THE NOVELIST.

Observer, Volume 3, Issue 54, 24 September 1881, Page 25

THE NOVELIST.

THE HANGING OF MARTIN

DADSO.

" Yoti doan't think they'll really hang me do 'cc ?" asked Martin Dadso, looking up from his last meal bxzt one, on a (Sunday evening in the condemned cell of the County Gaol at M . The cook had considerately sent him uj> some buttered toast, "with bacon and eggs, and nice, strong tea, and the murderer was iilling his mouth rather ravenously with these refreshments. He was a large eater — a large man altogether, -with massive shoulders, a thick neck, and mighty lists. " Look'ee here," he repeated, " I never murdered that man ; he hit me iirst, I knocked 'un down ; but he picked hisself up and walked off, swearin'. Lord knows who put the knife into 'un aftewards. I didn't, and they can't make me swing for it, eh, old 'un?" "I dessey a reprieve '11 come," answered the old 'un, who was one of the two warders that had to keep watch over the murderer. He said this out of charity ; he did not believe what he said. " I've known reprieves come at the very last minute," observed the second warder, a younger man. " Doan't go foolin' a chap," mumbled Martin Dadso, with his mouth full of toast. " Tell me t' truth ; hasn't t' reprieve come already ? " "It ain't come yet, but will, maybe, to-night," replied the old 'un, stolidly. " I wish they'd look sharp about it, for I want to go whoam," grumbled the prisoner. " It's three months since I left t' farm to coom here, and my old dad ain't equal to minding the place wi' all this trouble on him. Did'ee see how white his hair was when he coom to see me yesterday ,with t' old 'ooman ?" " Never mind, they'll grow young again when you go home to 'em," said the younger warder. "So will your sweetheart — a line young lady .she is !" " Ay, my sweetheart," muttered Martin Dadso, his voice suddenly deepening to a tone of infinite tenderness. " The only time I felt bad through all this bisness was when I saw her cry as she guv' her evidence at trial. Poor Mary ! . . . She never thought me guilty, though ; she's too good stuff for that ! !" It was for murdering his rival in the affections .of Miss May White, a doctor's daughter, that Martin Dadso had been sentenced to die. He was himself not a poor man, but a thriving farmer ; .and he had received a good education, though he spoke in such a broad dialect, having lived all Ms life in the country. The man whom he had been convicted of murdering was a young solicitor, a rather pushing, prying person, named Pullen ; and the crime had caused considerable astonish.ment, by reason of Dadso's supposed steadiness of .character. But the guilt had been brought home to him by such clear testimony that the . Judge had warned him to hope for no mercy. Dadso, however, had loudly protested his innocence as he left the dock. The warders, who had now been watching him for nearly three weeks in the condemned cell, had . so often heard him affirm his innocence, that they c could not exactly decide whether he Avas an ill-used man or a hardened liar. Until this Sunday night they had inclined towards the latter idea, but now that he was on the very threshold of death, and still appeared to be hoping for a .reprieve, they wavered. The old 'un scrutinised him through the corners of his eyes with a mixture of suspiciousness and sympathy, and the younger warder stared at him with his moufli half -open, unable to form any new opinion on his case. The thought uppermost in this young warder's mind was that by that time to-morrow yonder prisoner, now such a healthy, hulking lout, would be resting with his neck broken in a bed of quicklime, and this caused him occasionally to feel cool up the spine. Martin Dadso finished his tea to the last crumb ; then stood vp — a towering, strapping figure six feet high — and slouched towards the fire r place. The condemned cell was used at or- . dinary times as a warder's room, and it had a flre r place. Martin drew a Windsor chair near the •.•fender, took up a volume of the Leisure Sour,

