Tyburn: London's Fatal Tree (26 page)

The behaviour of the watching crowds along the route was not always predictable. A fifteen-year-old youth called Joseph Harris who was condemned to death for stealing two half-sovereigns and some silver was so terrified that he had to be lifted into the cart at Newgate. The authorities allowed his father to travel with him. He did so, cradling his son’s head in his lap. The crowd watched in silence, all sense of derision and mockery replaced by simple compassion, as the cart passed containing the pitiful youth and his weeping grey-haired father. Although the common impression is of crowds flocking to gloat at the pain and misery of the condemned felons, there were some, admittedly a small minority, who went in order to pray for the souls of those being executed. The crowds were not totally callous. There is a story of an orange-seller in the crowd at Tyburn who was knocked down and robbed by footpads. He was carried off to a nearby alehouse to have his injuries attended to and remained there for a few days being visited by literally hundreds of people solicitous for his welfare. This contrasts very sharply with the changing mood which coursed through the crowd when a procession to Tyburn was brought to a sudden unexpected halt because the hangman, William Marvell, was arrested for debt. Against a background of derisive and scoffing comments from the crowd, Marvell was hustled away. The procession continued, albeit no longer with Marvell at its head, until it reached Tyburn. There a bricklayer in the crowd volunteered to carry out the executioner’s duty but he was seized and beaten up severely. As something of an anti-climax for the expectant crowd, the prisoners were taken back to Newgate and their sentences commuted to transportation.

Jonathan Wild, when he was at the height of his power, loved to regale and possibly terrify the people watching a procession to Tyburn with tales of how one or more of the prisoners passing by were there because of his relentless thief-taking efforts. This is probably one of the reasons why the crowds gave him such a torrid time when he made the same journey some time later.

The journey was one of about three miles but no sooner had a start been made than the entourage would halt outside St Sepulchre’s, where the bellman would ring his handbell sonorously. He would then intone the following speech:

All good people, pray heartily unto God for these poor sinners, who are going to their death, for whom this great bell doth toll. You that are condemned to die, repent with lamentable tears; ask mercy of the Lord for the salvation of your souls through the merits, death, and passion of Jesus Christ, who now sits on the right hand of God, to make intercession for as many of you as penitently return unto him. Lord have mercy upon you! Christ have mercy upon you!

The bellman would conclude by exhorting the crowd to pray for the souls of those soon to die after which he presented colourful nosegays to the condemned prisoners. Something likely to assist the chance of escaping would probably have been better appreciated.

The procession would then resume its slow journey, stopping at one or more inns and taverns along the route to allow the condemned prisoners to take some refreshment. Another regular place for a halt was outside the hospital at St Giles-inthe-Fields where ale was available for the main participants in the spectacle. The story is told how on one occasion a solitary prisoner being conveyed from Newgate to Tyburn loftily spurned the offer of wayside drinks. He rather self-righteously informed all and sundry of his utter rejection of strong drink. The procession continued on its way and reached Tyburn where the hanging duly took place. If only the man had taken his drink, he would have lived to tell the story because a reprieve arrived a few minutes after he was hanged! This story may well be apocryphal because it is told about many other places of execution. Tyburn lore assures us that many prisoners took full advantage of the hospitality on offer. They were certainly encouraged to do so by the publicans along the way because where prisoners were allowed to get off the cart and enter their premises, they brought hordes of well-wishers with them and business boomed. The practice of allowing prisoners to drink may also have been for more rough-and-ready humanitarian purposes. The drinks acted as something of an anodyne to the terror that was obviously felt by most prisoners.

Depending on their personality and character, some prisoners seemed to revel in their temporary stardom and waved to friends in the crowd and blew kisses or made lewd suggestions to pretty girls among the bystanders. Others, however, huddled in the bottom of the cart trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, suffused with terror and shaking like aspens. Prisoners of this sort attracted nothing but scorn from the crowd. Some prisoners apparently believed that even at this stage a reprieve might be possible and so they tried to slow the procession down. Even without their efforts, the journey could easily take at least three hours. Occasionally a prisoner would try to escape. If he was popular with the crowd they might do all they could to assist him. If he was disliked, he would find his way barred and would be quickly retaken.

