CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
ELEVENTH SESSION, HELD SEPTEMBER 17TH, 1866.
MINUTES OF EVIDENCE,
TAKEN IN SHORT-HAND BY
JAMES DROVER BARNETT
Short-hand Writers to the Court,
ROLLS CHAMBERS, No. 89, CHANCERY LANE.
THE POINTS OF LAW AND PRACTICE
REVISED AND EDITED BY
EDWARD T. E. BESLEY, ESQ.,
OF THE MIDDLE TEMPLE, BARRISTER-AT-LAW.
BUTTERWORTHS, 7, FLEET STREET,
Law Publishers to the Queen's Most Excellent Majesty.
On the Queen's Commission of
OYER AND TERMINER AND GAOL DELIVERY
The City of London,
AND GOAL DELIVERY FOR THE
COUNTY OF MIDDLESEX, AND THE PARTS OF THE COUNTIES OF ESSEX, KENT, AND SURREY WITHIN THE JURISDICTION
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT,
Held on Monday, September 17th, 1866, and following days,
BEFORE THE RIGHT HON. BENJAMIN SAMUEL PHILLIPS, LORD MAYOR of the City of London; Sir JAMES SHAW WILLES, Knt., one of the Justices of Her Majesty's Court of Common Pleas; SIR ROBERT LUSH, Knt., one of the Justices of Her Majesty's Court of Queen's Bench; Sir JOHN MUSGROVE, Bart., Sir FRANCIS GRAHAM MOON, Bart., Sir ROBERT WALTER CARDEN, Knt., JAMES ABBISS, Esq., JAMES CLARKE LAWRENCE, Esq., THOMAS DAKIN, Esq., ROBERT BESLEY, Esq., SYDNEY HEDLEY WATERLOW, Esq., ANDREW LUSK, Esq., M.P., and DAVID HENRY STONE , Esq., Aldermen of the said City; THOMAS CHAMBERS , Esq., Q.C, M.P., Common Serjeant of the said City; and ROBERT MALCOLM KERR, Esq., Judge of the Sheriffs' Court; Her Majesty's Justices of Oyer and Terminer and General Gaol delivery of Newgate, holden for the said City, and Judges of the Central Criminal Court.
SILLS JOHN GIBBONS, Esq., Alderman
JAMES FIGGINS, Esq.
HENRY DUFFETT, Esq.
CYRIL MORTIMER MURRAY RAWLINS, Esq.
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT.
PHILLIPS, MAYOR. ELEVENTH SESSION.
A star (*) denotes that the prisoners have been previously in custody/—two stars (**) that they have been more than once in custody/—an obelisk (†) that they are known to be the associates of bad characters/—the figures after the name in the indictment denote the prisoner's age.
LONDON AND MIDDLESEX CASES.
Thursday, September 20th, 1866.
Before Mr. Justice Willes.
MESSRS. POLAND and BESLEY conducted the Prosecution, and MESSRS. DALY and STRAIGHT the Defence.
JANE EDWARDS . I am a widow—previous to the 30th July I was living at 5, Eagle Street, Holborn—I have known the prisoner for seven years, I think—he married my youngest daughter near on seven years ago, I think—there was the little boy, who is dead, by the marriage—there was one before, which I thought was by him, but I do not know whether it was by him or any one else—he would be eight years old—the boy that is dead would be six years old on the 22nd of November—his name was Arthur Richard Jeffery—I saw his body when I went before the coroner—he was born after the marriage—after the marriage my daughter and Jeffery lived together for two or three years, but not a very comfortable life; they were very unhappy—at the end of the two or three years he sold off all the things, and then she came to live with me, because she had no home to go to—they have not lived together since—I had the care of the boy Arthur—he had been backwards and forwards to me ever since he was born—his father brought him to me about five months before his death, and said he would pay me 4s. a week, but he never did—he has not paid a farthing—for the last five months he had lived entirely with me—while he was with me his father came and took him away once or twice for a day—he did not come to see the child only when he took him away—they were the only occasions when he saw him—on Sunday 29th July the prisoner came to my house, 5, Eagle Street, Red Lion Square, at half-past eight in the evening—the
boy was in bed awake—he said, "Dress that child," three times—I said, "Cannot you leave him till the morning and come for him?"—he said, "No; dress that child," again—the child said, "Don't take me! don't take me! granny, don't dress me"—nothing more was said then—I dressed him, and his father took him away—after he left I followed him as far as Bloomsbury Court, Holborn, and there lost sight of him—he went through the court—I did not see the child alive after that night—the child had been out to dinner with me on the Sunday—he was in very good health—he had been ill, but during the last week he was very lively indeed, and in good health up to the time of his going away with his father—it was about half-past eight when he took him away from me, and it was about nine when I lost sight of him—I dare say he was in my house a quarter of an hour while I was dressing the child—from the time he left my house till the time I lost sight of him I did not speak to him—he saw me following him, and that made him run away with the child in his arms—he was present when I spoke to a constable—I said, "Will you take the child from that man?"—he said, "Why?"—I said, because he was not fit to have the child, he was in liquor, and that he had used the child very ill before, and I wished him to take the child away—the policeman said, "It is his father, I cannot"—the prisoner did not say anything, he walked on—on the Monday morning a man asked me if I had seen little Arthur—I said "No," and he told me he was in the dead-house—I went there and saw the body—I saw the clothes—they were the same that he had on on the Sunday night—the prisoner is a tailor by trade—I did not know where he was living at the time.
Cross-examined. Q. How long had they been married before you went to live with them? A. About a twelvemonth—they seemed pretty happy before that—after I went they were not so happy, they used to quarrel—I do not think he knew that his wife had had a child before they were married—she told me she told him of it about a twelvemonth after—I did not tell him, she told him herself—I did not tell him that his wife had had a child before marriage, and it was in the Foundling, and I had kept it secret for three years—the child is in the Foundling—after I went to live with them she wanted to go out to work, and he would not let her—that began the quarrelling—I went to confine her—she was in the family way—I never threatened to part them—I wanted to go away, but they would not let me—I do not know where the wife is now—I have not seen her for nine or ten months—I do not know whether she is living with a man named Salter—I do not know whether she is out of London or not—the prisoner was not kind to his wife—I never saw him kind to her in my life—he was not fond of her—they seemed pretty happy at first—I saw unkindness on both sides—I never had any words with him about my pawning his work—I never pawned anything—he never said I did—some-times he would quarrel with me for nothing, if I only sat on a chair—I never used strong language to him to my knowledge—I do not know Mr. Fraser, who is connected with the City mission—I knew his father, who used to go to chapel—I have never used threats towards the prisoner in the presence of the missionary—I never threatened that I would hunt him through life, or persecute him, or any words like that—I never liked the man, so I never took notice of him—I never said I would hunt him to his death—I never said that in the presence of Mr. Fraser—the prisoner often took the child out for a day—I do not know what for—it was not for an excursion—I have seen him bring back oranges—he
might bring a cake or a bit of sweetstuff—I have seen cakes now and then, and sweetstuff that he has bought for the child—there was unkindness on his part to the child, once when he came home—there were bites on his bottom and about his legs, bitten with teeth—I told a person of the name of Mason of it—I could not help the boy going out with the prisoner, because he was the father—I might have seen Mr. Fraser, but not noticed him—(he was called in)—I do not remember him, he might know me, but I do not know him—he never read the Bible to me, or called at my house—I do not remember the man at all—he never read the Bible to me, that I remember—I never said in his presence that I would hunt the prisoner to death—I strongly deny it—the prisoner did not bring the child any clothes on the Sunday night, or any other night—I do not think I said before the magistrate that I asked a policeman to take the boy away—I said that I did not think he was fit to have the child, and that he was drunk—he was intoxicated—I have not noticed anything queer about his manners, except when he was intoxicated, and a little after, when he was like a madman—he always seemed rational enough, except when he was intoxicated—he was often intoxicated—I can't say that I have ever seen him take a poker up, and say people were following him—he once took a knife out and sharpened it, and took the boy up and said he would cut him up, and then he would serve me the same—that was when I lived with him—he would quarrel with me for nothing—I never heard him speak of things following him, and shutting the door and say they were coming.
MR. POLAND. Q. You say it was about a year after they were married that his wife told him she had a child? A. Yes—they lived together two years after that—they did not live together before they were married to my knowledge—it is very seldom any one comes to read the Bible to me—an old gentleman generally calls on me—the prisoner was a tetotaller for some time, and he was very quiet then, but of late he has taken to drink—I think he was the worse for liquor on this night—I told the coroner that I spoke to a policeman, and the magistrate too—I am sure of that—I do not know where the prisoner lived at the time of this murder—he did not live in the Seven Dials.
HENRY FOSTER . I am lodging in Queen Street, Seven Dials, I am married to the prisoner's sister—on Sunday, July 29th, I was living with my wife at No. 15, Great White Lion Street, Seven Dials—I have known the prison seven years—I do not know where he was living on this Sunday night—he has lived at Maynard Street, New Oxford Street, that is in St. Giles's parish, about five minutes' walk from Great Earl Street—I had seen him about a fortnight previous to the Sunday night—he called on me where I was living—there was some conversation about the boy, but I think it was more with my wife than me—I do not remember anything he said about the boy—there was an observation made about the boy not being a trouble to any one—Jeffery said the boy should not be a trouble to any one much longer—I do not remember any more on that Sunday night—he had made an observation that he did not believe the boy to be his son—he said that on a previous occasion, a fortnight before he committed the deed—I remember his coming on this Sunday night with the boy—my wife was at home—it was after nine o'clock—I think it was before ten o'olock—when he came I was out fetching a little beer, and when I came back he was there, and had made arrangements with my. wife for him to sleep there that night, and she granted it—shortly afterwards my wife went into the next room to a neighbour's, and we had some conversation
about religion, and the little boy was put to bed—he asked the little boy if he had said his prayers, and the boy said, "Yes," and repeated the prayer, "Gentle Jesus, meek and mild," and the father asked the boy what he said them for; the boy said he wanted to go to bed; he asked him if that was all he said them for, and the boy said, "Yes," and I advised him to let the boy alone, not to bother him, and let him go to sleep, and the boy went to sleep—the boy was in bed at that time, he went to bed first—the prisoner went to bed some time afterwards, about half-past eleven o'clock—he slept with me, the boy slept between us—my wife was not well, and we pulled the mattress off, and he slept with me on the floor—the prisoner got up about one o'clock—he had a sound sleep previous to that—he had been drinking—I could see he was in drink when he came to our place—when he got up he made an observation that he could not sleep for the bugs—he told the little boy to get up and dress himself—I remonstrated with him, but he would have his own way—I said, "Richard, for God's sake, don't take the little child out at this time of night, stop till the morning at any rate"—he said, no, he should do as he liked—my wife also talked to him, and said, "Don't take the boy out at this time of night"—he swore at her and told her to mind her own b—business—he said, "You must be a bad woman yourself to think that I should do anything bad"—she had made an observation that she hoped he was not going to do anything wrong to the boy by taking him out at that time of night, and then he made that observation—he said he was going a long way in the country, the boy would never see his aunt again—he went to the cupboard, and asked the little boy if he was hungry, and the boy said, "No"—he put two potatoes in his pocket, and said the little boy might want them on the way—when he got up there was very little candle left, and he went out and bought a candle, and cut it in half, and put the half in his pocket—he got the candle at a chandler's shop, next door—I do not know whether he got the candle at that shop, but they keep open till one o'clock—he came back and cut the candle in two, and put one piece in his pocket and lit the other—he also brought a box of matches and put a few in his pocket, and threw the rest down on the floor, and seemed in a sort of passion—he then went and opened the door, and put his hand out and said, "March!" to the little boy, and went straight to the street door—I never saw the boy after—I did not see him when he was dead, my wife did—the boy said, "Good bye," and shed a few tears—it was between one and two o'clock that he left with the boy—it was after one.
Cross-examined. Q. Have you known the prisoner since his marriage. A. Since my marriage with his sister; nearly as long—I remember his marriage—at first they lived happily together, but afterwards the grandmother went to live with them, and they were not so happy after that—he used often to speak about his wife leaving him, especially when he had been drinking, and I think it preyed on his mind—he used to cry about it—I remember him very well on one occasion barricading the door, and putting boxes and chairs against it—I asked him what he was doing it for, and he made an observation about the police, "If they come in I will shoot the lot of them"—there was no pretence for any police coming in as far as I know—I attributed it to drink—he showed evident signs of having been drinking then—I have seen him with a pistol, but not on that occasion—I remember his saying on one occasion that he owned a place called "Cromwell Hall"—he took his wife somewhere, I think it was to Brompton, and when he got there he said, "Well, it is all up; we must go to work"—I do not know
that he said the estate was in Essex—I was not with them—I cannot tell you who told me he had been there, he did not tell me he was going—I heard it afterwards—I never knew him by the name of "Mad Dick" until I saw it in the papers—he was not known by that name—his manner was remarkably eccentric at times—I remember on one occasion about some money, 300l., that he was endeavouring to get—I thought it a very unfeasible thing—he said he had money, something about 300l.—I cannot remember whether he offered to lend me money—I often thought at times he was not in his right mind—I have had great occasion to think he was not in his right mind—I cannot call to mind any particular occasion—on several occasions I have noticed the manner of his speaking, and the look of his eye—that gave me the idea that he was not in his mind at all times—he has spoken much about religion on several occasions; he has told me he would be damned and would go to hell—I have seen him often—I have seen him walk up and down the room in a very excited state, and make an observation without any apparent meaning—he was out on one occasion with my wife where there was building going on, and he went up the scaffold—I was not with them, I was told of it in the evening—he used to bring the child oranges and cakes, and was a kind and affectionate father, except one Christmas he slapped the boy for mocking an old woman—with that exception he was a kind and indulgent father, but he used to behave better to himself—I have heard complaints of the father's conduct, but not from the child.
MR. POLAND. Q. Did the child live much with you. A. Yes—some time back my wife had charge of it for about twelve months—the prisoner was at work at Holloway then—when he barricaded the door I thought he had been drinking—he was not drunk—he had been drinking previously—he said on one occasion that he was the owner of Cromwell Hall—I cannot say that he was drunk then—he carried it on for days—he was decidedly not drunk when he said that—he has taken to drink lately, and very much within the last ten or twelve months, more than he used to do—I cannot tell you when it was that he walked up and down the room in an agitated manner; I believe it was on one or more occasions—I do not think he had been drinking on all occasions; he had on some occasions—I have often seen him so—I never knew him as "Mad Dick" at all—the first I saw of it was in the papers after he was in custody—I can walk from 15, Great White Lion Street, to 15, Great Earl Street, in two or three minutes.
SARAH FOSTER . I remember Sunday, 29th July—my husband went out that evening to get some beer—while he was out my brother (the prisoner) came in, he had the little boy with him—he asked my permission to remain for the night—it was between eight and nine o'clock when he came in—I was awake when he got up at one o'clock—I saw him come in with the candle after he had got it—he took the boy away with him—I told him I hoped he was not going to ill-use the child—I said that in consequence of what I had heard the prisoner say on previous occasions—I had heard him say that the child should not be a trouble to any one long—he said he was going a long way into the country—on the 30th I went to the dead-house at St. Giles's, and there saw the body of the child.
Cross-examined. Q. Had you heard the prisoner speak of going to live with another woman, as his wife had gone away from him? A. Yes, on one occasion—he did not say anything about taking the child to live with them—latterly he has taken to drink, for the last ten months; that is
about the time that his wife went off with Salter—I remember one night when he slept at our house his barricading the door and putting boxes and chairs against it—I did not hear him say the police were coming, and he would shoot the lot of them—I heard my husband say he said so—I was in the room at the time, in bed—I did not hear what passed—I was between waking and sleeping—I do not remember going with the prisoner to Brompton—I did not notice any change in his manner within the last year or two.
Q. Did not you notice him doing anything extraordinary, as if he was not quite right in his mind? A. Yes, for the last year or two, about money; he said, when my mother died there was money coming in for us; there was none—we did think there was money—by the way my brother talked it was supposed and expected there would be some money coming; I did not know—she died in Suffolk six years ago last Christmas—my brother has often said my mother left money—I think I have sometimes heard him speak about religion, and say that he would go to hell, when he has had drink—there was no reason for his saying so that I know of—he used often to speak of his wife having left him; he seemed distressed about it—he was always very fond of the child—he used to take it out with him a good many times—I had the child at Christmas-time and he used to pay me every week for it, and seemed very fond of it—he used to bring oranges and cakes for it, and for my children too—I would have trusted my children with him, he seemed very fond of them—I heard the child complain once that he had beaten him; that was not for mocking an old woman—I can-not remember anything he did that struck me as being extraordinary or eccentric.
MR. POLAND. Q. Did the prisoner say he expected some money to come to you when your mother died? A. Yes—after he led us to suppose so I did begin to think there was money—she did not leave any that I know of.
MARY COTTER . I live at No. 15, Great Earl Street—it is also known as No. 1, Neale's Passage—I was lodging there at the end of July last, with my mother and father, on the second floor—on Monday morning, July 30, I went down into the cellar about a quarter-past six—it is at the bottom of the house—there are two cellars, there is a door from the street down into the cellar, and then there is an inner cellar, and in that there is a cistern, where we draw water—I found a little boy hanging to the post of that cistern with a rope round his neck—I went and gave an alarm—the police were sent for, and they cut down the body—sometimes the outside door leading into the first cellar is left open at night, sometimes it is shut—the cellars are for the use of any persons in the house, and the cistern is common to all the people—there is a watercloset in the inner cellar, where the cistern is—that is for the general use of the house—you can get into the cellar from the house without going into the street, you go first into the front cellar which leads to the street, and then from one cellar, into the other—there is no door between the two cellars, only an opening—there is no window—when first you go down into the front cellar it is dark; that is when the door to the street is shut—the inner cellar is light—there is a little grating from the area at the back of the house—I never saw the prisoner, he was not living in the house.
Cross-examined. Q. The post stands at the back of the cistern, does it not? A. No, by the side; it is the post that supports the cistern—I do not recollect a bar of iron that ran from that post across the cellar—the nick
to which the rope was attached was a split on which a bar could rest, about an inch deep, a square nick—the rope was just hinged upon that—it was an old cut, it had been there for a good while.
JAMES KAY (Police Sergeant F 13). On Monday, July 30, about a quarter-past seven in the morning, I was called to a cellar in Neale's Passage—I went in at a door in Neale's Passage that is always open day and night, it is never properly closed, it is in the public thoroughfare—when you get down the stairs from the street you are in an outer cellar—I passed through the doorway into the cellar where the cistern is, and there found the body of a child hanging to the post of the cistern—at that time it had not been interfered with at all—the rope was once round the neck, and it was tied about three times round the post—I produce the rope—there was a nick cut in the post, not recently, and this rope was tied round that—the boy's head was hanging from this part—it was not quite tight—I could get my two fingers in between the neck and the rope—the loop in the rope was larger than his neck—the face was towards the post—the knot was just at the back of the neck, rather inclined to one side; there was a dent in the neck of rather a livid hue, rather a reddish cast—it was at the back of the neck that I could put my two fingers—it was tight in front—the feet were about fifteen inches from the ground—the hands were tied behind with this handkerchief (producing it), not close together—I could not say positively whether the palms were outwards—the handkerchief was tied round both wrists—the two knots were preserved by Dr. Harvey—they are very firm—one is a weaver's knot—he was compelled to cut one—each hand was tied separately—these are the knots—from the way in which they were tied, they got tighter the more you drew them, they would not slip—the doctor took off the handkerchief—the boy was dressed in an old plaid jacket, an old black waistcoat, and old trousers, I think brown or grey, very old, a pair of old shoes, one of which had a piece of cloth stitched on it with white thread, and there was an old cap on the floor—there was a basket in the cellar, about four or five feet distant from the body, but there were no marks on it whatever—I noticed to see whether there were any marks of feet or anything on it, but there were none—it was a kind of market basket, that would hold a bushel of potatoes—I took hold of the body, and, not having a knife myself, I asked a by-stander to cut it for me—the place was very full of people at the time—he cut the rope round the boy's neck—he cut it close to the knot, and then the whole of the knot appeared to slip through, it came undone—I then sent for Dr. Harvey, and then removed the body to the dead-house, under his instructions—I afterwards examined the cellars—there was a small area grating, which admitted light to the front cellar, about three feet in length and about six inches in width, and each iron bar was about a quarter of an inch from the other—there were about fourteen or fifteen steps to descend into the cellar—as I was standing in the cellar without my hat the level of the street would be about a foot higher than my head—the grating was the only means of lighting the front cellar—that grating was in the thorough-fare—both cellars run the same way—no light is derived from this grating in the back cellar, the only light there is from the street door—when the door was shut there would be no light—in going down it looks very dark—it is a dead wall in front of you at the bottom of the stairs, quite dark—I examined the child's waistcoat, and saw two small spots of tallow on it; but two lighted candles were in the cellar at the time the doctor was examining the body, and I concluded that those two spots might have
dropped from them—after the discovery of the body Inspector West had charge of the case, and he took steps to find the prisoner—I saw him at Bow Street Police Court after he was in custody—I had not seen him at all between these times—I have been on duty in this neighbourhood—I did not know the prisoner before this occurrence—I speak of the door leading to the outer cellar being always open, from my knowledge of the neighbourhood—none of those houses are ever shut—you can walk in at any time or at any hour of the night.
Cross-examined. Q. I think you have not said before today that the rope was twisted round the post? A. I did say so at Bow Street to the best of my belief—I don't believe I said it was tied round two or three times, but it was—the doctor slipped one hand through one knot, but the other was so tight he was compelled to cut it—if the child had been hanged while alive I should imagine he would have struggled violently—I think, from the appearance of the child, somebody must have had their hand over his mouth; that is the best of my belief—I could not say whether he was partially or entirely dead at the time he was hung up—the palms of the hands were open, they were not clenched.
COURT. Q. You say the light from the area grating was in the outer cellar? A. In the front cellar—it is a corner house—it is the inner cellar that is lighted by the area grating—both cellars are in front—the water-closet door obscures the light if it is thrown back—the grating does not light both cellars, only the inner one, where the cistern and watercloset is, where the boy was hanging.
MARY COTTER (re-examined.) I was going to the cistern for some water—that is in the cellar where the light comes from the area grating—there is no grating in the outer cellar—my mother came down when I gave the alarm.
Q. Why did not you cut the boy down? A. I could not do it—when my father came down he did not like to cut him down—he would have cut him down, only two or three men said that he would be doing wrong—there were no signs of life in the boy at that time.
DR. ALFRED HARVEY . I live at 3, Southampton Street, Strand—on this Monday morning I was sent for to this cellar—I got there about half-past seven—I went into the cellar where the cistern was—the boy was then cut down, and lying on his back—his wrists were tied behind him—he was dressed—he was quite dead—his limbs were rigid, but he was slightly warm—I did not undo the hands then—I found that he was dead, and I sent him to the dead-house, and there made a more careful examination—the hands were tied behind him with this handkerchief—I slipped one hand through this opening, which has not been disturbed—the other was tied more tightly, and I cut it—I believe these are the original knots—I found the mark of the cord about three parts round the neck, the anterior two-thirds coming a little behind one ear, the back part of the neck being free from the mark—it was a mark that might have been made by a rope—the jaws were clenched closely—the stomach and chest were slightly warm—I should imagine the child had been dead about four hours—I afterwards made a post-mortem examination—I found all the organs healthy, other than there was congestion of the lungs and congestion of the brain—the heart was also full of blood—suffocation was the cause of death—the congestion would arise from that—I saw no marks on the mouth—probably the suffocation was produced by compression of the wind-pipe—the stomach contained food—I had an idea that the suffocation must
have been partial before he was hanged up—why I came to that idea was the calm expression of the countenance and the pallor—life could not have been extinct, or we should not have had the mark of the cord ecchymosed—I mean the red mark, it was a deep red—the jaws were clenched, the eyes were not protruding—in hanging that is generally the case, and the tongue is generally hanging from the mouth—there was a little dilitation of the pupil—I imagine the boy was about six years of age.
Cross-examined. Q. Except the signs of having been suffocated, there was none of the ordinary inditia of death by hanging? A. Only the mark round the neck—I judged that the child must have been alive at the time he was hung up, from the deep colour round the neck.
Q. Do you agree with this:—"We learn from these experiments, as well as from those performed by others, that the mark which is usually seen upon the neck in hanging during life, not ecchymosed, may be also produced by a ligature applied to the neck of a subject within two hours, or even a much longer period after death; consequently the presence of this mark on the neck is no criterion of hanging during life or after death"? (Taylor's Medical Jurisprudence, p. 660). A. I think it says "not ecchymosed;" you have a scorched mark, I think Orfila mentions, but I believe the red mark I speak of here is absent; this was decidedly ecchymosed—by ecchymose, I mean the effusion of blood underneath the skin, it is simply a pouring out of the blood; that shows that the blood must have been in circulation—it is a condensation of the cellular tissue—you may get that after death, as it sets up within two hours after death—the ecchymose is not a change in the skin or in the cellular tissue, it is an effusion of blood underneath the skin—that was seen simply by the mark of the rope—that discolouration was the effusion of blood, there is no other mode of obtaining discolouration. Taylor says, "The changes in the skin beneath the mark are also destitute of any distinctive character. There is the same condensation of the cellular membrane, whether the hanging has occurred in the living subject or dead. These changes are simply the result of physical causes, mechanical compression." The parchment-like appearance that you see after death is simply produced by condensation of the tissues by pressure, there is no ecchymosis—I consider the child must have been half suffocated before he was hanged up—I should imagine you would get no ecchymosis if it was hung after death—I should think not within a minute after—if you have no circulation you get no bleeding, not through minute vessels—the circulation in the minute vessels ceases instantaneously—I state it decidedly as my opinion that if you hang a body up two minutes after death the appearances would be different to what they would if it had a little life in it—I form my opinion from the outward appearances.
AGNES INGRAM . I am the wife of William Ingram—we have been residing at 6, Pleydell Street, Fleet Street—I have known the prisoner for twelve months—he worked with my husband at Gravesend—previous to 26th July he lodged three weeks at our house—he left on Wednesday morning, 26th July—while he was with us I washed two shirts for him, a pocket hand-kerchief, and a pair of socks—the handkerchief was a cotton one, and the pattern was red, black, and white, mixed, and it had got like stars on it, and I noticed that it was hemmed with black silk—I noticed that when I was ironing it out on the Saturday night—he had got a drop to drink, and he dropped it in a pan of water that I washed my little boy in, and his hat too—I washed the handkerchief for him, and as I was pulling the edge out
in ironing it next morning I noticed that it was hemmed with black silk—that was on the Sunday before the Wednesday that he left—this (produced) looks like the handkerchief—I have looked at the hemming, it is similar to it, it is done with black silk—in pattern, colours, and general appearance it resembles the handkerchief I washed out on the Sunday—I did not know where the prisoner was going when he left—the night before he left there was a dreadful riot in Hyde Park, and he came home that night from his work, and went to bed—that was on the Tuesday as he left our place on the Wednesday—he went to bed with another young man, and about an hour afterwards he got up and went out, and at two o'clock in the morning he came back with two policemen, and my husband said he could not have that—he went away about ten in the morning—I did not see him again till he was in custody.
Cross-examined. Q. Have you ever seen that handkerchief in the possession of the little boy? A. I never saw the boy—the prisoner told me he had got a little boy, and he wished to bring it to our house for a day or two, and he was very fond of the child, but he did not believe it was his own—he used to speak very kindly of it; and once or twice, when he came with my husband from Gravesend, he brought the little boy some shrimps, and said he was going to take them to him; and one night he wanted my husband to take 4s. to the grandmother, where the boy was stopping—he was getting on very nicely during the time he lodged with me, for about a fortnight—he turned his coat, and made himself look very respectable, and worked in the Goswell Road; but at the time of the riot in Hyde Park he went out and got a drop to drink—he told us he was going to a grand meeting, and he did not go to his work the next day—it was on the Tuesday night or Wednesday morning that he came home with two police-men—he had gone to bed about half-past eight, and he got up and went out—when my husband told him he must leave he said "If I have done anything wrong I hope you will not think anything of it; I bear no malice to you or your wife; I want you to see if I have got anything belonging to you;" and my husband said, no, he did not think he had—no one had suggested that there was any malice, or that he had taken any of our things.
Q. You were rather glad to get rid of him, I believe? A. Well, he used to do such funny things, I don't say when he was tipsy, but at other times as well—he had such funny ways—my husband used to say to him, "Don't talk such stuff; you are mad, you are"—he used to tell us such funny things—he would begin to sing psalms, and get up from his meals and walk about the room, and get a Bible and read in it—during the time he was in our place I never heard him make use of a bad word—he told me a long history about his wife and his mother—he appeared in grief about it—he was always saying he should like to see her, to see what she was doing, but that she did not behave well to him, she went away with another man—he appeared to suffer grief and sorrow from it—I never saw him cry—he used to sit and think for a long time—I never heard him say any-thing about his going to hell or being damned—I never heard him make use of any bad words—he has said he was unhappy about his wife—he has not said anything about what would happen to him in the other world.
MR. POLAND. Q. He told you his wife was living with another man? A. Yes, he told us that when he first came to our place, about a twelve-month ago—he appeared to be grieved at that, and said he should like to
know where she was—the first Monday he came to our place he was going back with my husband to work at Gravesend—he stopped and had some dinner—I had never seen him before—he said, "Well, Mr. Ingram, you seem very happy with your wife, but I had a wife once; I wish I was as happy; don't never let anything put you astray from one another"—he was not brought home drunk by the police—I did not see him, but I could hear—when he was tipsy he used to be just like a madman—he was drunk twice while he lodged with us—he was working as a tailor for a person in the Goswell Road—he went out in the morning and came home early at night for a fortnight, till he broke out—he used to read his Bible—he used to tell us what Mr. Spurgeon preached about, and he said he once stopped a funeral from being buried—he was not drunk then—he was sitting by the fire one evening, and he said, "I got myself in trouble one Sunday, Bill. What do you think in foolishness I did? I went and stopped a funeral from being buried"—he would get up from meals and walk about the room, and not sit still like other people—he said he had got a boy, and he was fond of it, but he did not believe it was his own, for his wife had got a child before he was married, and it was in the Foundling—when my husband told him not to talk such stuff, he was talking about what he had done—he was quite sober then—he was only tipsy twice during the time I knew him.