rising angelic patience, and commended himself highly. "No, zur, I've heard two sermons to-day, and that's enough. Can 'ec tell me anything about my reprieve ?" " None has come yet, so far as I know." " I can't see the use of fooling like that," said Martin Dadso. " I 'xpect you and the G-uv'nor have got the reprieve, but doan't mean to let me know becos it's Sunday. 'Spose to-morrow yell let it off at me as a surprise, like the cork o' a beer bottle. Well, good night, parson; I'm a goin' to turn in." "Good night, Dadso," replied the clergyman, coldly. "I hope you will have a quiet night." Mr Twittle walked out feeling that he had done what duty commanded, and he Avas not sorry to get away sooner than he had expected. He would have been quite happy if he suddenly become a day older,so that he might have done with the troublesome formality of attending Dadso to the gallows. " A regular brute," he soliloquised, as he walked across the prison yard to his house ; " but they're all like that ; good -words are Avasted on them." Meamvhile, Martin Dadso had risen from his chair, stretched- hiriiself, yaAvned, and prepared for bed. The heat of the fire had made him drowsy. As he aviis undressing, the old 'un asked whether he would like a glass of stout and on his giving an affirmative reply, rang for another ■warder to fetch this beverage. By the doctor's merciful orders, a dose of bromide of potassium had been put into the beer to quiet the doomed man's nerves, and induce sleep. The result Avas that soon after Dadso had lain his head on his pillow, he sank into a deep, peaceful slumber, from which he only awoke at seven in the morning. It was broad daylight then, for the season was spring ; and golden rays of sunshine were beaming into the cell. Dadso sat up abruptly in bed,

fold liad arrived at the cell-door. There -was tlie Governor, the Sheriff of the County (a fat squire, horribly pale), the chaplain, in his surplice, the hangman, and four warders ; but no reporters. Captain Bribsby, the governor, opined that the accounts of executions given in newspapers tended to demoralise the masses, and so he forbade the access of his prison to representatives of the press, not only when there were executions, but at all other times, which was simpler and more convenient. Irrcgularites which might go on were thus kept from the knowledge of a too sensitive public. Captain Bribsby, wearing black clothes and gloves, walked into the condemned cell, hat in hand, and muttered a few words which were inaudible. Martin Dadso, who had turned crimson, then white, took up his coat without a word, threw it over his arm, and stalked o\xt of the cell, facing the Governor, who retreated backwards. At this moment, the Eev. Mr Twettle, who held a prayer-book, struck up in a dry sing-song : " I am the resurrection and the Life. He that believeth in Me. . . " "Zur," interrupted the prisoner, in a choking voice, " Ha'nt 'cc got my reprieve ?" " I'm" sorry to say no reprieve has come for you," answered the Governor politely. " Ah, and who's that chap ?" He pointed with a shaky finger to a skulking, grey whiskered man in black, Avho was fingering some straps. " That's Jack Ketch, I 'spose. Well, look 'cc here gem'me.n, I'm not going to be hung innocent, 'so I tell 'co. I'll send a message to t' Queen." " Really, that would be of no use," demurred the Governor, gently. " The Secretary of State haa already pronounced on your case." " I'll write to Muster Gladstone, then, and t' House of Commons. Tor can't hang a mon when nobody saw 'im commit murder. I gave Pullen a thrashing wi' my fists — that's all ; and I've been three months in gaol for it — that's enough. Now

