The Execution of James Bloomfield Rush at Norwich Castle, April 23rd., 1849
For the murder of Isaac Jermy, Esq., the Recorder of Norwich, and his son, I. Jermy Jermy, Esq.,
AT
STANFIELD HALL.
Between 11 and 12 o’clock the bell of St Peter’s, Mancroft, tolled the death knell of the criminal. When conducted to the turnkey’s room to be pinioned he met Calcraft, whereupon he said to Mr Pinson “Is this the man that is to do the business?” The reply was “Yes.” When he was pinioned he shrugged up his shoulders, saying “This don’t go easy; it’s too tight.”
Within two or three minutes after 12 o’clock the mournful cavalcade proceeded from the interior of the Castle to the spot on which the gibbet was erected. The chaplain, who headed the procession, read, as he passed along, part of the burial service.
When the procession left the Castle gate to proceed to the gibbet, Rush presented a most melancholy and dejected appearance. He was dressed in a plain suit of black, wearing no neck-hankerchief. His shirt collar was turned down. For about twenty yards he walked with a firm unwavering step, but in a moment afterwards he raised his pinioned hands to his face and trembled violently. He then removed his hands from his face, and turning up his eyes to heaven, assumed the attitude of penitence and prayer. On reaching the gallows the rev. chaplain offered up a prayer. While this prayer was being read the condemned convict seemed to be deeply impressed with the awful character of his situation. Immediately on the close of the prayer he beckoned to Mr Pinson, the governor of the Castle, when the following brief conversation ensued:
Rush: Mr Pinson, I have a last request to make to you. It is that the bolt may be withdrawn while the chaplain is reading the benediction—“The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Ghost, be with us all, evermore.”
Mr Pinson: I will communicate your wish to the chaplain, and I have no doubt it will be attended to.
The hangman then placed the unhappy convict under the beam on which he was to hang, and affixed the fatal rope around his neck. Rush said, “For God’s sake give me rope enough. Don’t be in a hurry; take your time.” Then moving his head about, he said “Put the knot a little higher up, don’t hurry.” The rev. chaplain proceeded with the prayers, and on arriving at the words “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ,” &c., Calcraft withdrew the bolt, the platform went down, and all was over. His death was greeted with loud applause by an immense crowd who had assembled to witness the execution.
Good people listen unto my song,
And girls to whom honest hearts belong,
Pay great attention to what I say,
And by the wicked be not led astray.
Poor Emily Sandford was learned well,
Yet mark what to her fatal lot befel,
The serpent’s tongue caused the tears to gush,
For she was betrayed by James Bloomfield Rush.
She begged most pleadingly to be his wife,
And lived with him a most unhappy life,
And though the hot tears down her cheeks did flow
The monster heeded not Miss Sandford’s woe.
But seeing that she now was ruined quite,
She stood upon her feet in female might,
And with her pale hand stretched towards his face
Said, “God will curse thee for my deep disgrace.”
Forboding were the words Miss Sandford said,
For murderous thoughts were in the wretch’s head.
He set to work, and speedily did plan,
The death of servants, husband, wife, and son.
A five barrelled pistol he soon did buy,
And then a mask upon his face did try,
Put on his hat and cloak and pistols drew,
Within its fold a bloody deed to do.
For Stanfield Hall he quick did start,
And old Squire Jermy he shot through the heart!
And while the grey-hair’d man lay bleeding there,
He shot his son and lovely wife so fair.
Eliza Chestney to her Mistress ran,
Saying, “dearest mistress, who is this man?”
And, while she pressed her mistress to her heart,
A bullet pierced in a dangerous part.
James Bloomfield Rush was then to prison sent,
Miss Sandford against him a witness went,
She was well avenged—for on the gallows high,
The base seducer was condemned to die!
The Judge soon told him that his race was run,—
That he must die for murderous deeds he’d done,
To use the time that yet on earth was given,
In making peace with his God in heaven.
O had you witness’d the parting hour,
Of this wretched man and his nine children dear,
Your hearts would break to think that they might see,
Their father hung upon a gallows tree.
J. Harkness, Printer, Preston.
EXECUTION OF
JOHN GLEESON WILSON,
At Kirkdale Gaol, on Saturday, September 15th, 1849, the Murderer of Mrs. Hinrichson, her Two Children, and Female Servant.
One of the most appalling murders which has for years startled and disgusted society took place on the morning of Wednesday, March 28th, 1849, at No. 20, Leveson Street, Liverpool, at mid-day. A miscreant in the most brutal manner murdered two unprotected women and two helpless children.
In due course Wilson was committed for trial, which took place before Mr Justice Patteson and a respectable jury, who, in less than five minutes, returned a verdict of GUILTY.
On Saturday morning, a few minutes before twelve o’clock, the iron gate leading to the drop was opened, and the prisoner appeared between two priests—the Rev. Mr Duggan and the Rev. Mr Marshall. A general feeling of horror seemed to pervade all present, which found expression in the most distant part of the assemblage by bursts of execration.
Calcraft, the London executioner, was unable to be present from illness, and the office was performed by Howard, from York, who was especially brought to Liverpool by the Under Sheriff. The priests read in English, the service of the Catholic Church for a departing soul until the bolt was drawn, and the wretched culprit was launched into eternity.
Thus terminated the life of one of the greatest criminals that ever disgraced the human family. Upwards of 100,000 persons were present, the railway company running cheap trains from all available parts.
The Liverpool Tragedies
Come all you feeling christians and listen unto me,
The like was not recorded in British history,
It’s of three dreadful murders committed, I am told,
By one John Gleeson Wilson, for the sake of cursed gold.
On Wednesday the 28th, consternation did prevail,
In Leveson Street in Liverpool, where thousands did bewail,
The fate of this poor family, who we’re left to deplore,
Snatched from a father’s fond embraces, who ne’er will see them more.
This monster in human shape did go there to dwell,
And that he went for plunder to all it is known full well,
And when this callous villain saw their defenceless state,
He did resolve them all to kill and rob them of the plate.
His bloody work he did commence all in the open day,
By striking at the children while their mother was away,
The servant girl did interfere, said, “should not do so,”
Then with a poker in his hand he gave her a severe blow.
Numberless times he did her strike till she could no longer stand,
The blood did flow profusely from her wounds, and did him brand,
Then the eldest boy of five years old, in supplication said,
“Oh master, spare our precious lives, don’t serve us like the maid.”
This darling child of five years old he brutally did kill,
Regardless of its tender cries, its precious blood did spill,
The youngest child to the kitchen ran, to shun the awful knife,
This villain followed after and took its precious life.
The surgeon thus describes the scene presented to his view,
A more appalling case than this he says he never knew,
Four human beings on the floor all weltering in their gore,
The sight was sickening to behold on entering the door.
The mother’s wounds three inches deep upon her head and face,
And pools of blood as thick as mud, from all of them could trace,
None could identify the boy, his head was like a jelly;
This tragedy is worse by far than Greenacre or Kelly.
To the hospital in this sad state they quickly were conveyed,
The mother with her infant dear, and faithful servant maid,
Thousands did besiege the gates, their fate for to enquire,
But in three days from incise wounds, both of them did expire.
’Twill cause the captain many a pang to know their awful doom,
His loving wife and children sent to an untimely tomb,
’Twill make his hair turn grey with grief, no skill their lives could save,
And he did go, borne down with woe, in sorrow to the grave.
But now he’s taken for this deed, bound down in irons strong,
In Kirkdale Jail he now does lie, till his trial it comes on,
May God above receive the souls of those whom he has slain,
And may they all in heavenly bliss for ever with him reign.
J. Harkness, Printer, Preston.