RICHARD HOLDEN . I am a tailor, and live at 15, Great White Lion Street—I have known the prisoner about eight years—he was at my place one night, at 26, Tower Street—he slept along with me—I woke up in the night and found him sharpening a knife on his sleeve—I asked him what the hell he was going to do with it—it was between one and two o'clock in the night, about this time twelve months. MR. JUSTICE WILLES was of opinion that if this evidence was given with a view to show motive the period was too remote to render it admissible for that purpose.) I remember a conversation about the boy, that was when the mother left him in my room—it was a little before last Christmas, as near as I can recollect—I told the prisoner what the boy had told me—the boy was telling me that he had two daddies, Daddy Jeffery and Daddy Salter—I told that to the prisoner, and I also told him that the boy said that he was put to bed on two chairs, and that Daddy Salter went and slept along with his mother in the bed—he also said that Daddy Salter told his mother to throw him behind the fire, calling him a little beggar, or something—the prisoner said nothing to me when I told him this—I told him everything that the boy told me.
Cross-examined. Q. What has become of Salter? A. I don't know—I don't know where the prisoner's wife is—I have not seen her since the night she left the boy in my room—that is about this time twelve months—she and Salter had the boy living with them at one time—I don't know when they gave him up—the boy was along with me and the father for about a week, I think, and then he took him to his sisters down in Clerkenwell, I believe, and then the grandmother had the boy again—I remember on one occasion the prisoner's taking up a knife in my house, and saying he was going to cut the boy's throat—I told him to put the knife away, and he did—he went out and came in again, and said he could not find out where he was, and he took the knife out of his breast pocket and went to bed—I believe the grandmother was then living in Mercer Street, Long Acre, and the boy was living along with her—it was a good bit before that that the boy was with me for a week—I don't know how many weeks before—the prisoner was kind to the boy; he was a beautiful boy, and he was fond
of it and treated it kindly, as far as I saw—I have never seen him do any-thing extraordinary that I can remember—I was not much with him—I have never seen him do anything out of the way—I suppose we were together between four and five months once, and sleeping together—he used to talk a good deal about religion—I never heard him say that he would be damned.
JOHN TOLLIS . I am a police-constable in the West Riding constabulary, and live near Halifax, in Yorkshire—on Saturday morning, 8th September, the prisoner came to my house, about nine o'clock—I was in bed, my wife showed him up to my room—he said, "Well, are you the policeman?" I said, "I am"—he said, "I have a very serious charge to make against myself; do you think I could murder my own child?"—I said "I don't know what you can do"—he said, "Well, before I make any further statement, will you allow me to go out to the public-house? for I have left some thing there that I want to bring in, and give to you"—I said he could go—when he went downstairs I immediately got out of bed and told my wife to watch where he went to—I dressed myself and came downstairs—in about two or three or four minutes after the prisoner came back to our house again a second time—he had a Bible in his hand, and he put the Bible on the top of a table—I asked him what was his name; he said, "They call me John Richard Jeffery, or otherwise Samuel Mortimer; I was born in Richmond, in Virginia, in America; I am a Yankee, but before I say any more, will you allow me to go out again?"—I allowed him to go out as far as the door, and then I said, "John Richard Jeffery, I charge you with being the murderer of your own child at St. Giles's, in London, from the statement you have made to me"—he said, "Mind you, I don't say I am the murderer of my own child, but there is nothing impossible to man"—I asked him how he knew he was the murderer of his own child—he said he saw in Lloyd's Newspaper that he was the murderer of his own child in London—he said, "I am charged with the murder of my own child"—he mentioned St. Giles's when he was making the statement to me in the first onset—he said he was charged with the murder of his own child at St. Giles's, in London—he said he had been in a public-house, he could not say whether it was a public-house or a private house, but from underneath the settle he pulled this paper out, and he read in the paper that there was 100l. offered for his apprehension, and 100l. he said would do me a good deal of good, and he would give himself up to me for that—there is such a paper as Lloyd's—I never saw it—I said, "Now, mind, it is a serious charge, and whatever you say after this I shall take in evidence against you if it is required hereafter—"Well," he said, "I am a married man, and I am the father of one child, and he is six years old; I was married about seven years since in London, and I never had an easy mind, and I never was content since I was wed, since my mother died especially; my wife went away with another man, who was a German, but I have broke the law, and the law shall decide my fate; I don't mean to say no more at present, but when the judge puts the black cap on, then I will tell a tale"—he said the last time he saw his son was about half-past two o'clock in the morning of 30th July, at St. Giles's, and he bought him a new suit of clothes—he said he left his sister's house at that time, to the best of his knowledge, but he could not exactly say to an hour or an hour and a half—I took him on to Halifax then, and on the road, as we were going by a place called King's Cross, he kept continually asking for a gill of beer of anybody he met on the road
—I told him to be quiet, and the next public-house we got to I would give him a glass of beer, if he would come quietly on with me, so when we got to the place he sat himself down on the road, and he dressed himself there, and I could not get him on for a bit—that was at Colonel Edwards's gate, at Poyners's Walk—when we went up to the "Wellington" inn Alan Midwood, the landlord, was standing at the door—I told him to fetch this man a glass of beer out, and the prisoner said he had a halfpenny in his pocket, and he would want a gill and a half—at the same time the landlord came to the door with a glass of best ale in his hand, and that was three-halfpence—I told him not to take the halfpenny from the prisoner, I would pay it—the landlord asked me what I was taking the prisoner for—I said I did not know exactly, and the prisoner said, "I am charged with being the supposed murderer of my own child at St. Giles's, in London"—Midwood said to him, "How did you do it?" the prisoner said, "I hung him," or, "I hanged him"—Midwood said, "Then, d—you, you ought to be hung yourself, if you did such a thing"—at that time there was a crowd, and I took the prisoner away—a man of the name of Tasker was there at the time, and was present when the conversation took place—I took the prisoner on to Halifax—he was locked up there—I was sitting up with him on Tuesday morning, and he commenced talking about the murder—it was between six and seven o'clock in the morning—he said they called his child Richard Arthur Jeffery, but he said, "I have a great doubt whether it was mine or not"—he said it was a good job the child was put out of the way, as it would never have to be put in his face about his mother having gone away with another man—I reported the matter to our superintendent, and a photographic likeness of the prisoner was sent on to London—when he came to me he was under the influence of drink—I think he must have been drinking for a day or two before, from his appearance—he walked with me to Halifax, a distance of four miles—he was not what I call drunk, but like a man getting out of a drunken spree.
Cross-examined. Q. Was the first thing he said, "Do you think me capable of murdering my own child?" A. No—the first thing he asked was, was I a policeman, then he said that, and I said, "I don't know what you are capable of doing"—he then went and fetched the Bible, and told me it was one that he had taken from a place called Delf, near Saddle-worth, and he wanted me to send it back again—there is such a place——I don't think I had been talking with him above three or four minutes before I gave him the caution—it was after he came back with the Bible that he said he was the father of the child—his words were, "They say I have murdered my own child; I have broke the law, and the law shall decide my fate"—I am quite sure he said that—it was not, "If I have broke the law"—I am sure of that.
ALAN MIDWOOD . I am landlord of the "Wellington" inn, near Halifax—on Saturday, 8th of September, the prisoner was brought to my house—I was asked for a glass of ale, and I brought it, and I said to the constable, "What has this man been doing?"—the constable said, "Well, I don't know exactly"—the prisoner said, "I am supposed to be the murderer of my own son, in London"—I asked what he had done with the child, and he said he had hung him—I said, "If thou didst hang him thou ought to be hung the same, thou devil."
WILLIAM TASKER . I am a carter, and live at Halifax—on Saturday, 8th of September, I was with my cart at the "Wellington" inn—I saw the prisoner there in custody of the officer—I was just going in to get a
pint of ale, and the policeman said, "Bring this man a gill of ale"—as the landlord was going away, going to get it, the prisoner said, "Here, I have got a halfpenny; tell him to bring a gill and a half"—the landlord brought him the ale, and he said, "I have only brought him a gill of the best; that will be threehalfpence," and he then said to the officer, "What has he been doing?"—the officer said, "I can hardly tell you"—the landlord said to the prisoner," What have you been doing, old boy?"—the prisoner said, "I am supposed to be the murderer of my own child in London"—the landlord said, "How did you murder him?"—he said, "I hung him"—the landlord said, "Then you deserve hanging, and hanging is too good for you"—the prisoner said, "I see it in a London paper, and I thought I would deliver myself up to the police"—that was said after the landlord had gone in.
JOHN WEST (Police Inspector F). I heard of this affair at the end of July—I endeavoured to find the prisoner—I heard of the body being found on July 30th, the same day—I was not able to find the prisoner at all, on to trace him in any way—on Monday, September 10th, from information I received, I went to Halifax, in Yorkshire, and took with me the witness William Ingram—I knew the prisoner very well by sight, and had seen him in the neighbourhood of St. Giles's for several years—I have seen him with officers connected with our division—when I got to Halifax I found the prisoner at the police-station—I was introduced to him by Superintendant Copeland, who said, "Here is an officer from London come to see you, Jeffery"—as soon as the prisoner saw me he said, "How do you do, sir? I have been expecting you down; I thought you would have been here before this"—after he was identified by Ingram I told him I charged him with wilfully murdering his son by hanging him in a cellar in Great Earl Street, Seven Dials—in answer to that he said, "But I have surrendered myself; I knew I must be taken some time or other, but I don't mean to say that I am the murderer of my own child," or, "my child," I am not sure which—he said, "It was from seeing the accounts in the newspapers that I gave myself up, charging me with having murdered my child; that was why I gave myself up, but the laws of the country must prove me guilty"—on turning round to leave the cell, the prisoner said to Ingram, "Ah! Bill, old boy, I thought it was you that gave my description that was in the papers, but shake hands, I bear you no malice"—that was all that took place—I brought him up to London in custody—as far as I saw of his manner, he was perfectly rational, and also, from what I knew of him in St. Giles's, he was a very quiet inoffensive man, I never knew anything in the least otherwise—I always took him to be so, and quite rational.
Cross-examined. Q. He made a good deal of noise in the carriage, singing and shouting, did he not? A. No; he made no noise, he was quite quiet—he did not make any remark or speak to anybody—he was smoking a pipe of tobacco—he was very fond of tobacco, and he said, "Well, I shant have many more," or something similar to that.
Q. He never made any confession to you of having hanged his child or having murdered it? A. Well, in substance it amounted to that, the same as I have stated.
WILLIAM INGRAM . I am a tailor, and live at No. 6, Pleydell Street, Fleet Street—the prisoner lodged with me for about three weeks before the Wednesday before this happened—I think I first became acquainted with him at Gravesend in December or January—he came home intoxicated
on this Tuesday night, went to bed, got up again, and went out, and came back, and I told him when the morning came he had better leave—he got up about a quarter to ten, called me in, and had three books laid on the table, and a pocket handkerchief—he said, "See that I have not got anything belonging to you, Bill"—I said, "No"—and I wished him good morning, and he went—that was on Wednesday morning—I do not know where he went to—I heard on the Wednesday week following of the child being found in the cellar—I saw it in the evening paper—I went to the police-station, and there gave a description of the prisoner—afterwards, on 10th September, I went with Inspector West to Yorkshire, and there identified the prisoner at the police-station—while he was lodging with me he told me he was out one Sunday and saw a funeral and had stopped it—I do not know what Sunday it was—he told me this when he lodged with me, but it happened before he did lodge with me, when he was down at Gravesend—I believe he told me he got locked up for stopping it—he said he was half intoxicated at the time—he was sober when he told me about it—while he was lodging with me he used to go out to work every day between six and seven in the morning, and came home between eight and nine at night.
Cross-examined. Q. He lodged with you for about three weeks, I believe? A. Between three and four—at first he got on very nicely—afterwards he altered very much—he broke out the last week—I remember his saying that he was going to a great meeting in Hyde Park—he did not go to his work the next day—he went to bed about half-past eight on the Tuesday, and about eleven he got up and went out—when he left he told me to see that he had not anything belonging to me—no one had said anything about his having anything—he used to talk in an incoherent way when he was intoxicated—I did not tell him not to talk such stuff when he was sober—I have told him so when he was half drunk—he did talk stuff at that time; it was mostly on law and religion—he has never told me he was going to be damned—I remember his getting up and leaving his meals—he used to have some very curious ways with him sometimes—when we were at work at Gravesend I have noticed him get up and go and have half a pint of porter while his coffee was getting cold, saying that it was too hot for him to drink—I do not remember anything that he did which attracted my attention—his conduct was peculiar for the last week or so that he was with me, when he commenced to drink again.
MR. POLAND. Q. Was he drunk more than once during the three weeks? A. I believe the first time he was drunk was on the Monday as the Reform meeting was in Hyde Park.
WILLIAM COVENEY . I and my wife occupy the ground floor at 15, Great Earl Street, where this cellar is—we were lodging there on the Sunday this happened—I went to bed at eleven o'clock on the Sunday night—I heard nothing of this matter until the body was found in the morning—I heard no noise or disturbance during the night—I slept during the night—I was awoke by the disturbance when the body was found.
The following Witnesses were called for the Defence:—
GEORGE CORNE BARWELL . I live at 5, Lawrence Street, and am a carpenter and joiner—I have known the prisoner about two years and a half—I saw him very frequently—I very often preach—I saw the prisoner after I had done preaching one Sunday evening on the Seven Dials—I met him on several occasions—I observed such peculiarities in his manner as
the following:—at first he stated to me that he was a Jew by birth, a Jew by religion also, being extracted from Jewish parents—that was after I had been preaching—after our conversation on the subject of religion, he frequently used to visit me at my shop, and it has been frequently the case that when conversing with me for a considerable time rationally he would become incoherent and exceedingly abstruse—I mean by abstruse an incoherency both of manner and expression; for instance, he would get quite off the subject on which he had been speaking to something quite irrelevant to it, as, for instance, he would say, instantly rising from the seat on which he was at the time, "Barwell, I am a lost man, I shall be sure to go to hell"—he was once living only three doors from myself—he had to pass and repass my shop to and from his business, and as he was passing perhaps he would stop short suddenly and say, "Barwell, I wish your house was a thousand miles away from me"—I said, "Why so, Jeffery?"—he said, "Because I always feel so miserable when I pass it"—in talking on religious subjects he would suddenly break into something quite different; if you wish for an instance, I will give you the following:—"Barwell, I think you are a d—rum fellow"—that was in the middle of a serious conversation—I have notes here by which I have refreshed my memory since—I did not make them at the time—at these times there used to be a very peculiar glistening of the eye, and an agitation both of mind and body—he would stamp about the shop or street and seem thoroughly agitated, and it would be some time before I could get him to be calm and sit down again, and then he would burst into a violent fit of tears and cry like a child—my wife has frequently made remarks to him—she invariably calls me "my dear" when she addresses me, and the prisoner has frequently said, with tears in his eyes, "Oh! Barwell, how miserable I am! I wish to God I was dead"—he frequently spoke to me in reference to his wife—the mention of it appeared to distress him very much—I recollect his little boy very well indeed—he frequently brought him to our house—he always seemed remarkably fond of the child—I have allowed my children to go out with it and play in the streets—he never offered to lend me money—he offered me 50l. as premium if I would take the child as an apprentice to learn my trade—it was a child six years old—I always had an idea, from what he stated to me, that he had money in prospect for the child—he has told me that he had money in the funds belonging to the child, and when it came of age it would come into possession of it, that he was very unhappy with his wife, and she wanted to have command of the money, and he being determined they should not, it made things very unpleasant, but he was determined to see the child righted—I have often heard that the prisoner was designated as "Mad Dick"—I never heard anybody personally call him so, but I heard it said that he was usually designated so by several of his shopmates.
