ON THE SCAFFOLD

Evening Star, Issue 22450, 22 September 1936, Page 11

ON THE SCAFFOLD

HOW DEATH IS FACED Sometimes, when the newspapers report an execution, our thoughts fly to the condemned man; for one brief moment we endeavour to put ourselves in his shoes, writes the well-known criminologist, Mr Walter G. Hartland. What does he feel as he mounts the scaffold? What strange thoughts-and emotions, during these final seconds, are born of his tortured soul ? He is in excellent health. Yet in a twinkling the floor beneath him gives way, a sharp, fiendish constriction seizes his neck, and the universe explodes into nothingness. Shame is his family’s heritage. Many criminals have displayed extraordinary fastidiousness even a few moments before their execution. A striking case was that of Dr William Palmer, who, in the middle of last century, committed some of the most ghastly crimes in the records. He was entirely unscrupulous. Marrying a wealthy woman in 1847, he gambled away all her money in six years. Then began a series of mysterious deaths. First, an unwanted child of his died soon after paying him a _ visit. Then Palmer invited his mother-in-law to come and stay with them. The old lady had money. So she was summarily despatched, and her daughter came into the fortune. But it soon vanished in Palmer’s improvident hands. SUSPICION AROUSED. He owed £BOO in betting debts to a sporting acquaintance named Bladou. He invited his creditor to stay with him, and when his guest died Palmer arranged for the funeral with an appropriate display of grief. But the indecent haste with which Bladou was buried aroused suspicion, although the death certificate, in this as in the other cases, was signed by a certain Dr Barnford, a kindly, unsuspicious old man. Bladon’s lire had been insured, aud this gave Palmer an idea. He insured his wife for £13,000, and within six months she died. Three months after receiving the money he was again reduced to penury. This time he insured his brother for the same amount of money. Within six months this brother died, but the insurance company was not satisfied, and held up payment while inquiries were instituted. In the meantime Palmer was arrested and put on trial for the murder of John Parsons Cook, a racing associate who bad betted heavily on his own horse, Polestar, at Shrewsbury. The horse won, and Cook drew £7OO or £BOO on the course. He and Palmer put up at the Raven Hotel, Shrewsbury, where a guest noticed the doctor examining some liquid in a tumbler that he was holding to the light. Shortly afterward Cook died. At his trial Palmer was also charged with the murder of his wife and brother. Sentenced to death, he- was executed at 8 o’clock on Saturday morning, June 14, 1850.

The path from the condemned cell to the gallows was muddy, as rain had fallen the previous night. Palmer minced along like a dainty schoolgirl, picking out the dry patches and avoiding the puddles. He took his trousers between his fingers, lifting them slightly as he went, and seemed most anxious not to get wet or muddied! DRAMATIC EFFECT. Many women have shown extraordinary bravery on the scaffold. It is possible that this is due to an inherent theatricalism in woman and the desire to create a dramatic effect. The instance of Charlotte Corday, who murdered Jean Paul Marat, the most feared and hated of French revolutionary leaders, in 1793, is surely significant. She gained access to Marat’s house by claiming to have an important message for him. Ever apprehensive of enemies, Marat seldom left his home, and spent most of his time in his bath, writing on a drawing board that rested across his knees. In this state he received Charlotte Corday, _ who, after a few words, drove a knife into his heart* She died calmly and with a smile, after writing to her father:— “ I have avenged many victims —prevented others. The people will one day acknowledge the sendee I have rendered my country. For your sake I wished to remain incognito; but it was impossible. I only trust you will not be injured by what I have done. “ Farewell, my beloved father! Forgive me, or rather rejoice in my fate, for it has sprung from a noble cause. Embrace my sister for me, whom I love with all my heart. Never forget the words of Corneille—the crime makes the shame and not the scaffold.” Another lovely woman, Mary Blandy, executed for the murder of her father in the eighteenth century, said to the hangman as she climbed the ladder to the gallows: “Do not hang me too high for the sake of decency.”-