yangman

Friend Arthur, the

*

By
B. A. McKELVIE

»*

Newspapermen—Like Policemen—Meet the Most Unusual People. In This
‘Character Sketch by One of Western Canada’s Leading Newsmen We Learn
Something of the Pride of Craftsmanship Which Distinguished An Important

iS, I RECALL Arthur Ellis, for many
ars public executioner for the Dominion
Canada, as a friend, and it is because of
y liking for him that I am writing this
sry in order to keep a promise made some
years ago. The promise was made in
good faith, but the family journals: for
rich I ordinarily write were not anxious
publish it, for there is a certain squeamish-
ss amongst editors... .
Arthur Ellis was an artist. I like artists
10 take a pride in their work. Besides,
was a genial, kind-hearted little chap,
ways ready to alleviate distress. Ive seen
n cry when told of the sufferings of a
or family.
His work he regarded as purely imper-
nal. His was a duty to perform, and he
Jit. “I am an executioner (he shunned
- word “hangman” as being vulgar)
cause I believe that I can carry out the
dgment of the law with less pain and
guish to the condemned than can any
ner man in the world,” he once told me.
It was on the occasion upon which he
ced me to write a story in defence of his
lling.
“A murder is committed,” he explained,
nd the entire populace calls out for the
rest and execution of the killer. A police-
in, a respected official, arrests the man.
> comes before a magistrate, a man of
nding in the community, who commits
2 accused to stand trial in the Assize
yurt. In due time he appears before that
bunal. Twelve of his fellow citizens,
ting as a jury, weigh the evidence and
onounce him guilty of the charge upon
rich he has been indicted. A Justice,
10 is honoured by all and whose society
courted, pronounces the sentence of death.
“I carry out that sentence—and I have to
about the country under an assumed
me; if a hotelman learns I’m in his house,
asks me to vacate it. I am but one cog
the machinery of justice, and I am
titled to just as much respect as the Justice
the Assize Court. It is unfair—and,”
concluded shyly, “I would appreciate if
u would write something in defence of
y position.”
He was naturally gregarious in disposition.
= loved companionship, and it hurt him
at men would turn away from him because
ey did not like his profession.

HIRTEENTH EDITION

Public Official.

“But what chance had I,” he protested.
“My forefathers for 300 years were the
executioners of England. It is customary
there for a lad to follow in the family trade
or profession—and, besides, few would con-
sent to take the son of an executioner as an
apprentice in another calling—so naturally
I was trained as an executioner. I had to
study for 12 years before I was permitted
ona scaffold. I know more about the human
body than many doctors; I must be able to
look at a man and judge his weight at a

Henry Wagner, the “Flying Dutchman”

glance; I have to- know all about stresses
and strains and muscular reactions—oh,
there's a great deal to learn in my
profession.”

FRIENDLY CHAT ON CourT STEPS

We were sitting on the marble stairs of
Vancouver's police headquarters when he
gave me this authorized interview. There
was a lawyer—let’s call him Frank—and
Arthur and I. We met Arthur on the
street. He had just arrived in the city and
had not yet got lodgings for the night. The
three of us went to several places—such as
existed in those days—including a lunch
counter that specialized in meat pies, after

which we went down to police headquarters
to notify the authorities of Arthur’s safe
arrival in town.

It had been a tiring evening, so we sat
on the marble stairs, Arthur and J, with his
club bag between us, on one step, and Frank
on a lower tread.

Frank, who had an inquiring mind,
started to question Arthur about the niceties
of his calling. Arthur was in a responsive
mood, he gave us details. He described the
whole operation. He explained how he
had to test the rope to stand a definite
weight... .

“But how do you know what the con-
demned man will weigh?” asked Frank.

“TI take a look at him in his cell. I can
tell to within a fraction of a pound his
weight after one glance. You see the length
of the drop depends upon the weight of
the subject.

“Now, our friend here,” and he indicated
me, “weighs 208 pounds.” That was my
exact weight that very afternoon, and I
wasn't boasting about it. “I would, ahem!
—give him 4 feet, 10 inches of a drop; he
would be absolutely dead in 11 minutes.
Of course,” he hastened to reassure us, “he
would be really dead to all intents and
purposes as soon as he dropped, but it would
take 11 minutes for his circulatory system
to stop completely.” So it was that Arthur,
gratuitously gave me a bit of information
that I'll wager few people have concerning
themselves. %

It was all very interesting to Frank.
“How do you tie the knot?” he questioned.

“PIL show you,” exclaimed Arthur, and
he grabbed his club bag, which I naturally
thought had his pyjamas and brush and
comb. He opened it and displayed a fine
assortment of ropes and black caps. Deftly
he tied a noose. “Now,” he said with
mounting enthusiasm, “I'd place it right
there,” and he indicated a point just behind
my left ear—and his cold hands rather
fondly felt my neck. “I'd break the third
vertebrae,” he boasted. Honestly, I didn’t
quite like being a guinea pig for a hang-
man’s lecture on his art. Especially was
this so, when to further demonstrate the
exactitude with which the rope should be
adjusted, he wanted to put a black cap over
my head and the noose about my neck.
You see, recognizing the true artist in

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