Today’s Martyred Yet Truly Morbid Fact!
Sir Robert Peel’s new police force had its first martyr in 1830. PC John Long saw three men apparently estimating their chances of breaking into houses in the Gray’s Inn Road, London. He followed them into Theobald’s Road, Lamb’s Conduit Street and Guildford Street, finally approaching them in Mecklenburgh Square. On being challenged, two of the men ran away. The third stabbed PC Long, who subsequently died.
A Group of Peelers, circa 1870.
The murderer was arrested and convicted under the name of John Smith, but he was actually a burglar called William Sapwell.
Culled from: The Chronicle of Crime
Here’s an account from the OLD BAILEY as published in the September 21, 1830 issue of the Essex, Herts, and Kent Mercury:
MURDER OF JOHN LONG, THE POLICEMAN.
FRIDAY.—John Smith, alias Wm. Sapwell, was capitally indicted for having, on the 16th of August last, committed a murder on John Long, one of the New Police, in Gray’s Inn-lane. On the usual question, “Are you guilty or not guilty of the offence with which you are charged?” being put to the prisoner by the Clerk of the Arraigns, he replied in a firm and audible voice, “Not Guilty.”—Mr. Clarkson and Mr. Bodkin conducted the case for the prosecution, and Mr. Adolphus appeared for the defence.
P. Milligan, examined by Mr. Bodkin—I reside in a court in Gray’s Inn-lane. The 16th of August was on a Monday, and on that day I was returning home from Cromer-street, a little before 12 o’clock. I observed three men coming up Wells-street. They turned into Gray’s Inn-lane-road, and proceeded in the direction of Battlebridge. Immediately afterwards I perceived a policeman coming up Wells-street, out of breath. The policeman inquired of me which direction they had gone, and I told him they had just turned the corner. He came up to them, upon which he said, “What have you been after?” The men made no reply, but instantly surrounded him, and began hustling him. Two of them were on one side and one on the other. One of the men who was on the right struck the policeman a left-handed blow to the side. The policeman instantly fell, and exclaimed very distinctly, “Oh God! I am a dead man!” [Why don’t people ever die like this anymore?- DeSpair] The two men who were on the right immediately ran down Gray’s Inn-lane, and the other man turned short and set off down Wells-street. I followed the two men, and never lost sight of the prisoner until he was stopped by Mr. Cubitt’s private watchman, at a distance of about 100 yards from the place where the blow was given to the policeman. Whilst I was pursuing the prisoner I saw him throw something from him, both to the right and left, and subsequently pointed out the spot to Joseph Clements.—By Mr. Justice Bayley: The prisoner was nearest the policeman’s left side; but I cannot say whether it was he or the other who struck the blow, though I saw the arm move very distinctly.
Mary Ann Griffiths was examined by Mr. Bodkin, and gave an account similar in every respect to what she has more than once stated at the police-office. She swore positively that the blow was struck by the prisoner.
Amos Dennis, the son of a milkman residing in James-street, Wellington-square, swore that the prisoner was one of the men who surrounded the policeman, and that he was nearer the policeman than the other, who stood on the same side with him. The prisoner struck the policeman a backhanded blow. The blow was given rather sharply and the policeman immediately fell on his right knee. I pursued the prisoner until I saw him in the hands of Mr. Cubitt’s watchman. I am certain the prisoner is the man who struck the deceased policeman.—Mr. Adolphus: I ask you, young man—and I beg you would recollect that perhaps the prisoner’s life depends upon your evidence—can you undertake to swear that the prisoner was the man who struck the blow?—Witness, Yes, Sir, I can. When I was pursuing him there was no one between us, and I had a better opportunity than any one else of observing his person.
Thomas Prenderville, the private watchman, deposed, that he stopped the prisoner as he was running away from the place where the murder was committed.
Other witnesses were called, and on the prisoner being called on for his defence, he said that he was a baker by trade, and never had a shoemaker’s knife in his possession. His disposition was of a nature that never would lead him to strike any one. He was innocent of the crime with which he was charged—So help him God!
Several witnesses were called to character, but none of them appearing, Mr. Justice Bayley summed up the case at great length.—The Jury returned a verdict of Guilty, and he was ordered for execution on Monday next.
CONDUCT SINCE CONDEMNATION.
Immediately after quitting the dock he was conducted to one of the cells allotted to the reception of criminals ordered for speedy execution. Having complained of exhaustion, some slight refreshment was supplied him, and he was visited soon afterwards by the Rev. Mr. Cotton, who remained with him on that occasion for more than an hour engaged in religious conversation, to which the unhappy man is said to have given little attention, his mind being wholly engrossed in contemplation of the scene he had just quitted.
He attached no blame to the jury, nor did he seem to feel that the learned judge who presided had overcharged the case in his summing up; but he strenuously insisted that the witnesses who deposed to the most material points had sworn falsely. He repeated frequently, and with great emphasis, “I am innocent of the charge.” The Rev. Ordinary having adverted to the position in which he was first seen, as described by the witnesses—the immediate fall of the murdered man, and other circumstances equally conclusive, as fixing him with the murder; the culprit replied, “I do not deny that appearances are against me, but I again solemnly declare it was not I that did it. That is all I have to say on the subject.” The Rev. Gentleman, finding him impenetrable on this point, conjured him to employ the whole interval of life allotted to him in preparation from the dread change, which would assuredly take place, and promised to be with him at an early hour on the following morning. Smith said he was thankful for the attention he had received, and would endeavour to profit by the advice.
