Murder Recalled – Mary Bax, 1783

‘Every now and then a melancholy house is seen suggestive of ghosts and murders, but the windows are darkened, and not an inhabitant is to be found. … [Y]ou look ahead to the miles and miles of dreary waste with fear and trembling. All at once you stand rooted before a white sepulchral stone, which the moon brings in relief. For fifty yards around this spot vegetation has ceased; the grass will not grow, the flowers refuse to bloom. …Is it a mile stone or a boundary mark? Neither. It is a murder sign!’

      This somewhat melodramatic description comes from Clement William Scott’s Round About The Island (published in 1874). The location he’s describing is a headstone situated halfway long the ancient highway, which runs between the Kentish towns of Sandwich and Deal (a distance of 4 miles). According to Scott this is the site where one Mary Bax was ‘brutally murdered’ by Martin Lash – ‘a foreign seaman’. He goes on:

Our blood curdles in our veins, and we picture the murder on such a dreary night as this, and the shrieks of Mary Bax being carried out to sea over the salt sand-hills; no help at hand, nothing to save her from the bludgeon of Martin Lash.

The bloody incident, Scott informs his readers, took place in 1792, ‘so long ago,’ he writes, ‘that possibly it was not true’. Only it was true. Both Mary Bax and Martin Lash (also spelt ‘Laas’, ‘Lass, and Lascar’) had once been living breathing souls, whose paths crossed one fateful day during the summer of 1783 (and not 1792 as Scott stated). There are also other errors in Scott’s account of the murder. So what is the truth behind the slaying of Mary Bax? Who was Martin Lash? And what was his motive?

      Today the ancient highway snakes its way between the farmland and golf courses.  During the late 1700s the landscape – known as the ‘sandhills’ – was a mixture of grassy dunes and marshy pasture used for grazing, with clumps of willow clinging to the banks of the water-filled ditches that criss-crossed fields. Then as now it was an isolated spot, perfect for anyone harbouring nefarious motives. As L. Fussell comments in A Journey Around the Coast of Kent (1818), ‘[it] is both disagreeable and dangerous.’ Of course, Fussell’s remarks refer mainly with the nature of the terrain. But he would most likely have been aware of the Bax murder, so when he says ‘dangerous’ perhaps it’s not just the landscape he’s alluding too. 

      According to Robert Michael Ballantyne, in his 1864 book The Lifeboat, Mary was a ‘young and beautiful girl’. Burial records record her as twenty-three-years-old. ‘Having occasion to visit Deal,’ Ballantyne wrote, ‘she set out one evening on her solitary walk across the bleak sandhills.’ Mary was heading for Sandwich, some four miles away, though Ballantyne gives no reason for her journey. At the halfway point she is accosted by a ‘brutal foreign seaman’ called ‘Lascar’ – not Lash as in most other accounts. ‘This monster,’ Ballantyne continued, ‘murdered the poor girl and threw her body into a ditch that lies close to the spot on which her tomb now stands.’

      Again no motive is given. It’s as if Lash (or in this case ‘Lascar’) just attacked Mary for no reason. And as with Scott’s account, Ballantyne is wrong on a number of points. The most important of these is Mary’s burial. The ground in which the murder victims was interred was not consecrated ground. So Mary would not have been buried here.

      John Winter was Mary’s seventeen-year-old ‘devoted admirer’. Upon hearing of her murder he vows to hunt down Lascar, resting ‘neither night nor day’ until he has satisfied his desire for revenge. Winter’s little brother, David, just happened to be on his way the Checker’s Inn when he witnessed the murder. The terrified boy then runs to inform his brother. ‘It was chiefly through the exertions of these two,’ Ballantyne tells us, ‘that the murderer was finally brought to justice.’ A heartbroken John Winter then leaves the country, returning thirty years later when ‘the crime had been forgotten and most of his old friends and companions were [either] dead or gone abroad’. But it’s still a bitter homecoming, for Winter learns that during his absence David was drowned at sea.

      If this is all sounding like some mid-nineteenth century sensation novel then you’d be right. The Lifeboat is actually a work of fiction. A search through the local records did reveal a John Winter, who was born in Deal on 16^th October 1767. This would make him the same age as his namesake in the book. But whether or not he was an actual ‘admirer’ of Mary Bax is open to speculation. A similar search for John’s little brother was fruitless.