I want to go whoam." , "My heart was hot toithin me, and while I was thus musing the fire hin&led ..." continued the chaplain, reading from his book in his wearisome voice. " Shut up there for a moment, parson," cried ' Dadso, impatiently ; then he threw down his coat, set his back against a wall, folded his arms, and said between his teeth, " I ain't a goin' to be hung— that's plain." The Governor and the pale Sheriff looked at each other in consternation. This was the first time that a criminal had ever refused to be hanged quietly ; and Captain Bribsby did not no what to do. He abhorred the idea of using violence in such a contingency. " Please believe that lam performing a very painful duty," he said weakly. Then the old 'un, who had been the prisoner's companion since his sentence, tried an appeal to his feelings. " Come, Mr Dadso, sir ;be a gentleman. We none of us like such a iob ; but it's our duty." " Hands off, old boy," replied Dadso. shaking off the hand which the old man had laid on his arm. " You've been good to me and I doan't want to hurt 'cc, but I ain't going to be hung." " Get him away from the wall, and then we can seize him," whispered the hangman, sidling up to the Governor. "Will you come into my office and write your I telegram ?" said Captain Bribsby, taking the hint. " Yes, I'll coom, but no tricks, or 't'll be the worse for some 'o 'cc," muttered Dadso, who had noticed the hangman's move. He left the wall and walked a few steps across, the ward, whereupon, at a sign from the Grovernor, the four warders in attendance (who looked far from comfortable) made a rush to secure his arms. But Dadso had the strength of a giant. Planting a terrific facer on the nose of the first comer, he sent him staggering ten paces ; with a kick in the stomach, he disposed of a second ; then, collaring the two others, he banged then 1 heads together, twice so hard, that they turned sick and tottered out of his grasp, helpless. The old 'un and his comrade, the younger warder, saw that they would be unequal to mastering Dadso alone, and made no attempt to do so. The sheriff, the chaplain, and the hangman had all skipped off into an empty cell, and stood holding the door ajar, ready to slam it if the murderer should pursue them. Captain Bribsby alone remained in the ward facing his prisoner, pretty spiritedly, and again trying to remonstrate with him. "Hold your jaw, Captain," answered Dadso, defiantly ; and, seeing a door open, he made a dart towards it, ran down some stairs, and found himself in one of the airing yards. By this time the whole prison was in a state o£ commotion. Some prisoners who had heard the noise, and guessed what was up, were thumping at their doors in the wildest state of excitement, and uttering fearful blasphemies : " Gk> it, Dadso!" Don't give in to the blokes." "Crack Marwood's head for him!" &c. Meanwhile, relays of warders had hurried up from all the other wards, and soon a dozen o£ them streamed out into the yard in pursuit of the murderer. Dadso, flying across the gravel like a hunted animal, had espied a ladder in a corner of the yard and, lifting it with superhuman strength, he planted it against a wall. But there happened to be in the yard a prisoner who was at work, raking the alleys. A sneaking, rat-headed fellow he was, looking infamous in his parti-coloured gaol garb. This man perceived that a prisoner was trying to escape, and, wishing to curry favour with the authorities, he made haste to follow Dadso, and just as the latter, was about to scale the ladder, dealt him a crushing blow on the back of the head with Ms rake. Dadso fell back with a moan, stunned, and rolled to the ground. " Now, seize him quickly," cried the agitated Grovernor, who had followed the warders into the yard. His orders were promptly obeyed, and a dozen men, holding Dadso by the arms and legs, carried him with all possible despatch into the prison. " Now, look sharp, bring him along here. We needn't pinion him," yelled the hangman, who had been skulking out of harm's reach like a cat. | And nimbly he led the way through another door | into the yard where the gallows stood. The gibbet was a permanent construction, erected under a shed ; its floor was level with the ground. From its black cross-beam a rope dangled. | Springing on to the trap, the hangman caught hold of the noose, opened it wide like a horsecollar, and screamed, " Now, quick, run his head in here." In a trice Dadso's neck was in the slip-knot. Just at that moment, however, the doomed man recovered consciousness, and seeing where he was, abruptly struck out with his fists and feet. Two warders closed with him, embracing him with their whole might, and the hangman, wildly impatient to get the whole thing over, drew the bolt before the warders were clear of the trap. Down it went with an awful thud, and the three men with it, to a depth of eight feet — such a shock, that the rope snapped off short near the beam, and the three men, after a momentary rebound, rolled pell-mell together on the floor of the pit three feet lower. But Martin Dadso was dead. The weight of the two men clinging to his body had trebled the force of the drop, and -his neck had been violently dislocated. " Well, this is the end of an ugly job," panted the hangman, addressing the two warders, who were rubbing their bruised bodies. " How lucky that no reporters were present ! " exclaimed Captain Bribsby. "We should have had ghastly accounts of this affair in the papers. As it is (and he looked 'significantly at the warders) I trust that nothing of the matter will transpire," ***** It was about two years after the foregoing events that the Eev. Mr. Twettle was called upon to attend a vagabond who was dying in the prison infirmary. The man had been sentenced to six weeks for vagrancy, but he was in the last stage of consumption, and so lingered in the infirmary after his term had expired. Having heard that his last day had come, he sent for the chaplain, and confessed to him that he was guilty of the crime for which Martin Dadso had suffered. " I was lyin' behind a hedge," said he, " and saw Mr. Pullen strike Mr. Dadso, and then Mr.

and began to look at the. , : pictures ; but soon the >! book lay open on his knees, and he gazed intently* at the : faces in the glowing coals — faces of friends, perhaps, or possibly only those of his late enemy, Pullen, distorted by death-grins. The warders • removed the tea-things, and then sat down, with then* arms folded, Bilent. Presently the clock under the prison dome struck eight ; there was a rap at the door, and Mr Twettlo, the chaplain, entered. Not the right sort of man for his place, this Mr Twettle. He was a worthy person, no doubt, but had not a spark of sentiment in him, little love for mankind, and no belief at all in his own power to reclaim prisoners. His post brought him £400 a-year, -with a free residence, and he grumbled at this x as not being enough. He was a preacher of dry sermons on doctrine, and loathed the hours which he was obliged to devote to prison work, though he went his rounds of cell-visiting regularly, for he was a conscientious man in his way. He was a middle-aged clergyman, with cold face, sparse whiskers, 'and a somewhat nervous look in his eyes, that had got there since a prisoner had once shied a stool at him. " Well, Dadso," lie said, in a voice which was meant to be kind, but which was ungeuial and patronising. JSTo man would have liked to be hanged to the tune of such a voice as that. " Well, Dadso, I trust you are in a composed frame of mind ?" " Coom, parson, none o' that," answered the prisoner, with a frown, which finished off in a laugh. " doan't mean to die to-morrow, any more than you." "If we are prepared for death, it ought to have no terrors," remarked Mr Twettle. " I desay. I should like to see your phiz, though, if 'cc were going to be swung up tomorrow." And the prisoner guffawed, coarsely. " Would you like me to read a chapter to you ?" asked Mr Twittle, who thought he was cxer-

"Tubbed Ms eyes and exclaimed : " Well, lias t' reprieve codin ?." . : „_, "Not- yet," answered tlie younger warder, gloomily. "It '11 com§- by-and-bye, no doubt," remarked tlie old 'un, whose object it now was to keep his prisoner as cairn as possible. " Pisli .' baby nonsense this is," grumbled Dadso, slipping out of bed. " What o'clock is't ? Am I to have any breakfast ?" " Oh, yes, and it's ready ; cook has done you a nice rump-steak," said the old 'un, and he pulled the bell twice. In a very few minutes a third warder appeared with a well served tray, bearing a steak, tea, toast, and some other things. This j man's hand trembled, as he laid the tray down, for he was a novice and had never before been mixed up with an execution. The old 'un had seen a dozen men hanged. Martin Dadso leisurely washedhis face and hands, then partially dressed himself, and sat down in his shirt-sleeves. He did full justice to the viands set before him, though a preoccupied expression was settling on his features. Twice he glanced up to scan the coimtenances of tho warders, and perceiving that they eyed him curiously, and were speechless, he became more pensive. " Look'ee here, old 'un," he exclaimed at last, rapping the handle of his fork on the table ; "I mean to sleep at whoam to-night — that's plain, ain't it ? If my reprieve doan't coonii in an hour I shall telegraph to the Queen." " Now, eat your breakfast like a good man, and don't get excited," expostulated the old 'un. " Would you like a little brandy ?" " No brandy for me ; this stuff's strong enough," answered Dadso, emptying his second ciip of tea. " Hullo, there are steps in the passage ! . . . . what's that ?" It u;is now a quarter to eight, and the gloomy procession which escorts a murderer to the scaf-

Dadso gave Mr. Pullen a lickin'. As Mr. Pullen hobbled away, lookin' sick and daft like, I thought their 'ud be a good chance o' robbin' him, so I ran arter him and closed. But Mr. Pullen had more life in him than I thought, so f earin' I should get ten years and a noggin' for robbery -with violence, I put a knife into him. Just then I heard some gallopin' down the road which guv me a fright, so I cut off without having had time to rob the man of a permy — more fool I." " Grood gracious, why didn't you reveal all this before ?" asked Mr Twettle, as if ho were putting the most natural question. " I didn't want do be swagged, did I?" drawled the dying vagabond, with a leer. "But now I'm agoin', yer may tell my story if yer like." The vagrant died that same night, and Mr Twettle, after full reflection, decided he would keep the story to himself. He was a cautious gentleman, who hated trouble, and he foresaw that this narrative, if divulged, would give him trouble. Perhaps he would be accused of having invented it. In any case, the authorities would not thank him for laying the blood of an innocently-executed man at their door. Besides, what was there to show that this confession was a true one ? So the rev. gentleman held his peace. Yet sometimes such conscience as lie possessed had twinges ; and Mr Twefctel avoided passing through the yard where executed men were buried, and where, on a small white stone let into a brick wall, he might have read the inscription : " M.D., 1878," which formed Dadso's epitaph.