Amazing True Stories of Execution Blunders by Geoffrey Abbott Page B
Authors: Geoffrey Abbott
Tags: History
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officials returned from town with fresh supplies.
Wife-murderer William Borwick stood on York’s scaffold and commented wryly that he hoped the rope was strong enough, because if it broke he would fall to the ground and be crippled for life.
James Bell
There were occasionally hangmen who were too tender-hearted for their own good. John Williams of Edinburgh, making his debut on the scaffold, was one who was so lachrymose that when ordered to hang murderer James Bell on 13 July 1835, he could not see through his tears to adjust the noose. The superintendent of the prison had to tell him to move aside and took over himself. Needless to say, the crowd did not appreciate hangmen who sympathised with their victims – why, they might even be tempted to shorten their sufferings, thereby depriving onlookers of their rightful entertainment – and Williams, dodging stones thrown by the crowd as he made his escape, decided that his first hanging was going to be his last, and he resigned the next day.
English hangman William Calcraft always rejected the accusation that he had actually put anyone to death. ‘All I did,’ he explained, perhaps tongue-in-cheek, ‘was to make the preliminary arrangements required by law, as solemnly pronounced by an English judge – I placed the noose around the culprit’s neck and then allowed him to execute himself by falling!’
William Bousfield
For many decades London’s executions took place in public outside Newgate Prison and it was here, on 31 March 1856, that a particularly horrifying hanging took place. William Calcraft had gone to collect his victim from the condemned cell, to find him sitting on his bed, head slumped down on his chest, apparently oblivious to everything going on around him. The hangman was informed by one of the warders that Bousfield had already attempted to commit suicide by throwing himself in the fire in his cell but had been rescued by another warder, though not before their prisoner had sustained burns to his face and mouth. Weak and unable to stand upright after being pinioned, Bousfield was carried out to the scaffold seated in a chair, this being positioned on the drop beneath the beam to which the hangman proceeded to attach the rope and then noose his victim.
When the signal was given, the trapdoors opened, the chair fell through – but Bousfield didn’t! Instead he began a desperate struggle to escape and, as reported in The Times :
‘The sound of the falling drop had barely passed away when there was a shriek from the crowd, ‘He’s up again!’ and, to the horror of everyone, it was found that the prisoner, by a powerful muscular effort, had drawn himself up completely to the level of the drop, that both his feet were resting upon the edge of it, and he was vainly endeavouring to raise his hands to the rope above his head. One of the officers immediately rushed upon the scaffold and pushed the man’s feet from their hold, but in an instant, by a violent effort, he threw himself to the other side and again succeeded in getting both feet on the edge of the drop.
Calcraft, who had left the scaffold imagining that all was over, was called back; he seized the criminal, but it was with considerable difficulty that he forced him from the scaffold, and he was again suspended. The short relief the wretched man had obtained from the pressure of the rope by these desperate efforts had probably enabled him to respire, and to the astonishment of all the spectators, for the third time he succeeded in placing his feet upon the platform, and again his hands vainly attempted to reach the fatal cord.
Calcraft and two or three other men then again forced the wretched man’s feet from their hold, and his legs were held down until the final struggle was over. In marked contrast, throughout this lugubrious event, the bells of the local churches were ringing merrily to celebrate the end of the Crimean War.’
A fearful moral
Wife-murderer William Borwick stood on York’s scaffold and commented wryly that he hoped the rope was strong enough, because if it broke he would fall to the ground and be crippled for life.
James Bell
There were occasionally hangmen who were too tender-hearted for their own good. John Williams of Edinburgh, making his debut on the scaffold, was one who was so lachrymose that when ordered to hang murderer James Bell on 13 July 1835, he could not see through his tears to adjust the noose. The superintendent of the prison had to tell him to move aside and took over himself. Needless to say, the crowd did not appreciate hangmen who sympathised with their victims – why, they might even be tempted to shorten their sufferings, thereby depriving onlookers of their rightful entertainment – and Williams, dodging stones thrown by the crowd as he made his escape, decided that his first hanging was going to be his last, and he resigned the next day.
English hangman William Calcraft always rejected the accusation that he had actually put anyone to death. ‘All I did,’ he explained, perhaps tongue-in-cheek, ‘was to make the preliminary arrangements required by law, as solemnly pronounced by an English judge – I placed the noose around the culprit’s neck and then allowed him to execute himself by falling!’
William Bousfield
For many decades London’s executions took place in public outside Newgate Prison and it was here, on 31 March 1856, that a particularly horrifying hanging took place. William Calcraft had gone to collect his victim from the condemned cell, to find him sitting on his bed, head slumped down on his chest, apparently oblivious to everything going on around him. The hangman was informed by one of the warders that Bousfield had already attempted to commit suicide by throwing himself in the fire in his cell but had been rescued by another warder, though not before their prisoner had sustained burns to his face and mouth. Weak and unable to stand upright after being pinioned, Bousfield was carried out to the scaffold seated in a chair, this being positioned on the drop beneath the beam to which the hangman proceeded to attach the rope and then noose his victim.
When the signal was given, the trapdoors opened, the chair fell through – but Bousfield didn’t! Instead he began a desperate struggle to escape and, as reported in The Times :
‘The sound of the falling drop had barely passed away when there was a shriek from the crowd, ‘He’s up again!’ and, to the horror of everyone, it was found that the prisoner, by a powerful muscular effort, had drawn himself up completely to the level of the drop, that both his feet were resting upon the edge of it, and he was vainly endeavouring to raise his hands to the rope above his head. One of the officers immediately rushed upon the scaffold and pushed the man’s feet from their hold, but in an instant, by a violent effort, he threw himself to the other side and again succeeded in getting both feet on the edge of the drop.
Calcraft, who had left the scaffold imagining that all was over, was called back; he seized the criminal, but it was with considerable difficulty that he forced him from the scaffold, and he was again suspended. The short relief the wretched man had obtained from the pressure of the rope by these desperate efforts had probably enabled him to respire, and to the astonishment of all the spectators, for the third time he succeeded in placing his feet upon the platform, and again his hands vainly attempted to reach the fatal cord.
Calcraft and two or three other men then again forced the wretched man’s feet from their hold, and his legs were held down until the final struggle was over. In marked contrast, throughout this lugubrious event, the bells of the local churches were ringing merrily to celebrate the end of the Crimean War.’
A fearful moral
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