      Ballantyne’s was not the only fictional account of Mary’s murder. In 1850 the Penny Illustrated News published “Mary Bax: A Tale, Founded on Fact” by Thomas Mills.

R.M. Ballantyne and the cover of his 1864 novel, The Lifeboat.

      The story opens with Mary looking out at a moonlit sea at the ships anchored off shore. Believing she is alone she comments on the beauty of the site before her and the greatness of God. A voice behind concurs. Startled she turns to find Martin Lash (whom we are told is of Spanish birth, but has lived most of his life in England) is there too. After a brief exchange of pleasantries they bid each other good night. Lash, who is by now madly in love, watches Mary recede into the distance. Later he declares his love for her. But Mary is already engaged to another – a sailor who is away at sea – and she rejects Lash’s romantic proposal.

“Since then,” said Martin ironically, “the conversation is painful, doubtless my presence is not required. I wish you good evening, Miss Bax; the next time we meet again,” he continued, his eyes gleaming with rage, “it will be under different circumstances – we shall see who will be the suer then.”

      Mary is terrified by Lash’s rage. She later, through a ‘torrent of tears’, explains to her father what has occurred, and how she believes Lash now ‘intends me harm’. Her father tries to console her, saying the Spaniard’s angry words are nothing more than hurt vanity. But the experience unsettles Mary for days after and she experience nightmares. Weeks later she meets Martin Lash on the ancient highway, where (after conveniently being told to ‘prepare to die!’) she is strangled.

      Lash goes on the run, but is later caught in a churchyard in Dover. After his trial he is executed at the murder site and gibbeted; his bones being left to ‘blanch in the sun’.

      Mills’ account to us would seem over the top melodramatic. But for the Victorians they just couldn’t get enough. Other notorious crimes and criminals were retold by writers, who wouldn’t allow a little thing such as historical accuracy to get in the way of a good yarn. Mill’s even gives us a description of Mary Bax, but is it accurate? According to him she was of middle height with a ‘faultless figure’ and ‘symmetrical proportions’. Her features were plain, but the more you looked at them the more pleasing they became. When serious, her ‘wild blue eyes’ kindled into ‘vivacious brilliancy’ and ‘sparkled with diamond-like lustre’.

      As with nineteenth century accounts on Jack Sheppard, Sweeney Todd and Dick Turpin, it’s hard to know in Mills’ account of the murder of Mary Bax where fiction ends and historical truth begins. So let me repeat an earlier question. What is the truth behind the slaying of Mary Bax? To answer that it’s best we turn to the official records, which paint a far less romantic picture.

St Peter’s Church burial register recording the date of Mary’s burial.

      The morning of Monday  25^th August 1783 had been one of sunshine and showers. At around 10 a.m. twenty-five-year-old Mary Bax, a well-respected young woman from Deal, began her journey along the ancient highway to Sandwich. The purpose of her journey was to deliver a parcel (sadly, records don’t record its contents). As she passes the Checker’s Inn (also known as the ‘halfway house’) she passes a young vagabond sitting at the road side. Whether Mary took any notice of Martin Laas (all the official records spell his name thus) is not known. But upon spotting Mary carrying her parcel Laas decides to follow and rob her.

      He stalks his victim for about half a mile, before finally catching her up. Laas asks for directions to Sheerness. Mary replies that he is a ‘great distance’ away, and when Lass begs for money to ‘bear his expences’, Miss Bax regrets she has none to give. Unperturbed, Martin Laas accompanies his prey a little longer. The Newgate Calendar reveals what occurred next:

…[O]n passing a ditch, [he] pushed her into it, and jumping upon her, into mud and water up to his middle, and thus smothered her. He then took a bundle which she carried in her hands, and her shoes from her feet, with which he made off through the marshes, across the country towards Dover.

      Unfortunately for Laas his crime was witnessed by a looker’s son (‘Looker being a Kentish colloquialism for a shepherd). The boy, whose surname was Rogers  (eleven or twelve-year-of-age), had been sheltering from the rain in a haystack, when he heard Mary’s desperate screams. Upon seeing Rogers coming towards him Laas fled. After discovering Mary’s body lying among the reeds and bulrushes, Rogers then ran toward Deal to raise the alarm. He was immediately taken to the local magistrate, where he explained all.

      Martin Laas was eventually caught sleeping in a churchyard in Dover (some more contemporary accounts state it was Folkestone). He was committed to St Dunstan’s Gaol at Canterbury, to await his trial at the next Maidstone Assizes.

