Killing's Reward

by Andrew Wareham

  Samuel thought this to be excessive, and protested that neither was of any age.

  “Old enough to carry a blade means they’re old enough to kill, sir. Makes ‘em old enough to be topped, sir. Get rid of the little shits off our streets, sir, and good riddance too.”

  “Will I be required to give my evidence, Constable?”

  “Send a letter they will, if so be they needs thee, sir. Might be. Judges and such says that, Mr Heythorne, sir, not me. Best take these to the wagon, sir, out of sight of the people what might not like to see ‘em, ladies and such.”

  The pair were pushed and kicked across to a wagon parked behind the paddock for riding horses. The smaller boy was reduced to tears as he was booted back to his feet after stumbling. Samuel heard an unsympathetic voice in the distance telling the boy to shut up – he had asked for all he was going to get.

  “If you’re lucky you won’t get ‘anged, not at your age. You might even live after they gives thee a hundred or two at the flogging triangle. Then it’s the transportation out to the Virginias. Might be you’ll reckon ‘anging was the better bet. Tough bloody luck. You chose to carry a blade – you can take what goes with it.”

  Samuel thought that harsh, but not necessarily incorrect. The boy had brought his trouble upon his own head.

  Mr Rowlands had seen the bother and came across to enquire what had happened.

  “Pickpockets, sir. Clumsy and carrying knives.”

  “Were they now! I shall speak to the magistrates in Stone – I know the Chairman; he is here now. They will go to the Assizes with the Bench’s recommendation that they hang. We will not tolerate their sort at our meetings. Come with me, Mr Heythorne.”

  The Chairman of the Bench was a ponderous gentleman – aged, tall and much overweight and bright scarlet in the face. He puffed and wheezed and listened with outrage to Samuel’s tale.

  “Tried to steal yer purse and pulled knives, you say, young man? Can’t be having that around here. Deal with them in the morning. Stay in the prison in Stone tonight, off to the County Gaol as soon as we’ve remanded them. Send word to the Sheriff, so I shall. No reprieve for that sort! Well done to take them up, what did you say yer name was? Heythorne? Thought you was dead?”

  “That was my father, sir.”

  “Ah! Explains it, don’t it! Take after yer father, do yer? Chip off the old block! Meet you again, perhaps, Heythorne.”

  The old gentleman turned his attention back to the races. Mr Rowlands made no attempt to introduce Samuel to the family and they prepared to drift apart.

  Samuel made his farewells to Mr Rowlands and decided he had seen all he wanted of the races. He walked across to the paddock and collected his horse from the lad there.

  “Give ‘im a drink, just a bit, I did, sir. Good for the journey back, so ‘e is, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  Samuel pulled out his purse, found nothing smaller than a half-crown and handed it across.

  “Your lucky day! Thank you.”

  “Cor! Thanks, mister! Them two what you knocked over, mister. Comes from Stafford, they do. Seen ‘em there, at the ‘ouse what the Big Man there ‘ave got. Ain’t goin’ to be pleased what they’s goin’ to be ‘anged, mister.”

  “Bad luck. I’ll have a word with the Upright Man in Stoke. He knows my family well.”

  “Pass that on, so I will, mister. Don’t know what you are, don’t want to neither, but I knows your name. I’ll put the word out they picked on the wrong bugger, mister.”

  “Tell them I was not looking for trouble, lad.”

  Samuel rode back quietly, taking the lanes directly to Thornehills and dropping in to see Nick before he went home.

  “Two boys with blades? Foolish young fellows. Not a mistake they are to repeat, I believe, Mr Heythorne. I shall pass the word to Mr Malone, I think… May I presume so far as to say that you did very well, sir? To hold the two without shooting either – an achievement indeed. They must be hanged, of course – they are not to be dipping all and sundry without consideration for their position, sir. Unheard of! Their master will be most displeased with them.”

  Samuel did not fully understand the references to the boys’ master or why he should be displeased with them. Nick decided – without conferring with Mrs Heythorne, a daring act – to enlighten his protégé’s ignorance.

  “The two young scamps, as one might refer to them, must have been sent to the races with instructions to pick up, as it were, a purse or two, or perhaps a snuffbox, even a silk handkerchief if such should come their way. What would not have been expected was that they would have been so careless as to be caught. If the lift failed – which should not have happened – then they were expected to run and to be sufficiently agile to remain free. When faced with a pistol, they should have used their knives – the one distracting, the other cutting – and then have disappeared in the confusion. They had not planned for being apprehended, which is very slack of them. Their gang master – who should himself have been present, or a trusted deputy – will be most displeased.”

  “Must they have a master, Mr Nick?”

  “Certainly so – they are far too young to venture out on their own. Street urchins are always to be organised by their elders, who themselves will acknowledge an upright man, even if not by that title. I would expect them to have arrived in a wagon, half a dozen strong, probably on the previous evening, and to have gone to ground in one of the tents in the fairground. They would then have been sent out to do their work, their target in all likelihood pointed out to them. If that is not so, then these youths might even be no more than village boys.”

  “Not from Stafford at all, you suggest, Mr Nick?”