After the Ordinary had retired, he inquired if any of his friends had called at the prison subsequent to the trial; and being answered in the negative, he peevishly remarked—”I thought so, but no matter. I have nothing to do with the world now. However, it is likely they will come to see me when I go out.” And he then sank into a sullen and almost torpid state of indifference, until he retired to rest. His sleep, the turnkey in attendance describes as broken and restless, but he was yesterday morning in good spirits, and was tolerably composed during the day. He however persisted that he was wholly unconnected with the murder. He stated in a conversation he had with Dr. Cotton, that his real name was Wm. Sapwell, but he assumed that of John Smith when taken to the station-house, presuming that he would be set at liberty by the magistrates on the following morning. He says that he is a native of Wolverhampton, and that his family are in respectable circumstances. He has been residing for several years in London, and at one time carried on a good business as a baker. He has a wife, who is far advanced in pregnancy, and seven children, the oldest being in his fifteenth year. The account he gave Dr. Cotton was, that he had been spending the evening with some friends at the “Bedford” tea-gardens, where he played a match at skittles; that he was returning home through Gray’s inn-lane-road, when hearing a cry of “stop him,” he ran along with the pursuers, merely from curiosity, and was fixed upon as the murderer before he was aware that a murder had been committed.
Yesterday afternoon he was visited by his brother and wife; the latter was deeply affected, but the culprit chid her, as he said, for giving way to “unavailing regret.” His expression was—”You must try and keep up your spirits. What is done cannot be undone now. I must have died sometime, you know.” To which the afflicted wife sobbingly replied—”That’s true, William; but to die such a shameful death will break my heart, and bring disgrace on our poor children.”
At this instant he was agitated, and said “I hope I’ll be allowed to see them once more, and I shall be satisfied.” The wish was communicated to Mr. Wontner, and it was readily conceded. The children are to be admitted to a last interview of their wretched father this day (Sunday) after chapel hour.
We have one more fact to mention in connection with this dreadful affair, and that is most important. From private information, received since the conviction of Sapwell, it appears that another individual has been implicated, who was reported to be in custody at a late hour last night. The information was given at Gatton garden police-office, but the name of the party was not suffered to transpire.
EXECUTION—Yesterday (Monday.)
An immense concourse of spectators assembled to witness the last awful ceremony. A few minutes before the unhappy culprit, who seemed very dejected, but perfectly calm, was brought into the press-room. He advanced to the officer who was to pinion him, and while his hands were being secured, in answer to some questions from the Sheriffs, he asserted his innocence, “When he entered into the presence of his Maker, and he should demand why he came there, he asked, what ought he to answer?” One of the Sheriffs replied, “That he should say he was convicted of an enormous crime by an upright judge and a patient jury, and that he had suffered the penalty of his offence.” Sapwell rejoined, “That he anticipated that the Almighty would then say, “You were unjustly accused, you have no business here, but walk in.”
His neck-cloth was removed and placed in his bosom, and mournful procession slowly proceeded towards the scaffold. The moment before it left the room, he said to one of the officers, “Tell the man to have every thing ready, that I may not be kept waiting outside, if you please, Sir.” Sapwell preserved to the last great firmness, and ascended the platform with a steady step, and in about two minutes afterwards, the being, who had just been seen in the full vigour of health, was a corpse. For a few seconds after the drop fell the hands were raised upwards, but the struggle was brief.
Garretdom!
This sad tale is culled from the February 8, 1878 issue of the Rochester (MN) Post as transcribed in Coffee Made Her Insane:
A Desolate Household.
We have before spoken several times of the terrible ravages of diphtheria in the family of Mr. Wm. Holden, in the town of Haverhill [in Olmsted County]. Below we give the melancholy death list, embracing names, ages and dates of death:
Clara A., died January 3d, aged 18 years; Emily, died January 8th, aged 10 years; Eveline May, died January 9th, aged 7 years; Lonnie Mabel, died January 10th, aged 4 years; Scynthia [What a very Edward Gorey kind of name! – DeSpair], died January 18th, aged 8 years; Henry, died January 31st, aged 13 years.
There are four children left out of a circle of ten, all of whom, we are glad to learn, and the more especially for the sake of the stricken parents, are well and bid fair to be spared to them in their declining years.
The following lines, feelingly appropriate to the sad experience of Mr. and Mrs. Holden, are published by request:
“Six times since the New Year’s dawning,
Six time o’er one saddened home
Has the dark winged angel brooded
Six times has its summon come.
Yes, six times in quick succession
Have the shadows dark been cast,
Six times has the slow procession
From one darkened dwelling passed.
Desolate is now the dwelling,
Oh, how changed since New Year’s day!
Who can speak these parents’ anguish,
O, what words their grief portray!
Sorrowing ones, in this dark hour
Of your deep, unuttered grief,
Gladly would I proffer solace,
Gladly bring your hearts relief.
But the hand that has afflicted
Can alone assuage your woe,
He hath torn and He can heal you;
Yes, in love He dealt the blow.
‘Tis but little time at longest,
That death’s waters can divide:
Soon a glad reunion waits you
With your loved ones o’er the tide.”
Andersonville Prisoner Diary Entry Du Jour!
This is the continuation of the 1864 diary of Andersonville prisoner Private George A. Hitchcock (see the archived version for all entries up until now).
Here’s today’s entry:
September 9th. All the sick have been moved into the sheds at the west end. Prisoners from Sherman came in, and many went away at night. Rations of bread and meal, but no salt.
Culled from: Andersonville: Giving Up the Ghost