sleep and slept soundly until five o’clock in the morning. When he rose he seemed to be perfectly calm and gave his attendants the impression that he was more lively and cheerful than he had been since his removal to Glasgow. He partook of some coffee and bread that had been provided for him and appeared quite prepared for the dreadful ordeal which he was to go through.

  His appearance on the scaffold was the signal for a deep howl of execration from the immense crowd. Among those present were a number of modellers from Edinburgh who had received the sanction of the authorities to take a cast of the culprit’s head after execution to enrich the collection of similar curiosities in the museum of the Phrenological Society. Calcraft, the executioner, stepped on to the scaffold along with the doomed man and was received with a few groans and hisses. Quietly, and with an expertness that showed him to be well accustomed to his awful work, the executioner stationed his victim above the drop and busied himself in the grim work of his office. The white cap was expeditiously drawn over the head of the culprit and the fatal noose adjusted about his neck. The prominent figure of the executioner, his head covered by a black skull cap and his long white beard lending to his aspect a sort of venerable air, strongly attracted the attention of the crowd and drew forth repeated sounds of recognition.

  The dread preparations having been completed, Calcraft stepped a pace or two backward on the scaffold and anxiously surveyed the rope that was to suspend the victim. He seemed satisfied with the result of his scrutiny for he again advanced, examined the rope about the prisoner’s neck, taking particular care to see that his beard was free from its influence, and then grasped the unhappy man by the hand and shook it kindly and almost affectionately in token of farewell. This token of feeling on the part of the aged executioner [he was then 65] seemed to meet with the approval of the crowd and once more the hoarse murmur spread through their ranks. Firmly the prisoner stood above the drop, showing little if any trace of agitation except an occasional quiver of the legs, and several times Calcraft, as if morbidly anxious that no mistake should occur, examined the rope and drop to see that all was clear.

  After finally completing his scrutiny he pulled the bolt and the body of the prisoner swung with a sudden jerk into space. The unhappy man did not die without a struggle. For an instant after the drawing of the bolt no motion was perceptible in the body but it soon swung quickly around, the whole form quivering and the hands working with muscular action. But this soon ceased and ere ten minutes had elapsed his body hung perfectly motionless upon the rope in the dull air of the morning.’

  The body remained hanging until fourteen minutes past nine, when Calcraft proceeded to lower it. In doing so, despite the ‘expertness’ lauded by the newspaper, he suddenly lost his grip of the rope, and the cadaver fell violently on to the coffin, which was resting on two trestles in the pit below. Part of the bottom was knocked out but was quickly repaired by a number of the fair’s workmen who were present among the crowd, and the body, once stripped, was then carried back into the courthouse where, after the modellers had taken the cast of the murderer’s head, the body was buried in the courtyard of the gaol.

  The Gentleman’s Magazine of February 1767 reported that ‘having been condemned for a street robbery at Cork, Ireland, Patrick Redmond was executed and hung by a short rope for upwards of twenty-eight minutes, when the mob, led by his colleague and fellow robber Glover, carried off the body to a place previously appointed, where he was, after five or six hours, actually recovered by a surgeon, who made the incision in his throat called bronchotomy, which produced the desired effect. The poor fellow has just received his pardon, and it is recorded that he had the hardihood to go to the local theatre the same evening. There he mounted the stage to tumultuous applause and gave full credit to his friend – whereupon the audience took up a genteel collection for him.’

  Will Purvis

  One would never have thought that escaping the gallows would be a snip, least of all Will Purvis – but it was! It all started back in 1893 in Columbia, Mississippi, when gangs known as the White Caps, successors to the first incarnation of the infamous Ku Klux Klan, terrorised the local black population. One of their
victims, a servant of one of the organisation’s members, Will Bradley, was seized and severely flogged without his employer being aware of it. Outraged at this taking place without his knowledge, Bradley shopped his colleagues, reporting them to the authorities, as a result of which three of those responsible were taken into custody. On his way home after giving evidence, Bradley, his brother Jim, and the servant involved were ambushed; Bradley was shot and killed outright but the other two managed to escape.

