A doctor judges a confessed multiple murderer as insane. But, in 1868,
would that be enough to save him from the gallows?
By Allan L Peters
Former convict William Munday, alias Collins, would have fitted well
into one of Edgar Alan Poe’s macabre tales of insanity and horror.
A ticket-of-leave man, he had spent several years as a shoemaker in
the Picton area but, around 1864, moved to Yass in New South Wales.
There, he worked mostly as a shepherd and earned the name “The Mad
Shepherd”.
As he worked, even in the most inclement weather, 155cm tall Munday
wore only a pair of trousers and an old bag over his shoulders, in
place of a shirt. Nonetheless, others usually regarded him as quite
harmless.
That was to change, however, on the morning of March 18, 1868, when
Michael Conroy called at his parents’ property at Conroy’s Gap, about
1.6km from his own home at Stony Creek.
He could see no one about when he arrived, but that was not unusual.
He called out, heard no reply, opened the door of the house and went
inside.
After he entered, Conroy saw the body of one of his father’s shepherds.
In fear of what else he might find among the massive pile of bedding
that lay about the room, he quickly headed for his own house. He returned,
however, to face the unknown with the support of a man named Wood.
The men took on the grisly task of searching the cluttered room
and uncovered four more bodies - those of Conroy’s parents and two
more of the family’s shepherds.
Without further delay Conroy headed at full speed toward the settlement
of Binalong to inform the police of his gruesome find.
Binalong officers immediately dispatched news of the tragedy to Sub-inspector
Brennan of the Yass Police. Brennan arrived at the Conroy property
at about 4pm that afternoon to take charge of the investigation.
He examined the blood-soaked scene of the slaughter and found the
two shepherds’ bodies lying on a mattress. One was dressed, the other
covered by a blanket.
As the bodies and mattress were moved to one side, Brennan was able
to see the body of John Conroy lying on his back wearing nothing but
a shirt. A young worker, Thomas Smith, lay facedown beside Conroy.
Mrs Conroy lay on her back, partly on Smith, with one of her legs
broken and partly twisted around.
All the bodies were ferociously cut, as if with an axe. The faces
of Conroy and Smith were also badly cut.
Once the police learned that Conroy had employed another shepherd,
William Munday, the police set out to search for him. A native tracker,
who had arrived with Brennan, easily located the tracks of a then
unidentified man heading toward Binalong.
As Brennan and his tracker followed the footprints, a Binalong Crown
Lands Office clerk, George Walsh, who had heard of the tragedy, made
his way on foot to the Conroy property to offer his help. Another
man joined him along the way and, shortly afterward, he met William
Munday travelling in the opposite direction.
Munday, in a clean pair of moleskin trousers and a scotch twill shirt,
carried a pair of boots in his hand. He appeared quite calm and, when
asked where Mr and Mrs Conroy were, calmly said: “They are on the
heap with the rest of them, ready for burning.”
When asked who else was on the heap, Munday replied: “There were
five of them killed. There would have been another, but Michael Conroy
was late and I had no time to wait for him.”
By now, Constable Hall had joined the group and took Munday into
custody. Munday seemed to have expected his arrest and quietly accompanied
the men back to the Conroy property, meeting Sub-inspector Brennan
along the way.
Back at the scene of the slaughter, Munday calmly continued to answer
the many questions put to him. When shown the bodies, he said: “I
did it - I don’t want to deny it. I’d sooner die a murderer than a
perjurer. If they had any principles about them, I would not have
murdered them. They are the scruff of the earth.
“I would not murder you,” he said as he turned to Brennan. “You
have principles.”
“Do you consider yourself mad?” Brennan asked.
“So help me God, I’m as sane as you are,” said Munday. “I knew well
when I was murdering them that I’d be hanged. It will do the country
good to get such rubbish from it.”
Munday said the Conroys had not treated him fairly and paid him just
£1 in wages for the entire six months he had worked for them.
The police, who had now established the reason for Munday’s grievances
with the Conroys, asked how he had killed them all.
Munday replied: “I was lying in bed. The old shepherd, White, came
in and lay down near me. Something came over me. I jumped up and struck
White with the axe. He sang out. The others (Mr and Mrs Conroy and
Thomas Smith) came in and I ripped them up with a shear-blade and
finished them with the axe.
“I waited until the other shepherd came down in the morning. I had
a hard struggle with him, but I got the upper hand and lay into him
with the shear-blade and finished him. Mrs Conroy was the worst to
kill of the lot.”
He then told the police that under the sofa was where he had put
the long-handled American-style axe and the sharpened shear-blade
he had used to dispatch his five victims. When they found the axe
difficult to locate, Munday himself reached under the sofa and took
it from beneath some sheepskins. He then calmly handed it to Brennan.
The axe was covered in blood, and stuck to it were grey hairs. The
shear-blade, too, was blood-stained.
Munday said he had changed his clothes after the killings and thrown
his shirt onto the pile of bodies. The shirt, saturated with blood,
was found and identified by Munday as the one he had worn when he
killed his victims.
