Incidents and Anecdotes.
As is always the case when a man attains any prominence or notoriety,
a number of utterly groundless stories have got afloat about my doings
and adventures. Others, which were originally founded on fact, have
been so modified and altered that I do not recognise them when they
come back to me again. Altogether I have been credited with being the
hero of so many surprising adventures that I am afraid the few little
incidents which have really occurred to me will seem tame by the side
of the fictions.
One of the most striking incidents that ever occurred to me was on the
journey from Lincoln to Durham, after executing Mary Lefley, in 1884.
At Doncaster we changed from the Great Eastern to the Great Northern
Railway. I looked out for a carriage with a vacant corner seat, and
got into one containing three rough-looking men. When the train had
started they began to talk amongst themselves, and to look at me, and
eventually began to chaff me. Of course I pretended not to understand
their allusions to the execution that morning, and was indignant at
their supposing me to be an executioner, but they were confident that
they were right, and began offering to bet amongst themselves as to
which of them I should get first. I was glad to get to York, where
I parted from their company. Two years afterwards I met the same
three men under very different circumstances. They were at Carlisle,
condemned to be executed for the Netherby Hall burglary, and I carried
out the sentence of the law. Their names were Rudge, Martin, and Baker.
I always try to remain unknown while travelling, but there is a certain
class of people who will always crowd round as if an executioner were a
peep-show. On the journey above mentioned, after changing at York, I
got into a carriage with a benevolent-looking old gentleman. A little
crowd collected round the door, and just as we were starting a porter
stuck his head into the window, pointed to my fellow-passenger, and
with a silly attempt at jocularity said:--"I hope you'll give him
the right tightener." The old gentleman seemed much mystified, and
of course I was quite unable to imagine what it meant. At Darlington
there was another little crowd, which collected for a short time about
our carriage. Fortunately none of the people knew me, so that when the
old gentleman asked them what was the matter they could only tell him
that Berry was travelling by that train and that they wanted to have a
look at him. The old gentleman seemed anxious to see such an awful man
as the executioner, and asked me if I should know him if I saw him.
I pointed out a low-looking character as being possibly the man, and
my fellow-traveller said, "Yes! very much like him." I suppose he had
seen a so-called portrait of me in one of the newspapers. We got quite
friendly, and when we reached Durham, where I was getting out, he asked
for my card. The reader can imagine his surprise when I handed it to
him.
This little story has been much warped and magnified, and has even
been made the subject of a leading article which takes me to task for
"glorying in my gruesome calling," and shocking respectable people by
giving them my cards.
Another little anecdote which has been greatly distorted is what I
call the toothache story. It happened in 1887, when crossing from
Ireland, that there was one of the passengers who was terribly ill
with mal de mer and toothache combined. He was rather a bother to
several travellers who were not sick, and who wished to enjoy the
voyage, and he must have given a lot of trouble to the stewards. I
think that one of the latter must have told him that I could cure him,
for he came and begged me to tell him what was the best thing for his
complaint. I admitted that I was in the habit of giving drops that
would instantaneously cure both the toothache and the sea-sickness,
but assured him that he would not be willing to take my remedy. Still
he persisted, so I handed him a card, and as he was a sensitive man it
gave his nerves a shock that was quite sufficient to relieve him of
the toothache, and me of his presence for the rest of the voyage. As
the card which I then used has often been mentioned in the newspapers,
I give a fac-simile of it. The wording was in black, with the fern in
green, and the border in gold. I now use a perfectly plain card, as
reproduced on page 117.
[Illustration]
A sad little incident in connection with the murder of Warder Webb by
John Jackson will always remain in my memory. I had been to Strangeways
Gaol once or twice before on duty, and Webb had always been my personal
attendant during my residence, so that we were quite friendly. At the
execution previous to Jackson's--that of John Alfred Gell, in May,
1888--we had two or three long chats, and Webb was most anxious that
I should go to Manchester to spend a half-day or a day with him in
the city, when he could get leave of absence. He hoped it would be a
long time before they should see me there again professionally, but
said that they would always be glad to see me if I were in Manchester
on other business, and could call. Then, turning to the subject of
executions, he began wondering who would be the next that I should
have to go there for, and who would be the victim, and shaking his
head sadly, he said, "A body never knows who will be next." The poor
fellow little thought that he would be the next victim, and that the
very next time I visited Strangeways would be no friendly call, but a
visit to avenge his own death.
Of course, my duties take me about the country a great deal, and I have
met a great many interesting people in the course of my travels. As a
rule, I do not make myself known unless I have some good reason for
doing so, because I have no fancy for making myself into a cheap show.
On one occasion I travelled from Coventry to Warwick with the reporter
of one of the Coventry papers. He knew nothing of my identity, and does
not seem to have recognised me at the execution; but while writing out
his report the connection between the gentleman in the train and the
executioner in the gaol seems to have dawned upon him, and he wrote the
following, which amused me greatly when it appeared in his paper:--
After writing this report and describing the hangman's features
and dress, it dawned upon the writer for the first time that the
description was that of a gentleman with whom he had travelled from
Coventry to Warwick on the previous afternoon. On reflecting upon
all the circumstances of the journey, he felt quite certain of the
fact; and although amused at the thought of having travelled and
conversed with an executioner without knowing it, he was a little
chagrined that he had not given the conversation a "professional"
turn, which he would have done had he been aware who his fellow
traveller was. The incident is sufficient to show that persons
travelling by rail occasionally get into singular company without
having the slightest knowledge of the fact.
In 1887 when I had to go to Dorchester, to hang Henry William Young
for the Poole murder, I stayed at Bournemouth, and took a room in a
Temperance Hotel. During the evening I got into conversation with the
landlady, who was much interested in the subject of executions, and
who appeared to like to discuss it. She was decidedly "down on" Berry,
"the hangsman," and expressed herself very freely as to his character
and disposition; amongst other pleasant things, saying that he was a
man without a soul, and not fit to have intercourse with respectable
people. Of course, I smilingly agreed with everything that she had to
say, and chuckled quietly to myself about a little surprise that I had
in store for her. The surprise came off at bed-time, when she handed me
my bedroom candle, and in return I handed her my card. The good lady
nearly fainted.
It is not often that I feel frightened, for I am pretty well able to
take care of myself, but I once had a little adventure in the train,
coming from Galway to Dublin, that gave me one or two cold shivers. It
was at a time when Ireland was much disturbed by agrarian outrages,
and I knew that amongst some of the lower classes there was a feeling
of hatred against myself on account of my occupation. Of this I had
an example when going down _to_ Galway, and as it led up to, and
somewhat prepared me for the other incident, I may as well mention it.
My journey to Galway was undertaken for the purpose of hanging four
men who were condemned to death for moonlighting. It was an exciting
journey altogether, for four men who were in the same compartment as
myself from Dublin to Mullingar got into an excited discussion upon
some political subject, and just as we left Killucan they began to
fight most violently, using their sticks and fists to such an extent
that all their faces were soon covered with blood. As the train drew
into Mullingar the fury cooled as quickly as it had begun, they all
began to apologise to each other and wipe the blood from one another's
faces. At Mullingar I got out for a drink, to steady my nerves, for the
fight at such close quarters had somewhat upset me, although I took no
part in it. On the platform two villainously rough-looking characters
spoke a few words to the men who had got out of my compartment and
then followed me into the refreshment room, where they seemed anxious
to make my acquaintance, and so forcibly insisted that I should have a
drink with them, that I had to consent for fear of causing a row. They
asked me where I was going, said that they were going to Galway, and
in what seemed to me a peculiarly significant tone, asked me if I knew
whether Mr. Barry, the hangsman, was really in the train or not. They
followed me on to the platform like two shadows, and got into the same
compartment of the train. All this made me feel rather uncomfortable,
for though I was well armed, there is nothing in life that I dread so
much as the possibility of having to kill a man in self-defence and
of being tried, and possibly convicted, for murder. I was, therefore,
very pleased when two plain-clothes men whom I knew belonged to the
Royal Irish Constabulary, got into the other half of the carriage,
which was one of those in which there are two compartments divided by
a low partition. I do not know whether my two rough companions even
noticed that there was anyone in the other half of the carriage, to
which their backs were turned. Their conduct, indeed, seemed to show
that they thought we were alone, but I could see that the R. I. C. men
were regarding them with interest and taking note of every word they
said. All the way from Mullingar to Athenry the two fellows plied me
with questions, and tried by all means in their power to draw me into
discussion, and the expression of opinion. I answered them as briefly
as I could without being uncivil, but took care that they should not
gain much solid information from my answers. At Athenry they shuffled
into the far corner of the compartment, and in stage whispers, which
they evidently thought I could not hear, argued as to whether I was
"Barry" or not. One of them got quite excited, pointed out that I was
an Englishman, that I came from the North of England, that there was
no one else in the train that looked like an executioner, that my tale
about being a poultry-buyer was "all a loie," and finally that I had a
scar on my cheek which "proved it intoirely, begorra!" The other fellow
said that "shure the gintleman in the corner was a gintleman, and not
a murtherin, blood-thirsty, blagyard of a hangman," which opinion at
last seemed to be shared by both. As we steamed into Galway I used my
handkerchief, and then rested my hand on the window-ledge with the
handkerchief hanging out. This was the signal arranged with my police
escort, who were on the platform, and who managed to be just opposite
the door when the train stopped. As I marched off amongst those
strapping fellows, I looked round to see my two travelling companions
gesticulating wildly, and abusing each other for having been deceived,
and for having treated "the very blagyard we went to meet." I never
knew whether they had intended me any harm, but the constabulary men
told me that they were two of the roughest characters in Galway.
