Another argument was that Munro's death was due to "an
Indian 'quack doctor', at a time when the patient was progressing favourably." Above all, the prisoners were parents of three
small children, one of whom, an infant in arms, shared her
mother's jail cell. John Finn even forwarded a petition from
Alexander Munro and his mother Chrystina, "her mark (X)," asking that the Aylwards' sentence be commuted to a life sentence.
The religious dimensions of the Aylward case caused John
Sandfield Macdonald's government obvious embarrassment. As
a Catholic, Macdonald's sympathy was demanded by his coreligionists; as the head of a fragile, Protestant-dominated coalition,
it could not be given. As a man of principle, could the attorney
general for Canada West let politics control his judgment? Chief
Justice Draper certainly saw no reason to soften the sentence:
Taking this woman's whole conduct through the whole
case, we find nothing but the most cold-blooded barbarity, and not an act committed in the heat of passion. The
sharpening of the scythe, the showing Johnston how she
intended to cut his head off- her conduct at Mrs. McCrea's
[sic] showing the scythe yet reeking in blood, when she is
ordered out of the house.
T
he Aylwards had ignored Draper's advice. Confident of commutation, they showed no signs of
humble repentance. On the Saturday before the
execution, Mary Aylward issued a statement
denouncing "the calumnious fabrication" that
she and her husband were actually brother and sister. A final
petition from John Finn appealed for a month's delay for the
prisoners "owing to the fact that they are not spiritually prepared" arrived in Quebec almost too late to be considered.
Father Michael Brennan passed on a claim that Mary Aylward
was pregnant. From Quebec, the government directed that
Mary Aylward be examined by the prison doctor and one or two
of the prison's matrons. On December 2, Dr. Hope and Ann
Dafoe, the jailer's wife, reported that "by examination" and "her
own statement" the prisoner was not bearing a child. The law
was left to take its course on December 8.
The Aylward's execution was covered in detail by the Hastings Chronicle and the Belleville Intelligencer. The reports
were reprinted in papers across the Canadas. By dawn, close
to a thousand people, "a moving tide of humanity," covered
the courthouse square in front of the gallows. Ultimately more
than five thousand stood in the bitter cold: "There were old
men with whitened locks and bent forms, and infants nursing
at their mothers' breasts, young men and maidens, boys and
girls of all sizes and ages." There were cases of frostbite in the
crowd, and the Chronicle deplored the fights, wrestling
matches, and public drunkenness among young men in the
throng. When the promised deadline often o'clock passed,
there were "cries of 'Get them out here', 'Hang them' and the
like filling the air." Someone had forgotten to sew up the linen
caps that would cover the victims' heads.
April I May 2005
The Beaver
At 11:25 A.M. the procession finally appeared, led by a
couple of deputy sheriffs and bailiffs and a hooded hangman,
followed by Mary Aylward "with deathly pallor on her countenance" and a trembling Richard Aylward. "Mary was
dressed all in white, with a crepe shawl covering her shoulders," and both prisoners wore a noose, ready to be hooked
to the gallows. Since Victorians often believed that criminality was evident in a villain's appearance, the Aylwards were a
disappointment. Richard, at twenty-six years of age, was
"rather well-proportioned," with prominent cheekbones and
a low forehead, but Mary, at twenty-eight, did not look her
part at all. "Jler appearance is prepossessing," claimed the
Intelligencer, "and lew would believe, judging from her countenance, that she could commit the fearful crime." The
reporter continued: "About medium height, dark hair, fair
complexion, a bright eye, features well proportioned, and an
intelligent look, the impression of her character upon the
casual observer, is a favorable one."
On the scaffold, the Aylwards fell to their knees to pray with
Father John Brennan. When he lifted them to their feet, the
hangman, "a short, thick-set men, dressed head to toe in a
face-covering white gown," hooked on their nooses and covered their heads with the newly made hoods. The priest looked
to Richard, but not Mary, for any final words. "The young man
was too distraught in emotion, too broken in spirit to speak,"
claimed a reporter, so Father Brennan begged the crowd to
seek God's mercy on the Aylwards' souls. The crowd, noted the
Chronicle's reporter, neither heard nor cared. "They were there
to see the Aylwards hang." They got their wish.
As the priest stepped back, he collapsed in a faint and was
carried unconscious from the scaffold. The hangman jerked
back the bolt that held the two trap doors under the Aylwards,
and the two bodies fell into the void. Spectators strained to see
the results: "Mary's frail body contorted like a grotesque puppet
on tangled strings for a minute and a half until life deserted her.
Richard continued to struggle for a further minute ... before he
too found final peace." The bodies were left hanging for a further twenty-five minutes "for the satisfaction and pleasure of
those who came to witness their death." Later, at 3 P.M., a
horse-drawn wagon took two simple caskets a few hundred
metres down Church Street to St. Michael's for the funeral.
The Catholic church was filled to capacity. Barely recovered
from his collapse, Father Brennan mounted to the pulpit to proclaim the Aylwards' innocence. The jury, he complained, had
committed the folly of seeking mercy where there was no mercy
to be found, a state of affairs that the Irish could recall from the
days of Oliver Cromwell. Frequently he broke down in tears, and
his sobs brought echoing sobbing from his congregation. A sympathetic family soon adopted the Aylwards' two older daughters;
another family took the baby girl. The younger Father Brennan
took his convictions to Montreal, to the Irish communities of
Canada East, where he interpreted the Aylward case as Protestant
malevolence against Catholics worthy of Cromwell, hyperbole for
which George Brown's Globe later delivered a stern scolding: