Part 26

As the trial proceeded, one of its peculiarities soon became apparent. This was that a vast proportion of the witnesses were of the closest kindred to the accused. And what was more horrid, was the fact of the father of the murdered man being called to speak to the identity of the body, which, having lain in the earth nearly a year, was so totally decomposed as to be recognizable only by the clothes; but to this the father added that "the colour of the hair was that of his son!"

It shocked all present greatly, when the father and mother of Pugh were called to speak to some minute facts with regard to the night on which Harrison was murdered, with reference to his leaving their house, where he lodged. The chief evidence was what the prisoners themselves had told to Ellson; but he being a person of execrable character, it was necessary to support his testimony by every corroborative circumstance that could be proved. Accordingly, in the early part of the trial, these wretched old people were brought forward to give testimony to facts bearing against their son's life: they were but very slight, but, as far as they went, they were confirmatory of the main story; and it is difficult to say whether the extreme coolness and composure with which the parents gave their evidence were not still more dreadful than if they had been violently affected.

Besides Ellson himself, there were also his wife, who was the daughter of one and the sister of two of the prisoners, and his sister, who was the daughter of another, called as witnesses! These young women also gave their evidence without strong emotion, although they certainly seemed far more impressed with the position in which they stood than the other witnesses named.

Ellson was calm, decided, and firm, to a degree which gave rise to unmingled disgust in every one who heard him. It will be recollected that the crime had been committed to save him--Pugh certainly committed the murder _for hire_; and the Coxes, perhaps, might have had some interests of their own mixed up with his;--but, even as regarded these last, the first object had been his escape; and his mother undoubtedly had dyed her hands in blood, solely to save her child.

The witness was a fine, well-looking fellow of about five-and-twenty--and, undoubtedly, until the severe cross-examination he underwent caused a struggle--though a perfectly successful one--to keep down his temper, his countenance was rather agreeable than otherwise. His story was clear, consecutive, and, no doubt, true. Each individual concerned in the transaction had, immediately on his release from jail, very naturally told to him, for whose sake it had been committed, all the circumstances regarding the murder. Pugh appears to have been the most detailed in his account, and to have rather bragged that it was he who "'ticed un out o' feyther's house, to steal some bacon,"--and that it was he who had "gripped un by the throat." In some instances, the Coxes were present during these recitals, and at others they spoke of the subject to Ellson themselves. While this part of the evidence was going forward, the strongest horror was excited against the perpetrators of the crime--so treacherous as it was in its concoction, and so coldly cruel in the manner in which it was carried into effect. Moreover, the idea that Pugh certainly altogether, and the two young Coxes in great part, had committed this murder _for hire_, was a circumstance of a character so new, and so awfully depraved, that the story carried the auditory along with it, and they forgot altogether the scoundrel who was telling it. But when he came to speak of his own mother, what must have been their sensations! Her guilt, dreadful as it was, almost disappeared; the thought could be only of the unnatural and ungrateful villain, who, to save himself from a light and temporary punishment, was thus giving to the gallows the mother who had born him, for a crime caused by her extravagant affection for him. He repeated twice or three times, in answer to the questions of the examining counsel, who felt it necessary to make the matter quite clear, that his mother had told him that she and old Cox had given fifty shillings a piece to have Harrison murdered. He said this as calmly as any other person would narrate any indifferent fact--and his mother's eyes were on his face all the time!

Mr. Charles Phillips cross-examined the witness at great length, very severely, and very skilfully: he drew from him that he had been in jail repeatedly, almost constantly, for theft of all kinds and descriptions; and he drove him into attempts to shuffle, very nearly approaching to prevarication, on several minor points, not connected with the case. But, regarding the case itself, he was not shaken at all; and although the universal sensation in the court must have been that of loathing and disgust for the mercenary cold-bloodedness of the proceedings to which he had had recourse, no serious doubt could for one moment be entertained that he was telling the truth.

The jury under these circumstances were compelled to return a verdict, consigning the wretched prisoners to a violent death.

The extreme sentence of the law was immediately passed upon the convicts, and their execution was appointed to take place on the following Monday, the 4th of the same month.

On the next day, a reprieve was granted in the case of Robert Cox, one of the sons, upon grounds which do not appear to have been well understood at the time, and he was transported for life. A respite for a week was also granted in the case of the elder Cox, and Ann Harris, who had been convicted only as accessories before the fact; but the awful punishment of death was left to be carried out in its due course upon Pugh, and John Cox the younger. The former, after his trial, declared his sense of the justice of his sentence, and that he regarded the termination of his career as a happy one, for that he constantly saw Harrison by his side; while the latter, with cold-blooded firmness, urged him to keep up his spirits, for that "he could die but once."