  It so happened that the attack took place near the home of the Purvis family and one of their neighbours, having a grudge against them, aroused the locals against 19-year-old Will Purvis to such an extent that he was arrested and put in jail, charged with being one of Bradley’s attackers. Despite friends providing an alibi for him and testifying that he had been nowhere near the scene of the shooting on the night in question, Will Bradley’s brother Jim swore that he recognised the accused as one of the attackers. At that the jury found Will Purvis guilty and he was sentenced to be hanged.

  The New Orleans Item newspaper, in an article written over two decades later in 1920, rolled back the intervening years and gave what purported to be a melodramatic eyewitness account of what happened on the scaffold on that day, 7 February 1894.

  ‘With face bleached by confinement within prison walls but with firm and steady eye young Purvis ascends the scaffold. As he looks over that closely packed and vacuously yawping throng the young man sees few friendly faces. Feeling against him has been intense and most people believe he is about to expiate a crime for which he should pay the extreme penalty. Everyone is waiting for one thing before the final drop. It is the confession of the boy that he did commit murder. But Purvis speaks simply these plain words which amaze them, ‘You are taking the life of an innocent man. There are people here who know who did commit the crime and if they will come forward and confess I will go free.’

  As Purvis finishes his simple plea the sheriff and three deputies adjust the rope around his neck, his feet and arms are pinioned, and the black cap is placed over his face. All is ready, but the meticulous deputy sees an ungainly rope’s end sticking out. One must be neat at such functions and he steps up and snips the end flush with the knot.

  ‘Tell me when you are ready,’ Purvis remarks, not knowing that the doomed man is never given this information lest he brace himself.

  Nothing is heard save the persistent and importunate praying of the minister. The executioner takes the hatchet. As he draws it back to sever the stay rope holding the trap on which Purvis stands, strong men tremble and a woman screams and faints. The blow descends, the trap falls, and the body of Purvis darts like a plummet downward towards the sharp jerk of a sudden death.

  Terror and awe gripped the throng as Purvis fell towards his death. Those few men who had watched other hangings have averted their faces. Others who had never witnessed a like event and who could not appreciate the morbid horror of it, stared open-mouthed. But those who looked did not see the boy dangle and jerk and become motionless in death. The rope failed to perform the service ordained for it by law. Instead of tightening like a garrotter’s bony finger on the neck of the youth, the hangman’s knot untwisted and Purvis fell to the ground unhurt, save for a few abrasions on his skin caused by the slipping of the rope.

  No tongue can describe and no pen can indite the feeling of horror that seized and held the vast throng. For a moment the watchers remained motionless; then moved by an impelling wonder, they crowded forward, crushing one another with the force of their movement. In a moment the silence broke. Excited murmurs began to emanate from the crowd. ‘What’s the matter? Did the noose slip?’ someone asked. Others wondered if there had been some trick in tying the knot. But those charged with the duty of making it fast said there was not, and their statement was verified by a committee that had examined the rope and the knot just before its adjustment around the man’s neck.

  Somewhat dazed, Purvis staggered to his feet. The black cap had slipped from his face and the large blue eyes of the boy blinked in the sunlight. Most of the crowd stood dumfounded [sic] and the officials were aghast. Purvis realised the situation sooner than any of them and turning to the sheriff, said, ‘Let’s have it over with.’ At the same time the boy, bound hand and foot as he was, began to hop towards the steps of the scaffold, and had mounted the first step before the silence was broken.

  An uneasy tremor swept the crowd. The slight cleavage in the opinion which before had been manifest concerning the boy’s guilt or innocence now seemed to widen into a real division. Many of those who had been most urgent that Purvis be hanged, began to feel within themselves the first flutter of misgiving. This feeling might never have been crystallised into words had it not been for a simple little incident. One of the officials on the platform reached for the end of the rope [hanging down into the pit] but found that it was just beyond his fingers’ ends. Stooping, he called out to Dr Ford, who was standing beneath, ‘Toss that rope up here, will you, Doctor?’ Dr Ford started mechanically to obey. He picked up the rope and looked at it. The crowd watched him intently. Here was a man who had been most bitter against the White Caps, a man who knew that Purvis had been a member of that notorious body, and yet everyone knew that he was one of the few who refused to believe the boy was guilty. Throwing the rope down, he said, “I won’t do any such damn thing. That boy’s been hung once too many times now.”