The only known illustration of Martin Laas, as featured in the Illustrated Police News of 18 November 1882.

      At his trial in Maidstone the defendant behaved with ‘unparalleled audacity’. He showed no remorse; on the contrary he appeared very cheerful. He mocked the court and insulted the witnesses. When the guilty verdict was given Laas gave three cheers and became so rowdy that the judge ordered that the prisoner be chained to the floor of his cell, until the time of his execution. It was during this period that Laas confessed to the murder. He was hanged on Penenden Heath, which until Christmas 1830 was the site for all Maidstone’s executions. Laas didn’t die alone. Also upon the scaffold was John Huntley (convicted of murdering his wife). After the execution Huntley was sent to be anatomized, but the surgeons, according to the Newgate Calendar, had no interest in Laas and his corpse was burned beneath the gallows.

     Laas, it was later established, had been born in Norwegian port of Bergen in 1756. As a boy he had come to England aboard a Danish trading ship. Deserting the services of his employer, he then joined the British Royal Navy, where he saw action in the West-Indies at the Battle of Grenada (1779) and the Battle of  the Saintes (1782). But after several years’ service he was discharge. Like many dismissed sailors Laas fell into destitution, which would eventually lead him to murder. ‘In this culprit,’ wrote the Newgate Calendar, ‘we have another deplorable instance of dismissing seamen, often pennyless [sic], at the end of that war, in which they often have conquered.’  It continued ungratefully, ‘When foreigners enlist under our banner, and having served our purpose, ought not the government, at least, to send them back to their own home?’

      As for Mary Bax, she wasn’t buried where she’d been murdered. Only the condemned criminals were interred in unconsecrated ground. Instead Mary was laid to rest in the churchyard of St Peter’s Church in Sandwich. The stone erected out on the ancient highway was commissioned by her friends. Upon it was inscribed the following:

On this spot

August the 25^th, 1782,

MARY BAX, spinster,

was murdered by

Martin Lash, a foreigner,

who was executed for the same.

The year, of course, is wrong. An error made by the stonemason perhaps? The burial register for St Peter’s records that ‘Mary Bax, spinster, aged 23, [was] murdered near sandwich, 25 Aug.’, and interred three days later.

The ancient highway looking towards Deal and the stone marking where Mary was murdered.

Copyright © Martin Charlton, 2016

Murder Recalled: The Bloody Husband

Murder of Katherine Sprackling, 1652

Among the British Library’s more restricted titles is a very rare tract published in 1653, entitled: The Bloody Husband and Cruell Neighbour or, A Truth Historie of Two Muthers. Written anonymously by ‘one that lives near the place where said muthers were committed’, it narrates the deaths of Katherine Sprackling and Robert Langley, during the mid-seventeenth century. The perpetrator of this bloody crime was the squire of the Ellington Estate – Adam Sprackling.

 The title page of The Blood Husband,

Published in 1653.

      Described as tall, cavalier (in both sense of the word), with long flowing hair, Sprackling was born in St Laurence on the Isle of Thanet in 1606. Some twenty-five years later, he married Katherine Lewknor, who was said to be a lady of ‘excellent character’ and ‘very remarkable for her piety’. Her father, Sir Robert Lewknor, had once served as High Sheriff of Kent under King Charles I. The Sprackling's were also one of the county’s noble families. They had settled in Thanet sometime before the 13^th century, and had acquired the Ellington Estate from the Thatcher family in 1558. Situated just on the outskirts of St Laurence village, the estate was vast. Much of it consisted of ‘luxuriant corn fields and fertile meadows’. Adam Sprackling, however, wasn’t interest in it. As the tract states, he preferred instead to: 

…ride about the Island, and frequent Taphouses, and there Rant and roar, game and sware exceedingly…

Fights were a regular occurrence. Sprackling would draw his weapon at the slightest provocation. But this wasn’t the worst of it.

      In a deeply religious time when church attendance, especially Sunday service, was deemed mandatory, Sprackling would remain at home, drinking, swearing and fornicating. The worship of God and the Word were of little consequence; the young wastrel preferring instead the company of ‘drunken ministers’ and women of low repute. Unsurprisingly his estate and fortune were soon wasted. Frequently intoxicated and foul, his poor wife on numerous occasions was forced to flee and lock herself away. Sprackling would also hold grudges against any who cause him even the slightest offence. It was one such grievance that would lead to murder.

