“The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear,
The blood will follow where the knife is driven.”
When, before this, did it ever fall to the lot of any subject to be borne down by the weight of calumny and obloquy, which now oppresses me. The press, which ought to be the shield of public liberty, the avenger of public wrongs—which above all should have exerted itself to preserve the purity of its favourite institution, the trial by jury—has directed its whole force to my injury and prejudice: it has heaped slander upon slander, and whetted the public appetite for slanders more atrocious: nay more, what in other men would serve to refute and repel the shaft of calumny, is made to stain with a deeper dye the villanies ascribed to me. One would have thought, that some time spent in the service of my country would have entitled me to some favour from the public under a charge of this nature. But no; in my case the order of things is changed—nature is reversed. The acts of times long since past have been made to cast a deeper shadow over the acts attributed to me within the last few days; and the pursuit of a profession hitherto held honourable among honourable men has been turned to the advantage of the accusation against me. You have been told that after the battle, I boasted of my inhumanity to a vanquished, yielding, wounded enemy—that I made a wanton sacrifice of my bleeding and supplicating foe, by striking him to the earth with my cowardly steel; and that after this deed of blood, I sat down to plunder my unhappy victim: nay more, that, with folly indescribable and incredible, I boasted of my barbarity as of a victory. Is there an English officer, is there an English soldier or an Englishman, whose heart would not have revolted with hatred against such baseness and folly? Far better, gentlemen, would it have been for me, rather than have seen this day, to have fallen with my honourable companions, stemming and opposing the tide of battle upon the field of my country’s glory. Then my father and my family, though they would have mourned my loss, would have blessed my name, and shame would not have rolled its burning fires over my memory!—Before I recur to the evidence brought against my life, I wish to return my most sincere thanks to the high sheriff and the magistrates for their kindness shown to me. I cannot but express my unfeigned regret at a slight misunderstanding which has occurred between the Reverend Mr. Lloyd, the visiting magistrate, and my solicitor. As it was nothing more than a misunderstanding, I trust the bonds of friendship are again ratified between us all. My most particular gratitude is due to the Reverend Mr. Franklin, whose kind visits and pious consolations have inspired me with a deeper sense of the awful truths of religion, and have trebly armed my breast with fortitude to serve me on this day. Though last, not least—let me not forget Mr. Wilson, the governor of the prison, and the fatherly treatment which he has shown me throughout. My memory must perish ere I can forget his kindness. My heart must be cold ere it can cease to beat with gratitude to him, and wishes for the prosperity of his family.”
The prisoner then proceeded to read first a long written comment on the weaker parts of the evidence which had been produced against him, and then a number of instances from the Percy Anecdotes, exhibiting the fallibility of circumstantial evidence; but either the paper was so ill-written, or he was so imperfect a reader, that the effect was quite fatal to the flowery appeal which he had just before delivered to the jury. After having exhibited the utmost confusion, and stammered and blundered in a most extraordinary manner, he concluded his address in the following terms. “And now, gentlemen, having read those cases to you, am not I justified in saying, that unless you are thoroughly convinced that the circumstances before you are absolutely inconsistent with my innocence, I have a claim to your verdict of acquittal? Am I not justified in saying, that you might come to the conclusion that all the circumstances stated might be true, and yet I be innocent? I am sure, gentlemen, you will banish from your minds any prejudice which may have been excited against me, and act upon the principle that every man is to be deemed innocent until he is proved guilty. Judge of my case, gentlemen, with mature consideration, and remember that my existence depends upon your breath. If you bring in a verdict of guilty, the law afterwards allows no mercy. If upon a due consideration of all the circumstances you shall have a doubt, the law orders, and your own consciences will teach you to give me the benefit of it. Cut me not off in the summer of my life! I implore you, gentlemen, to give my case your utmost attention. I ask not so much for myself as for those respectable parents whose name I bear, and who must suffer in my fate. I ask it for the sake of that home which will be rendered cheerless and desolate by my death. Gentlemen, I am incapable of any dishonourable action. Those who know me best, know that I am utterly incapable of an unjust and dishonourable action, much less of the horrid crime with which I am now charged. There is not, I think, one in this court who does not think me innocent of the charge. If there be, to him or them I say, in the language of the apostle, ‘Would to God ye were altogether such as I am, save these bonds.’ Gentlemen, I have now done. I look with confidence to your decision. I repose in your hands all that is dear to the gentleman and the man. I have poured out my heart before you, as to my God. I hope your verdict this day will be such as you may ever after be able to think upon with a composed conscience; and that you will reflect upon the solemn declaration which I now make—I am innocent! so help me God!”