At Tyburn itself, a crowd would be waiting and the food and drink vendors would be doing a roaring trade, as would the thieves and pickpockets. Seats could be hired on viewing platforms known as ‘Tyburn pew openers’. Admission prices were carefully adjusted to take account of the fame and notoriety of the felon or felons being dealt with on that occasion. The most famous of these grandstands was known as ‘Mother Proctor’s Pew’ after its original owner and it would fill up very early if the occupants thought they were in for a good show. This structure had proved to be an excellent investment. First used in 1724, in 1760 when Earl Ferrers was executed it had netted its owner an estimated £5,000 or something approaching £450,000 in today’s prices. He was a star attraction despite the revulsion evoked by his behaviour. The theme of overcharging for these grandstand seats was a constant one until executions at Tyburn ended but, grumbling or not, patrons continued to pay the prices asked. In 1758 Dr Henesey delivered an apparently endless last speech from the gallows. It drove the spectators to distraction. They wanted to see him swing! A wave of fury coursed through the crowd when a reprieve was announced and a riot broke out in which the viewing stands were demolished. Their owner, protesting at the destruction, narrowly escaped being hanged herself!

The area around the gallows could become unpleasantly crowded as those devotees of a good hanging who had accompanied the procession jockeyed for a good view with those who had the fore-sight to get to Tyburn early. Tensions would build up in the crowd and a great cry of ‘Hats off! Hats off!’ went up as the procession made its way to the foot of the gallows platform. This was not intended to be a mark of respect for the condemned prisoner but rather a demand that those near the front should take their hats off so that those at the back could get a better view. Excitement and anticipation led to further roars as the hangman stepped forward and the condemned prisoners ascended the gallows. A few minutes might then pass while the hangman and his assistants placed nooses around the prisoners’ necks and, as became the practice, put hoods or bags over their heads. Large numbers of people could be milling about on, or close to, the scaffold at this point because friends and relatives wanted to offer the condemned prisoners last-minute moral support. The Ordinary might be fussing about, getting on everybody’s nerves, trying to extract juicy tit-bits from eleventh-hour confessions that would see the light of day in further broadsheets to be touted around the streets later. A homing pigeon was released when the entourage reached Tyburn to let those at Newgate know of the procession’s safe arrival.

In one sense this was theatre. A convict by the name of Paynes, about to be hanged for murder, was enthusiastically applauded by the crowd when he unceremoniously pushed the Ordinary out of the cart. He then pulled off his own boots, declaring loudly that he was going to honour his mother and to confound the old proverb about not dying with one’s boots on! William Borwick, taken to Tyburn because he had murdered his wife, had the crowd in fits of laughter when he looked critically at the rope, felt it and tugged it with some care. He then told the onlookers that he hoped it was strong enough because he hated to think it might break. If it did, he would fall to the ground, fracturing some bones and might be crippled for life! Condemned robber Tom Austin, while waiting on the scaffold, was asked whether he had anything he wanted to say. His reply, which must have surprised those who heard him, was that he could see a woman in the crowd who had some curds and whey. These were one of his favourite comestibles. To a roar of approval from the crowd, he said that he wanted to know if he could buy a penn’orth because he wasn’t sure when he was going to have a chance to try them again.

