The engraving, which is about 18 inches by 15 inches, represents the men kneeling on their coffins, the figure signifying Cooke being in the attitude of prayer, with clasped hands and a firm countenance; while Parish, though with his hands clasped denoting his devotion, is dejected in his general position and has downcast looks. Three lines of four men each are at “present,” the front rank kneeling, while at each side of the men to be executed is a man at “ready.” The Rev. Mr. Dring, who is in his clerical robes, is departing from the scene towards the rising ground to the right, at the foot of which is an infantry regiment at “attention,” with the 10th Regiment of Light Dragoons at then rear. On the crown of the hill are the civilians, male and female; in front of whom, to the right, are soldiers formed in a circle, within which, at a triangle, is a man undergoing the punishment of the lash, an officer, evidently the surgeon, superintending the proceedings. Immediately in the rear are the tents of the encampment.
Thirteen regiments were present at the execution, which for nearly fifty years was pointed out by the form of the coffins, the positions of the men firing, and other incidents of the scene, being cut out in the turf by the shepherd, whose innocent flocks browsed where so tragic an affair occurred. The plough has since obliterated all traces of the tragedy from the spot.
A singular instance of the effect of nervous excitement is connected with the execution. The Rev. Mr. Dring, the Chaplain of the regiment, who attended the culprits in their last moments, being a nervous man, and having a great horror of the duty which he had to perform, made a special request that after he had administered to them the last religious consolation, he should have sufficient time to get beyond the sound of the report of the fatal muskets before the order to fire was given. Promise of compliance with his request was made; but either from his tardy progress in leaving the spot, or a miscalculation of time, the word of command was given, and the firing took place while he yet was within hearing. The effect upon him was that he fell to the ground, and never after recovered the shock upon his nerves.
The bodies of the two mutineers were interred in Hove churchyard, contiguous to the centre of the old north boundary wall, where their remains continued undisturbed till the restoration of the Church, in 1834, when a saw-pit was dug at the actual spot, and a few of their bones were exhumed. The burying party was under Sergeant-Major Masters, who afterwards was a publican at Witney. The receipt for the burial fees on the interment of the bodies is still retained by his family. A few years since, Mr. Samuel Thorncroft, the Assistant-Overseer of Brighton, being at Witney, by chance called at Masters’s house, when, the subject of the execution of the two men being introduced, the receipt referred to was shown him, and Masters stated that so infamously constructed were the coffins in which the corpses were put that, notwithstanding they were buried in their regimental attire, their blood oozed through the coffins and ran down the backs of their comrades who conveyed them to their grave.
The vicinity of Goldstone Bottom is memorable not only for these military executions, but, also, for the hanging and gibbeting of two men, James Rook and Edward Howell, on the 26th of April, 1793, just north of the Old Shoreham road, beyond Hove Drove. Their crime was robbing the mail, at that time conveyed between Brighton and Shoreham by a lad, named John Stephenson, on horseback. The robbery took place on the night of the 30th of October, 1792. What they took was of little value; and they used no violence. In a barn adjacent they broke open the letters and shared their trifling contents.
Their apprehension was effected by an old woman, named Phœbe Hassell, who happened, as was her frequent custom, to be taking some refreshment at the Red Lion public house, at Old Shoreham, kept at that time by a man named Penton, when Rook came in and ordered some beer. In the course of conversation with the persons present, the subject of the mail robbery came up, and from some observations made by Rook, Phœbe, in her own mind, was convinced that he was one of the party in the affair. She in consequence, went out and gave information of what had transpired to the parish constable, Bartholomew Roberts, who was well acquainted with Rook, then living with his mother in a small cottage close by, on the spot now occupied by Adur Lodge. On being taken into custody, Rook, whose age was about 24, a simple, inoffensive fellow, who had been the dupe of his companion in the crime, admitted the offence, and afforded such intelligence as led to the apprehension of Howell, at Old Shoreham mill, where, at the time, he was reading a pamplet to the miller. Howell was 40 years old, and by trade a tailor.
Some of the stolen property was found upon them; and their identification by the mail-boy being complete, they were committed from the Fountain Inn, for trial at the Spring Assizes, at Horsham, when, being found guilty, they were sentenced to be executed at the spot where the robbery had been effected. They were conveyed to Horsham on horseback, and for their safe custody, not only were they handcuffed, and pinioned with strong cords, but each had his legs roped together under the horse’s belly, and, besides the constable that accompanied them, there was a military escort of four cavalry.
An immense concourse of spectators witnessed the execution of these unfortunate men, whose bodies, according to the barbarous custom of the times, were afterwards encased in an iron skeleton dress and gibbetted. The disgusting sight of their decaying bodies remained some time a terror to the timid, but a mark of recreation to the reckless and thoughtless, who were accustomed to throw at them and practise many revolting tricks.
Many relics of the event remain in the possession of inhabitants of Shoreham and Hove; Mr. Alderman Martin, in Brighton, has, at the present time, a tobacco stopper which was made from the bone of a finger of Rook.
When, however, the elements had caused the clothes and the flesh to decay, the aged mother of Rook, night after night, in all weathers,—and the more tempestuous the weather the more frequent the visits,—made a sacred pilgrimage to the lonely spot; and it was noticed that on her return she always brought something away in her apron. Upon being watched, it was discovered that the bones of the hanging men were the objects of her search, and as the wind and rain scattered them on the ground she collected the relics, and conveyed them to her home, and when the gibbets were stripped of their horrid burthen, in the dead silence of the night she interred them, deposited in a chest, in the hallowed ground of Old Shoreham Churchyard.