  Electrically the crowd broke its silence. Cries of ‘Don’t let him hang!’ were heard clashing with ‘Hang him! He’s guilty!’ A few of Purvis’ friends and relatives were galvanised into action. They pushed their way forward, ready to act, but the greater proportion of the spectators were still morbidly curious to see the death struggles of the boy. Some of them really believed the ends of justice were about to be thwarted, and tensed themselves to prevent any attempt to free him.

  At that moment the Revd J. Sibley, whose sympathy and prayer had helped to sustain the mother during her trying ordeal, sprang up the steps of the scaffold ahead of the stumbling boy. He was a preacher of the most eloquent type and of fine physique and commanding appearance. His eyes flashed with the fire of a great inspiration as he raised his hands and stood motionless until the eyes of the spectators became centred on him. ‘All who want to see this boy hanged a second time,’ he shouted, ‘hold up their hands.’

  The crowd remained transfixed. There is a difference between the half-shamed desire of a man to stand in a large throng and watch his neighbour die, and the willingness of that man to stand before others and signify by raising his hand that he insisted upon the other’s extinction. Not a hand went up. ‘All who are opposed to hanging Will Purvis a second time,’ cried the Reverend Sibley, ‘hold up your hands.’ Every hand in the crowd went up as if magically raised by a universal lever.

  Pandemonium ensued. Men tore their hair and threw their hats into the air, swearing that this man should not be hanged again. Public sentiment had changed in an instant. Before the hanging they thought him a vile and contemptible murderer, now they believed him spotless as an angel.

  The sheriff and his deputies were undoubtedly in an awkward position. They had been commissioned to carry out the sentence of the court and they were bound by their oaths of office to do so. Should they flout the authority of the court merely because a number of emotional spectators had decided out of hand not to allow the defendant to be hanged, they would be liable to impeachment and imprisonment. On the other hand, to attempt to hang Purvis a second time in the face of 5,000 healthy spectators, nearly every one determined to prevent such action, would be suicide.

  Dr Ford suggested that a judge or lawyer be sought. Finally a young attorney answered the summons. After considering the matter in its various aspects, he reluctantly informed the sheriff that it was his belief that Purvis must be ‘hanged by the neck until dead’ according to the meaning of the sentence. The sheriff just as reluctantly agreed.

  Dr Ford, who had listened with chagrin to the attorney’s opinion,
finally spoke up with determination. ‘I don’t agree with you. Now, if I go up on the scaffold and ask three hundred men to stand by me and prevent the hanging, what are you going to do about it?’

  Both the sheriff and the attorney were taken aback at this suggestion. They realised that they would be powerless in the face of such action. ‘I’m ready to do it too,’ added Dr Ford. Suddenly the sheriff turned, walked to Purvis and, as the crowd cheered, began to loosen the bonds of the prisoner. It was with difficulty that Purvis was carried back to jail, so persistent was the crowd in its demand for his freedom.

  Henry Banks, one of the staff of executioners, afterwards gave his version as to why the knot had slipped. ‘The rope was too thick in the first place,’ he said. ‘It was made of new grass and was very springy. After the first man tied the noose, he left the free end hanging out. It was this way when the tests were made, but when it came to placing this knot around Purvis’ neck, it looked untidy. The hangman didn’t want to be accredited with this kind of job, so he cut the rope flush with the noose knot. It looked neat, but when the weight of Purvis was thrown against it, the rope slipped and the knot became untied.’

  There the newspaper article ended, but why was it not written until 1920? Well, Purvis was indeed returned to his cell and the legal wrangling commenced. The American Constitution makes double jeopardy (being tried twice for the same offence) illegal, but the Mississippi Supreme Court rejected that ruling on the grounds that Purvis was not being tried twice, but hanged twice, and so decreed that he should mount the scaffold again. But while he was awaiting execution, friends broke into the jail and helped him to escape, he then avoided capture by taking refuge in a remote part of the country.