There is no doubt that some of those who died at Tyburn gained considerable spiritual strength from the act of doing so in front of an appreciative and supportive audience. As Henry Fielding, the zealous and perceptive magistrate of Bow Street, wrote in 1751:

The day appointed by Law for the Thief’s Shame is a Day of Glory in his Opinion. His procession to Tyburn, and his last moments there, are all triumphant; attended with the compassion of the meek and tender-hearted, and with the Applause, Admiration, and envy of all the bold and hardened …

The technology of the hanging process changed over time. In the earliest period, the gallows consisted of two uprights with a cross-beam joining them. The cross-beam could accommodate up to ten victims, although only one could be hanged at a time. The prisoner was forced to mount a ladder placed against the cross-beam in a kind of do-it-yourself form of execution. He already had a noose around his neck which was attached to the cross-beam and he could throw himself off if he chose to do so, death coming by slow strangulation. If he showed understandable signs of reluctance to do this, he was liable to be unceremoniously pushed off as the ladder was twisted and turned. This explains the phrase ‘turned off’ as gallows humour would have it. Later, although this method hardly involved major technological advance, the prisoner was required to stand on the tail of a cart, probably the one in which he had ridden from Newgate. The horses were then lashed and as they lurched forward, the prisoner was left dangling in midair. Several simultaneous executions could be carried out in this way. In 1571 the ‘Triple Tree’ was brought into use at Tyburn. It was a triangular gallows consisting of three uprights joined to each other by cross-beams and it considerably increased the potential productivity of the hangman. Now twenty-four criminals could be hanged at one go, eight on each beam. The only time this happened was in 1649.

It was not uncommon for a prisoner to give money to the hangman to try to ensure that death was quick. Otherwise he might take twenty agonising minutes to expire. As the prisoner dangled, the hangman might therefore allow his relatives to rush forward and pull on his legs, trying to assist a swift demise. However the hangman had to ensure that they were not rushing forward with the opposite purpose – of lifting him up and preventing strangulation. It was widely believed that if death did not occur on this occasion, the prisoner might be reprieved, a clear case of ‘where there’s life, there’s hope’. Undignified scenes might ensue as fights broke out between the hangman and the guards on the one hand and the relatives and friends of the prisoner on the other. This all helped to provide the spectators with just the kind of knockabout entertainment that many of them had spent good money hoping to see. It was the custom to leave the body hanging for an hour before it was cut down. During that time, women might rush forward to grab the still-twitching hand of the dying convict and press it to their cheeks or bosoms because it was widely regarded as possessing curative powers, especially against skin problems. Additionally, children might be lifted up and made to press any infected limbs in the ‘death sweat’. Pieces of dried skin from those who had been hanged fetched high prices as lucky charms. In 1739 John Morris was hanged at Tyburn for highway robbery. When perpetrating an earlier crime, he had had his jawbone shot off. He had carefully saved all the pieces he could find and while he was waiting execution, he distributed them as good-luck charms to his fellow inmates of Newgate.

In the crowd there would be veterans of innumerable public executions who provided a running commentary for the benefit of those around who were less well versed in the nuances of a hanging. Perceptive remarks would be made about the prisoner and his demeanour; most particularly about whether he was displaying any signs of fear. Those who seemed stoical were admired but others who were openly defiant were loudly applauded. Especially savoured were tirades which scorned or lambasted the legal authorities, the whole system of justice and the peculations of the powerful for which they seemed to have almost complete immunity. Some prisoners took the opportunity to make jokes and jests and exchange witticisms with those in the crowd. Such prisoners were greatly appreciated but the onlookers took less pleasure in cringing and self-pitying confessions or last-minute appeals for clemency. The barracking might be so loud that the condemned man had little option but to stop. The onlookers did not want the speeches to go on too long because they delayed the day’s main pleasure which was, of course, the one or more hangings. Other perceptive remarks came from experienced spectators who commented on and analysed the skill displayed by the hangman. Although they seem not to have turned a hair as the condemned man twitched and convulsed in his death agonies, they did require the hangman to do all he could to make the execution a quick and clean one. They were swift to spot evidence of nerves or incompetence on the part of the hangman and these would elicit a torrent of jeers and ribald comments. Any hangman making a particularly cack-handed job might have to run from the gallows under a hail of missiles and verbal derision.

Most felons wished to die well. Folklore is full of examples of gallows humour and last-minute defiance but for all those who went down fighting, there were far more who went to their deaths clearly in the uttermost transports of terror. Few managed a swashbuckling swan song. Most died as obscurely and hopelessly as they had lived.