John Hazeldine went by the name Kangaroo Jack, and he liked to remind men what his evidence could do: he claimed it had hanged one man in England and transported two others. So when he and a young absconded convict named Parker were caught butchering a stolen bullock in the bush near Bathurst in 1828, Parker knew exactly what Hazeldine intended to do next. That evening, as Hazeldine knelt blowing a campfire alight, Parker struck him with a tomahawk.
The case against him rested almost entirely on a confession he was said to have made to two fellow convicts, men a settler who watched the trial branded liars who “contradicted each other in all other things” and may have been the real killers. It was enough. Parker, about 19, was hanged behind the gaol at Sydney on 28 September 1829, still hoping until the last for a reprieve.
He denied the murder almost to the moment the rope was placed around his neck, then confessed his guilt as the drop was prepared.
Daniel Grier and Charles Penson were hanged at Sydney in 1829 for nothing more than burglary: stealing from a dwelling house goods valued at just over five pounds, a sum that under the law of the day was enough to turn a break-in into a hanging offence.
They died on the same gallows as a young murderer, though their own execution became its own grim spectacle. As the drop fell, the rope twisted at the nape of Grier’s neck and his limbs quivered horribly for several minutes, while Penson spun briefly and died with barely a struggle. Before the ropes were adjusted, all three men on the scaffold had joined in singing a hymn together.
Joseph Samuel was condemned to hang in 1803 for a robbery tied to the murder of Constable Luker in Sydney. On the scaffold, the rope snapped clean in the middle the instant the cart was drawn away, dropping him unconscious to the ground.
Officials dragged his limp body back onto the cart and fitted a second rope, only for it to unravel entirely, lowering him so slowly that his legs trailed on the ground while he half hung there. The assembled crowd was horrified by the spectacle as a third rope was rigged and this one snapped again, close against his neck, as the body was lowered.
With the crowd unnerved and three ropes failed in a row, Governor King, took the repeated failures as a sign of divine intervention and granted Samuel a reprieve. His sentence was commuted to life imprisonment, and he was nursed back to health and eventually to sanity.
After his reprieve, Samuel remained a convict. In April 1806, he made an escape attempt from Newcastle with seven other convicts in a small boat. All were presumed drowned in a storm, less than three years after he had survived three attempts to hang him.
Joseph Samuels hanging attempt rope snaps three times in 1803 Sydney
John Hughes told the jurors who convicted him that they were “shopkeepers tired of waiting, and anxious to get home for their dinner”. They had taken ten minutes. Days later he was hanged behind Melbourne Gaol for the murder of Abraham Marcus, a traveller whose only mistake was chasing the men who stole his best horse.
In December 1852 Marcus was bound for the Ovens goldfields with his wife and nine-year-old son when their dray broke down at Yackandandah Creek. Four horsemen stopped, accepted a meal and even helped with the repairs. Hughes turned down four pounds for his tired horse and saddle, remarking that he would not go much further before he had another. When the riders had gone, so had the best of the Marcus horses, with the worn-out mount left in its place.
Marcus rode after them and seized the bridle. The gang kept him talking until a passing bullock dray was out of sight, then drew pistols, marched him into the bush and tied him to a tree, where he was later found dead. His whole party recognised the rope: it had hung around the neck of the horse Hughes rode. That same evening, by his own later account, the gang robbed a young Sydney man named Stone on his way home from the diggings; he broke free, was run down and killed, and his body was sunk in a creek, weighted with stones and a saddle.
A reward of 200 pounds was offered, but it was 1854 before the widow picked Hughes out of a line of 21 identically dressed prisoners in the yard of Darlinghurst Gaol. He made a long confession naming three accomplices, then asked to be sent to Melbourne quickly, since enough had been proved to hang him. At trial he called the jurors “new chums”, to laughter from the gallery. The judge replied that an innocent man would never have dared to browbeat a jury so, and that the clear evidence of the dead man’s young son had settled the matter.
From the dock Hughes withdrew his confession as false and swore the men he had named were innocent too: “I now say, and will on the day of my death, that I am an innocent man.” He went to the scaffold pale but composed, and made no further revelations.
