The four men who were condemned to death were reprieved, one after the other, as the days fixed for their executions drew near, so that I was not required to carry out my painful duty after all. But I was kept waiting more than a week in Galway gaol, with nothing more lively to do than to read the newspapers, and to walk about in the dreary prison yard, because the governor did not consider that it would be safe for me to venture outside. I was heartily glad when the last reprieve arrived and I was free to return home. To avoid observation as much as possible, I took the midnight train, and as there were very few passengers I secured a compartment to myself, and made all snug for a sleep. I was not disturbed until we reached Mullingar, when I noticed a man who looked into my compartment, then walked the whole length of the train, and finally came into my compartment, although there were others in the train quite empty. He at once began to talk to me in a friendly sort of style, with a strong American twang, but I did not like his looks at all, so pretended to want to go to sleep. As I sized him up from my half-shut lids I set him down as a “heavy swell” Yankee. He wore a big slouch hat and cape coat, carried an elaborately silver-mounted handbag, and his coat pocket showed the unmistakable outline of a revolver. He plied me with all sorts of questions on Irish politics, asked me where I lived, what was my business, where I was going to stay in Dublin, and a host of other questions which I evaded as far as I decently could. I did tell him, amongst other things, that my name was Aykroyd, and that I lived in the North of England, but not very much beyond this. After a while he pulled out his revolver and commenced examining it in a careless sort of fashion. As I did not like this turn of affairs, I pulled out my own weapon, which was built for business and twice the size of the one carried by the stranger, and made a pretence of looking it over very carefully. The stranger asked me to let him examine my “gun,” but I told him that it was a weapon that I did not like to hand about for fear of accidents, and after a final look at the charges, I put it back into my coat pocket in such a position that it covered the stranger, and kept my finger on the trigger until we reached Dublin. The American tried to keep up a conversation all the way, but I was not very encouraging, and I thought that by the time we reached Dublin he would be heartily sick of my company. But when I got out of the station and was driving off to my hotel, I was surprised to find that he jumped on to the same car, and said he would go to the same hotel as I did. After having a wash I came down into the breakfast room and heard the American asking the waitress if she knew Mr. Berry, to which she replied that she did; and then if Mr. Berry was there that morning, to which she replied that she had not seen him. As a matter of fact she had not, and I slipped along the passage to tell her, as she went to the kitchen, that my name, pro tem, was Aykroyd. I found in the coffee room that there was a letter addressed to me, on the mantel-piece. The stranger was examining this, and asked me if I knew the hangman by sight. When it was nearly time to catch my boat the stranger still stuck to me, and at the last moment he suggested that we should have a drink together. We went to Mooney’s, where I was known to the bar-tender, to whom I tipped a vigorous wink as we went in, which showed him there was something in the wind. After ordering our drinks the American asked him if he knew Berry, the hangman, to which he truthfully replied that he did. The American then asked if he knew whether Berry had come from Galway by the night mail, adding “he was expected to travel by that train, but Mr. Aykroyd and myself came by it and we saw nobody like him, though I carefully looked along the whole train.” The bar-tender of course knew nothing, so we drank up, and I went out to my car, the American shaking hands with me and wishing me a pleasant voyage. I had run it rather close, and quick driving only just brought us to the quay in time for me to get aboard. As the ship swung out from the quay-side, a car, driven at red-hot speed, came dashing along, and the passenger, whom I recognised as my American, gesticulated wildly, as if he wanted the vessel to stop. But we swung out with steam and tide, and he drove some distance along the quay-sides wildly but vainly waving his hands.
The next time I was at Mooney’s I heard some further particulars. The stranger had gone back for another drink, and after chatting for a few minutes, the bar-tender told him that his friend Mr. Aykroyd was the very Berry for whom he had been enquiring. On hearing that, he rapped out half-a-dozen oaths, rushed for a car, and drove off in mad haste.
I have never seen him since, nor has the bar-tender, and I never knew what were the motives for his peculiar conduct.
[Appendix.]
The Trouble with “Answers” Limited.
Early last year (1890) I felt compelled to bring an action for libel against the “Answers” Newspaper Co., Ltd. As the case was fully reported at the time, I think that a report condensed from the columns of The Bradford Observer, of March 17th, 1890, may be more satisfactory than my own statement of the case. I, therefore, give it, in the form of an appendix, rather than in the chapter—“[The Press and the Public]”—to which it belongs.
In this action Mr. Waddy, Q.C., M.P., and Mr. Waugh (instructed by Mr. J. J. Wright) appeared for the plaintiff, Mr. James Berry, the public executioner, of 1, Bilton Place, Bradford; and Mr. Cyril Dodd, Q.C., appeared for the defendants, the “Answers” Newspaper Company, Limited. The plaintiff claimed £500 for libel, which was printed and published in the periodical called “Answers;” the defendants admitted the printing and publication of the libel, and by way of mitigation of damages they withdrew all moral imputations against Berry’s character and paid a sum of 40s. into court, and apologised for the words used.
Mr. Waddy said in behalf of the plaintiff—and he thought the observation would commend itself to their judgment—that no man in the kingdom, whatever he might be, and whatever calling he might follow, as long as he followed the duties of his calling in honesty and integrity, ought to be deliberately insulted and flouted for any reason whatever; and he believed that when they heard what kinds of falsehoods were printed concerning Berry they would agree with him that Mr. Berry, although he was the common executioner, being a sober and respectable man, was entitled at their hands to be protected from wanton insult. He would tell them what the facts were. It appeared that some time in September or October of 1889 a man named White came to him representing himself to be a correspondent of an American newspaper, and told Mr. Berry that he was anxious to hear his views upon the very interesting subject of executions by means of electricity, and that his opinion, in view of his experience at executions, was of very great importance. He offered Mr. Berry a fee of £3 if he would give him the interview which he desired; and that fee was paid, and Mr. Berry did discuss the question with him. He did that on the promise, both by word of mouth and in writing, that whatever he said should not be published in this country. Mr. Waddy then read the article which had appeared in “Answers,” from which I need only give extracts.