#james pratt

[lachispipreciosa]

LMFAOA

[cctypical]

NOOO 🤬🤬🤬 the wizard didnt talk to the PRINCESS ❌❌❌ the wizard talked to the KNIIIGHTTT 🙄🙄🙄 to give them a qUEST ✨✨✨💅💅💅

[lost-thoughts15]

I have learned one lesson in all this and I will share it knowing it will do no one any good. The lesson is this: "There are none more complicit in one's undoing than one's own heart".

James Pratt, The Woman in the Portrait

[sonofhistory]

November 27th 1835, John Smith and James Pratt (sometimes reported as being named John Pratt) were hanged outside Newgate Prison for (in the exhausting fulminations of the Old Bailey trial records) “feloniously, wickedly, diabolically, and against the order of nature, carnally … commit and perpetrate[d] the detestable, horrid, and abominable crime (among Christians not to be named) called buggery.” They were the last men to be executed in Great Britain explicitly for “buggery”. 

“The grave will soon close over me, “and my name [be] entirely forgotten.”

- John Smith allegedly wrote this to a friend before his hanging.

After being observed having sex in a friend’s house, William Bonill, in front of the fire, Smith and Pratt were arrested on August 27th at a house in Southwark. William Bonill, aged 68, had lived for thirteen months in a rented room at a house near the Blackfriars Road, Southwark, London. His landlord stated Bonill frequently had male visitors, who generally came in pairs. Pratt and Smith came to visit Bonill. The landlord climbed to an outside vantage point in the loft of a nearby stable building, where he could see through the window of Bonill's room, before coming down to look into the room through the keyhole. Both the landlord and his wife later claimed they both looked through the keyhole and saw sexual intimacy between Pratt and Smith. The dick landlord broke open the door and confronted them. Bonill was absent, but returned a few minutes later with a jug of ale. The landlord quickly went to fetch a policeman and all three men were arrested. 

“Pratt laying on his back with his trowsers below his knees, and with his body curled up—his knees were up—Smith was upon him—Pratt’s knees were nearly up to Smith’s shoulders—Smith’s clothes were below his knees . . . and a great deal of fondness and kissing.” 

Pratt, Smith and Bonill were tried on September 21st 1835 at the Central Criminal Court, before Baron Gurney, a judge who had the reputation of being “independent and acute”, but harsh. Pratt and Smith were convicted under section 15 of the Offences against the Person Act 1828 and were sentenced to death. William Bonill was convicted as an accessory and sentenced to 14 years of penal transportation. James Pratt  lived with his wife and children at Deptford, London. A number of witnesses came forward to testify to his good character. John Smith was from Southwark Christchurch and was described as an unmarried labourer although other sources state he was married and worked as a servant. They are preserved by Charles Dickens. They make an appearance in Dickens’ Sketches by Boz, an 1836 compilation of London scenes of which “A Visit to Newgate” is the best-known. Dickens paid a visit on November 5th, 1835. Dickens would write in a correspondence that the experience left him “intensely interested in everything I saw.” He was twenty-three years old at the time. 

“In the press-room below, were three men, the nature of whose offence rendered it necessary to separate them, even from their companions in guilt. It is a long, sombre room, with two windows sunk into the stone wall, and here the wretched men are pinioned on the morning of their execution, before moving towards the scaffold. The fate of one of these prisoners was uncertain; some mitigatory circumstances having come to light since his trial, which had been humanely represented in the proper quarter. The other two had nothing to expect from the mercy of the crown; their doom was sealed; no plea could be urged in extenuation of their crime, and they well knew that for them there was no hope in this world. ‘The two short ones,’ the turnkey whispered, ‘were dead men.’”

Smith and Pratt were the “dead men.” The third person spoken of (unconnected to them), was a soldier named Robert Swan, convicted of robbery. 

“The man . . . was lounging, at the greatest distance he could place between himself and his companions, in the window nearest to the door. He was . . . aware of our approach, and . . . assumed an air of courageous indifference; his face was purposely averted towards the window, and he stirred . . . while we were present. The other two men were at the upper end of the room. One of them, who was imperfectly seen in the dim light, had his back towards us, and was stooping over the fire, with his right arm on the mantel-piece, and his head sunk upon it. The other was leaning on the sill of the farthest window. The light fell full upon him, and communicated to his pale, haggard face, and disordered hair, an appearance which, at that distance, was ghastly. His cheek rested upon his hand; and, with his face a little raised, and his eyes wildly staring before him, he seemed to be unconsciously intent on counting the chinks in the opposite wall. We passed this room again afterwards. The first man was pacing up and down the court with a firm military step – he had been a soldier in the foot-guards – and a cloth cap jauntily thrown on one side of his head. He bowed respectfully to our conductor, and the salute was returned. The other two still remained in the positions we have described, and were as motionless as statues.”

