THOMAS CARSON. CONVICTED OF MURDER.

THE Irish are capital actors, but generally give to tragic parts a comic effect. The following case of successful adroitness is only one out of many such tricks played off in the prisons of the sister kingdom.

Thomas Carson and his brother John were tried at the Meath assizes, in the spring of 1816, for the wilful murder of a man named Cassidy. The Carsons belonged to a corps of yeomen; and being Protestants, they were privileged to carry arms. Of these, however, they made a bad use, and turned them against one of his Majesty’s subjects, named Cassidy, whose life they took away, through wanton cruelty, in Kilmainham Wood, in the county of Meath. John was acquitted; but Thomas Carson was found guilty, and ordered for execution on the following Friday morning, at one o’clock.

At five o’clock on Friday morning a brother of the prisoner went to see the unhappy culprit, and informed the jailor that Mr. Wainwright, the clergyman, would attend in a short time to pray with and administer the sacrament to his brother. The judge had, from humanity, directed that his relations should have free access to the prisoner, so that his brother was permitted to go into the condemned cell to him. Some time after the jailor entered the cell, and said that the time was very short, and if the clergyman was expected, they had better send for him. The brother offered to go for him, and apparently retired. Shortly after Mr. Wainwright came; and being shown into the cell, continued a long time in prayer with the prisoner. The time of execution approaching, the jailor came in, accompanied by the prisoner’s uncle. The clergyman told the prisoner he had no time to lose—that his uncle had come, and would communicate with him in the administration of the sacrament. The prisoner entreated to be allowed to pray a little longer, and appeared absorbed in devotion. At length the jailor becoming quite impatient, he rose from the straw on which he was kneeling, and welcomed his uncle. The latter instantly exclaimed, “Good God! how grief has altered him! this cannot be Tommy!” and looking nearer—“No,” said he, “this is Anthony Carson!” The clergyman was amazed—the jailor ran down stairs, and discovered that the person whom he had sent for the clergyman was no other than the convict himself, who had not thought proper to return.

Coming back into his cell, the jailor cried out, “Your brother is gone off! what shall I do? I am ruined!”—“Gone off!” cried Anthony with great surprise; “Oh, he has taken away my big coat.”

The two brothers served in the same corps, and were so alike in appearance that Anthony came to the prison in a frize great-coat, which he gave to the convict, who, thus disguised, passed all the doors of the prison, and walked deliberately into the street, from whence, in great apparent affliction, he looked up at the preparation for execution, and passed on as if to Mr. Wainwright’s house.

Diligent search was made for the fugitive, but without effect. The brother was detained, but the extent of his crime was a misdemeanour.

The case of this lucky prisoner clearly exemplified, in the language of the prisoner about to receive judgment of death, that he did not believe he was “safe in the hands” of his jailors.

The story runs thus:—An Irishman had been convicted of a robbery at the Old Bailey sessions, for which he was brought up, with others at the conclusion of the session, to receive judgment of death. The ready wit and the natural disinclination of the Irish to give a straightforward answer to a question, are universally known and admitted. The prisoner in question on being called on by Mr. Shelton, the officer of the court, in the usual way, to declare what he had to say why sentence of death should not be passed upon him, advanced to the front of the dock with a vacant stare, and inquired “What was the question?”

Mr. Shelton.—You have been convicted of robbery; what have you to say why sentence of death shall not be passed upon you, according to law?

Prisoner.—Faith, I have nothing much to say, except that I do not think I am safe in your hands.

The answer was received with a loud burst of laughter, which even the melancholy nature of the scene could not prevent the learned recorder from joining in. The gravity of the court was, however, soon again put to the test. Sentence had been passed, and the prisoner was about to retire from the bar, when he was unexpectedly called back by Mr. Shelton, who demanded to know his age.

Prisoner.—Is it my age you mean?

Mr. Shelton.—What is your age?

Prisoner.—I believe I am pretty well as ould as ever I’ll be.

Again the whole court was convulsed with laughter; but the wretched man, whose laughter-moving qualities were purely involuntary, was doomed even at “the last scene of all,” to raise the mirth of the spectators of his fate. He was in due form taken from his cell, and the ordinary of the jail attending him, he was conducted to the press-room to be bound, preparatory to his going out to the scaffold. His irons were removed, and his arms confined with cords in the customary manner, but the willing compliance exhibited by the wretched convict in the proceedings which had hitherto taken place, to assist the executioner in performing his office, suddenly ceased. He sat down on a bench, and in spite of the calls of Jack Ketch, and of the sheriffs to accompany them in procession to the scaffold, he remained sullenly on the bench, where he had first taken up his position. “Come,” at last urged Jack Ketch, “the time is arrived;” but his coaxing words and tone were unavailing. “The officers are waiting for you,” said the sheriffs; “can anything be done for you before you quit this world?” No answer was returned. At length, said Jack Ketch, grown surly at the long delay and the silence of the prisoner, “If you won’t go, you know I must carry you.” “Then you may,” said the prisoner, “for I’ll not walk.” “Why not?” inquired the sheriff. “I’ll not be instrumental to my own death,” hesitated the prisoner. “What do you mean?” asked the ordinary. “What do I mane?” answered the unfortunate man. “I’ll not walk to my own destruction;” and in this determination he remained, and Jack Ketch and his assistants were eventually absolutely compelled to carry him to the scaffold, where he was turned off, continuing in his refusal to do anything which might be construed into “his being a party to his own death.”

END OF VOL. I.

PRINTED BY J. S. VIRTUE AND CO., LIMITED, CITY ROAD, LONDON.

FOOTNOTES:

Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:

with what had occcured=> with what had occured {pg 36}

acertain the cause=> ascertain the cause {pg 72}

continuing the daugerous=> continuing the dangerous {pg 164}

indicted as accessaries=> indicted as accessories {pg 243}

he make a speech=> he made a speech {pg 295}

She answerered=> She answered {pg 304}

which was propoeed=> which was proposed {pg 391}

four oclock precisely=> four o’clock precisely {pg 402}

On Saturday, Septemer 17=> On Saturday, September 17 {pg 412}

here utterred an expression=> here uttered an expression {pg 435}

who, I I understand=> who, I understand {pg 440}

a full desciption of=> a full description of {pg 205}

and extraordinay manner=> and extraordinary manner {pg 507}

In the hopes of averting=> in the hopes of averting {pg 529}

unsconscious of the fate=> unconscious of the fate {pg 550}

as far as he was permited=> as far as he was permitted {pg 562}