Cross-examined. Q. How did you first become acquainted with him? A. In the following way:—after I had done preaching one Sunday evening, and was going home, the prisoner followed me, touched me on the arm and said, "May I speak to you, sir?"—he had some conversation with me about religious matters—I think I have preached every Sunday, health and weather permitting, for five years, generally in Somer's Town, near the Brill, in open air—I did not know that he was a tailor—I know that he has recently, unhappily, taken to drink—I have seen him drink over and over again—I have never seen him, I think, but once drunk—I saw him staggering—I do not know that I ought to say I have seen him the worse
for liquor over and over again—I never had any proof of it—I don't know that I have ever heard that he had been drinking—he used to have his work at home generally—I believe he earned his living as a tailor—I do not think the boy was living with him at all—the conversation when he spoke about being a Jew was on the first Sunday, when he introduced himself to my notice as we were walking from the Dials up Great St. Andrew Street—I could not tell whether he had been drinking then—I used to see him almost daily for a considerable period—when he said I was a d—rum fellow I had not been talking to him about being drunk—I can-not tell how he came to say it, he volunteered it—I have not seen men who are in the habit of drinking very often, perhaps once or twice during my life—at the time he said he wished he was dead and was very miserable he had been talking about his wife—I did not know from him that she was living with some other person—he wished me to take the boy as an apprentice then and there.
MR. STRAIGHT. Q. When he called you a d—rum fellow had there been some other conversation beforehand? A. Decidedly, I believe on religious subjects—it was seldom or ever that he came to me that he was not talking on those subjects.
JOHN FRASER . I am a lay preacher at the Gospel Boom, Bedfordbury—I am a master coach smith by trade, and still work for my living—I have known the prisoner five years—I do not know when he was married—I know that the grandmother lived with him and his wife for some time—I never visited him, but I visited the grandmother and wife, which was the first occasion of my ever meeting with the other members of his family—I have read to that woman, and prayed with her too, I think; not on more occasions than one—that was fixed on my memory by circumstances I can never forget—it was in a yard called Spencer's Yard, in Crown Street, one Sunday at dinner time, between two and three years ago—the prisoner had come home in the morning, and said he had got his child—I said, "Tell me what is the matter with you, friend,"—he said that the mother of his child and her mother had had his child from him for a long time, that he had sought everywhere and could not find him, but that morning he had discovered where he was, and he was going to take him and do him a great deal of good—I went to the grandmother's house and told her that the prisoner had promised to be at my house in the afternoon with the boy, and if she would come there I would try and make a reconciliation between them—there was a forewoman of the boy's mother in the room at the time, and when she had gone I began to talk about the prisoner having the boy, and about his being willing to live with his wife quietly and comfortably if she would be comfortable to him—the grandmother then said that she hated him—the wife said so too, and the grandmother said she would hunt him to death—I once had the prisoner under surveillance for twenty-four hours—I think that must have been about three years ago—he came to a place where I was—he was very excited—I took him home, and was sitting down by the fire, talking to him kindly and cheerfully, trying to divert his mind from the subject, which I always thought led him into a wandering state of mind, and all at once he took up the poker and began to rush round my room—my wife began to scream and the child to hallo—he made a rush to the pendulum of the clock, saying, "There they go," and began to smite the wall with the poker, which rather alarmed me, and I said, "Open the window, and I will put him out"—that appeared to frighten him, and I overpowered him, and sat him down and watched over him, and
gave him some tea—I took him to a lodging-house, and in the morning I took him to my workshop and kept him under my eye all the day through, allowing him to have nothing but eggs, bread and butter, tea, coffee, &c.—I am not able to say whether he was drunk at that time—he might have been drinking previously—he certainly walked into my room like a sober man, and he walked home with me like one—I did not attribute his acts to drunkenness—at the same time he used the expression, "Don't you see they are running round? They are following me!"—I remember his once telling me that he was the owner of a place called Cromwell Hall, an estate in Essex—he told me how many acres of ground there were connected with the estate, that he was lord of Cromwell Hall, and that I should have a suit of black to reward me for the trouble I had taken with him, which caused a deal of jealousy among the young men I was acquainted with, that they had not taken a deeper interest in him—I always believed him to be insane, so much so that, although he was very fond of my little girl, and caressed her, and took her up, and gave her pence, I told my wife not to leave her in his possession—I would not trust him, though I thought he was right in his feelings he was wrong in his mind—he said his mother-in-law told him after he had been married a few weeks that his wife had a child in the Foundling.
Cross-examined. Q. You knew that he had taken a good deal to drink? A. At times—I never saw a man suffering from delirium tremens—I am not aware that he had taken too much to drink when he flourished the poker about—I have said that he walked home with me like a sober man, but I was not a judge—he may have been drinking, because he was suffering from the influence of drink—I may have a doubt about it, because I had not been in his company—he certainly did not seem to be drunk—he was not what men call drunk—I don't know whether he was under the influence of drink—drink may leave its effects for days, for aught I know—I never was drunk, so I don't know the feeling—I gave him coffee and other things simply because I thought they were most suited to a man whose mind was wandering and uncalm—I once had him lodging at my house for a month, during which time he was a teetotaller—that is two years ago—I don't know whether he took to drinking directly he left—he did not always attend to his business like other men—I have seen him leave a good black coat and get a soldier's coat and do that which in my estimation no person would do, put aside good work to do that at which he could scarcely earn his bread—I know what he was paid for his work—he told me he worked for some one near Portland Place—he made me a suit of clothes, for which I paid him, which tailors have remarked as being first-rate work-man ship—I have not seen him since he has been in custody—the last time I saw him was about last June twelve months—I was then a master shoe-maker, and he came to me and said, "My little boy is likely to get cold," and he bought a pair of new boots.
MR. DALY. Q. Are you any relation of the prisoner? A. None whatever—there was no friendship between us, I want some one who can teach me something for a friend.
GUILTY .— Death .
OLD COURT.—Monday, September 17th, 1866.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. PEARSE and MR. F. H. LEWIS conducted the Prosecution, and MR. SLEIGH and MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS the Defence.
The perjury alleged to have been committed was in an affidavit made by the defendant (clerk to a solicitor) before a Judge at Chambers, upon a writ of summons. The writ not being produced, Mr. Sleigh submitted that there was no case for the Jury, as in the absence of the writ there was no evidence of any proceeding pending. Mr. Pearse contended that the affidavit itself contained internal evidence of that fact, and that it was unnecessary to produce the writ, the Judgment Paper, which was produced, being sufficient (See Reg. v. Edwards, Sessions Paper, Vol. 61, page 399.) The Common Serjeant did not feel disposed to stop the case on those objections, but, upon a further objection that the writ of capias ought to be produced, he was of opinion that the objection was a fatal one, as the indictment alleged in express terms that a capias was issued. The Jury were therefore directed to find the prisoner NOT GUILTY .
MR. BESLEY conducted the Prosecution, and MR. DALY the Defence.
GUILTY . of an indecent assault— Confined One Month .
The prosecutor and witnesses not appearing, the prisoner was ACQUITTED .
The following prisoners PLEADED GUILTY:—
761. EDWIN MORRIS (23) , to two indictments for embezzling the sums of 5l. 10s., 6l. 5s., 12l. 5s. 3d., and 5l. 11s., of William Potter, his master. Recommended to mercy by the prosecutor./— Confined Nine Months . [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
765. GEORGE FRANKS (31) , to embezzling 10l., 10l., and 28l., of Sampson Copestake and others, his masters. Recommended to mercy by the Prosecutors./— Confined Six Months . [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
767. STEPHEN THOMAS ROBINSON (35) , to stealing 60l. 18s., of Thomas Anthony Woodbridge and others, his masters. Strongly recommended to mercy by the Prosecutors.— Judgment respited [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.].
769. JAMES WOOD (40) , to feloniously forging and uttering four orders for the delivery of goods, after a Previous conviction.— Seven Years' Penal Servitude . [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
NEW COURT.—Monday, September 17, 1866.
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
MESSRS. POLAND and STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution.
THOMAS HENRY LOVEGROVE . I keep the "Lion" tavern, Holloway—on July 28th the prisoner came for a pint of six ale, and gave a half-crown to the barmaid—she took it up and said, "Stop a minute, I must show this to the governor"—she brought it to me and said it was bad, and I went outside and called in the inspector, who happened to be going by—I gave the half-crown to him—I did not give the prisoner in charge.
CHARLES O'LOUGHLIN (Police Inspector.) I was called in to the "Lion" tavern—the landlord pointed out the prisoner to me—I brought him back into the house, and I searched him—I found no bad money on him, and he was allowed to go—Mr. Lovegrove gave me this half-crown—the prisoner said he did not know it was bad.
CHARLES SAWYER . I keep the "Wrestlers" inn, at Highgate—on the 13th the prisoner and that other man standing behind him (Watson) came to my bar—Watson called for a pint of ale and paid with coppers—they both drank—Watson appeared to be dreadfully drunk—I don't know whether he was or not—he called for a pint of ale and tendered a florin to my wife—she called my attention to it—I took it out of her hand and told them it was bad—they said they did not know it—I marked it, and after-wards gave it to the inspector—this is it (produced)—I sent some one after the men.
JOHN SPARKS . I am a bricklayer, and live at York Buildings, High-gate—on August 13th I was at the "Wrestlers" inn, and saw the prisoner and Watson in front of the bar—I saw them leave—the landlord spoke to me, and I followed them—I saw them talking together in the road, and they then went across to Mr. Sheeby's, the "Bull and Horns" gin palace—Collyer went in, Watson sat outside on the "Red Lion" seat—I afterwards pointed him out to a constable—Collyer called for something to drink at the "Bull and Horns," and I spoke to the landlord and put him on his guard.
MICHAEL SHEEBY . I keep the "Bull and Horns," at Highgate—on August 13th Collyer came to my house and asked for a glass of six ale—he paid for it in coppers—Sparks came in in the meantime and told me something, in consequence of which I kept my eye on the prisoner—he then called for a pint of six ale and paid with a bad florin—I said to him, "This is a bad florin"—he said he was not aware of it, he took it in change for half a sovereign—I sent for a policeman and gave him into custody—the prisoner said, "Give it me back and I will pay you"—taking a good half-crown out of his pocket—I gave the florin to the constable—this is the one (produced).
GEORGE BUCKNELL (Policeman Y 203.) Collyer was given into my custody by the last witness, with this florin—I also produce a florin which I received from Mr. Sawyer—I took Watson into custody as well—he was sitting asleep outside the "Red Lion and Sun," in North Street, very close to the "Bull and Horns"—I found a half-crown, four sixpences, and fourpence in copper, good money, on Collyer.
Prisoner's Defence. I am innocent in regard of the bad money—I never had any bad money in my possession—if I had any I got it in change—I never gave the two-shilling piece at all. GUILTY . He PLEADED GUILTY to a former conviction for uttering counterfeit coin in December, 1861, in the name of James Brown (See next case.)
MESSRS. POLAND and STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution.
HENRY SAWYER . I keep the "Wrestlers" inn—on August 13th the prisoners came to my house—Watson called for some beer—my wife served him—he paid with some halfpence—they drank the beer between them—Watson then called for more beer, and gave my wife a bad florin—I told them it was bad, and they went out almost directly—I told Sparks to watch them—I marked the florin, and afterwards gave it to a policeman—it is the one that had been produced.
JOHN SPARKS . On the 13th August the last witness made some communication to me, in consequence of which I watched the prisoners—they were in the middle of the road laughing and talking—Collyer then went into the "Bull and Horns" at one door and I went in at another—I spoke to the landlord—Watson was sitting on a seat at the "Red Lion and Sun" when I went in—I afterwards pointed him out to the police, and he was taken into custody.
MICHAEL SHEEBY . I am landlord of the "Bull and Horns"—on the 13th August Collyer came to my house—I served him with a glass of ale—he gave me copper in payment—Sparks spoke to me—Collyer then called for some more beer and gave me a bad florin—I said it was bad—he asked me to give it him back—he said he had it in change for half a sovereign—I gave him into custody, and gave the florin to the constable.
GEORGE BUCKNELL (Policeman Y 203.) Collyer was given into my custody—Mr. Sheeby gave me a florin, and I received another from Mr. Sawyer—I took Watson outside the "Red Lion and Sun"—I searched him at the station, and found a half-crown, three sixpences, and three half-pence, good money.
WATSON— GUILTY .*— Confined Two Years . COLLYER— GUILTY .*— Seven Years' Penal Servitude .
MESSRS. POLAND and STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution.
WILLIAM JONES . I keep a coffee-shop at Parkside, Knightsbridge—on the 9th August, about half-past three, the prisoner came in—I saw my barmaid serve him with some coffee and bread and butter, which came to 2 1/2; d.—he gave me a bad half-crown—I broke a piece out of it, told him it was bad, and asked him how he came by it—he said that he sold laces in the street and had just given change for it—I gave him into custody, and gave the half-crown to the constable.
CHARLES COGGINS (A 242). Jones gave the prisoner into my custody, with this half-crown (produced)—he gave the name of John Nutley—I took him to Westminster Police-court—he was remanded till the 13th, and then discharged.
MARY ANN CLARK . My husband keeps a coffee-house at 38, Exeter Street, Chelsea—on Saturday, the 18th August, the prisoner came in—I served him with a cup of coffee and two slices, which was 2d.—he gave me a half-crown—I gave him change and he left—I gave that half-crown to my husband the same evening—the following day my husband gave me two half-crowns; one of them was the same one the prisoner gave me—I knew it, it was so white—the sound was very good—I saw it was bad—I put it aside by itself—on the Tuesday following the prisoner came again—I knew him directly he came in and spoke to my husband—the prisoner asked for a cup of tea and a slice of bread and butter, and gave me a bad half-crown—I gave it to my husband, and he spoke to the prisoner.