Dickens re-counted with a picture of where they passed their last nights:

“A few paces up the yard, and forming a continuation of the building, in which are the two rooms we have just quitted, lie the condemned cells. The entrance is by a narrow and obscure stair-case leading to a dark passage, in which a charcoal stove casts a lurid tint over the objects in its immediate vicinity, and diffuses something like warmth around. From the left-hand side of this passage, the massive door of every cell on the story opens; and from it alone can they be approached. There are three of these passages, and three of these ranges of cells, one above the other; but in size, furniture and appearance, they are all precisely alike. Prior to the recorder’s report being made, all the prisoners under sentence of death are removed from the day-room at five o’clock in the afternoon, and locked up in these cells, where they are allowed a candle until ten o’clock; and here they remain until seven next morning. When the warrant for a prisoner’s execution arrives, he is removed to the cells and confined in one of them until he leaves it for the scaffold. He is at liberty to walk in the yard; but, both in his walks and in his cell, he is constantly attended by a turnkey who never leaves him on any pretence.

We entered the first cell. It was a stone dungeon, eight feet long by six wide, with a bench at the upper end, under which were a common rug, a bible, and prayer-book. An iron candlestick was fixed into the wall at the side; and a small high window in the back admitted as much air and light as could struggle in between a double row of heavy, crossed iron bars. It contained no other furniture of any description.”

“A Visit to Newgate” concludes:

"Hours have glided by, and still he sits upon the same stone bench with folded arms, heedless alike of the fast decreasing time before him, and the urgent entreaties of the good man at his side. The feeble light is wasting gradually, and the deathlike stillness of the street without, broken only by the rumbling of some passing vehicle which echoes mournfully through the empty yards, warns him that the night is waning fast away. The deep bell of St. Paul’s strikes – one! He heard it; it has roused him. Seven hours left! He paces the narrow limits of his cell with rapid strides, cold drops of terror starting on his forehead, and every muscle of his frame quivering with agony. Seven hours! He suffers himself to be led to his seat, mechanically takes the bible which is placed in his hand, and tries to read and listen. No: his thoughts will wander. The book is torn and soiled by use – and like the book he read his lessons in, at school, just forty years ago! He has never bestowed a thought upon it, perhaps, since he left it as a child: and yet the place, the time, the room – nay, the very boys he played with, crowd as vividly before him as if they were scenes of yesterday; and some forgotten phrase, some childish word, rings in his ears like the echo of one uttered but a minute since. The voice of the clergyman recalls him to himself. He is reading from the sacred book its solemn promises of pardon for repentance, and its awful denunciation of obdurate men. He falls upon his knees and clasps his hands to pray. Hush! what sound was that? He starts upon his feet. It cannot be two yet. Hark! Two quarters have struck; – the third – the fourth. It is! Six hours left. Tell him not of repentance! Six hours’ repentance for eight times six years of guilt and sin! He buries his face in his hands, and throws himself on the bench.

Worn with watching and excitement, he sleeps, and the same unsettled state of mind pursues him in his dreams. An insupportable load is taken from his breast; he is walking with his wife in a pleasant field, with the bright sky above them, and a fresh and boundless prospect on every side – how different from the stone walls of Newgate! She is looking – not as she did when he saw her for the last time in that dreadful place, but as she used when he loved her – long, long ago, before misery and ill-treatment had altered her looks, and vice had changed his nature, and she is leaning upon his arm, and looking up into his face with tenderness and affection – and he does NOT strike her now, nor rudely shake her from him. And oh! how glad he is to tell her all he had forgotten in that last hurried interview, and to fall on his knees before her and fervently beseech her pardon for all the unkindness and cruelty that wasted her form and broke her heart! The scene suddenly changes. He is on his trial again: there are the judge and jury, and prosecutors, and witnesses, just as they were before. How full the court is – what a sea of heads – with a gallows, too, and a scaffold – and how all those people stare at HIM! Verdict, ‘Guilty.’ No matter; he will escape.

The night is dark and cold, the gates have been left open, and in an instant he is in the street, flying from the scene of his imprisonment like the wind. The streets are cleared, the open fields are gained and the broad, wide country lies before him. Onward he dashes in the midst of darkness, over hedge and ditch, through mud and pool, bounding from spot to spot with a speed and lightness, astonishing even to himself. At length he pauses; he must be safe from pursuit now; he will stretch himself on that bank and sleep till sunrise.

A period of unconsciousness succeeds. He wakes, cold and wretched. The dull, gray light of morning is stealing into the cell, and falls upon the form of the attendant turnkey. Confused by his dreams, he starts from his uneasy bed in momentary uncertainty. It is but momentary. Every object in the narrow cell is too frightfully real to admit of doubt or mistake. He is the condemned felon again, guilty and despairing; and in two hours more will be dead.”

