My intimate Experiences

The Executioner at Home.

By H. Snowden Ward.

James Berry, though regarded by some people as a monster, and by others as a curiosity, is very much like any other working-man when one comes to know him. He is neither a paragon of perfection, nor an embodiment of all vice-though different classes of people have at times placed him under both these descriptions. His character is a curious study-a mixture of very strong and very weak traits, such as is seldom found in one person. And although one of his weak points is his Yorkshire open-hearted frankness, which he tries to control as much as possible, the man who has only been with him a few days has not by any means got to the depths of his character. His wife has said to me more than once:-"I have lived with him for nineteen years, but I don't thoroughly know him yet," and one can quite understand it, as his character is so many-sided and in some respects contradictory. This partly accounts for the varying and contradictory views of his personality which have been published in different papers.

His strongest point is his tender-heartedness. Perhaps this may be doubted, but I state the fact from ample knowledge. Mr. Berry's occupation was not by any means taken up from a love of the ghastly, or any pleasure in the work. Even in his business as executioner his soft-heartedness has shown itself, for though it has never caused him to flinch on the scaffold, it has led him to study most carefully the science of his subject, and to take great pains to make death painless.

Of this trait I have had many proofs. For instance, I know that on some occasions when he has been due to start for a place of execution, his repugnance to the task has been so great that his wife and her mother have been obliged to use the greatest possible force of persuasion to prevent him shirking his duty. Another instance of this characteristic appeared when I was overhauling his manuscript and cuttings for the purpose of this book. I came across a copy of a poem "For one under Sentence of Death," and made some enquiry about it. I found that the lines were some which Mr. Berry had copied from a Dorchester newspaper, and that for a long time it had been his habit to make a copy of them, to send to the chaplain in every case where a prisoner was sentenced to death, with a request that they should be read to the prisoner. This was continued until the governor of one of the gaols resented the sending of such a poem to the chaplain, and intimated that in all cases the chaplain was best able to judge of what was necessary for the condemned man, and did not need any outside interference. After this Mr. Berry sent no more poems, but he kept one or two copies by him, and I think that it may interest the reader.

LINES FOR ONE UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH.

My brother,-Sit and think,

While yet some hours on earth are left to thee;

Kneel to thy God, who does not from thee shrink,

And lay thy sins on Christ, who died for thee.

He rests His wounded hand

With loving kindness, on thy sin-stained brow,

And says-"Here at thy side I ready stand,

To make thy scarlet sins as white as snow.

"I did not shed My blood

For sinless angels, good and pure and true;

For hopeless sinners flowed that crimson flood,

My heart's blood ran for you, my son, for you.

"Though thou hast grieved me sore,

My arms of mercy still are open wide,

I still hold open Heaven's shining door,