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.
He is a powerful, thick-set man, of about medium stature, and his
countenance is not an unpleasant one at a first glance, though
upon closer study one discovers that the face reveals the lack of
several moral elements in the man's composition, which seems to
indicate that the Creator designed him especially for the ends he
serves.
A critical observer would probably say that his eyes are too
close together, and that their brilliancy is that of the codfish
rather than the eagle, while, though the mouth and chin indicate
determination, the forehead gives the impression of lack of balance.
A phrenologist would perhaps find that the cranial bumps that
indicate sense and shame, pity and sympathy, are not particularly
well developed upon the head of Mr. Berry.
* * * * *
"Have you ever been threatened by the friends of criminals whom you
have hanged?"
"Often," replied Mr. Berry, "but I don't pay no attention to them.
I'm a doin' o' my duty, and I'm protected by th' Government."
"It was said that if Mrs. Maybrick had not been reprieved a mob
would have been formed in Liverpool to prevent your hanging her."
"They'd never have seen me," said Mr. Berry, "I'd 'a been in th'
jail and 'anged her before th' mob knew I was about, and I'd been
on th' train and on my way back 'ome before they knew she was
dead. Why when I 'anged Poole in Dublin, who murdered informer
Kenny--O'Donnell, who murdered th' other informer, Carey, having
been 'anged at Newgate th' day before--there was a great mob in
Dublin to prevent my getting into th' prison, and nobody outside
knew Poole was 'anged until I was on th' boat a steaming away for
Holyhead."
"How do you manage that?" I asked again.
"I'll tell you," said Mr. Berry in a burst of confidence. "I shaves
off my whiskers and I puts on women's clothes. That's th' way I got
into Dublin Jail, with my ropes and straps under my clothes, and
that's th' way I've done many a job."
Berry never did such a thing in his life as put on women's clothes.
He never had occasion to put them on, and there was not the slightest
shadow of foundation for the statement. The people mentioned in the
article as having been hanged by Berry were not hanged by him at all.
This libel was printed upon November 23rd, 1889, and an action was
commenced at once. The defendants now stated in mitigation of damages
that they denied that the words bore the construction which the
plaintiff had put upon them, withdrew all imputations, and admitted
that any such were unfounded, and apologised for the matter complained
of. But the apology and the withdrawal appeared upon the pleadings
only. From that day to this, with 158,000 of their papers going out
every week, there had net been one single word in the paper apologising
for their action. It was open to them with a view to mitigation of
damages, to have taken this course, but they had done nothing but put
their apology upon the record, and paid into court the majestic sum of
40s. as, in their opinion, sufficient to atone for the wrong.
Mr. Berry was then put into the box and supported Mr. Waddy's
statements.
Mr. Waddy then spoke upon the whole case.
For the defendants Mr. Dodd said that the owners of the newspaper which
he represented were as anxious as anybody could be that reasonable
justice should be done. Of course, Berry did not suggest that there was
any actual money out-of-pocket loss. Then another feature of such a
case was the question of whether the paper was one of that class which
feeds on personal attacks. He submitted that the general character of
the paper, a point to which juries were apt to pay some attention, was
good. The articles in question were copied from an American paper,
and the proprietors of "Answers" were in the position of having been
misled, just as the proprietors of the _New York Sun_ had been misled
by the large imagination of Mr. White. Berry seemed to be very quick
in his methods, for his writ was served within a very few days of the
appearance of the article, and without any opportunity being given
to his clients to try and make some kind of apology to suit him. His
clients had endeavoured to meet the case in a perfectly reasonable way.
They did not for a moment express any doubt that they were dealing with
an honest, a decent, and an experienced man, they withdrew all supposed
imputations, and had had no intention of making any; and he contended
that the highest testimonial possible was one from a person who had
said something derogatory to him. Berry had suffered no monetary
damage whatever beyond the actual costs of the action. He suggested,
therefore, that the jury should give such a verdict as would show that
the plaintiff was quite right in bringing the matter into court, but
that they were of opinion that the defendants had done everything that
they could to mitigate the mischief and annoyance occasioned by the
publication of the libel.
His Lordship then summed up, and the jury found for the plaintiff, with
£100 damages.
FINIS.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] This chapter is taken verbatim from Mr. Berry's note-book. Elisions
are marked....--ED.
[B] The length of drop you, yourself, thought sufficient, as I read in
the _Standard_.
Transcriber's Note:
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
possible including some inconsistent hyphenation. Some minor
corrections of spelling and punctuation have been made.
Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.
End of Project Gutenberg's My Experiences as an Executioner, by James Berry