CRIME AND MYSTERY.

Auckland Star, Volume LVI, Issue 246, 17 October 1925, Page 23

CRIME AND MYSTERY.

The Grip of the Law.

CASE OF CAPTAIN MONTGOMERY.

CRIMINAL WHO CHEATED THE GALLOWS

(By riORACE WYNDHAM.)

In the Pespions Papers for May, 1828, glx lines are given up to the trial and sentence to death at the Old Bailey of one John Burgh Montgomery, an ex-captain who served in the Peninsulnr War. Behind those six lines, however, ia a story that would fill six columns. But it is not a new story. It is an old one. A story of greed and gullibility on the part of the victims, and of Impudent masquerade, tinged with a spirit of dash and daring on the part of the offender, which, If directed into worthier channels, would assuredly have brought him to distinction. Being improperly directed, what they did bring him were bitter sorrow and a shameful end.

From an early age, John Montgomery, whose father was a well-known landed proprietor in Ireland, a magistrate, and an ex-High Sheriff for Co. Kildnre, showed himself self-willed and undisciplined. When the question of a career became necessary, he was offered his choice. He could either Join one brother who was a flourishing solicitor ln Dublin, or another brother who had risen to be a colonel in the army. He elected for a red coat and a sword in preference to red tape and a quill pen.

It was a simple enough matter in those easy-going days of "purchase" to become an officer, especially when there was a little family interest to help the aspirant. While etill a mere lad of seventeen, young Montgomery found himself gazetted an ensign to a regiment of foot that had recently returned from service ln Flanders.

Garrison routine, with its constant drill and strict discipline, proved irksome to him. Whenever he could manage it, by book or by crook, he slipped off to London, where he found the faro tables and the Cyprian ladles who frequented the night houses more to his liking than the parade ground and the society of his brother officers, He soon developed into a gambler, and also into something suspiciously resembling a "hawk."

The authorities took a serious view of this unsoldlerly conduct, and peremptorily Instructed him to resign. He was, however, permitted to retain the rank of captain. With this, and the value of his commission In his pocket, he found himself under the necessity of starting afresh.

A "Gentleman Crook."

Somewhere olbout the year 1806 the excaptaln arrived ln London. There he made his first essay ln forgery, and drew two bills purporting to be signed by Richard Neville, an Irish M.P. On being presented to him toy the innocent acceptor, the alleged drawer repudiated them, but admitted that his signature had (been so well imitated that it would have deceived anybody. He declined, however, to prosecute, "owing to the respect ln which he held 'Mr. Montgomery's father."

Although he had thus escaped being charged with .whs* was a capital offence, Montgomery considered It advisable to vanish from London for a 'couple of years. 'When he considered he had been absent long enough Cor his previous little slip to hire blown over, he returned to London, to carry out fresh schemes. They -were nefarious schemes and extended from cardsharping to pawning goods entrusted to him by confiding tradesmen. A profitable business, this, especially as he did not go through the formality of paying for the articles of which he disposed.

Somewhere about this time Montgomery thought he would give the army another turn. He offered hie service i ln Portugal. JThey were promptly accepted, and without embarrassing Inquiries. He Joined as a captain, and, at the end of a week, was promoted major. While Ihe was with this body It li said that one of his brother officers was the villainous John Thnrtell, who was hanged ln 1524 for his chare ln the murder of William Weare. It is quite possible. The Portuguese were not too particular as to who carried a «word for them; and it is a fact that Thurtell was with them in Spain ot the same time as Montgomery,

On coming back to England, Montgomery resumed his old pranks, together ■with some fresh ones. The first thing he did was to promote himself colonel. It gave him, he considered, a (better standing, for half-pay captains and majors were at a discount. London was full of them. As a "colonel" he went ln for a number of shady transactions. One of these was, with the assistance of some helpful ladles whom he hired as decoys, to run a gambling club In Pall Mall. He had his nps and downs, but, as a rule, he did well.

