Mary Aubrey dismembering her husband’s body, assisted by her young son, in 1687. Her hanging and burning at Tyburn is depicted top left. Author’s collection
A Fortuitous Reprieve 1705
He said the pain he felt in hanging was infinitely surpassed when his blood was recovering its usual course of circulation.
John Smith was condemned to die at the Old Bailey, on 5 December 1705 for burglary, he was convicted for breaking into shops in Leadenhall Market and stealing fifty pairs of shoes, one hundred and forty-eight pairs of gloves and twenty-two pairs of stockings. On 12 December 1705, he was conveyed from Newgate to Tyburn. James Montague in The Old Bailey Chronicle 1700–83 writes:
After hanging five minutes and a quarter, a reprieve was brought … The malefactor was cut down and taken with all possible expedition to a public house where proper means was pursued for his recovery, and with so much success that the perfect use of all his faculties was restored in about half an hour.
There are some members of the criminal classes who simply do not seem to be able to mend their ways. Having survived this dreadful ordeal any reasonably minded person would have counted themselves extremely lucky and mended their ways. One would have thought Smith would not have wished to place his life in peril again, particularly when one bears in mind his own account of his experience on the dreaded ‘Triple Tree’. Smith said that when he was first turned off he felt excessive pain, but that it almost immediately ceased. The last circumstance he recollected was like an irregular and glimmering light before his eyes. He said the pain he felt in hanging was infinitely surpassed when his blood was recovering its usual course of circulation. He was known thereafter as half-hanged Smith. John Smith found himself once again in the news. On 9 November 1706, it was reported:
The officers of her majesties guards yesterday drew out their companies in St. James’s Park, which were viewed by Smith (sometime since hang’d at Tyburn, but reprieve coming was cutdown before dead) and two other persons in masks, in order to discover felons and housebreakers: out of which 2 serjeants with 6 soldiers were seized as criminals and committed to the Marshalsea prison.
Smith had received an unconditional pardon but it seems this habitual petty-criminal had no intention of reforming. Before long he was again tried for burglary but was acquitted on a point of law. He chanced his hand a third time and was again apprehended on a charge of burglary and committed for trial at the Old Bailey in April 1715, for breaking into a warehouse and the house of John Cooper. Once again, good fortune smiled on Smith. The prosecutor, John Cooper, died before the trial and Smith was discharged. I have been unable to trace anything further about this three times lucky John Smith, other than it was said that he died at sea.
Half-hanged Smith, cut down from the gallows 12 December 1705.Author’s collection
The Major Who Cheated the Hangman 1729
Swords could be heard clashing and a waiter broke open the door.
Major John Oneby had distinguished himself as an officer in the Duke of Marlborough’s military campaigns. He was described in contemporary accounts as a swaggerer and a bully. He had also gained a somewhat sinister reputation as a duelist, and had twice killed rivals, in duels in Bruges and in Jamaica. Following the signing of the treaties of the Peace of Utrecht in April and July 1713, the Major was placed on half pay. In order to supplement his reduced army pay, he turned to gambling, at which he became a professional, and was said to have been seldom without cards or dice in his pocket. Major Oneby was known for his quick temper and his fellow gamblers knew it was wiser not to pick a quarrel with him. However, one night in 1727, Oneby fell out over a bet, with a Mr Gower, in the Castle Tavern, Drury Lane. He threw a decanter at Gower, who returned the compliment by throwing a glass at Oneby. Swords were drawn but after the intercession of their fellow gamblers, were put up again. Although Mr Gower was keen to make the peace, the Major was in a different frame of mind altogether and swore to ‘have his blood’, a threat clearly heard by all present. When the party broke up, Major Oneby called Mr Gower into a private room and shut the door. Swords could be heard clashing and a waiter broke open the door. As the assembled company rushed into the room, the Major, with his sword in his right hand, was holding Mr Gower up with his left. Gower’s sword was laying on the floor and a bloodstain, ever increasing in size, could be seen on his waistcoat, as blood gushed from a wound in his abdomen. Someone called out:
You have killed him!
To which Oneby replied:
No, I might have done it if I would, but I have only frightened him.