GEORGE CLARK . I keep this coffee house—on Saturday evening, the 18th August, my wife gave me a half-crown—I put it in my pocket with some silver and another half-crown—the following day I gave the two half-crowns back to my wife, and she found one was bad, and said she knew who she took it from—on the following Tuesday I saw the prisoner at my house, and saw him give a half-crown to my wife—she brought it to me and said, "Here is another one of the same sort"—I said to the prisoner, "You are having a fine game here; you passed one on Saturday and one to day"—I sent for a constable and gave him one half-crown.
PATRICK CASSERLEY (Policeman B 109.) On Tuesday, the 21st August, I took the prisoner in charge, and received a counterfeit half-crown from Mr. Clark—I afterwards received another half-crown (produced.)
GUILTY . He PLEADED GUILTY to a former conviction for uttering in July, 1865, in the name of Alfred Gibbons.— Seven Years' Penal Servitude .
MESSRS. POLAND and STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution.
CHARLES FOX . I am shopman to Mr. Lawrence, publisher, 45, Essex Street, Strand—on the 23rd August the prisoner came and bought four books, price 3d., and gave me a florin—I put it in the till—there was no other there—I gave him his change—when I cleared the till, about five or ten minutes afterwards, I found the florin there—it was bad—no other florin had been put in in the meantime—on the 29th August the prisoner came again, and bought six books, which came to 4d.—he tendered a bad florin—I kept it in my hand, and went and told my master and gave it to him—he gave the prisoner into custody—I had given the first florin also to my master.
WILLIAM LAWRENCE . I am a publisher, at 45, Essex Street—on the 29th August my shopman came to me, and from what he said I sent for a constable and gave the prisoner in charge—he came to my shop on the 23rd August and bought four books, for which he gave a bad florin—I discovered it on clearing the till—it was the only one that was there—it was afterwards broken up—I gave the other one to the constable.
Prisoner's Defence. I went on Wednesday, 29th of August, and purchased six books, and gave a two-shilling piece in payment—the young man ran out, and Mr. Lawrence came in and said, "I should think this is a profitable
business to you"—I said, "Why?"—he said, "Because this is a bad two-shilling piece "—I said, "I did not know it was bad; I am innocent; I did not know it was bad."
GUILTY . He PLEADED GUILTY to a former conviction for uttering at this Court, in the name of Tomlin, in September, 1864. Sentence, One Year.—Seven Years' Penal Servitude .
MESSRS. POLAND and STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution.
ELIZABETH ANN WATTS . I am assistant to Henry Watts, who keeps a fancy repository in Whitmore Road, Hoxton—on 1st of June, about half-past ten o'clock, the prisoner came in for a packet of the best envelopes, which came to threepence—she gave me a crown—I gave her the change—she was about to leave, but my brother stopped her—I gave the crown to my sister-in-law, who handed it to my brother—my brother's wife said in the prisoner's hearing that it was bad.
HENRY WATTS . I keep a fancy repository—on 1st of June my wife handed me a bad crown—I stopped the prisoner, and told her it was bad—she gave me back the change—I asked her where she lived—she said, "No. 2, round the corner, over the way"—I gave her in charge, with the crown.
HENRY KNIGHT (Policeman 383 N.) Mr. Watts gave the prisoner into my custody, with this bad crown—she gave her name Ann Pennell, and on the way to the station she gave me fourpence halfpenny in a purse—she was taken before a magistrate, emanded, and discharged on 5th of June.
GEORGE ORREN . I am a linendraper, of No. 24, Hare Street, Woolwich—on 29th June, about three o'clock, I served the prisoner with a pair of socks, which came to sevenpence three farthings—she gave me a bad crown—I asked her where she got it—she said, "At a grocer's shop round the corner"—I said, "I will go with you"—when we got to the corner she attempted to cross the road, and I gave her in charge, with the crown.
JAMES MARGETSON (Policeman R 122). The prisoner was given into my charge—she gave the name of May Isaacs—she was taken before the magistrates at Woolwich remanded, and discharged, as I knew nothing of the previous case.
ROBERT BROWN . I am a confectioner, of No. 40, Paul Street, Shore-ditch—on 14th August the prisoner came in for threepenny worth of burnt almonds; my wife said, "Four ounces for threepence halfpenny "—she said, "I will have them"—I heard money put down, and my wife pushed a crown to me and nudged me—I showed it to my father-in-law, who said that it was bad—I ran after the prisoner, stopped her, and said, "You have given me a bad five-shilling piece"—she said, "Have I? Give it to me back," and in the hurry of the moment I gave her the wrong one, which I had in my waistcoat pocket, and which I had taken the week before—that was a marked one—she threw the almonds into the road, and I gave her into custody—I discovered next morning that I had given her the wrong one—I then gave the right one to the constable.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate:—"I am guilty of the two, but not of the last one." GUILTY .**— Confined Two years .
MESSRS. POLAND and STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution.
ALFRED DICKENSON, JUN . My father keeps the "Globe" public-house, Holborn Hill—on 24th August, about nine o'clock, the prisoner came in for half a quartern of gin, which came to twopence halfpenny, and gave me half a crown—I gave it to my father, and the prisoner ran away.
Prisoner. I gave it to the mistress. Witness. No, you gave it to me.
ALFRED DICKENSON . I am landlord of the "Globe"—my son gave me a bad half-crown—I told the prisoner it was bad, and she ran away—I followed her to Farringdon Road, and gave her in charge, with the half-crown.
DANIEL MACKEOGH (City Policeman 270). I took the prisoner, and found this bad half-crown in her left hand, and a good shilling—I took her to the station, and asked her if she had got any more bad money—she produced 9s. 4 1/2d. in shillings, sixpences, a threepenny piece, a florin, and sevenpence halfpenny in copper—I received another bad half-crown from Mr. Dickenson.
GUILTY .— Confined Twelve Months .
MR. POLAND conducted the Prosecution.
MARY KELLY . I live at No. 113, Bishopsgate Street Without, and assist at an eating-house there—on 8th September, between twelve and one o'clock, the prisoner came in for some cold veal and bread—he gave me a half-crown—I put it into the till, and went to my mistress for change, as she had just cleared the till—I got change, and gave the prisoner a florin and threehalfpence, and he left—he called again and had fourpennyworth more refreshment—he gave me a half-crown—I bent it, and took it to my mistress, who bounced it on the table, and said that it was bad—a customer spoke to the prisoner, and said, "I would not mind laying a sovereign you have more about you"—he said, "No, I only have two"—I went to the till, and found the half-crown—there was no other money there—I fetched the prisoner back, and he was given in custody.
Prisoner. Q. Did you not say at the first examination that after I had gone out you remembered taking another half-crown, and that you took it to your mistress, who told you to fetch me back? A. No—I never said that I had taken two bad half-crowns from a party—I pulled my mistress's dress when she was giving her evidence, but it was only because she was speaking too fast—you did not say that you got the half-crowns at a public-house—you said your employer gave them to you—I remember a butcher then saying, "Then, if you knew where you took it, if the party does not take your word, you may refer him here, where it is nailed to the counter."
MR. POLAND. Q. Did he say who his employer was? A. No—he refused his name and address at the police-court.
cleared the till, and soon afterwards Mary Kelly came to me for change for a half-crown, which she had put into the till—I gave her change from my pocket—half an hour afterwards she brought another half-crown—I looked at it and said, "Who gave you this?"—she pointed to the prisoner—I said, "I am sorry you should take an advantage of a child "—he said that he was very sorry to have it in his possession, as he got it from his employer—I told my young man to break it in two, and said, "It is not legal to give back bad coins, lest they should be passed again; I shall give you part of it, and your employer can come and see the other part "—a man then said, "Now, my fellow, I think you have got it hot; I will bet you have yet some more "—the girl then went to the till and found the other—I gave him in charge, with the two half-crowns—he did not name his employer.
Prisoner. Q. Were you in the shop when the butcher made that remark? A. No—I was in the parlour, but my two servants told me two parties came in, and, there being only one seat, you got up to make room, and I thanked you—I did not serve you—the " lift " is about seven yards from where you sat—the parlour is parted off by a glass partition—on the second occasion the shop was shut, but the door was open—I was in the inner room when she brought me the second half-crown.
JOHN GRIEVES (City Policeman 823). I was sent for to 113, Bishops-gate Street—the prisoner was given into my charge for passing two bad half-crowns—he said that it was quite a conspiracy, he never passed them—I received the two half-crowns—I found on the prisoner one shilling and three sixpences in one pocket, and in the other two sixpences, and twopence in coppers—he gave the name of William Jones, but refused his address.
Prisoner. Q. Did not I say that I took it from my employer, and did not the inspector say, " Who is your employer?" A. No—he did not write it in a book.
The prisoner put in a written defence, stating that he did not know the first half-crown was bad, and that he did not pass the second, but happened to take the seat of a person who had passed it, and was consequently mistaken for him.
GUILTY .— Confined Eighteen Months .
The following prisoners PLEADED GUILTY to like offences:—
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, September 18th, 1866.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. GRAIN conducted the Prosecution, and MR. RIBTON the Defence.
IVAN DIMOCK . I am managing director of the Florence Sewing Machine Company, 97, Cheapside—I first employed the prisoner in January last—his duties were to receive cash, pay accounts, and keep the books—he usually paid the advertisement accounts as they were presented, and he did on one occasion give an order for an advertisement—I have the books
here (produced)—this is the book where we enter our orders for advertisements—on 28th March I find an order to the Nonconformist newspaper—that is in the handwriting of a former book-keeper—here is the book in which the receipts are filed—I find here a receipt for some money for advertisements in the Nonconformist—here is the prisoner's cash-book—after the receipt is filed the amount is carried out in the order book—it is for 3l. 16s.—3l. 16s. is also entered as a payment in the cash-book—they are both in the prisoner's writing—the company is debited with that amount—it would appear by these entries that the prisoner had paid 3l. 16s. for advertisements in the Nonconformist.
Cross-examined. Q. Is the receipt book open to anybody in the office? A. It is usually kept in the office, in the safe—the book-keeper has charge of the safe, although it is not always locked—Mr. Roberts is the present book-keeper, he is here—no doubt other persons could get to it; I can do so at any time—the receipts may not be filed immediately they are given, it would depend upon how prompt the book-keeper was in his duties—the prisoner was book-keeper at this time—considerable amounts passed through his hands, perhaps 100l. or 200l. a week—that would be made up of several items, usually of sums not less than 10l.—he would also have to pay out the expenditure of the week; that would be, perhaps, 20l., 25l., or 30l. a week—it would be his duty to pay the balance into the bank, or hand it to me—all cheques were paid into the bank, and sometimes cash—when I wanted cash I asked him for it, and he entered it in the cash-book, and I initialed it, and what was not required he paid into the bank—I think the whole of this cash-book is in his handwriting—I cannot tell by looking at the cash-book whether the entries were made on the day on which they purport to be entered; they should be made the same day as the money is received—these are not copies from any other books, they are original entries—these entries, on the 28th, may have been made at different times, or he may have put his pen into a different inkstand—I am not in the habit of examining the cash-book every day—I don't think it is balanced every day—there might be two or three days elapse without any entries being made in the cash-book, if there were no receipts, or if the book-keeper did not do his duty—the prisoner's duties did not take him out a good deal—I never knew him go out for orders, although he may have done—his duties were to remain in the office, receive moneys, and pay out—he went to the bank—if money was paid during his absence it was handed over to him on his return—I or Mr. Martin, my salesman, might attend to his duties during his absence, or the females in attendance might; if they sold a dozen needles they would receive the money—I don't know that they have ever received 5l. or 6l.—Mr. Martin would usually be in attendance—money has often been received in the prisoner's absence—I could not say what sums—in his absence Mr. Martin might pay on account, or I might—I don't know that any one else would—I think no one has ever made a payment for advertisements except the prisoner and myself—I have made most of them, usually when he was present—I usually gave cheques for them—it would be his duty invariably to make the entry in the cash-book—any paying money would probably report it to him and hand him over the vouchers—that is supposing everything done correctly—he would put the voucher in the book, which we call filing it, and from that he would make the entry in the cash-book—I cannot tell by looking at the order book what sum was due to the Nonconformist on 28th April, because I cannot tell
how many times they inserted the advertisement—I have no other way of finding out than getting the file of papers and ascertaining how many times the advertisement appeared—I am not able to say that less than 3l. 16s. was due; that may have been due, for aught I know—the figures carried out in the order book are the prisoner's—the next figures, " July 24th, paid balance of account, " I should think are Mr. Roberts's, the present book-keeper—the prisoner was then in custody.
EVAN GRIFFITHS . I am the collector of accounts for Mr. Miall, the proprietor of the Nonconformist newspaper—on 28th April I called at the office of the prosecutors—2l. 16s. was then owing to us—the prisoner paid me that sum on that day, and I gave him a receipt for it; this is it filed in this book, but the figures have been altered—it is now for 3l. 16s.—when I receipted it it was 2l. 16s.—it has been altered since—I did not give the prisoner any authority to alter it—he made no further claim.
Cross-examined. Q. Is any part of the receipt in your writing? A. The signature is mine—the account was sent in at the end of March—the only alteration I find in this is the figure 2 changed into a 3—I am quite sure of that—I examined it at the police-office—the figure 2 has been altered, and the figure 16 has been altered—the figures have been marked over; that is the only alteration—I will swear this receipt was not given to me in the same condition it is in now—the account had been sent in on 28th March, or a few days afterwards—it is in my handwriting—it was delivered by another clerk, I forget now which clerk it was—I copied it from the ledger—the ledger is not here—there was only one clerk, but I am not sure which it was that was there then, Blinkworth or Pake—I say the receipt did not leave our office in the state it is now, except the signature—on 28th March 2l. 16s. was due to us—the accounts go in quarterly—there would be five additional insertions due on 28th April, that would be 1l.—that would make 3l. 16s. due on 28th April—the insertions were being continued—this account includes January, February, and March—it would be thirteen insertions—it would be fourteen from 27th December to 28th March; thirteen from 1st January—the paper is published every Wednesday—the 27th December was a Wednesday—that was included in the account—when I delivered the account it was for thirteen insertions, and the figures carried out in the column ought to have been 2l. 12s.—I find only ten insertions appeared in that quarter—the agreement was that it was to be left out unless it could appear in the first page.
MR. GRAIN. Q. Take the receipt into your hand again and look at it. Can you say, since you gave it to the prisoner, in how many places it has been altered? A. In seven places; the ten has been altered to 15, the 2 to 3, and the 2 to 3 on the receipt stamp, and the 16 has been marked over in both places to make it thicker; as it now stands, the account and the receipt are consistent with each other; it is a bill for 3l. 16s., and a receipt for 3l. 16s.—the accounts are sent in quarterly, the next account would be sent in at the end of June—when I gave the prisoner this receipt I received 2l. 16s.
MR. GRAIN proposed to call a witness for the purpose of proving another instance of the same nature, to show guilty knowledge. MR. RIBTON objected, the case being clearly one of forgery or no forgery, and not of uttering, to which alone such evidence could be applicable. The COMMON SERJEANT did not consider the evidence receivable.
JURY to MR. DIMOCK. Q. There is a memorandum on the back of this receipt," Nonconformist, 3l. 16s., March 31, 1866; "whose writing is that? A. I should say it was the prisoner's.