A magistrate named Hesney Wedgewood appealed vigorously for clemency for Smith and Pratt. He pointed out that the only reason these two had been doomed was because they pursued their desires in a lodging-house rented by a friend where they were easily spied-upon. The magistrate wrote:

“There is a shocking inequality in this law in its operation upon the rich and the poor. It is the only crime where there is no injury done to any individual and in consequence it requires a very small expense to commit it in so private a manner and to take such precautions as shall render conviction impossible. It is also the only capital crime that is committed by rich men but owing to the circumstances I have mentioned they are never convicted. The detection of these degraded creatures was owing entirely to their poverty, they were unable to pay for privacy, and the room was so poor that what was going on inside was easily visible from without. [x]

At the trial, no character witnesses came forward to testify on Smith’s behalf. The conviction of the three men rested entirely on what the landlord and his wife claimed to have witnessed through the keyhole; there was no other evidence against them. 

Pratt and Smith were hanged in front of Newgate Prison on the morning of November 27th. The crowd of spectators was described in a newspaper report as larger than usual. The hanging was the first to have taken place at Newgate in nearly two years. William Bonill was one of 290 prisoners transported to Australia on the ship Asia, which departed England on November 5th 1835 and arrived in Van Diemen's Land (now Tasmania) on February 21st 1836. Bonill died at the New Norfolk Hospital in Van Diemen's Land on April 29th 1841.

Although there were no further executions for sodomy after Smith and Pratt in 1835, that penalty remained live until 1861.

[cctypical]

GUYS. GUYS OHHHHH. GUYS

i shittily screen recorded it but alas my storage failed me. anyway

me when hearing woolys voice after all this TIMEEEEE

I HAVE SO MANY THINGS TO SAY

WOOLY YOU ARE A GASLIGHTER. YES YOU FUCKING ARE SHUT THE FUCK UP

“I wouldn’t manipulate anybody” you lying little- HHHHHGRGHRRRHRGRHRR

ok actually i don’t have that much to say

[cctypical]

things i took from the james interview

wooly is NOT danny mcquiggin

the containment specialist position is a real canon thing and why they need that position is not yet confirmed

“wooly sort of serves, at least outwardly, as this sort of liaison between the world in the tape and the real world. he’s someone the player can talk to and relate to” (OUTWARDLY. as in that entire personality that people relate to is fake. that balance he has between the worlds are fake. HES HIDING SHIT. and that shit isn’t malicious intentions it’s his OWN FUCKING FEELINGS)

“i kind of like channel like a nervous assistant. that’s kind of like the vibe that i try to give with wooly a little bit. like im tryna tell the boss something they don’t wanna hear” (ironic considering this is actually true but like the other way around. wooly shadows amandas concerns with fake happy shit she doesn’t want to hear because she KNOWS it’s not true. and wooly purposely blocks her out because she tries to convince him of reality aka the things he doesn’t want to hear. that’s why he always sounds nervous because what she says gets to him a tiny bit and shatters his delulu the tiniest bit)

“in both games there’s moments where i have to like juggle between being a cartoon character doing safe wholesome cartoon things and then also a cartoon character being subjected to like a horrific circumstance like bodily mutilation and stuff like that” (amanda mutilated his body)

“do i scream like spongebob or do i scream like someone getting beheaded” (she decapitated him. done sliced his neck off girl wasn’t playing)

“i cant even imagine singing as wooly” (BOY SHUT YOUR ASS UPPP) proceeds to rickroll chat AS WOOLY and slay the stage away “hey jake are you listening” (BOY GO SING WITH JAKE RIGHT FUCKING NOWWW)

DHMIS was the FUCKING inspiration for ATA and james took the main messages of that through the entire process

“YOURE RIDDEN WITH LIESSS” “(giant ass pause as in james had to think how to answer that without lore dropping) lies EXAGGERATIONS we can play with words all day jackson” (mmm sure wooly you’re totally never lied in your life and you’re not hiding anything at all. even james fucking knows he’s a fake idgafer he literally had to PAUSE)

“i barely have enough money to deal with amanda” (excuse me. the fuck. fuck you mean money. wooly. WOOLY. jk that’s totally a stupid joke that we should not read into at all haha woolys a kid trust me guys)

oh my god the wooly snippets are so fucking cuteee ahhhhh i need his voice i need the comfort of his presence againnn

[cctypical]

ok so we’re all aware he just confirmed wooly was decapitated and she tore him apart and mutilated his body right. we’re not ignoring that right. ok good i always knew it but it’s nicer to hear it somewhat confirmed

once i finish watching ill compile all the quotes that got my attention

[cctypical]

i just fucking realised something AGAIN

wasn’t the whole point of hiring Blair so they could have a black actor voice a black character in contrast of Chelsea, the demo actor who is not black.

James Pratt is white.

… James is white.

… @curliiwurlii we may or may not be in danger-

UNLESS we’re right and Marcus is a kid so they get him a new (perhaps black? please? PLEA-) child actor, like Rebecca