To transport the bodies to Binalong, a wagon had been sent for and
arrived at the Conroy house. Sub-inspector Brennan offered a man half
a crown (25 cents) to help load the bodies onto it. When ever-helpful
Munday heard this, he offered to do the grisly task for nothing. The
police, however, declined his offer.
As the police interrogated Munday, they could not help but notice
plainly visible lice moving about in his hair and beard, and on his
clothes.
With their work complete at the Conroy house, the police transported
Munday to the lockup at Yass.
Before his trial at the Goulburn Court for the murder of John Conroy,
Munday was examined by Dr Allan Campbell.
In his subsequent reports, Dr Campbell wrote that Munday’s eyes had
an unsettled look about them. He said that, as the expression of the
eyes is one of the tests for sanity, he thought this unsettled expression
could be evidence of a disturbed mind. The doctor also noted Munday’s
stolid appearance and seeming indifference to his situation. He said
that during the interviews, Munday spoke of recurring dreams he had
of chopping up bodies, and seeing no difference in doing that in his
sleep or with his eyes open.
Dr Campbell asked Munday about his family history. Munday told him
he was unsure of some of the details but thought he was about 31 and
born in England. He believed he was the grandson of King George III,
and that his father was commander-in-chief of the army (the Duke of
York).
Munday’s impression was that he had been taken to Ireland when young,
and had lived with a Protestant woman until he was five. He believed
the clergy then took him from her and gave him to a Catholic woman,
with whom he lived until he was 13.
He then got into bad company and was sent out to New South Wales.
In 1854, he was tried for killing a man at Maitland and, convicted
of manslaughter, was sentenced to 15 years’ imprisonment at the Cockatoo
Island Penal Settlement. He was granted a ticket of leave after serving
10 years. After his release, he went to Yass, then travelled to Victoria
and South Australia, and returned to Yass.
He said people were always speaking against him, making him restless.
Munday saw them not with his eyes, but in his head. They had followed
him about ever since he left Cockatoo Island, but he often managed
to dodge them, for he was more cunning than they. Unless he dodged
them, they haunted him night and day, and the Conroys were the worst
of the lot. Had he had his way, he would have ridded the colony of
all such people and given their possessions to persons of principle.
As he outlined in his report, Dr Campbell considered Munday insane.
His condition, he asserted, had arisen from delusions of the mind
and associated hallucinations. This, he wrote, was a common form of
insanity. He said that, during his interviews with Munday, he had
seen him “constantly picking lice from his beard; and it is common
knowledge throughout the medical profession that insane persons generally
have more lice than the sane”.
As Munday had no means to employ counsel, the court appointed Mr
Dalley to represent him at the subsequent trial at the Goulburn Assizes.
To prove the defendant not guilty by reason of insanity, Mr Dalley,
who had little time to prepare for Munday’s defence, relied heavily
upon the doctor’s statements. Although no witnesses, other than the
doctor, were called for the defence, Mr Dalley presented a lengthy
address to the jury in an effort to press home his points on the plea
of insanity.
By way of contrast, the Solicitor-General kept his address to the
jury quite brief and complimented Mr Dalley for not only his eloquent
address, but also for the manner in which he had undertaken the defence
at such short notice.
He then submitted a brief argument in which he pointed out the danger
of accepting testimony of insanity without proof that such insanity
existed. A cunning sane man, he asserted, might try to make his examiners
believe he was insane.
His Honour Mr Justice Faucett then presented a lengthy summation
of the evidence to the jury. He explained several points of law relating
to insanity before the jury retired.
After about an hour, the jury returned to the court with a verdict
of guilty.
Mr Justice Faucett, in pronouncing the mandatory sentence of death,
said: “William Munday, you have been charged with murder, and you
have had good counsel assigned to you, but still the jury have found
you guilty. The crime with which you are charged is only a part of
the deeds you have committed. In one night five corpses had been made
by you. A defence has been set up that you were insane at the time
of your doing so atrocious an act. The jury did not believe you were
insane, but rather that you are responsible for your crime. You will
do well to pass the few remaining days in preparing for your death,
for no hope of mercy can be held out to you.”
Sentence of death was then passed in the usual manner. Munday showed
no sign of uneasiness or emotion.
While he was in the Goulburn Gaol awaiting execution, representatives
of both the Church of England and the Presbyterian Church visited
him.
Although he had freely admitted his guilt, without any attempt at
denial at the time of his apprehension, Munday later declared himself
entirely innocent of the crime. He told prison officials the guilty
party had long since been hanged.
He also declared that, at times, he had not been fairly treated,
as he was opposed to any such defence as insanity.
Munday slept soundly on the night before his execution, and ate a
hearty breakfast in the morning.
At 9am on Tuesday, June 2, 1868, Munday was prepared for execution
and led from his cell to the scaffold, which stood in readiness. In
composed fashion, he ascended the scaffold steps, at the top of which
a rope was placed about his neck and a cap pulled over his eyes. The
bolt was drawn, and William Munday was launched into eternity.
His body was later interred in the Goulburn Church of England cemetery.