EVAN GRIFFITHS (re-examined). I kept the ledger; this is it—I copied this from the cash receipts book; that is not here—I don't know whose writing this endorsement of 3l. 16s. is on the back of the receipt—it is not that of any clerk in our office—the bill was made out from the ledger.
MR. DIMOCK (re-examined). To the best of my belief, this endorsement on the receipt is in the prisoner's writing—I have seen it before today—the receipt was taken out of the book at the police-office when the prisoner was first in custody, and I saw it then, but I did not think it was important.
GUILTY .— Confined Eighteen Months .
MR. DIMOCK stated the amount to which the company had been defrauded was 75l. or 80l.
MR. COOPER conducted the Prosecution, and MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS
JOHN MARE BULL (City Detective). On Tuesday, 14th August, I was on Cornhill, and, in consequence of information, I watched the prisoner Graves—I saw him in St. Michael's Alley, about fifty yards from the Metropolitan and Provincial Bank—after watching him for about twenty minutes I saw him cross Cornhill, look in the bank, and come out again—Mr. Langham, a gentleman connected with the bank, was with me, and we followed him—he went into a public-house at Norton Folgate—I had previously received a description of Brown—after remaining there a short time he came out with Brown—I went up to them and said to Brown, "You have just recently presented a cheque for 3l. 17s. 6d., at a bank in Cornhill"—I don't think I mentioned the name of the bank—he said, "Yes, I did"—I said, "Where did you get that cheque from? I am a police officer"—he said, "Oh! I had it from that gentleman," pointing to Graves—I said, "I shall take you both in custody; a lady has been recently robbed of that cheque, having had her pocket picked in the City Road"—Graves shortly afterwards said to Brown, "What's the good of telling that lie? You never had the cheque from me"—Brown then said, "No, I did not have it from that gentleman; I picked it up in a taproom of a public-house, and a highly respectable tradesman saw me pick it up"—I asked him for the name and address of that gentleman—he said he lived somewhere in London, but he could not give me his name or address—Brown was not wearing a watch—he had what they call a duffing guard, and a metal ring on—a purse with nothing in it was found on Graves.
WILLIAM MANTLE HEFFER . I am chief cashier at the Metropolitan and Provincial Bank, 75, Cornhill—I produce a cheque for 3l. 17s. 6d., which was presented to me over the bank counter on the 14th of August, about twenty minutes to one o'clock, by the prisoner Brown—I asked him how he came by it—he did not make any reply at first—I repeated the question, and he said, "I found it"—I asked him if he knew the consequences of presenting a cheque like that, which he admitted he had found—he then said it was not he who found it, but a gentleman who was waiting opposite, and he pointed to Graves, who was then on the opposite side of the way—I could see him by stooping down and looking through the glass door—I said to Brown, "You had better go, and think yourself lucky for getting away so easily"—he touched his hat very politely and went out—I intended to go after him, but, seeing Graves still waiting, I watched him instead—
after waiting a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes he walked over to our bank, opened the door, looked in, and immediately went off as hard as he could walk—I spoke to Bull, followed Graves, then returned to the bank.
GENEVIEVE ALLEN . I live at 3, President Street, Goswell Road—on 14th August, about twenty minutes to twelve o'clock, I was standing on the pavement in the City Road, waiting for an omnibus to London—there was a crowd there, in consequence of the bursting of some water-pipe, and I was asked by some woman if I had lost my purse—I felt, and discovered that I had, and my pocket had been cut—my purse contained six sovereigns and some silver, and this cheque for 3l. 17s. 6d.—I immediately gave notice at the bank of my loss.
Cross-examined. Q. Was that all that was in the purse? A. A money order, payable at the Haymarket money-order office, for 1l.
Brown's Defence. A man asked me to take this cheque to the bank.
BROWN— GUILTY on the second count./— Confined Twelve Months .
GRAVES— NOT GUILTY .
The following prisoners pleaded guilty:—
782. CHARLES JOHNSON (18) , to stealing two cheques, for 20l. and 10l. 0s. 6d., of Thomas Newton Stokes and another, his masters. He received a good character./— Confined Nine Months . [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
783. GEORGE ROBERT BRADFORD (32) , to stealing, while employed in the Post Office, a post letter, the property of her Majesty's Postmaster-General.— Five Years' Penal Servitude . [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
785. EDWARD CROSS STRAKER (43) , to embezzling the sums of 8l. 4s. 3d., 9l. 4s. 5d., and 22l. 1s. of Charles Hesse Cock and another, his masters. Recommended to mercy.— Confined Nine Months . [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
786. WALTER KEMPTON (19) , to stealing the sum of 100l. of Daniel Gow and others, his masters. MR. LEWIS, for the prosecution, requested a postponement of sentence, to allow the prisoner an opportunity of giving an account of the money stolen.—. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] Judgment respited
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, September 18th, 1866.
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
789. HENRY PRICE (13) PLEADED GUILTY to embezzling 4l. 2s. 8d. of Thomas Newton Stokes and another, his masters; also to unlawfully obtaining 2l. 8s. of Sarah Thwaites, and 9l. 14s. 6d. of James Wallsend, by false pretences.— Confined One Month, and Three years in a Reformatory .
790. JOHN EVANS (30) , to burglariously breaking and entering the dwellinghouse of Joseph Samuel Parsons, and stealing therein twenty pairs of gold earrings, one spoon, and other articles, his property.— Confined Two Tears . [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
791. JULIA WOODESON (49) , to three indictments for stealing mattresses, hearthrugs, and ticking of Daniel Clark, her master.— Five years' Penal Servitude . [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
793. HENRY COOPER (14) and HENRY TURNER (16) , to breaking and entering the dwelling-house of Thomas Westmore, and stealing therein one bottle of sherry, his property.—. Confined One Month each, and Three years in a Reformatory [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
MR. COOPER conducted the Prosecution.
EPHRAIM BEDINGHAM . I reside at 32, Manchester Street, King's Cross, and am a carpenter and joiner—on 27th August, a little before seven, I went into a public-house in Gray's Inn Road—I had a pint of beer there—Winterbourne came in and wanted some of my beer—I would not let her have it—Mills, who was there, said, "Why don't you take it if you want it? I should, you b—fool"—she took it after that without my consent—I left the house, and after I got a few yards they rushed on me behind, knocked me about, scratched my face, and knocked my hat in—I had a hand-saw in my hand—Winterbourne held my other hand while Mills twisted it out of my hand—Mills ran away with the saw—they did not take anything else from me—they did not hurt me a great deal, only by scratching my face—Mills ran away with the saw—I held Winterbourne, called a policeman, and gave her in charge—this is my saw (produced)—I have had it some time—I know it well—I was quite sober.
Winterbourne. The prosecutor met me at four o'clock, took me to a house, and called for a pint of fourpenny ale, and then Mills came in with another man—the two men entered into a dispute about who would make the best four-inch door—he wanted me to pledge his saw, as he had broken the pledge and wanted to keep up the spree—I would not pawn it, but he gave it to Mills, who had pawned a handkerchief of his before. Witness. Mills never pawned a handkerchief for me—I did not go to a public-house with Winterbourne—I had not been at Mills's house—she never pawned a handkerchief for me—I had never seen either of the prisoners before—it was not quite seven—it was broad daylight.
CHARLES EDWARD CARPENTER . I live at 128, Gray's Inn Road, and am a writer on glass—on Monday, the 27th August, I was sitting at my front window, and I saw the prosecutor as he got opposite my house—I saw Winterbourne come up behind him—she caught him by the neck, and twisted his handkerchief, and while he was struggling with her Mills twisted the saw out of his hand and ran away—I knew them in the neighbourhood.
JOHN OUTRED (Policeman 132 E). On August 27th, about seven o'clock, I was told to take the prisoners—I heard some one say the "Great Eastern" was the one who had the saw—I did not know who that was—I found Winterbourne at the corner of Fullwood's Rents—I said, "Liz, have you been at Verulam Buildings tonight?"—she said, "Yes, and I have had a rare fight there"—I said, "What about the saw?"—she said, "I have pledged it; here is the ticket, and here is the money; it was the best thing to do with it to prevent any one from stealing it"—the money was 1s. 4d., and 1d. in copper.
Winterbourne's Defence. There was no robbery at all, he said he had furnished lodgings and wanted me to go and live with him as his wife—he was drinking in my company from four o'clock in the afternoon till seven in the evening.
Mills's Defence. I went into the public-house to be treated with some gin by the prosecutor—he gave this young woman the saw to pledge—she gave it to me, and I pledged it at Golding's—when I came back they were both gone—I told the policeman I was looking for Liz, and he said I
must go along with him—I gave him the ticket—he did not ask me for the money until we got to the station.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. COOPER conducted the Prosecution.
WILLIAM GEORGE HOWARD . I assist my father, who keeps a fancy warehouse at No. 62, Barbican—Keen has been in his employ as porter nine or ten years—great confidence was placed in him—on September 5th I missed a writing-desk from a shelf—these two pieces of brown paper (produced) have contained writing-desks of exactly the same description as this (produced), and two other pieces of paper contained desks of other descriptions—they were worth 72s. a dozen—I also missed some little roulette games from the same division or the next—I cannot swear that we had not sold them—Keen had access to them.
WILLIAM HOWARD . I keep a fancy warehouse at 62, Barbican—in consequence of what my son said to me, I called Keen from the stable, and said, "Keen, bring that writing-desk"—"A writing-case?" he said; "which?"—I said, "The case you took out just this moment"—he had no right to take it out—he brought a writing-case from the stable—the value of it was 6s.—I sent for a policeman and gave him in custody—I know these two other cases—I missed them from the shelves.
ISAAC WISEMAN (City Policeman 126). I was called to Mr. Howard's—he charged Keen with stealing a writing-case—Keen said that he had nothing to say—I searched him and found a purse containing 7s. 6d.—I went to his lodgings, No. 83, St. John Street, and found these two roulette boards, a cribbage board, and an india-rubber ball.
WILLIAM POTTS (City Policeman 133). I received information, and on September 5th I went to St. John's Lane, where Porter lives, and said to him, "Did you sell any writing-desks to Atkinson and Elliott, of Brompton Row, Brompton?"—he said, "No"—I said, "I am an officer"—he then said, "Yes," but that he had forgotten the name—I said that I should take him in custody for receiving them, knowing them to be stolen—I searched his house and found seven packages of penholders, a package of ivory handles, a quantity of envelopes and papers, and these pieces of paper, which have contained desks—I received these desks from Mr. Elliott, of Brompton—when asked to account for the penholders he said that he was not going to let me into the secrets of his business.
JOHN HENRY ELLIOTT . I am a toy dealer, of No. 127, Brompton Row—on August 28th I purchased of Porter these two brown paper cases for 7s. (produced)—they contained paper and envelopes—I had bought goods of him before—I asked him if he was the maker of the cases—he said, "No," but that he had them to sell because the maker was indisposed to sell to retail houses direct, as it might interfere with his wholesale connection—he offered to supply us at 32s. a dozen, and I asked him his name and address—having bought similar goods of Mr. Howard, I felt it my duty to communicate with him, through which this prosecution took place, as he identified the goods—I forwarded a small order to the address the prisoner gave me, but did not get the goods.
Porter. I have them of the maker, and sell them on commission
for him, and also on my own account—I could have got a dozen more of them—I intended to let Mr. Elliott know that I could not do them at the price I sold them for. Witness. I knew they were worth 4s. 6d. each, and that nobody could sell them at 3s. 6d. if they were obtained honestly.
MR. COOPER. Q. Do you know that he was in custody when your order went in? A. I have heard it since.
HENRY DAVALL . I keep a lodginghouse at No. 18, St. John's Lane, Clerkenwell—Porter lodged there about twelve months—Keen called there twice, but he did not see Porter—I saw Keen with Porter about a week before he was taken.
Porter's Statement before the Magistrate:—I bought the writing-cases of a person I know by name, but I do not know where he resides—I bought half a dozen of him—they were different patterns, and among them were the two I sold to Mr. Elliott—I have had several transactions with the person, and did not think to ask him where he got them—I was not aware whose property they were—I merely bought them, and paid him—I did not buy them with any felonious knowledge whatever.
KEEN— Confined Two Tears . PORTER— Five Years' Penal Servitude .
MR. BESLEY conducted the Prosecution, and MR. WILLIAMS the Defence.
JOHN CHESTER (Policeman H 23). On the afternoon of 30th August I was on Tower Hill in plain clothes, and saw the prisoner, whom I did not know before, with another lad, attempting to pick three gentlemen's pockets who were standing in the crowd—the lad tried to cover him on each occasion—a man was selling some mock jewellery, and the prisoner went in front of a gentleman who was there, and the lad at his side—the prisoner clasped the gentleman's watchguard, and I saw the bow of a watch in his hand—I seized him, but the gentleman walked away—the prisoner was about nine minutes under my observation.
Cross-examined. Q. Have you ever said a word before today about another person being with him? A. Yes—I did not say anything at the police-court about seeing the bow of the watch—I was examined shortly, because it was very late in the afternoon—I had not a chance to speak to the gentleman, as the prisoner had a regular struggle with me—it was about one o'clock in the day—I was not quite three yards from him when I saw his hand on the chain—the crowd seemed all to strive against me, but they did not know I was a constable—I have been four years in the force—I was alone.
GUILTY .**— Confined Two Years .
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, September 19th, 1866.
Before Mr. Justice Lush.
797. In the case of MARY BUTCHER (35) , standing indicted for the wilful murder of her two children , the Jury, upon the evidence of Mr. John Rowland Gibson, surgeon of Newgate, found the prisoner to be insane and incapable to plead .— Ordered to be detained during her Majesty's pleasure.
MESSRS. POLAND and BESLEY conducted the Prosecution; MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS defended Gairdelli, and MR. KEMP Nolan.
WILLIAM PAUL . I am a potman, and work at No. 255, Euston Road—I have known the prisoners for about eight or nine years—I have seen them together frequently—nearly three years ago I gave evidence on a trial against two girls named Murphy, whom I have seen in company of the three prisoners—since that Nolan has spoken to me on the subject, but only when he has been in liquor—he said he would give me a good hiding the first time he got a chance—he said that every time he was in liquor, not when he was sober—on Sunday night, the 12th August, I was at the corner of Tottenham Court Road, smoking my pipe—it was near on half-past twelve o'clock—I had not seen the prisoners on that day beforethen—I saw Nolan, Gairdelli, Cane, and two others coming from an ice shop about twenty yards from me—they came close against me, and Nolan began to bully me, and called me a b—policeman's nark—that means a man who watches out for the police—I told him I was not a policeman's nark, and why should he come up insulting me as he had done for the last three years, and he then repeated that I was a policeman's nark—(the other prisoners were within hearing)—I told him I was not, when Gairdelli seized me by the collar with his left hand, put his hand to my stomach and stabbed me with a knife—I saw the knife in his hand when he was coming from the ice shop—he was spinning it in his hand, throwing it up and catching it—it was an open pocket-knife, with a spring back—I had seen him throwing up the knife before Nolan spoke to me, and when he caught me by the collar I saw the knife in his hand—he caught me in this way, saying, "Take that; I will rip your b—guts up"—I felt as if water was trickling from my stomach, and found there was blood from my hand when I drew it from my stomach—I showed it to them, and Gairdelli then said, "Take that, you b—that will do for you"—when he said that, the knife was in his hand—Nolan then said to Gairdelli, "Give me the knife and take your b——hook"—Gairdelli threw the knife to Nolan, who was close against him—it did not fall to the ground, it was caught by Nolan—it was open then—Nolan wiped the knife, closed it, and put it in his right-hand trousers pocket—Gairdelli stooped down among the gang of chaps that were there, and got away—there were three more besides the five I have mentioned—while this was occurring Cane was standing amongst them; the other three came up after I was stabbed—at the time I was stabbed there were only the three prisoners and the two girls—Cane was near enough to hear all that occurred—after Nolan put the knife in his pocket he went away—Cane stood at the corner, and as I was making my way to the hospital he followed me, and came behind and kicked me in Tottenham Court Road, as I clung to a cab, while staggering to the hospital—he did not say a word to me—I said, "All right, Ted; I shall know you"—I was taken into the hospital and properly attended to—Nolan was in liquor—Gairdelli and Cane were sober.