Hunt was next called upon, but his feeble voice and shrinking manner were strongly contrasted with the overwrought energy which had been displayed by his fellow-prisoner. He spoke of his agitation and fatigue, and desired that a paper, which he handed in, might be read by the clerk of the arraigns. It was accordingly read in a very feeling manner, but it contained little in reference to the charge against him, and insisted strongly upon the promise held out by the magistrate, on his first giving information upon the subject of the murder. The prisoner subsequently read a few words of comment upon Probert’s evidence, but in a very dejected voice; and at its conclusion, he hung down his head, evidently completely overcome by his situation.
Mr. Justice Park then summed up the case to the jury at very great length, and in a manner which brought the whole of the material facts of the case under their attention in the clearest and most impartial manner. After an address of several hours’ duration, the jury retired to consider their verdict. In about twenty minutes they returned into court, and declared both prisoners guilty.
They were then immediately called up to receive judgment in the customary manner, when Thurtell addressed the court in the following terms:—
“My Lord, before you pass sentence, I pray you to take into your serious consideration what I am about to say: I now for the last time assert that I am innocent. I entreat a short delay in the execution of the sentence you may pass, as I have friends now at a distance, with whom it is necessary that I should transact some business. It is for the sake of some friends who are dear to me, that I ask this indulgence; not for myself, for I am at this moment ready. My request I hope your lordship will take into consideration; and beyond Sunday is all I ask.”
The learned judge, at the conclusion of this address, which was once or twice interrupted by the ebullition of the prisoner’s feelings, announced that it was impossible that the request which had been made could be complied with, and immediately passed sentence of death upon both convicts. They then shook hands and quitted the bar, from whence they were at once conducted to their respective cells. Hunt, however, received an intimation that in consequence of the representations made with respect to the promise given by the magistrates, his punishment would, in all probability, be commuted to transportation for life.
The extraordinary interest and excitement which had been produced by this most remarkable case, from the first discovery of the perpetration of the murder, through the disclosure of the whole of the circumstances attending it, and up to the committal, trial and conviction of the prisoners, was now increased to an extent which may be pronounced to have been quite unparalleled. During the whole of Thursday, the day succeeding the termination of the trial, persons of all ranks and appearances were seen driving from every quarter into Hertford, in order, if possible, to obtain a sight of the execution of the malefactor, many being influenced in a very great degree by the anticipation that Thurtell would make some extraordinary disclosure in his dying moments. All the inns of the town were completely filled; and in many private houses beds were let at an enormous price. The most active preparations were made in the course of the day by the magistrates to prevent accident, and at the same time to afford as great a portion of the assembled multitude an opportunity to obtain a view of the scaffold and the execution; and arrangements were made, by which the space ordinarily occupied by the public in such instances should be very materially increased.
Meanwhile the proceedings in the jail on the part of the prisoners was of a nature to be most interesting. At ten o’clock on Thursday night, Thurtell expressed an anxious desire that Hunt might be permitted to pass the night in his room. His wish was immediately granted, and Hunt was introduced and was received with a strong manifestation of cordiality. Thurtell took him by the hand, and said, “Joe, the past is forgotten. I am on the brink of eternity, and we now meet only as friends. It may be your fate to lose your life as ignominiously as myself; but I hope the royal mercy will be extended to you, and that you will live to repent of your past errors. Although you have been my enemy, I freely forgive you.” Hunt, who had entered the room with feelings bordering on apprehension that some unfortunate turn had taken place in his affairs, and that he was himself to suffer, was suddenly relieved by this address, and, squeezing Thurtell’s hand most vehemently, burst into tears; he then sat down by the fire, and Thurtell and he continued to pray and to read until one o’clock. Soon after one the former showed symptoms of fatigue, and lying on the bed, in a few moments afterwards he dropped into a profound sleep.