The inquest was a trying ordeal for all concerned, and it was a great comfort to me to find that the Governor and the Gaol Surgeon both gave evidence as to the care with which every detail had been carried out. In the evidence I mentioned that I had hanged one heavier man previously, namely, Joseph Lawson, who weighed 16 stones 8 lbs., and to whom I gave a drop of 8 feet. In his case there was not even abrasion of the skin of the neck. When I finished my evidence the Coroner said:—“I am bound to say, before you leave the room, that as far as the evidence has gone there seems to be nothing to throw any blame upon you, either from want of skill or being in an improper condition.” After this the evidence of the Gaol Surgeon was taken, and the jury returned a verdict to the effect that “Robert Goodale came to his death by hanging, according to the judgment of the law; and that no one was to blame for what had occurred.”
In the foregoing I have spoken of two terrible experiences, and some of my readers, with the execution of Conway, at Kirkdale, fresh in their memories, will ask why it is not mentioned. The fact is, the foregoing was written before Conway’s execution took place, and as the mishap which occurred on that occasion was in no way due to my own ignorance or carelessness, but was exactly what I expected would happen in consequence of my arrangements being interfered with by others, the shock that I received was by no means so great as on the two other occasions. Particulars of this execution will be found in the section headed, “The Drop,” of the chapter on “[My Method of Execution].”
[CHAPTER VIII.]
How Murderers Die.
As one of my objects in writing this book is to give the public a solid basis for the formation of a sound public opinion upon the subject of capital punishment, it is necessary that the present chapter should be a long one, and that many of its details should be painful—because they are true. If I glossed over the facts I should signally fail in my duty to my readers, but I have endeavoured, so far as possible, to avoid revolting details.
To the ordinary Englishman a murderer is a murderer and nothing else. He is a vile creature who has taken life, and who by law, divine and national, must die because of his deed. He is a creature different from the rest of humanity, a fiend, a monster, who has outraged Justice, and must die like a dog. To me, a murderer is a study. He is a man who has done an ill deed, who may or may not be naturally vicious; who may or may not be really responsible for his actions; who may or may not be devoutly penitent. My own ideas on capital punishment are given in another chapter. I believe, honestly, and from long study of the subject, with unique opportunities of judging, that with a certain low class of the human brute, the fear of death is the only check that can in any way curb their lusts and passions. But I have sometimes thought that amongst those whom I have executed, for crimes which they have undoubtedly committed, there were men to whom their crime was a trouble more terrible than death; men who had not premeditated murder, who had taken no pleasure in it and expected no profit from it, and who, if they could by any means have been set at liberty, had within them the making of model citizens. Logically, and as a matter of conviction, I feel that if one sheddeth man’s blood, by man should his blood be shed; but as a matter of sentiment, I sometimes feel sorry that certain murderers can not go free. The power of reprieve is, of course, often exercised, and very rightly so, and yet it sometimes seems as if murderers who have been wilful, deliberate and thoroughly vicious in their acts and characters are reprieved because they possess interesting personalities or influential friends, while others are executed who have a better plea for mercy, but no one to present it. The whole subject is a very difficult one; I must lay the facts before my readers and let them draw their own conclusions. But I may say that the executions which have given me the most trouble have not been those in which the convicts were violent or hysterical, not those in which they struggled and fought and cursed, or doggedly and stubbornly resisted; but the few cases in which they have been devoutly penitent, and almost seemed to welcome death as a release from a burden too heavy to be borne and an expiation for the sin which they deplored. In such cases the executioner’s task is, indeed, a painful one.
The conduct of the condemned in the cell and on the scaffold throws much light upon the various phases of human character, and to me it has always been an interesting study.