The execution had been appointed to take place at mid-day; and at a few minutes before twelve o'clock all the convicts, together with Ellson, were drawn up in the inner yard of the jail. Pugh and Cox were then pinioned; and while Ann Harris, old Cox, and his son Robert, were reconducted to the jail, Ellson was carried to a spot from which he must witness the conclusion of this dreadful scene. The authority by which this course was adopted, may well be doubted, for the miserable wretch was undoubtedly entitled to his discharge, as the indictment against him had been withdrawn; but it is probable that it was thought that the example afforded by such a proceeding might tend in some degree to check the thirst for crime, which appeared to exist in that district of the county.

The miserable convicts were directly afterwards led to the scaffold, dreadfully agitated, and uttering ejaculations imploring mercy for their sins; and all being in readiness, the drop fell, and they were launched into eternity.

The sentence of the wretched mother of Ellson, and of old Cox, was subsequently changed for that of transportation; and with this bare recitation of its facts, we shall close the scene upon this frightful case.

JOSEPH HUNTON.

EXECUTED FOR FORGERY.

The case of this criminal excited considerable attention from the circumstance of the offender having been long known in the city of London, as being a person of good repute, and also from the fact of his being a quaker.

It would appear that a considerable number of forged bills of exchange having been put in circulation, the result of the inquiries, which were made by the Committee of Bankers for the Prevention of Frauds and Forgeries, was clearly to fix the offence upon Hunton. The bills were for the most part accepted in the name of Mr. Edward Wilkins of Abingdon, and purported to be drawn by the firm of Dickson and Co. of Ironmonger-lane, warehousemen, in which Hunton was a partner. It so happened, however, that intelligence was received in town, before several of them became due, that Mr. Wilkins was dead; and upon inquiry, it turned out that the whole of the acceptances in the name of that person were forgeries. Hunton received speedy information of the discovery of the frauds of which he had been guilty; and upon inquiry being made for him, he was found to have absconded. Officers were immediately despatched in all directions to secure his person, and he was at length traced by Forrester, the city constable, to the neighbourhood of Plymouth. He directly started in pursuit, with some others who were employed on the same errand; and upon inquiry there, they learned that the object of their search was upon the point of sailing for New York in the Leeds packet, on board which he passed under the assumed name of Wilkinson. The officers immediately proceeded on board that vessel, and under pretence of having a letter to deliver, they were introduced to the forger. Upon their informing him of the nature of their mission, he was not able to utter a word, but rose and followed them, and was immediately conveyed to the shore. It is rather extraordinary that the first paper taken from his pocket was a letter directed to the editor of "The Times," stating that the amount of the forgeries ascribed to him in a paragraph in that journal was considerably exaggerated, and requesting that an acknowledgement to that effect should be inserted, in justice to the party accused, who would return as soon as possible, and pay off all his pecuniary obligations. There was also found in his pockets the copy of a letter directed to the house of Curtis and Co., informing them, that as it was not convenient for the firm to discount any more bills for him, he should absent himself for a short time from London. These were both directed from Deal, and were, no doubt, intended to mislead, as the writer never went near Deal in his route. He had entered the packet in his quaker dress; but in the course of a few hours he put on a light-green frock, a pair of light-grey pantaloons, a black stock, and a foraging-cap. It was ascertained that he had previously entered a French steam-boat on the river, with the intention of proceeding to Boulogne, and that he had been actually in that boat at the time of its being searched by some officers, who were endeavouring to procure his apprehension.

Upon his arrival in town, he underwent an examination before the lord mayor, upon the charges which were preferred against him; and several cases having been substantiated, he was fully committed for trial.

At the Old Bailey sessions, on the 28th of October 1828, the prisoner was put upon his trial, and he was found guilty upon a charge of forging a bill for 162_l._ 9_s._ with intent to defraud Sir William Curtis and Co. On the following Tuesday, the 4th of November, he was again indicted for a similar offence, in forging a bill for 94_l._ 13_s._ when a similar verdict was returned; and at the conclusion of the sessions, notwithstanding the recommendation of the jury to mercy, he received sentence of death.