After a time he made London too hot to hold him. Thereupon, thinking that a breath of country air would be beneficial to his health and finances, he moved to Bath, Cheltenham, Warwick and Leamington. At the latter resort he lived in tremendous style. The local simpletons appear to have accepted _lm at his own valuation. Ha was "taken up" by the country folk. with whom he hunted and shot and dined and danced as an honoured guest. Some of them had fair daughters, and some of thesa fair daughters were well dowered. Montgomery made It his early and special care to discover which of them was the best dowered. He then laid vigorous siege to her heart and hand. The damsel's Parents smiled on his suit. The damsel v hors__ also smiled on it. All proceeded merely; and the wedding bells were just going to ring out when there was a sudden and Unexpected hitch.

A gossipy paragraph In a local paper thus records the sad happening :—

"Fortunately for Miss, the dashing colonel's real character was discovered ln time to avert the most shocking consequences. His evil design was frustrated hy a public spirited gentleman, who informed the young lady's admirable parents that he lived by his wits."

The disconcerted masquerader returned to London, where he embarked on a fresh series of schemes for raising the wind. As hitherto, shady schemes. "He assumed the airs of a person of fortune ; mixed in good society; nnd for a time lived upon his •ppearnnce."

It does not, however, seem to have been much of a "living." At any rate, from Petty swindling and minor rascality, its practitioner soon embarked upon a career that was to bring him within the shadow ef the rope.

On March 30th, 1828, John Montgomery found himself in the dock at Marlborough Street. The prosecutor, one William Newby, a silversmith of Russell Square, gave evidence. It was to the effect that a few days earlier the prisoner had purchased some small articles from him, offering a 210 note ln payment. Having put down his name and address as "Mr. Gordon, 19, Marchmont Street," the obliging shopman handed over the goods and £7 5/ change. When the Bank of England authorltlee declared the note to be counterfeit, poor Mr.

BLOTS ON THE 'SCUTCHEON.

The Last Deception.

Newby thought It would be as well to see his customer on the subject. "Mr. Gordon," however, could not be found at 19, Marchmont Street, and the landlady there disclaimed any knowledge of any such individual. Shortly afterwards, by a stroke of luck, he met the alleged "Mr. Gordon" coming out of a tailor's shop in Holborn, and gave him in charge.

At the next day's hearing a good deal more evidence was heard. Among the fresh witnesses was a cutler in Piccadilly, from whom the accused, as "Colonel Morgan, of Cavendish Square," had obtained goods and cash by means of a forged banknote. Other tradesmen whom he had defrauded In a similar fashion, as "Colonel Wallace," "Colonel Moore," and "Lord Kennedy," were a hatter, a watchmaker, and a linen draper. It was also submitted that, as "Sir James Bell," he had borrowed money from a trusting naval lieutenant.

On this evidence the prisoner was committed for trial at the Old Bailey. There were several indictments preferred, for "forging and uttering." Although 'each count was a hanging matter, the accused (probably anxious to get the business finished) insisted on pleading guilty Sergeant Arabin, the judge, was not the man to waste words over a prisoner who admitted his guilt when charged with a capital crime. There was only one sentence for such. In accordance, however with the custom that then prevailed, it was not pronounced at the moment. Instead It was added to the list which, as soon as the Sessions were finished, the Recorder submitted to the King.. This time there was a fairly large crop of candidates for the services of Jack Ketch. As a matter of fact, it amounted to seventeen. His Majesty, however, was pleased to see extenuating circumstances in the cases of all but two. The couple from whom the prerogative of mercy was thus withheld were George Rice, a boy of sixteen who had stolen a few shillings, and John Montgomery.

„ismi fif Tears of the last centUf y discipline at Newgate was carried on in an odd fashion. The higher officials were lax and incompetent, and most of the subordinate staff were corrupt. The governor made a rare show of his charges, and admitted the curious among the public to gaze on them at will; and the "ordinary " or chaplain as he would now be called, was in the unclerical habit of taking the chair every evening at an adjoining publichouse, where he would preside over a "free-and-easy."

As for the prisoners, they were herded together Indiscriminately, a do.en at a time crammed into a ward. Even those under sentence of death were not,, unless they chose to pay for them, given separate cells. Nor was there any properly watchful supervision over these poor wretches. Shackles and barred windows were considered enough until the fatal morning when, after a final pinioning in the "pressroom," they were hustled on to the scaffold.

Hence, while John Montgomery did, through the interest of his relatives, have a cell to himself, he was left alone there. He made the most of his opportunity. A dreadful determination seised him.

