WHO WAS THE EXECUTIONER OF
KING CHARLES THE FIRST?
Cases of “historic doubt” seem to be the legitimate property of the novelist. The mystery which has enveloped the executioner of King Charles the First, the apparent impossibility of fixing the act of beheading upon any man for certain, have opened to the writers of historical romance a fair field for the exhibition of their art. And they have availed themselves of the opportunity. To mention one or two instances: the author of “Whitehall,” M. Alexandre Dumas in his “Vingt-ans-Après,” and Mr. Sala in his novel of “Captain Dangerous,” have introduced to the public various candidates for the distinction of having killed a king. The generally accepted theory, however, is to the effect that the deed was done by the common hangman of the period for a reward of thirty pounds. But the name of the hangman has been less clearly ascertained. Jack Ketch, “a wretch,” says Macaulay, “who had butchered many brave and noble victims, and whose name has during a century and a half been vulgarly given to all who have succeeded him in his odious office,” was not appointed until about 1682. “While Jefferies on the bench, Ketch on the gibbet sits,” says a lampoon of the time. The bungling cruelty exhibited on the occasion of the execution of the unfortunate Duke of Monmouth, nearly led to the destruction of Ketch by the infuriated mob; a strong guard was necessary to save the executioner being torn in pieces. Ketch had succeeded a man named Dun, who is addressed as Squire Dun in a poem by Butler. “The addition of ‘squire,’” says an authority, “with which Mr. Dun is dignified, is a mark that he had beheaded some state criminal for high treason, an operation which, according to custom for time out of mind, has always entitled the operator to that distinction.” The predecessor of Dun was Gregory Brandon, after whom the gallows was sometimes called the Gregorian tree, as in the prologue to “Mercurius Brittanicus,” acted at Paris, 1641:
This trembles under the black rod, and he
Doth fear his fate from the Gregorian tree.
An earlier hangman was named Derrick; possibly, from his name the tackle employed in raising heavy weights on board ship is still known nautically as a derrick.
The executioner of King Charles was probably either Dun or Brandon; yet various authorities, at different times, have charged with the deed, William Walker, Richard Brandon, Hugh Peters, Colonel Joyce, William Hewlet, and lastly, Lord Stair. Against some of these the accusation is, of course, utterly groundless; but on the trial of the regicides after the Restoration, a distinct attempt was made to fix the act of beheading on William Hewlet. The evidence for the prosecution was worthless enough, but the court had quite made up its mind on the subject beforehand, and a verdict of guilty was returned. Hewlet was not executed, however; the insufficiency of proof was too remarkable, and the restored government had some sense of shame.
“Many have curiously inquired,” says William Lilly in the ‘History of his Life and Times,’ “who it was that cut off the king’s head; I have no permission to speak of such things, but he that did it is valiant, resolute, and of a competent fortune.” After the Restoration, Lilly was examined before Parliament on the subject. “At my first appearance,” he goes on, “I was affronted by the young members, who demanded several scurrilous questions, and I should have been sorely troubled but for the assistance of Mr. Prinn and Mr. Weston, who whispered to me occasionally, holding a paper before their mouths. Liberty being at last given to me to speak, I delivered what follows: ‘The next Sunday but one after the execution of King Charles the First, Robert Spavin, secretary to General Cromwell, and several others, dined with me, when the whole of our discourse was only who it was that beheaded the king; some said the common hangman, some Hugh Peters, and several others were named, but none concluded. After dinner was over, Robert Spavin retiring with me to the south window, took my hand and said: ‘These are all mistaken, Lieutenant-Colonel Joyce was the man, for I was in the room when he fitted himself for the work, and stood by him when he did it; no one knows this but my master, Commissary Ireton, and myself.’”
It is certain that Lilly, although originally a royalist, was afterwards actively engaged in the cause of the Parliament, and was one of the close committee to consult upon the proper carrying out of the king’s execution. He was celebrated as an astrologer and impostor, and amassed a fortune by casting nativities and foretelling events, and preying generally upon the weakness and superstition of all ranks of society. In the words of Dr. Nash, in his “Notes to Hudibras,” Lilly was “a time-serving rascal,” and it is necessary to use caution in placing credit upon any narrative proceeding from him.
According to Sir Nathaniel Wraxall, George Selwyn, that insatiable amateur of executions, had a different story, however, on this subject.