  “Possibly so – they could be from Stone, though the little town is too small to tolerate street gangs and its orphans will be under some sort of supervision. More likely, if not from Stafford they are ne’er-do-well brats from a little village – the children of the village drunkard, running uncared for and wild. If such is the case, then they are no loss to the world, for they will never come good. They could be sent to sea, perhaps - but that would cost money, transporting them all the way to Chatham, which is the nearest naval dockyard. Simpler to hang them and no doubt the Bench will take that course.”

  It seemed a little on the callous side to Samuel.

  “What if they do come from Stafford, Mr Nick? The boy in the paddock for the riding horses said he had seen them there.”

  “A good question. I do not know how Stafford is run as a town, these days, but there must be some sort of man of significance there, somewhat akin to our Mr Malone. He will, as I have said, be upset and will probably suggest that the pair be hanged. If he is really angry, he may ask for them to be given to his tender mercies, and that would be equally fatal for the poor fellows and possibly more protracted than a mere hanging.”

  Having caught them, it occurred to Samuel that he had condemned them to death. He was not entirely certain that the contents of his purse warranted the capital sentence.

  “No, no – you mistake the case, Mr Heythorne. They must go to their graves for causing an upset to the benevolent system under which they should have worked. Thievery should not be wild and random in its nature and they did not recognise that. It is their indiscipline which has condemned them, not their would-be theft.”

  Samuel was not sure it made the case any better. He thanked Nick for enlightening him and went home to Thornehills.

  Asked whether he’d had a good day, he replied that he would not be attending further such occasions.

  “The racing was not especially interesting, Mother, and of the people there, only Mr Rowlands acknowledged me. I cannot say that I was cut by the County – they quite simply did not see me.”

  “Was that a great loss to you, my son?”

  “No. I found it amusing to watch the people and I was the target of a clumsy pair of pickpockets who were taken up for their pains. They are to be remanded to the assizes, I was told, and I m
ay be called to give my evidence.”

  “Not easily, for you are not of age. A written statement will not be queried but if you stand in the box there may well be a question raised by the judge.”

  That had not occurred to Samuel.

  In the event, he was not called at the trial but a note from the Sheriff requested his presence at the hangings. It seemed that it was the habit for the victims of criminals to show themselves when justice was performed.

  “Why, Mother?”

  “I do not know. Long habit, I must imagine. Possibly they feel you should be given the satisfaction of knowing that your assailants have been properly punished. It might be to preserve justice, in the expectation that if you have perjured yourself to condemn an innocent you may be moved to call a halt to their execution in front of your eyes. It is a barbarous procedure in my opinion. You are not obliged to attend.”

  “I should, Mother. I must not give the impression to the Sheriff that I am a disobliging sort. He has called me and it is as well that I should be obedient to his command.”

  The hangings always took place on the day after the last case of the assizes was heard, except where the court had sat upon a Friday when all was delayed until Monday morning.

  Samuel rode down to Stone and stayed overnight there, taking a job carriage into Stafford early next morning. The crowds come in to see the hangings were such that he would have been hard pressed to have stabled a riding horse in Stafford. He presented himself to the Sheriff at his office next to the courthouse.

  The Sheriff himself was busy with the practical details of the hangings and handed Samuel to a deputy to look after him.

  “You will be a member of the platform party, Mr Heythorne, together with the other honoured guests for the day. The Mayor will be present, in his robes, as will the Lord Lieutenant’s representative and a number of the luminaries of the town. The rectors of all of the parishes will be present and will conduct the appropriate service. The business should be over within two hours today, there being no more than eleven to be turned off. Not like the last assizes where no fewer than twenty-three felons were despatched. It rained as well – a miserable, cold morning. Four hours! I went down with a cold in the head next day, I recall. Do wrap up warm, Mr Heythorne!”

  Stafford was a hanging town, it seemed. Nick had commented that the practice varied across the country – some counties hanged enthusiastically while others transported far more often. There was no pattern to be discerned and the difference might be accounted for purely by the whim of the particular Lord Lieutenant or Sheriff. For the while, Stafford had a busy gallows.

  “Much to the pleasure of Jack Ketch, or his local equivalent, of course, Mr Heythorne. He will be paid his crown a head and his two assistants receive a shilling apiece as well. Add to that, he will receive free beer and lodging in the inn he patronises, for the crowd will all drink there for the chance to see and perhaps speak to him on the nights before and after the hangings. Very much the local hero, the hangman.”

  “In a well-paid job, it would seem.”

  “Very much so, Mr Heythorne. Some simply take the trade of their home city but most follow the assize from town to town, doing their business once a week. Ten pounds a month is not uncommon, I am told, and they have the felon’s clothes as a perquisite besides.”

  “The clothes they are hanged in?”

  “Just so, Mr Heythorne. There are collectors who will pay a pretty penny for the breeches or shirt of a notorious murderer.”

  “Good God!”

  Nick had thought it was time for Samuel – a sheltered lad, in his opinion – to grow up. The boy had the makings of a man in him, he believed, but he really must discover a little more of the world.

  Samuel stood in the ranks of the platform party, on a cobbled-together wooden stage the same height as the gallows and just a few yards distant.