Cross-examined by MR. WILLIAMS. Q. How many people were there standing at the top of Tottenham Court Road when Nolan came up to you? A. There were two girls and a young chap talking to me at the time—Gairdelli came up with Nolan walking close behind him—I could not say how many people were there when Gairdelli stooped down amongst the crowd—Nolan did not speak over and above loud when he said I was a policeman's nark—know Matilda Raper—she was close
against me, talking to me—the person who stabbed me did not say, "Take that you, b—rounder"—I have been convicted of an assault, and was taken up for desertion from my regiment—I was charged with stealing three coats, but my innocence was proved—I only had two months for desertion—I have said before today that Gairdelli said, "Take that, you b—; that will do for you"—I said so at the hospital, and at the court—the hospital was about 200 yards from where this took place—I stood for a moment, to see if I could see a policeman, but could not—I fell on the steps of the hospital—I did not see any one who would give me assistance—I did not cry out—I had not seen Gairdelli for some time before.
Cane. Q. Where do you say I kicked you? A. In Tottenham Court Road, between the cabs.
MR. POLAND. Q. What was the assault of which you were convicted? A. For assaulting a policeman—I had one month for it—I struck him with my hand—that is about six or seven months ago—I am twenty-three years of age.
AMELIA BROPHY . I live at No. 18, Ogle Mews—I was at the top of Tottenham Court Road on the Sunday when this happened—I knew Paul before that night—I was not talking to him then—I had been drinking with him five or ten minutes before he was stabbed—there was another girl there, named Matilda Raper—while I was standing there I saw the three prisoners—they all crossed the road together—I heard some loud words, quite an alarm, and I crossed the road to see what was the matter—I was about two yards from the spot, when I saw Joe Gairdelli stab Paul—he stuck the knife into him—the knife was open—I should think he stabbed him about two or three inches above the navel—I saw him draw the knife out quickly with all his force and throw it to Nolan—it was still open—Nolan wiped it across his coat sleeve, shut it up, and put it in his right-hand trousers pocket, still keeping his hand on the knife—Paul put his hand in his waistcoat, pulled it out, and it was covered with blood, and he turned round to Nolan and said, "If I could see a policeman I would give you in charge, but I must be off to the hospital"—Nolan then turned round to Gairdelli and said, "There, Charley, now you have done it, sling your hook, run away"—Paul then made his way to the University hospital, and the eight young men ran away—I was so excited at seeing the young man stabbed that I cannot tell you any more—Nolan was about three yards away when Paul was struck—Cane was among the crowd—there were a good many there, but there were eight young men there who I could say were mates—I did not see Cane do anything, I only saw him in the crowd.
Cross-examined by MR. WILLIAMS. Q. You were on the opposite side of the road? A. Yes—Gairdelli went up to Paul first—there was no one else there when Gairdelli went up to him—the eight young men were there when Paul was stabbed—I did not see them coming out of the ice shop—it is a rather narrow road—I heard some loud words before Gairdelli stabbed Paul—they were all speaking, but what they said I could not say—the other woman was on the spot when Paul was stabbed—I had not been out with Paul—I had been drinking with him—I was an unfortunate girl at the time—I had been with him about an hour—I had had a little to drink, but I knew what I was about—I was at the beershop where Paul worked, at the corner of Beaumont Place, Euston Road—he lodged at Mrs. Williams's, who keeps a chandler's shop in Tottenham Place—I live at No. 8, Ogle Mews—I do not know Emma Elliott (she was
called in)—I know that woman as being an unfortunate girl—we were lodging together, but I did not know her by that name—I slept with her the night the stabbing took place—I did not say to her I would go up against the prisoners and get well paid for it—she did not say I knew nothing about it, nor did I say, "I don't care, I shall go and get well paid for it"—I have known Paul about six months, but I was not on more intimate terms with him than the other girls—I do not know a man named Henry Grellet—I do not know whether he was in the crowd—I can only swear to the three prisoners—I cannot swear that Grellet was not there—I did not see any man strike Paul three blows with his fist—I do not know a woman named Elizabeth Clams.
Cane. Q. Where was I standing when Paul went to the hospital? A. You went away—you followed the others—what became of you and Paul I cannot say.
COURT. Q. Did you know the three prisoners before? A. Yes, all of them—I knew Gairdelli when he lived with Julia Keefe, who is now in prison.
MATILDA RAPER .—I live at 5, Phillips Buildings, Somer's Town—I am an unfortunate girl—on Sunday night, 12th July, I was at the corner of Tottenham Court Road talking to Paul, who was smoking—I did not see Brophy at all—while I was talking to Paul I saw five men come in the direction from the ice shop in Tottenham Court Road—they came up to him, and one of them called him a b—rounder—I cannot say who it was—the man who called him that had a knife in his hand—he took him by the collar, and said, "I will rip your b—guts up"—he plunged the knife into his stomach, and said, "Take that; that will do for him"—he then passed the knife to another man, who said, "Sling your hook, Charley; you have done it"—the man who stabbed him then went away with three others—the man to whom he passed the knife wiped it on his sleeve, and put it in his pocket—Paul said, "I think you have done it"—he then pulled his hand out of his trousers pocket, it had blood on it, and said, "If there was a policeman here I would lock you up"—he also said, "I am now off to the hospital"—I never saw the prisoners before till that night—I cannot say who struck the blow—most of the men who were there had white jackets on—I do not recognise either of the prisoners—I walked to the corner of the first street in the Tottenham Court Road, and Paul crossed by the cab rank—two of the men that were left behind followed him, and three went down the New Road—that was when he passed through the cab rank—I saw him pass through the cabs towards the hospital, with two of the men following him.
Cross-examined by MR. WILLIAMS. Q. Were you standing close to Paul when the three men came up? A. Yes—they ail came together—it occupied a very short time—I did not see Amelia Brophy there at all; if she was there, she was not on the spot.
Cross-examined by MR. KEMP. Q. Did you see the prisoners on that night? A. Yes; I saw them all, there were five men—I cannot under-take to swear that the three prisoners were there—I had been talking to Paul about ten minutes before he was stabbed—I stood behind him while this occurred, so that I could have touched him, so near that I could hear the whole conversation—I heard him called a b—rounder—to the best of my belief, it was by the man who stabbed him—I did not hear any such expression as a b—policeman's nark—only one of the men spoke to him—I am quite sure it was the man that stabbed him that called him a b—
rounder—only one man spoke to him while the stabbing was done, but after he had been stabbed, and was going away, he said, "I think you have done it," and one of the five men said, "It would serve you right if he has done it"—it was one of the two men that followed him said that—I do not believe anything was said that I did not hear.
MR. POLAND. Q. How far off was Brophy? A. I did not see her at all—I had seen her about three minutes before it happened, with another young girl at the corner of the road, at the same corner as it happened.
CLEMENT MORRISON . I am house surgeon at the University College Hospital—on Monday morning, about twenty minutes past twelve o'clock, I saw Paul in the outpatients' room lying on the sofa—he was in great pain, and in a state of partial collapse—I removed his clothes and found a wound, about an inch and a half above the navel, about three-quarters of an inch in length—it had pierced the cavity of the abdomen, and the omentum was protruding—I cannot exactly say how deep it had gone, I should say two inches—I replaced the omentum in its position—inflammation set in next day, and he was in imminent danger for at least five days, and during that time his deposition was taken at the hospital—after that he improved—I think he was an inpatient about nineteen days—he is tolerably safe now—he can scarcely be said to be absolutely safe—he is still liable to relapses—it must have been a sharp instrument to have caused such a wound as that—it could have been inflicted by a pocket-knife.
WILLIAM YOUNG (Policeman 162 E). On Tuesday, the 14th August, about a quarter-past six in the evening, I went to a public-house in How-land Street, Tottenham Court Road—I saw Gairdelli run out of the house with another man named Ryan, I believe—as soon as I came in sight, at the corner of John Street, they both ran out—I ran after Gairdelli, who ran into Little Howland Street—I caught him by the collar there—as soon as I caught him he said, "What am I charged with?"—I said, "For stabbing a man in the Tottenham Court Road"—he repeated it several times—the sergeant came up to my assistance, and I took him to the station—he kept repeating, "What am I charged with?" and said that I had not told him—I searched him at the station, but found nothing on him—he again said I had not told him what he was charged with—I had known him for some time before—he wears a white moleskin coat or jacket—he lived at 5, Beaumont Place.
Cross-examined by MR. WILLIAMS Q. Did you find a white jacket? A. No—I have seen him with a white jacket on—I am on that beat, and see a good many white jackets.
ROBERT CARTER (Policeman 117 E). On 17th August I went to Brook Street, Euston Road—I saw Nolan come out of there—I stopped him and told him he was wanted for being concerned, with a man named Gairdelli, in stabbing a man in Tottenham Court Road—he said, "I know nothing about it; I was not there; I do not know Gairdelli"—I told him that was very strange, as I knew Gairdelli lived with him at his mother's house, which I did know—he said, "I do not know him," and I took him to the station—afterwards, on the 22nd August, I took Cane into custody in Great Marlborough Street, close to the police-court—I told him he was wanted for assaulting William Paul, after being stabbed in the Tottenham Court Road, on the morning of the 13th August—he said, "I was not there"—he also said, "Why should I assault Paul, when I never owed him any revenge?"—I took him to the hospital to be identified, and then Paul made a statement, which the house surgeon took down—it was said loud
enough for Cane to hear, and Paul signed it—Cane said, "I am innocent."
Cane. Q. When you saw me did you not say, "I want you for kicking Paul in the leg," and I said, "I never done any such thing?" A. No; I did not see you for ten days previous to the day I took you in custody.
Nolan received a good character.
GAIRDELLI— GUILTY of wounding, with intent to do grievous bodily harm.— Ten Tears' Penal Servitude ,
NOLAN and CANE— NOT GUILTY .
MR. METCALFE conducted the Prosecution, and MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS the Defence,
RICHARD SMITH . I was a City policeman, I am not now—on 27th July, about four o'clock in the afternoon, I saw a hansom cab, No. 2320—I could not swear to the prisoner being the driver—it came out of Eastcheap into King William Street—as I was turning the corner of Fish Street Hill I saw the off shaft strike an elderly gentleman in the shoulder and knock him down, and the off wheel of a London, Brighton, and South Coast van passed over his legs—the van was coming in an opposite direction from King William Street into Eastcheap—the old gentleman was crossing from the opposite side of King William Street towards Eastcheap, coming from the boot shop in King William Street to the hat shop at the corner of Fish Street Hill—he was within about two yards of the kerb that he was coming to, when the cab caught him—it was the right-hand shaft of the cab that caught him—the cab was coming at the rate of about six miles an hour—when I saw him run over I held up my hand for the carman who was driving the van to stop—he did so—the cab drove off—I ran after it, but could not catch it, but I caught the number—the street was clear on the near side of King William Street at the time, as the traffic coming down Gracechurch Street leaves a space there for the traffic to come out of East-cheap on the near side—the cab had about thirty or forty yards clear in front of it—the deceased had passed in front of the van—the van was coming towards him.
Cross-examined. Q. I suppose you did not see the cab until it reached the corner? A. Not till it reached the corner of Fish Street Hill—the van was not coming down hill.
JAMES JOEL BENNETT . I live at 59, Richmond Road, Hackney—I have retired from business—on 27th July I was near the corner of King William Street—I saw the accident happen—a cab was driving round the corner, certainly at the rate of nearly eight miles an hour; I am quite sure of that—the accident might have been avoided if the driver had been going at a moderate pace round the corner—it is a very sharp corner, one of the most dangerous corners in the city for rapid driving—I have driven constantly on the town for seventeen years—I should not have driven round that corner at such a pace—the cab caught the deceased just below the shoulder in front.
Cross-examined. Q. Which way were you coming? A. From Fish Street Hill towards Gracechurch Street—I saw the cab before it came round the corner—it was in full view before it came to the corner—it was the rapid pace at which it was going that attracted my attention—I
should say I saw it for twelve, fourteen, or fifteen yards before it turned the corner.
JOHN GILL . I am house surgeon at Guy's Hospital—on 27th August, between four and five o'clock in the afternoon, the deceased was brought there by the constable—he was a man aged fifty-seven, he told me, but he looked considerably older—he had a compound fracture of the left leg, for which he was treated—he subsequently died from it—he was in no imme-diate danger at first, but bad symptoms came on afterwards.
EDWARD EDMONDS . I live at 21, Earl Street, Old Kent Road—I was the driver of the van belonging to the Brighton and South Coast Company—I saw the shaft of the cab catch the deceased in the right shoulder—he had not passed in front of my van—he came down the side, as near as I could judge—he must have been walking at the side of my van in the street, the same way as the horses were going, not on the pavement—I thought he was trying to get in front of my horses—I was going towards Eastcheap—the cab was meeting me, and when I turned my head I saw the shaft of the cab knock him down, and before I had time to pull up my horses my near wheel went over him—I do not think he had time to get out of the way on the pavement—my van was on one side of him, and the cab on the other—I thought he was going to cross in front of my horses; he was going straight ahead—the cab caught him before he got by and knocked him down, and I had not time to pull up—I could not swear as to how the cabman was driving.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. KEMP conducted the Prosecution.
GUILTY .— Ten Years' Penal Servitude .