      Richard Langley was deputy to the Mayor of Sandwich. He was also a god fearing man, ‘zealous for God and the State’. In 1648, he and two others – Edward Taddy, the parish constable, and Humphrey Pudner, deputy to the Mayor of Dover – were ordered to disarm the noableman. No reason is given by the tract as to why, but no doubt the squire’s fiery temper played its part somewhere. Langley and his compatriot’s executed their orders, which also resulted in Sprackling being briefly incarcerated in Canterbury Gaol. Some months later, the squire came across Taddy in the street and physically assaulted him, but for Richard Langley, he harboured a deeper animosity. During one incident, the nobleman unsheathed his sword, brandished it over his head and threatened Langley with an untimely end. On another occasion Sprackling pursued the deputy back to the unfortunate man’s home. With his quarry trapped inside the squire fired his pistol at the house and issued more death threats.

      On the day of his murder, Langley was out drinking when he heard that the squire and two of his thugs were again looking for him. Sprackling, along with Paul Allen and Thomas Emerson, had indeed come down to Ramsgate, then a small fishing town, looking to settle his grievance. Langley stole away. First to his home, but later he sought refuge with a John Johnson. After explaining his situation, the Johnson’s gave him a horse so he could make his escape. John Johnson would later recall how Langley had no sooner climbed upon his mount when he was spotted by Sprackling. The last anyone saw of Richard Langley alive was as he galloped out of town, with the nobleman and his cronies in hot pursuit. He was later found shot in the back and ‘wallowing’ in his own blood. He died from his injuries a short time after.

      Sprackling escaped arrest. No one in the town would speak against him. Paul Allen also evaded justice by going on the run. Thomas Emerson wasn’t so fortunate. He was executed at Canterbury later that year.  Adam Sprackling may have thought he had evaded justice, but not in the eyes of God. To spill another man blood was a sin and it was only a matter of time before God would act out His revenge.

      By the end of 1652, Sprackling was deep in debt. Many of his creditors had made claims against him; bailiffs had been issued warrants for his arrest. Some of those who had lent the nobleman money found themselves in debt and imprisoned. Adam Sprackling, naturally, couldn’t have cared less. During the intervening years since the murder of Richard Langley the villainous squire had continued his life of debauchery. But now with bailiffs ready to apprehend him on sight, he was forced to place himself under self-imposed house arrest. This was bad news for Katherine. Unable to indulge his nefarious habits he became even more violent. His savage rages would send the entire household scuttling for cover. Katherine took the brunt of his torment and abuse. She in turn remained stoically loyal and loving towards her husband. Finally, on the evening of 12^th December events took a more sinister and bloody turn.   

Ellington House, c. 1886.

      Sprackling had spent much of that evening drinking with a neighbour by the surname of Lamming. At around 10 p.m. the squire sent word to a seaman called Knowler, living in Ramsgate, instructing him to call at the house at once. Knowler refused, saying that it was late and he was in bed. Unperturbed, Sprackling instructed one of his elderly tenants, an old man by the surname of Martin, to come instead. Martin was also in bed, but rose and went to his neighbour. When he arrived at Ellington House, the old man was taken to the kitchen. There he found Sprackling and his wife, Lamming, and a servant called Ewell. Shortly after Lamming asked to be excused; perhaps he sensed the squire meant his wife mischief and wanted no part of it. The nobleman acquiesced.

      As the night wore on, Sprackling’s mood darkened. He instructed Martin to bind Ewell’s legs. The two men believed it yet another of the nobleman’s practical jokes. Martin did as instructed and bound the servant’s legs with using dog couplings. Ewell would spend the rest of the evening tied-up on the floor.

      Sprackling then turned on his wife. He accused her of conspiracy and being in cahoots with the bailiffs by leaving doors to the house open. Katherine sat quietly as she took yet another barrage of verbal abuse. ‘Her words to him,’ claims the tract, ‘were full of loving and sweat expression’. In response Sprackling struck her about the face with his dagger (the tract doesn’t state whether he used the blade or hilt). The blow hurt her jaw, but Katherine continued to be patient towards her husband, though she now said very little to him. Ever the bully, Sprackling persisted tormenting her. This outpouring of hatred went on until early morning. Finally, after sustaining hours of abuse, Katherine, ‘being weary, and in great fear’ of her life, got up to leave. The tract narrates what occurred next:

… the Gentlewoman … rose up to go out of the room, and lifting her hand to open the dore, her Husband following her with chopping-knife in his hand, cut her wrist therewith, so that the bone was cut in sunder; her hand hung down only by the sinews and skin; No help was neer, Ewell bound, and Martin old and weak, and fearing his own life; durst not interpose, but only prayed his Mistris to stay and be quiet, he sayd he hoped all would be well; And Martin got a napkin and bound her hand with it.