A considerable time elapsed before the case of this unfortunate prisoner was reported to the Crown, in accordance with the custom which then prevailed; and it was not until the 8th of December that his sentence was carried into effect; but before we describe the circumstances attending the execution, we cannot help alluding to a most extraordinary delay which took place in the report of the recorder of London of the cases of no less than forty-nine prisoners confined in Newgate on various capital charges. It would appear that his majesty being at Windsor, the recorder proceeded to the Castle on Monday the 24th of November, for the purpose of making his report, when three wretched prisoners were ordered for execution. In accordance with the usual practice, it would have been the duty of the recorder to proceed forthwith to London to communicate the result of the deliberation of the privy council at Newgate, in order that the unhappy criminals, whose cases had been under consideration, might be at once relieved from the dreadful suspense in which, situated as they were, they would necessarily be placed. Monday night passed, however, and no intelligence was received of the learned gentleman, or of the decision which had been arrived at; and the greater part of Tuesday was permitted also to elapse before their dreadful anxiety was relieved. At five o'clock on that afternoon, the clerk of the learned gentleman reached Newgate with the death-warrant; and then only was it that the fate of the prisoners could be disclosed to them. The subject was brought under the consideration of the court of aldermen at the earliest possible period, with a view to the recorder giving some explanation of the very singular conduct of which he had been guilty; and he then stated, that the council not having terminated until past eight o'clock on the evening of Monday, he was at that time too fatigued to return to town on the same night; and that on his starting from Windsor on the following morning, he was so long delayed on the road, that he did not arrive in town until half-past three o'clock. This excuse, however plausibly it may have been put by the learned gentleman, was at least a lame one; and the remarks which were made upon his conduct at the time by the public, and by the press, were confined to no very measured terms.

Although so many prisoners had been reported on this occasion, it was found that Hunton was not among the number, a circumstance which gave him undue hopes and expectations, that he would be spared an ignominious death. A second report, however, was made on Monday the 1st of December, when the wretched criminal, with three others, was ordered for execution on the 8th of the same month.

Hunton bore the intelligence, "that he was certainly to die," with apparent fortitude. He was lying on his pallet when the Ordinary entered his cell at a little after eleven on Monday night. Upon hearing the cell-door open at so extraordinary an hour, he turned round slowly, and said, "Well, I suppose I know the news thou bringest?" "Yes," replied the Ordinary, "Mr. Hunton; you are, I hope, prepared for that which you have expected--you are to be executed." Hunton said, "Indeed, I have been expecting that intelligence; it is no surprise, and yet my case has many palliatives which should operate with grace at the seat of mercy. Pray, tell me who are doomed to die with me?" The Ordinary mentioned the other names enumerated in the report, and Hunton observed, that he should submit with calmness to his fate. "But," said he, "wilt thou do me the great favour, friend Cotton, to permit my wife to come and stay with me alone before the time arriveth for the change?" The Ordinary replied, that he had not the power to grant any favour, but the request should be communicated to the proper authority, and no doubt every indulgence of a reasonable kind would be granted. During this conversation, Hunton seemed to be perfectly resigned to his fate. It is singular that he never asked on what day he was to be executed. After the Ordinary assured him that he should be treated with kindness, he turned about, and said, "Good night, friend," and appeared to resign himself to sleep. In the morning he rose, evidently in a state of the most wretched dejection: his eyes were filled with tears, and he deplored the inhumanity of the laws, by which a man who had committed an act not deserving the name of fraud was to suffer death. The spirits by which he had been supported ever since his committal to Newgate altogether abandoned him: he wrung his hands in agony, and complained of the bitter aggravation of delay. When he first entered Newgate, he said, "I wish, after this day, to have communication with nobody; let me take leave of my wife and family and friends; I have already suffered an execution; my heart has undergone that horrible penalty." A few days afterwards a person called upon him to request that he would explain some document relating to certain bills not yet due. In one instant he gave the required explanation, fully to the satisfaction of the person interested; and was asked by the same individual what opinion he entertained of his own case? "Why," said he, "my case resembles the condition of this paper (holding the letter upon his finger)--a breeze of wind will turn it either way. Caprice may save or destroy me; but I rather think I shall live longer." He was on the Tuesday visited by his wife and several of the society of Friends, and he told them he knew that to hope would be to court deception. He was, during the whole day, the most painful object to those who went to console him: he groaned as if his heart were bursting within him, and seemed to consider this life all that a human being could wish for.