The Major was not correct in this assumption, as Mr Gower died the following day from the wound he had inflicted upon him. Mr Gower’s death resulted in Major Oneby’s arrest and incarceration in Newgate. A month later he was tried at the Old Bailey. However, the jury, other than agreeing that the Major had instigated the quarrel and had not denied he had killed Gower, were unable to agree upon the exact measure of guilt. This resulted in a special verdict being given, which would require further consultation with the judge and eleven other judges debating the issue. Major Oneby hoped to secure a manslaughter verdict. He was remanded in Newgate until his case could be heard. Justice, however, was slow on this occasion, as for a further two years, the Major remained in Newgate, and growing impatient, he prayed the Court of King’s Bench that counsel might be heard in his case. Major Oneby was brought into court before the Lord Chief Justice Raymond and arguments were heard by both sides. Judgement was reserved until the judge had consulted his eleven brethren. The Major was confident of his acquittal and on the journey back to Newgate entertained his friends in the Crown and Anchor Tavern. He continued to be in high spirits for the next few months whilst waiting in Newgate for the result of the judges’ conference. The twelve judges met in Sergeant’s Inn Hall, and counsel was heard on both sides. The deliberations lasted an entire day. That evening a friend called to see the Major, who was enjoying a bowl of punch. The news he bore was bad. He told the Major that eleven of the judges had decided against him. The next day, Mr Ackerman, the keeper of Newgate, came to put irons on the Major, unless he was prepared for a special keeper to occupy the same room. The Major engaged the services of one John Hooper, later to become the public executioner, as his personal keeper. He spent the remainder of his days in fruitless efforts attempting to get his friends and relations to secure him a pardon but the threat that he would have Gower’s blood had weighed greatly against him. He spent his time laughing at the jokes of Hooper or in fits of rage against those he considered to have deserted him in his time of need. When news of his imminent execution came, the Major wrote his will:
Cousin Turvill, give Mr. Ackerman, for the turnkey below stairs, half a guinea, and Jack Hooper who waits in my room five shillings. The poor devils have had a great deal of trouble with me since I have been here.
The Major was to die on the Monday. On the Saturday night before execution, on learning that a petition for his pardon had been rejected, he resigned himself to his fate. When a friend called to see the Major at about seven in the morning, he called out to his servant, ‘Philip, who is that?’ When Philip entered the Major’s cell, he discovered the prisoner bleeding profusely from a deep gash to the wrist. The Major died before a surgeon could be called.
Execution of a Miniaturist 1761
… he told her she was a very impertinent woman, at which she struck him a violent blow on the chest.
Theodore Gardelle was a Swiss painter, a specialist in miniatures, who lodged with Mrs King, on what would be today the western side of Leicester Square but was then known as Leicester Fields. An otherwise inoffensive man, he was goaded into a fit of frenzy by his landlady after she repeatedly poured scorn on a miniature portrait of her, which he had executed. Early in February 1761, Mrs King came into the parlour, which Gardelle used, a room which was en suite with her own bedroom, and began to verbally abuse him about the miniature. She had desired to have a particularly good portrait and she wa
s not at all satisfied with his efforts. The quarrel continued from the parlour to the adjacent bedroom and Gardelle said that being provoked by her onslaught on him, he told her she was a very impertinent woman, at which she struck him a violent blow on the chest. He pushed her away from him, as he said at the trial:
… rather in contempt than anger and with no desire to hurt her.
Theodore Gardelle disposing of pieces of the body of his landlady, Mrs King. Author’s collection
Mrs King’s foot caught in the floor-cloth and as she fell backwards, her head hit a sharp corner of the bedstead with great force. As blood streamed from her mouth, Gardelle went to assist her. She pushed him away, with threats of charges of assault. The more he tried to pacify her, the more she threatened him, and afraid of being charged with a criminal assault, he completely lost his head and picked up a sharp pointed ivory comb, which lay on her toilette-table and drove it into her throat. As the blood gushed from her mouth and the wound to her neck, Mrs King continued to rant, until her voice gradually faded away and she died. Gardelle said he threw the bedclothes over her, and horrified at what he had done, fell away in a swoon. When he came round he examined the body to see if Mrs King was quite dead. On seeing her dead body and confused at what to do next, he staggered and hit his head on the wainscot, which raised a bump over his right eye.