At nine o'clock, on what was to be his last evening on earth, July 8, the Rev. Dr Cotton paid him a Tlslt, "anCi, as was the admirable practice, read the celebrated sermon of the late D». Dodd." Montgomery, tired of his reverence's prolines and platitudes, Interrupted him to ask what he should wear on the scaffold tha next morning.

"If you have a decent black auit," was the answer, "it would be more appropriate than a light coloured one."

Left to himself at last, Montgomery wrote three letters. One was addressed tc Mr. Box, the gaol surgeon; one to Mr. Wontner, the governor; and a third to Edward Wakefield, a fellow prisoner. The letter to the surgeon, marked "To be delivered when all Is over," said, "My carcase has been of no use to society during my life, but I hope it may be useful in death." It then begged him "to ci close the heart in a silk handkerchief and burn them together, so that the members may be intermixed and thu9 distributed or scattered to the winds."

When he had finished writing, John Montgomery, alone with his thoughts, threw himself exhaused on his pallet. In the street outside the rabble, determined to secure good places for the promised spectacle—now but a few hours distant—were already gathering. Their shouts and Jeers, mingling with the dreadful work that the carpenters were doing In front of the entrance, penetrated even the thick walls of the condemned cell.

It might have been thought that sleep, under such circumstances, would have been Impossible. Yet, John Montgomery slept. In fact, he slept so soundly that, when he unlocked tha door at seven tht next morning, Turnkey Harris could not wake him.

Stepping up to the pallet, and peering In alarm at the figure stretched there without a movement, he saw the reason. John Montgomery could hear nothing. He would never hear anything again. The body was cold and stiff; and ln the clenched fingers of one hand was a small phial, labelled Prussic acid.

Instantly all was bustle and confusion. Frightened shouts, the clanging of bells, and the hurrying of feet. Harris sent for the Governor; the Governor sent for the doctor, and the doctor sent for the chaplain. But It was too late then. John Montgomery wag beyond all the combined officialdom of the grim old prison.

The doctor's report was "death from swallowing poison." The Sheriff and the Undersheriffs, with the City Marshal and the other representatives of authority, waiting Impatiently in the Press-room, had to be told what had happened. They heard the news with unconcealed annoyance. It was unprecedented. It upset all their ideas of the fitness of things. Also, it showed lamentable slackness on the part of the Governor. He would hear more about it, they promised him.

The waiting mob were also disappointed when the news was broken to them that "the chief feature in the melancholy spectacle of the morning" would not materialise. Their promised orgie was thus being burked of its principal attraction. They had assembled to see a "gentleman swing." Now they were being fobbed off with a mere pickpocket. A boy of sixteen, too I For this they had stopped out of their beds all night, and endured wet and cold and discomfort. The result was, instead of the customary applause greeting them when they appeared on the scaffold. Foxton and his victim got nothing but a volley of hisses. "Crownert Quest." During tha afternoon of that memorable day an Inquest wu held on the body of ! John (Montgomery. Awkward Question, were

asked as to how he could have obtained the poison with which he killed himself. The letters he had left behind him in his cell were read, but they threw no light on the matter. Everybody blamed everybody else. The principal blame, however, was for the man who could not answer, John Montgomery. Nobody had a good word for him. He had swindled and cheated in, life; and now he was swindling and cheating ln death.

"It would appear," said the coroner, gumming up the evidence, "that the deceased destroyed himself to avoid the ignominy of a public execution."

A man of quick brain, Mr. Coroner Skelton. Nothing hidden from him.

Just to show what they thought of such conduct as this, and as a warning to anybody else who might be tempted to follow his example, the jury declared that "the deceased poisoned himself, being In a sane state of mind at the time." This being held equivalent to a verdict of felo de se, orders were given that he should be burled without any religious ceremony. The Instructions were obeyed to the letter.

"Last night, between 9 and 10 o'clock " says a paragraphist, "the remains of this unfortunate man were committed to the silent tomb." The corpse was enclosed ln a pauper's shell from the nearest workhouse, and the burial, such as it was, took place in the graveyard of Christ Church, Newgate Street. No prayer was uttered. The prison chaplain did not think it Incumbent upon him to attend. The only witneesses were a parish officer and a turnkey. A wretched finish to what, all said and done, might well have been a career of distinction.