  He listened as the Sheriff read his formal commission to the crowd, a procedure that made the executions lawful, and then named the first of the felons and stated his crime.

  “John Mellon, abduction and unlawful assault upon the person of a minor.”

  The crowd roared its outrage, yelling insults at the villain. The rector of his parish gabbled a quick prayer and stood back nervously in case they began to throw things. The hangman put a bag over the condemned man’s head and slipped the noose over the wicked man’s head.

  “Slow, sir?”

  The Sheriff nodded.

  There was no trap at Stafford. The gibbet extended out from the platform like a crane, the rope pulled back and the felon pushed off the edge, literally to swing.

  The hangman adjusted the knot to the side of Mellon’s neck and signed to his assistants to grab the arms. They lowered Mellon in the rope, let him fall gently away, the noose slowly tightening under his weight. He kicked for a good ten minutes, to the cheering of the crowd.

  The next five were thieves, either caught under arms or in possession of too great a haul for transportation to be considered. In each case they were pushed off the platform with the knot positioned against the spine and with relatives to jump up and heave upon their legs as they came in reach. Death was almost immediate.

  Then came Samuel’s pickpockets, young enough to attract sympathy from the crowd normally. It was not unknown for a reprieve to be granted literally at the last minute if the mob showed a preference for mercy. Unfortunately for the pair, the younger boy began to wail and scream and weep and alienated the affections of the onlookers. Villains were expected to be bold and stoical, to step forward with a grin and a tip for the hangman if they had any pennies left. Cowardice was not acceptable – no pity for the yellow! They booed and hissed and shouted to the boy to shut up and cheered as he was thrust off the platform. Both were too light for their own weight to snap their necks and neither had a friend in the crowd; they strangled slowly.

  “No loss to our town, Mr Heythorne. Three more to go and then we are done for the day. Not before time - I want something hot, Mr Heythorne after standing on this cold, windy platform.”

  The Sheriff’s assistant had seen too many hangings to have any pity for the victims.

  “Not a common sight, the next gentleman, Mr Heythorne. A rogue who has made a living as a volunteer soldier – taking his bounty money for signing on and then away at night over the barracks wall and off to the next county where he would do the same again. This one was unfortunate, so he says, for swearing before a captain of the Warwickshires who purchased his majority into the Staffords just days later and recognised his face as he entered the barracks with a platoon of new recruits. He begged mercy of the judge, confessing to having joined no fewer than a score of regiments in the year. He believed that a plea of guilty must attract a lesser punishment, but the judge said it showed him to be a most persistent criminal and one best removed from our society.”

  The volunteer went quick, saluting the crowd as the rope was placed around his neck.

  The two who followed were both murderers and unpleasant with it, received the execrations of the crowd and swung slowly.

  “Always like to end on a high note, Mr Heythorne. The people prefer it that way. They can go away knowing that a wicked man has received his just deserts and the parsons can preach the wages of sin on Sunday and they will agree gravely, the few who go to church.”

  “Does it deter others, sir? Do men watch the hangings and decide not to risk such for themselves?”

  The Sheriff’s man shook his head.

  “There will have been pickpockets working the crowd, Mr Heythorne. Nothing deters a criminal – they have something wrong in their heads that makes them into villains. Hanging has just one outstanding argument in its favour, sir – they don’t do it again! No man who has been hanged commits murder a second time!”

  He thought this to be an exceeding witty comment as he saw Samuel on his way, the Sherriff’s man was laughing merrily.

  Chapter Nine

  Killing’s Reward

  Sect
ion Two - AD 1765

  “Well, Mother, that was one of the less pleasant experiences of my life. Not so much for the executions as for the onlookers and those taking part in the business. So many of such very unpleasant people! It was a show, a public entertainment. I think it might be compared to those Roman gladiatorial contests we have read about. The Mob enjoyed the deaths – but so did the party of the good people of Stafford who stood around me.”

  Josie shook her head, said she was glad in some ways of her sheltered existence.

  “I know little of the world, Samuel, having spent so much of my life in and around Leek. I know much, perhaps, of running a business but very little of people in general. That, by the way, is not a complaint – I have enjoyed a satisfactory career, by and large. I hope to continue so doing. You must take a greater part in the outside world than ever I have wished to and to that end it is as well you discover the nature of the bulk of the human race. We in the family shall continue to do very well as we are, I do not doubt, without indulging in such unpleasantness as will sometimes come your way. I do wonder where your sister may discover a husband; that is a difficulty, I must say, knowing as few families as we do.”

  Samuel could not see that as a problem. Girls, from all he had heard, could often marry up in the world when they were both pretty and prosperous.

  “Mary is sixteen now, is she not, Mother. She will wish to marry in the next few years. I know she has no interest in any other career – all she has ever wanted is a husband and a house and a family of her own, which seems very peculiar to me. Perhaps I should make the acquaintance of some of the businessmen of Stoke… I do not doubt there are men there with sons of an age who would be pleased to marry properly. I should speak to Mr Malone. He might well wish to make introductions for me.”

  Josie was not certain that they should depend on Mr Malone’s good will but accepted that it would be far easier to meet the right people with his help.