ERRORS OF THE LAW

Greymouth Evening Star, 13 June 1927, Page 10

ERRORS OF THE LAW

INNOCENTS EXECUTED. There have been terrible miscarriages of justice in most countries and where . the judicial machine does not work smoothly such can happen even to-day. Only a year ago Conley Dabney, a Kentucky farmer, was found guilty of the murder of May. Vickery, a 16-year-old girl. Throughout the trial Dabney maintained a strange silence. The evidence seemed conclusive, for at the bottom of an abandoned mine shaft was found a body which was identified by the father of May Vickery as that of his daughter. In the shaft, too, was a hat identified as belonging to the accused man. Dabney was sentenced to imprisonment for life and had spent a. year in gaol when the villagers of Williamsburg, Kentucky, the home town of the convict, were startled to see the “murdered” girl calmly walk into the main street. When her identity was proved, Dabney was promptly released. But suppose he had been sent to the electric chair. One of the most amazing miscarriages of justice ever recorded in criminal history occurred in the lovely village of Chipping Campbell. The Dowager Lady Campden left her affairs with her trusted steward, William Harrison. But .one day, after collecting the rents of the estate, he disappeared, and no trace of him could be found. A search was made, and a comb and hat-band were found near a furze bush covered with blood. They belonged to the missing steward. Suspicion fell on a tenant, John Perry. He was brought before the magistrates, and foolishly told three different tales, each one of which in turn proved false. In the end, he, his mother ana brother were hanged. Two years later William Harrison walked into the village, hale and hearty. He told a story of pirates who had grabbed him and carried him by coach to Bristol and thence to the Barbary coast. Surely the strangest case of a miscarriage of justice ever recorded was that of Jonathan Bradford, keeper of an Oxford inn. Bradford found under his roof a rich old banker from London, and his covetous eye saw the old man carry to his room a heavy bag of gold. Bradford, being hard-pressed for funds, determined to murder his guest. At midnight he crept along the passage to the door of his intended victime. Stealthily he opened it. The next moment he recoiled, knife in hand. There lay the banker dead, his throat cut —by another hand.

Bradford’s cry brought the servants from their rooms, and there he was discovered. So strange a web of circumstantial evidence was surely never before woven by a malign fate. Mistaken identity, in the same way, has sent men to the gallows. There is the tragic story of the ■waiter of the Backhouse Inn, York. Thomas Gedelley was the confidant of his widowed mistress. One day a consignment of gold destined for investment disappeared. So, too, did Gedelley. The dramatic sequel came three years later when a stable lad rushed into the inn. crying. “I’ve seen him, I've seen him.” Asked whom, he replied: "The robber, Gedelley.” Gedelley was arrested and tried. He protested that, Gedelley was not his name. He claimed to be John Crow. But it was useless, everybody in the city identified him, and, the case being before the repeal of the death sentence for robbery, he was hanged. In this case truth came to light in a strange manner. Mr. Gibson, a York solicitor, happened to visit Dublin on business. He wandered into the criminal court, and there in the dock was astounded to see what appeared to be the man hanged at York as William Gedelley. It was the real Gedelley, however, and "thus another tragic miscarriage of justice was brought to light.