A Pure Soul
One Woman’s Compassionate Quest for Confession and Salvation
Note to Reader: This short story is based on a real historical event that took place in Melbourne, Australia in 1894. Captain Burrows was the Governor of the Melbourne Gaol when Martha Needle, a convicted poisoner, was imprisoned and later executed on October 22, 1894. Annie Hutchinson, an Officer in the Salvation Army, ministered to Martha Needle in Gaol and attended her execution. The ‘death masks’ of all executed prisoners were once housed in the Governor’s office at The Melbourne Gaol.
Inside a cupboard in the Governor’s office in the Melbourne Gaol are the white, staring faces of twenty-nine murderers. Next to them lies the end of a rope, the hangman’s knot still preserved exactly as it was cut from the neck of the criminal, the loop barely bigger than an executioner’s wrist.
I know because I saw them, for the cupboard doors were open when the Secretary ushered me inside. “Captain Burrows is running late,” he explained breathlessly. “A spot of bother in the Western Wing, I’m afraid.” Apologising profusely for the delay, he took his leave and left me alone in the room.
While not possessed of a ghoulish temperament, I could not resist the opportunity to seek further acquaintance with my gruesome companions while I waited for the Governor’s return.
There were a few faces I recognised, most of them criminals from the sixties and seventies, the most recent that of Ernest Knox, executed on the twentieth of March this year of our Lord, 1894.
I peered at them closely, astonished. There was nothing to show they had died a cruel death at the gallows; not a trace of the agony they must surely have felt could be seen. The expression on all of their faces was unquestionably one of utter and absolute peace.
“Are you a believer in the current Phrenology* craze?”
A booming voice interrupted my sombre thoughts. It was the Governor himself. A tall, well-built man sporting a head of thick, white hair (one lock of which was slightly askew), I wondered about the disturbance from which he had come and could not help thinking an errant prisoner would surely come away the worse for wear after an altercation with this man.
Smoothing his hair from his brow, Captain Burrows strode towards me and extended his hand. His handshake was vigorous — infectious even — and had the effect of infusing me with the same vitality that radiated from his person.
“Mrs Hutchinson? Delighted to meet you. You were studying the masks with such concentration, I assumed you were an adherent of the discipline so many seem taken with these days.”
I shook my head. “I’m afraid I am a rank amateur as far as Phrenology is concerned, Captain Burrows. Of course,” I hastened to add, “I am sure there are many merits in its study — especially for a man in your position.”
The big man looked doubtful. “I am not so sure. It seems to me somewhat odious to make such absolute judgments on a man’s character based entirely on the shape and size of his skull.”
I knew little of what the Governor was talking about but I nodded in agreement.
“Besides,” Captain Burrows continued.” I cannot believe that a head on its own can be the true indication of a man’s temperament. Why, there are many eminent men — politicians, judges, barristers — some with heavy brows, some with prominent jaws and others with weak chins — but I would not dare to presume their propensity towards criminality. Please — ” He indicated with his hand that I should follow him.
“Take the Chinaman, Gaa, for example. A phrenologist’s dream, one might say, with his narrow forehead, ridged skull and protruding jaw. But look now at Edward Kelly — a completely different set of facial features — see?” Burrows traced a forefinger over the dead bushranger’s profile. “Ned here has a strong chin and a broad, flat brow…and yet both he and Gaa are convicted murderers. Explain that if you please!”
“I can’t, I’m afraid.”
“Exactly! And that is the point I am trying to make. For I believe it is only in the eyes where we can truly catch a glimpse of the truth that lies in a man’s heart. Mrs Hutchinson, tell me: what do you notice is true of all these effigies?”
I took a guess. “Their eyes are closed?”
“Indeed you are right! Look closely. There is nothing in these faces to betray a criminal disposition.” He leaned forward and peered at one of the masks. “I cannot detect even the slightest suggestion of facial expression that remains on this murderer’s face — or indeed, on any of them. It is as almost as though their features froze at the exact moment of their death and left nothing behind. Do you not agree?”
I nodded, the man’s fervency and aplomb rendering me quite incapable of responding.