There was only one other resident in the house, a maid-servant, and he had sent her out on an errand that morning. Another lodger was out of town, and his servant was also away. When she returned and found her mistress’s bedroom door locked, Gardelle told her that Mrs King had gone to the country for the day. He later paid the girl her wages on behalf of Mrs King and discharged her. He told her that Mrs King intended to bring a new maid home with her from the country.
Having got rid of prying eyes, Gardelle set about trying to conceal his crime. He stripped the body and laid it out on the bed. He disposed of the bloodstained bedclothes by putting them in soak in a tub in the back washhouse. The servant of the absent lodger returned late that night and enquired after Mrs King. Gardelle said that she had not returned from the country and he would wait up for her and let her into the house. Next day he said that Mrs King had returned and gone away again early that morning. This went on from Wednesday to Saturday, with no suspicion that anything was amiss. Meanwhile, Mrs King’s body lay on the bed. On the Sunday, Gardelle decided that he had better dispose of it. He began to dismember Mrs King, disposing of blood and some pieces of flesh in various sinks. He also burned some body parts. He laid other parts out in the cock-loft. Callers at the house continued to ask after Mrs King and Gardelle told them that he expected her any day. However, on the next Thursday, the bloodstained bedclothes were found in the wash tub. When Gardelle went to the washhouse and asked what had become of the linen he aroused suspicion and the discharged maid servant was found. She denied any knowledge of the contents of the wash tub. The neighbours began to make further enquiries. Mr Barron, an apothecary, came and questioned Gardelle, who gave such unsatisfactory answers that a warrant was obtained for his arrest. When the house was properly searched, conclusive evidence of foul play was discovered. Portions of the missing woman were found in the cock-loft and elsewhere in the house, and some jewellery known to have been Mrs King’s was found in Gardelle’s belongings. Gardelle, who had been taken to the New Prison at Clerkenwell, did not deny his guilt. At Clerkewell, he attempted to commit suicide by taking forty drops of opium. His attempt failed and he then swallowed twelve halfpennies, hoping that the verdigris would kill him. It did not but he suffered greatly from stomach pains. He was removed for greater security to Newgate, where he was closely watched. Theodore Gardelle was tried at the Old Bailey and found guilty of murder. He was hanged on a specially erected scaffold in the Haymarket near its junction with Panton Street, chosen as the most suitable spot nearest the place where he committed his crime. Gardelle passed Mrs King’s house on his way to the scaffold. After his execution his body was taken to Hounslow Heath, where it was hanged in chains.
Slain by His Cousin, a Peer of the Realm 1765
Lord Byron’s sword had penetrated Mr Chaworth’s navel and made a wide gash in the stomach.
The story of the fifth Lord Byron’s murder of his cousin, William Chaworth, has been well documented in the many volumes written about his more illustrious great-nephew and heir, the poet, George Gordon Byron, the sixth Lord Byron. Judging by the many accounts of the unsavoury exploits concerning William Byron, the fifth Lord, it is not without foundation that he was universally known as ‘the Wicked Lord’. Lord Byron’s country estate surrounded Newstead Abbey in Nottinghamshire. The Byrons were one of the oldest landed families in the county, having come over to England during the Norman conquests. Newstead was once completely surrounded by Sherwood Forest but by the eighteenth century, the forest was slowly retreating before the advance of tilled farms, villages and other large country estates, the finest and nearest of which was Annesley, the seat of the Chaworths. Annesley was joined to Newstead by a long avenue of oaks, known as the ‘Bridal Path’. The two families had been united by the marriage of the third Lord Byron with Elizabeth, daughter of Viscount Chaworth. In 1765 William Chaworth, of Annesley Hall, was the neighbour of his cousin, Lord Byron of Newstead Abbey.