The execution of a man who was known to have moved in so respectable a sphere of life as the unfortunate Hunton, failed not to attract an immense crowd of persons to the vicinity of the jail of Newgate on the morning upon which it was determined that his life should be forfeited. From the extraordinary efforts which had been made to save this unfortunate culprit, a very general belief was entertained that a respite would most certainly arrive for him even so late as on the morning fixed for his death. His safety was considered almost certain, and many were scarcely persuaded that he would really suffer, even at the moment when the fatal cord encompassed his neck. The unfortunate man had, however, calmly composed his mind to meet his fate, and seemed to contemplate its approach without dread. He was on Sunday visited by several ladies and gentlemen of the society of Friends, who were accommodated with an apartment, in which they remained in their peculiar devotions for several hours. Afterwards the unhappy man was attended by two gentlemen, elders of the congregation, who sat up with him in the press-room all night, during which time Hunton composed a very long prayer, appropriate to his situation and approaching death. He committed his thoughts to paper, and after he had completed the prayer, he copied it, and directed it to "his dearly-beloved wife." At about half-past seven the two elders left the miserable man, after they had "kissed," and their absence was supplied by the attendance of Mr. Sparks Moline, of Leadenhall-street.

At fifteen minutes before the awful hour of eight, the under-sheriffs arrived at the prison, preceded by their tipstaffs, and were conducted by Mr. Wontner to the press-room. At the end of this gloomy apartment was observed, sitting at a long table which was strewed with pieces of paper and books, the ill-fated Hunton; immediately opposite sat his "friend," Mr. S. Moline. Hunton, turning his head, and observing the group of officers as they entered the room said, "I pray thee stop a minute; I'll not be long." He then concluded reading, in a distinct voice, the prayer he had composed in the night; it was couched in the most impressive and devout language that can be imagined. In it he expressed his dependence on the merits of Jesus Christ, and a hope, that when the spirit was separated from the body, it would join the angelic host above, in singing praises to the Son of God, and to the Almighty. Hunton had a very peculiar kind of voice, somewhat shrill and effeminate; he, however, spoke with firmness. There was nothing in his manner to condemn, but it showed a perfect self-possession. Mr. Moline, when the unhappy man had done reading, bowed his head, and responded, "Amen!" Hunton then arose, and folding up the paper in a hurried manner said, "I am quite ready now." Mr. Wontner approached him, and said he might remain seated for a short time longer; when he thanked the worthy governor, and resumed his seat at the table, and occupied his time by perusing some religious work before him. During this time John James, aged nineteen, who was condemned for a burglary in the house of Mr. Witham, the barrister, in Boswell-court, and two others were brought into the room attended by the Reverend Ordinary.

The wretched Hunton, during the pinioning of his fellow-convicts, conducted himself with the greatest calmness and devotion. He repeatedly addressed those who were to suffer with him, urging them to repentance.

All having, at last, been properly secured, it only remained for the unfortunate Hunton to undergo the same ordeal as his fellow-sufferers. The unhappy man was indulging in a sort of reverie, when Mr. Wontner tapped him upon the shoulder. He instantly stood up, and deliberately took a white stock from his neck, and approached the officers; he stood firmly, and when the man was in the act of tying his wrists he said, "Oh, dear, is there any necessity to tie the cord so fast?" The officer made no reply; upon which Hunton said, "Well, well, thou knowest best." He again complained of the cord being too tight about his arms, which was slackened a little, and the unhappy man said, "Thank thee, thank thee." After he had been thus secured, he said, "Wilt thou allow me to wear my gloves?" "Yes, certainly, sir," was the reply, and with some difficulty he put them on, and still kept the prayer addressed to his wife in his hand. All being now in readiness, the mournful procession moved towards the scaffold.

Before Hunton left the room, he said to Mr. Moline, "Thou will not leave me, friend?" "No," said Mr. Moline, "I will see thee to the scaffold." Mr. Moline then supported the unhappy man along the passage to the lobby at the foot of the scaffold, where he sat down by the side of his friend, still holding the prayer to his breast.

Hunton was the last who was summoned by the officers. Upon his name being pronounced, he turned round, and delivering the prayer to Mr. Moline, each shook the other's hand, and kissed lips, the unhappy man observing, "You may say I am quite happy and comfortable--fare thee well." He then quickly ascended the steps with the same unshaken firmness and deliberation which had marked his conduct throughout the trying period. He took his station under the fatal beam, and requested that a blue handkerchief, to which he seemed fondly attached, might be fastened over his eyes, which was accordingly done.

The preparations of the hangman for the deaths of these unhappy men being completed, the Reverend Mr. Cotton commenced reading a portion of the burial-service, and at a given signal the drop fell, and the four unfortunate beings were suspended. A loud shriek from some persons in the crowd followed the close of the melancholy scene.

The sufferings of the unhappy men were but brief. The rope by which Hunton suffered was longer than the rest, on account of his remarkably low stature; it soon reached its full tension, and he appeared to die instantly.