Sprackling, however, wasn’t done – far from it. Later he stuck her again on the head with the chopping knife. Katherine fell down bleeding, but, according to the tract, recovered herself and…

…kneeling cryd, and prayed to God for pardon of her own sins, and of her Husband’s sin [,] beseeching God to forgive him, for she forgave him. But in the time of her praying thus, her Husband chopt her head in midst into the brains, so that she fell down stark dead instantly, lying in her own blood.

      ‘Now let’s kill the dogs,’ Sprackling said, ‘and then they’ll say we are mad indeed!’

      The squire killed six of his dogs, the bodies of four he threw next to his wife. He then ordered old Martin to smear Katherine’s blood over Ewell’s face. Sprackling then bloodied the old man’s face and then his own. ‘For this fact,’ states the tract, ‘Master Sprackling was apprehended that night, having a Dagger in one hand and Pistol in the other…’ He was escorted to Sandwich Gaol. After the coroner’s inquest, held the following day, old Martin was also arrested.

      Their trial took place at Sandwich’s Guildhall on Friday 22^nd April 1653. In his opening address, prosecuting counsel, Peter Peak, spoke of the ‘crying sin of murther’ and how such acts were a ‘land-defiling and God provoking sin’. The court then received the Bill of Indictment, which was presented by Katherine’s brother – Steward Lewknor. Sprackling tried to disrupt the proceedings by objecting to every man summoned for jury service. Nevertheless, despite his best efforts, a jury was sworn and the trial proceeded. Naturally both men pleaded not guilty to the charge of wilful murder.

      For his defence Sprackling pleaded diminished responsibility (Martin’s defence is not mentioned).  However, the prosecution were able to produce a number of witnesses who were able to contradict this plea. Many were those assaulted by the squire during heated scuffles in the Inns and Taverns of Thanet. One Robert Lister deposed how after a quarrel, he was later set upon by one of Sprackling’s thugs. Others came forward and told the court of ‘bloodied assaults’ inflicted upon them by the nobleman. Even the people of Ramsgate finally broke their silence regarding Sprackling’s part in the murder of Richard Langley. The most damning evidence, however, came from Ewell. 

      In response, Sprackling tried to counter the prosecution’s case by calling two physicians to confirm his mental instability. They failed to appear. The defendant was able to produce several of his mistresses, each of whom swore that he was indeed mad. The jury, however, didn’t believe any of it. They found Sprackling guilty, but acquitted Martin. When asked by the judge to respond to the guilty verdict, Sprackling replied: ‘no man can judge between man and wife, but God alone!’  The judge then passed the sentence of death by hanging.

      On Wednesday 27^th April, before a crowd of some 2,000 people, Adam Sprackling was hanged at Gallows Field, on the outskirts of Sandwich. While awaiting his sentence he refused to see anyone, and as he was being leading to the gallows he instructed the Sheriff of Sandwich to ‘make guard that no man, Minster, or other, might come neer to speak to him’. A churchman in the crowd did try and plead with him. Would he not clear his conscience before God and state whether or not he had ordered Langley’s murder?

      ‘Sir, I have made my confession to God,’ replied the squire, ‘I pray trouble me not; man hath nothing to do with it!’

      After his execution, Sprackling’s body was cut down and coffined outside the Three Kings Inn. Then, under the cover of darkness, he was secretly buried next to his unfortunate wife inside St Laurence Church. No entry of his interment appears in the parish register (see Bygone Kent, Vol. 19, No. 3). The Ellington Estate briefly passed to his son, Robert. He in turn sold it to the Troward family in 1659 (see Bygone Kent, Vol. 13, No. 12). The Sprackling’s would never again return to either Ellington or St Laurence.

Copyright © Martin Charlton, 2015.
Originally published in the May/June 2015 issue of Bygone Kent.