Suddenly the Governor’s face reddened. “But I am boring you with my bombast, Mrs Hutchinson,” he said. “Please forgive me and come and sit down for there is another matter of far greater importance about which I wish to speak with you today.” He waved his arm towards a chair then took his own behind his desk.
“I hope you do not mind me saying but I am a great admirer of the work of the Salvation Army here in the Gaol — especially yours, Mrs Hutchinson.”
I smiled and nodded my head.
“Your devoted service to God through our fallen sisters is well known. I even understand there exists a testimonial signed by nearly every member of the Melbourne Police Force thanking you for your assistance to wayward women and girls. It seems to me you have dedicated your life to the fallen and the outcast.” The Governor leaned back in his chair, resting his thumbs on the swell of his belly, his fingers forming a capital ‘A’. He appeared to be deep in thought.
“Have you met Martha Needle?” he asked suddenly.
“Not yet,” I replied. “I understand she is only receiving counsel from the Reverend Scott at this time.”
I was intrigued, for Martha Needle was the current talk of Melbourne. Nicknamed The Richmond Poisoner, she was recently convicted of the murder of her fiancé’s brother with arsenic. She was also alleged to have poisoned her husband and three little girls.
“Now she is a conundrum, would you not agree?”
“In what sense do you mean, Captain Burrows?”
“In the light of all the evidence arrayed against her, Mrs Needle still insists she is perfectly innocent of the charge of murder. Reverend Scott says he has never seen anyone so inflexible and persistent…” Burrows smiled. “He believes she would be an excellent subject for mental scientists and students of criminology.”
“I am aware of the Reverend’s views regarding Mrs Needle, Sir.”
The Governor cocked his head to one side. “I take it you do not agree with him?”
“On many matters, Sir, my views differ from those of Reverend Scott. May I speak frankly?”
“I was hoping you would.”
“If it is true the authorities wish for Martha Needle to confess to her crimes before her execution, I believe the current methods being employed are entirely unsuitable.” I hesitated, unsure if I should continue.
“Please go on, Mrs Hutchinson.”
“How can we expect Mrs Needle to make a full confession when we make no effort to discover her true state of mind? And why does Reverend Scott in his interviews with the newspapers insist upon calling her an ‘instinctual criminal’? Can we not show the wretched woman some compassion? I understand Mrs Needle was informed her fiancé no longer believes she is innocent and that afterwards, she fell into a rage and refused to speak with anybody further. Why was she told such a thing if the desire is for her to soften and repent? Personally, I cannot think of a worse way to achieve such an end.”
The words escaped from my mouth before I could stop them. Fearful that Captain Burrows had taken offence, I met his eyes but saw only a broad smile.
“Bravo, Mrs Hutchinson! Everything you have just said confirms my belief I was right in calling you here today. And now, it is my turn to speak frankly.” Captain Burrows fastened his bright, eager eyes upon mine. “I too have questioned the clumsy tactics of the Reverend and his helpers, and believe you are the right person for this task.
“Can I count on you, Mrs Hutchinson, to encourage Mrs Needle to open her heart? Will you help a guilty woman ascend the scaffold with a clear conscience and a pure soul so she might find eternal peace before God?”
I was taken aback. I had already guessed Captain Burrows might request that I visit Martha Needle and offer her spiritual comfort. But for the purposes of obtaining a confession? And from such a troubled soul? Such a responsibility could not be taken lightly.
“Captain Burrows, I am honoured you seek to entrust me with such a task, but — ”
Suddenly, I saw again the row of faces in the Governor’s cabinet. Had they too confessed and been granted absolution before their own cruel deaths?
In three weeks’ time, Martha’s face would join that macabre parade. I made my decision. I must do everything possible to ensure the final expression on her face was also one of infinite peace.
God would expect no less of me.
I inclined my head gravely. “Yes, Captain Burrows. It is my God-given duty.”
* Phrenology was a ‘pseudo-science’, popular in the nineteenth century, which decreed it was possible to determine a criminal personality from the shape of a person’s head. You can read more about it here:
