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.