These country landowners habitually went to London, where they gathered once a month at the Star and Garter tavern in Pall Mall. On 26 January 1765, the usual meeting took place and all went well until the talk turned to the best methods of preserving game. Mr Chaworth believed that poaching should be dealt with severely, whereas Lord Byron declared the best way to preserve game was to pay no heed to it. To add weight to his point that poaching should be stamped on, Mr Chaworth remarked, that he himself and Sir Charles Sedley, the owner of a neighbouring estate to Newstead and Annesley, had more game on five acres than Lord Byron had on all his manors. An addition to this statement angered Lord Byron very much. Mr Chaworth said if it was not for their precautions (his own and Sir Charles Sedley’s), Lord Byron would no longer have a single hare on his land. Lord Byron asked where Sir Charles’s manors lay and Mr Chaworth replied:
If you want information with respect to Sir Charles Sedley, he lives in Dean Street, and, as to myself, your lordship knows very well where to find me.
With those words Mr Chaworth left the room. A little while later Lord Byron also left and found Mr Chaworth on the staircase. Words were exchanged and a waiter was asked to show them to an empty room. The waiter showed them to a room and closed the door as he left. A short while later a bell rang and the innkeeper went to see what was required. When he entered the room he found Lord Byron and Mr Chaworth at grips. Mr Chaworth was severely wounded. He was carried to his lodgings, where he died the next day. Before he died, Mr Chaworth said that he, himself had made the first thrust. A charge of murder was brought against his Lordship.
A peer accused of murder could only be tried by the House of Lords. Once preparations for a trial had been made, Lord Byron was invited to place himself in custody in the Tower of London. He was taken to his trial in Westminster Hall, by coach, escorted by mounted guards. The executioner’s axe was placed before him with the blade facing towards him. The hall was packed and seats were being sold for six guineas each. A surgeon explained how Lord Byron’s sword had penetrated Mr Chaworth’s navel and made a wide gash in the stomach. He expressed the opinion that he had no doubt that this wound had been the cause of death. Lord Byron tendered his plea of Not Guilty. The fact that William Chaworth had drawn his sword first was in Lord Byron’s favour. The customary vote was taken, starting with the peers most recently created and ending with the princes of the blood. Lord Byron was found Not Guilty of murder, but Guilty of homicide. Under a special statute affecting peers of the realm, Byron could plead benefit of clergy and this amounted to acquittal. A first offender who could read one verse of the Bible was declared to be under the jurisdiction of the Church and released from punishment from the temporal courts. As s
entence was pronounced and the usher called out ‘Oyez! Oyez!’, the Lord High Steward snapped his white wand, and William, Lord Byron was set at liberty to return to his seat at Newstead. It was made clear, however, Lord Byron would not be made welcome in London again. He lived thereafter as a scandalous recluse with ‘Lady Betty’, a servant girl, as he had driven his wife away through his wicked ways. To his dying day on 21 May 1798, the Wicked Lord kept the sword with which he had killed his cousin hung on his bedroom wall.
An Infamous Forger and Swindler, Charles Price 1786
None of his accomplices or his agents knew his true identity, as they never saw him except in disguise.
When one particular prisoner incarcerated in Tothill Fields, Bridewell was found to have taken violent hands upon himself in January 1786, there were few who shed a tear for his departed soul. The prisoner’s name was Charles Price, who was one of the most notorious forgers and swindlers of the eighteenth century, who preyed upon unsuspecting victims in both the City and the fashionable West End alike. Charles Price, otherwise known as Old Patch (so called from one of the many disguises he adopted while carrying out his nefarious business), was born in London c.1730, the son of a clothes salesman, who despite the size and success of his enterprises, worked largely alone. He occasionally employed boys to pass his forged bank-notes but none of his accomplices were ever that close to him.
Charles Price c.1730–86. Author’s collection
Price was a very clever and meticulous forger. He went to extraordinary lengths to avoid discovery. The banknotes he forged were produced with the utmost precision. He made his own paper, with the correct water-mark, engraved his own plates and even manufactured his own ink. He ran three homes. The first of which was his marital home. In the second, he installed a woman who helped him in his schemes and the third he transacted some of his money laundering business from, always in disguise. None of his accomplices or his agents knew his true identity, as they never saw him except in disguise. One of his favourite disguises was that of an infirm old man. He was:
Foul Deeds and Suspicious Deaths in London's West End Page 2
