On the night of Monday, 16 August 1830, towards half-past midnight, Long, constable number 43 of the G Division, was walking his beat in Gray’s Inn Lane. Three men appeared to him to be prowling within his precinct. Suspecting an intended burglary, he communicated his apprehensions to Newton, a constable of an adjoining beat, before setting off in their wake; he then kept the men in view as they made for the churchyard of Saint Andrew’s parish, behind Mecklenburgh Square.
They lingered within his district, then came to a halt and conferred for a time. Long deemed the moment come to make them sensible that their designs were watched and would be frustrated; he stepped forward and commanded them to disperse. Two of them seized his arms. The third stabbed him to the heart. The wound was of such depth that the assassin could not withdraw the blade; in the struggle he wrenched off the haft, and the three men fled.
Witnesses had observed the affray. Several ran towards Long, who had sunk to the earth. He had cried out that he was a dead man. A bystander raised his head upon his knee; Long expired almost instantly. Newton, who had pursued the fugitives after hearing his comrade’s misgivings, apprehended one after a protracted chase: the man was in a state of violent agitation. He gave his name as John Smith. Two other individuals were likewise taken into custody, but were discharged when it was established that they had taken no part in the murder.
The Metropolitan Police had only recently entered upon their duties when the murder of Constable Long occurred. For several years past, the inadequacy of the Bow Street day patrols and the night watchmen had provoked public controversy and parliamentary inquiries. A weekly journal of wide circulation, Bell’s Life in London, had advocated a thorough reorganization. In 1829, Robert Peel, the Home Secretary, brought forward a measure of wider scope: London was to become the seat of a constabulary network communicating with the great towns of the realm, whilst within the capital the several divisions were to report to a central commission. According to Pelham, these principles met with almost unanimous concurrence in Parliament. Peel judged, however, that time would be required to establish a rural police across the country; the initial enactment therefore provided an immediate force for the metropolis alone. Its divisions were committed to superintendents, inspectors, sergeants, and constables, charged with maintaining regular communications by day and by night. The new officers commenced their rounds on Tuesday, 29 September 1829. Their uniform and discipline, viewed by some as military in character, excited fierce hostility; Pelham records insults and assaults directed against the force, as well as isolated misdeeds turned to account to disparage the whole body. He considers that the steady conduct of the greater part of the men and the sensible increase in public safety ended by winning them an entirely different reputation; the system was subsequently extended to the provincial towns and manufacturing districts. Long, himself a former watchman, belonged to one of these divisions. The chronicle suggests a link between the murder and this popular animosity against the police, yet none of the depositions it records establishes the motive of the assailants.
Hard by the scene of the assault, housebreaking implements were discovered, cast away by the fugitives. The haft of the knife lay in the road, some hundred yards from the churchyard. These relics afforded an initial explanation for the men’s presence, but were insufficient to designate the one who had dealt the blow. Several examinations of the prisoner took place before the magistrates at Hatton Garden. There, witnesses formally identified Smith as the man whose hand had struck the mortal stroke. They did not confine themselves merely to recounting the chase or the capture: their recognition of the deed itself weighed heavily against him. The chronicle states that Sapwell denied the murder throughout his confinement and observed silence as to his trade and connections; his true name, however, was to be brought to light upon the opening of the trial.
He appeared not to seek the society of his fellow prisoners. The case came before the Old Bailey on Friday, 17 September. At the bar, the name of Smith gave place to that of William Sapwell, a baker by calling. He persisted in his denials, but the testimony—which Pelham characterizes as conclusive—convinced the jury, who returned a verdict of guilty. The sentence was appointed to be carried out on the following Monday.
On the day following the verdict, his wife came to see him, accompanied by their six children. To his family, as to the prison officers, Sapwell continued to maintain that he had been wrongfully condemned. He related that he had spent the evening at the Bedford Tea-Gardens in Camden Town; on his journey homeward, he alleged, he had heard cries of “Stop thief!” and had thereupon joined in the pursuit of four fleeing men. Thus did he account for his apprehension; such was his own tale, which the chronicle nowhere independently corroborates.
The Reverend Mr. Cotton, Ordinary of Newgate, exhorted him and, according to Pelham, obtained some measure of attention from him. Sapwell nevertheless declined to receive the sacrament. On Sunday, Sheriff Ward visited him. Sapwell confided that he had contemplated self-destruction had the means presented themselves; he argued further that certain men might be justified in putting an end to their days when existence became insupportable, instancing Sir Samuel Romilly and Mr. Whitbread. On Saturday and Sunday, he had penned statements reiterating his account of the pursuit. Pelham describes these papers as ill-spelt and poorly written; they offered no other explanation for his presence near the churchyard.
On the morning of 20 September, Sapwell spoke once more with the Sheriff. He protested anew that he had not killed Long, picturing himself, in an imagined colloquy with the Almighty, arriving at the gates of heaven before his appointed hour: he would be unable to explain why he stood there so early, yet trusted that God would open unto him. He requested that the proceedings upon the scaffold might be made as brief as possible. The chronicle records neither confession nor acknowledgement of guilt: until his final morning, he maintained his innocence.
He was conducted to the scaffold at the customary hour, and his body was subsequently delivered to the governors of St. George’s Hospital for dissection. Long, whom Pelham portrays as a man of good character, left a widow and several children; a public subscription was thereafter opened for their relief. In this narrative, wherein the condemned man protested his innocence to the last, the victim is not alone the officer struck down in the midst of his round: his death also left a family bereft of his presence and his bread.