NEW COURT.—Wednesday, September 19th, 1866.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
EDMUND PHILLIPS WOOD . I live at 1, Hare Court, Temple, and am a barrister and professor of Hindoo law—on Saturday evening, 25th August, or the morning of the 26th, about half-past two o'clock, I was in Oxford Street, on my way home, and saw a fire—I was anxious to see if it would affect the locality of the British Museum—I turned a little way down Broad Street, and found it was in Museum Street—I stood looking at the fire not many seconds—the crowd appeared rather thinner at one place, in consequence of a plug being drawn—I skirted the crowd, and, seeing an opening a quarter or half a yard wide, I went along it about nine feet, when I found the people in advance of me were stopped, and I thought I had better go back, as the people were rather restless—I had taken my chain off before going into the crowd, and put it into my waistcoat pocket, so as not to offer any attraction to them, and I put my handkerchief in my hat—I had a silk umbrella in my hand, of which this is the handle—I
turned round and took two steps in retreat, when a man on my right said, "Now then," and seized my umbrella—I saw the prisoner there, but whether he actually seized me I cannot say—one man said, "Give it to the governor"—another said, "Go in, go in"—five or six others advanced to me—the man pulled at my umbrella with great violence, and left the handle in my hand—I found that they were feeling my waistcoat, and said, "That is your game, is it?" and struck blows out, which kept them away about a yard, but somebody came behind me and bonneted me—I turned round, and I believe I hit that man with my left fist—the prisoner then came behind me and gave me a violent blow on my hat, which I should have felt if it had not been for my handkerchief—I turned round and saw the prisoner behind me, and saw 113 F a yard and a half before me—three or four people were trying to prevent him coming—he said, "All right, sir, I see him," and pounced on the prisoner, caught him by the collar, and held him till another constable came—the prisoner said, "Do not take out your truncheon, I will walk quietly"—113 F pushed him out of the crowd and took him to the station—I then missed my emerald shirt pin, which was worth, I should think, considerably more than 1l.
Prisoner. I had never been there before. Witness. When the prisoner was asked his address he said that he came from Bethnal Green—his assault might have been simply to get something if he could, and he may not have been joining in a concerted robbery; I should therefore feel very pleased if the verdict was for assault and not robbery—he has pleaded guilty to the assault.
EDWARD CARWELL (Policeman 113 F). About a quarter to two o'clock on the morning of the fire I was on duty at the end of Museum Street, to keep the crowd back from the fire—I saw Mr. Wood enter the crowd, and five or six men set on him—I distinctly saw the prisoner bonnet him—he was among the other people pushing Mr. Wood backwards and forwards—I made my way through, and he crouched down in the crowd—I seized his collar and called for help, but it was five minutes almost before the other policeman got to me—I was kicked on the leg, and the prisoner bit my thumb when I had him by the collar.
Prisoner's Defence. I know none of them—I am innocent of the robbery, and innocent of biting the policeman.
NOT GUILTY of the intent to rob. Sentence for the assault/— Confined Two Months .
MESSRS. METCALFE and STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution.
ROBERT CARTER (Policeman 117 E). I was employed to watch the post office at 26, Oxford Street, from the Friday preceding the 11th September—I was watching on the 11th September, at about half-past five in the morning, and saw the prisoner picking up straws—he then went to the post office, turned his back to the aperture of the receiving-box, looked up and down the street for half a minute, and then turned towards the slit in a stooping position, when I immediately saw smoke arise as if from matches—I saw something white in his hand, and saw him place it in the box—I quietly crossed the street—he ran away as soon as he saw me—I followed him 300 yards, and caught him at Regent Circus—I charged him with attempting to set fire to the post office—he said, "Not me"—he had some
straws in his left hand at the time—I took him to the station and found these two stones and some paper and straw on him—I then went to the post office, and found in the box these six matches, three burnt and three not burnt, this paper, and I should guess over twenty letters.
Prisoner. You are committing perjury; you called me from the side of the Regent Circus. Witness. I caught you there—I did not call to you—another constable ran after me.
Prisoner. You are committing perjury in saying that I put them in—you or somebody else put them in to convict me—I swear that before God.
JOSEPH LEE . I am assistant to Mr. Cooper, who keeps a chemist's shop and post office at 26, Oxford Street—for six or eight mornings prior to 11th September I found straws, firewood, matches, shavings chips, and paper in the letter-box, and on two occasions matches—I was not there on the 11th September, but I afterwards found a mark as if a match had been lighted—there were letters in the box on each occasion—nothing could be put in from the inside, as the box was locked—we had large quantities of turpentine, spirits of wine, and perfumes near the box, and if the window had caught fire it would have been blown out—there was only half an inch of deal between the letters and the spirits of wine.
JOHN ROWLAND GIBSON . I am surgeon to the gaol of Newgate, and have seen the prisoner there daily—my opinion is that he is not of sound mind—he has been in the habit for some time past of picking up straws, orange peel, stones, and other things in the street, in which he believed he saw the image of his father, who is dead, and that by placing them in the letter-box he communicated with his father and exercised some influence over his friends—I derived that from my conversation with him—he picked up a few things in the gaol, in which he said he saw the image of his father, and said that he was more bound by that than by human law—this(produced) is a certificate from a lunatic asylum where he was confined as a dangerous lunatic in 1864.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate:—I was a lunatic three times—I have been in a lunatic asylum three times—I have been in the habit of collecting paper and other things, and my wife told me I should get a respite for it some time ago.
NOT GUILTY , being insane.
MR. HORRT conducted the Prosecution. In this case the prisoner charged the prosecutor with attempting the commission of an unnatural offence, and stated that the assault charged was committed in self defence.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution, and MR. GRIFFITHS defended Tucker.
spoke to me, which induced me to feel in my pocket, and I missed my purse—it was there two hours before—there was a sovereign, a half-sovereign, and three or four shillings in it—I next saw it at the police-court—Miss Mant was with me, but I have a medical certificate that she is unable to come.
Cross-examined. Q. What time was, it? A. About five p. m.—there were a great many people about.
JOHN THOMAS . I am a broker's assistant, and live at 6, Cumberland Street, Curtain Road—I was in Gracechurch Street, and saw the prosecutrix, another lady, and the two prisoners close together—Tucker got in front of Mrs. Bean, and Reeves by her side, on the kerb—Mrs. Bean was stopped for half a minute where the busses are timed, and I saw Reeves go close to Mrs. Bean, and saw something in her hand—I spoke to Mrs. Bean, who felt in her pocket and missed her purse—I pointed out the prisoners to her—they were then about fifty yards from where it happened.
Cross-examined. Q. Were you before the magistrate? A. No—I heard no more of the case till I was found at Kingsland in possession for rent—it was I who gave information to the police—they did not ask me my name and address, and I did not stop.
CHARLES BUNDOCK (704 City Police). I was on duty in Eastcheap—Thomas gave me information, and I went after the prisoners up Philpot Lane—they were talking together—I told them the charge, and Mrs. Bean said that she had lost her purse—they said that they knew nothing about it—I took them to the station and found on Tucker 6¼d. and a tobacco-box.
Cross-examined. Q. Did he give you his right address? A. Yes. MARIA CHAMBERS. I am searcher at Seething Lane station—I searched Reeves—she took this purse from her bosom and said, "I see you will have it."
TUCKER— GUILTY .
The prisoners were further charged with having been before convicted, Tucker in 1861, and Reeves in 1862, in the name of Elizabeth Ridler, to which they both PLEADED GUILTY.
TURNER.**†— Seven Years' Penal Servitude .
REEVES.— Confined Eighteen Months .
MR. LEE conducted the Prosecution.
THOMAS WOOLSTENCROFT (Thames Policeman 34). I produce three labels, numbered 10, 377, 10, 399, and 10, 363, which I took from three mats of sugar which I found on a barge at Lee, on the Middlesex side of the river, about 9.45 on the morning of the 4th September—the barge had been lying at Wheatsheaf Wharf, Wapping, on the 4th August—the mats were full of sugar, and one of them was cut open—they were taken to the station—they belonged to Thomas Pillow and Sons, master lightermen—I received information, watched the barge, and in about an hour saw the prisoners come into Wheatsheaf Wharf—they walked on to the jetty, and I saw George slide down a pole into the barge
—he then walked to the head, lifted up a flap, and pulled down this bag of sugar (produced), and cut it open—he then pulled down this empty sack and ran away—Charles was looking at him, and could see all he did—Charles ran away, and George got up, climbed up the pole, and was running through the wharf when I stopped him—I am sure he had not seen me—I asked him what business he had in the barge—he said that he never was in it—the barge in which the sugar was was on the opposite side of the river.
Charles Howell. Q. The last time you gave your evidence did you say that you saw me standing on the schooner's rigging? A. Yes—I saw you there—you afterwards followed George and stood on the barge—I saw you talking to him for a quarter of an hour—I did not see you in the barge.
THOMAS PILLOW, JUNIOR . I am one of the firm of Thomas Pillow and Sons, lightermen—I missed four mats of sugar from a barge—they were labelled—two of these labels are marked with rotation marks—65, 174 is the rotation number of the cargo—I have a parcel sent up from Plymouth bearing the same rotation number, from the same cargo—I have not the slightest doubt that these labels belong to the three missing mats of sugar.
EDWARD TAYLOR . I am in the service of Mr. John Humphery—on 3rd September I shipped some 560 mats of sugar into Mr. Pillow's barge—they all had labels on them like these—I gave them in charge to Bailey.
WILLIAM BAILEY . I am a lighterman in the service of Messrs. Pillow and Sons—I received the mats of sugar from Taylor—I cannot swear to the number—I got them on board the barge on the 3rd, and took the barge to the Founding Stairs, on the Surrey side, and left it moored there, opposite the "Wheatsheaf," but higher up—I was away three-quarters of an hour—that was about 9.45 a.m.
George Howell's Defence. I did not steal the sugar—four bags were burst open at the police-court—I never cut them—I could not reach the barge's head-sheets.
Charles Howell's Defence. I met my cousin in Wapping Street, who told me that if I went down to the tunnel at six or seven o'clock in the morning he would give me a job—I did not get there till eight o'clock—the tide was up, and I did not see the barge.
GUILTY . **— Five Years' Penal Servitude each .
THIRD COURT.—Wednesday, September 19th, 1866.
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
MR. PATER conducted the Prosecution.
JOHANNA HEFFERMAN . I reside at 35, Robinson's Road, Hackney Road, and am a widow—on the afternoon of 10th August, between five and six o'clock, I was walking with a friend in the Hackney Road—when we got near the corner of Crabtree Row a man came up and seized me by the brooch and chain, which was round my neck—he pulled me on to the pavement, and pulled me on my face and hands, and cut my face and my fingers—the chain was broken, and he took the best portion of it away—the rest of it was scattered about the street—I became insensible—the man ran away—I could not swear to him myself.
Prisoner. Q. Did you give any information to the police after you were robbed? A. Yes, and I gave my address to a policeman when he came up—there was a gentleman came up and caught some one—I don't say he caught you.
MARGARET RYAN . I live with the last witness, and am single—I was walking with her on the afternoon of 10th August—when we arrived near the corner of Crabtree Row the prisoner came up and seized Mrs. Heffer-man by the brooch and chain, and pulled her right round the corner on to the pavement, cutting her face and fingers—he broke the chain, and took away the best part of it, and then ran away—I saw the prisoner coming up to Mrs. Hefferman—I went to the station about four hours afterwards, and pointed him out from others—I picked up part of the chain.
HENRY ROBSON . I live at 34, Fellow Street, Kingsland Road, and am a smith—about half-past five on the afternoon of 10th August I was coming down Crabtree Row and saw the prisoner at the corner—another man was with him, about two yards from him—I saw the two females going by—as soon as the lady got to the corner of the street the prisoner came up and seized her by her brooch and her throat—he pulled her to the ground—the lady screamed, and the prisoner and another man ran away down Crabtree Row—I saw the prisoner at the station-house about four hours afterwards, and picked him out from others.
Prisoner. Q. What do you swear to me by? A. By your face, and your hat—a policeman came for me, he told me he had got you—I picked you out.
CHARLES GARDNER . I am a bootmaker at 57, Columbia Square, Bethnal Green—on afternoon of 10th August I was near Crabtree Row and heard a scream—I went in that direction, and saw the prisoner and two others running away—I stopped one of them—I am certain the prisoner was one of the men running—I should have stopped him, only there was a cart between us—I caught hold of the last one;—I met a policeman and gave a description of him—I then went back to the lady and gave her my address—an hour and a half afterwards the policeman came for me, and I went and picked the prisoner out.
Prisoner. Q. Will you swear that I am the man? A. I will—I told the inspector that you were the man, but that I did not want to swear against any man—if I could not swear to you I should not have come here—I gave a description of you—you ran up Crabtree Row—I saw other men at the station-house—I could not identify them—I would not swear to them—I was a constable seventeen years ago.
MR. PATER. Q. How long were you in the force? A. About four years—I have not the least doubt at all about this man, although I never saw him before, that I know of.
WILLIAM HORN (Policeman K 124). From a description I received from the last witness, I took the prisoner into custody—I told him I wanted him for a job down in the Hackney Road a little while previous—he said, "Oh! do you?"—I caught hold of him, and took him towards the station-house—he said, "I will go quietly if you leave go of me," and he walked with me to the station—I got several men similar to him, placed him among them, took in each witness at the time, and they identified him, and I had a fresh lot of men each time—he asked for a fair chance, and told him he would have a fair chance of identification.
Prisoner. Q. What time did you see me in Brick Lane? A. I saw you in Old Nichol Street—it would not have done to take you there—when I saw you at the corner of Brown's Lane I seized you quickly, and after I had pulled you round and taken you a little way you said, "I will go quiet"—I got the men out of the market to put with you.
Prisoner's Defence.—The first witness said in her depositions that she saw me standing at the corner of Crab Tree Row before she came up to me—I am not the man—I dispute my identity—I never served an hour as a felon in prison—these people are mistaken—I am not the man I declare to my God.
Five Tears' Penal Servitude, and to receive forty lashes with the cat .
MR. COLLINS conducted the Prosecution, and MR. RIBTON the Defence.
JAMES BISSETT . I live at the East Pavilion, Sloane Street, Chelsea—the prisoner has been my tenant about two years, of a baker's shop, at 35, New Road—he had been there two years without paying me—he was living on the rent he was receiving, 18s. 6d. a week—he let out the greatest part of the house to lodgers—he had always about nine or ten people in the house—about two years ago he paid me 12s.—he was to pay me 3l. 10s. a month—for two years I have got nothing from him—I made application for it, and he told me to do what I pleased, they were in force there, they were in possession—this receipt (produced) is not in my hand-writing—I never in my life gave the prisoner any authority to sign my name to any receipt, certainly not—some time before he was taken into custody a man named Smith called on me—in consequence of what passed between us, he went first to the prisoner's house, and I afterwards went my-self, and met there Mr. Smith and Mr. Firman—they were looking at the receipts—as soon as I saw this receipt I said to the prisoner, "Well, you have forged my name; that is not mine"—he became quite pale, and said, "Well, I will tell you the truth: I was wanting to borrow some money from my society," showing me a loan society's card, " and I could not get the money without your receipt, and that is the reason why I forged your name, but I am very sorry for it"—I said to him, "But you attempted to defraud Mr. Smith, and to get his money for your business by saying no rent was due"—he made no reply to that—he could not make any—Mr. Smith gave the receipt to Mr. Firman, and when we left Mr. Firman said to me, "You had better take the receipt," and I said, "I will do so, but you must put your initial on it"—I afterwards put an execution in the house—this was on the Friday before the prisoner was taken—he was taken on the Monday, three days after.
Cross-examined. Q. Did you hear him say, either then or at some other
time, that he had written the receipt by your direction, in order that Smith might buy the business? A. Certainly not—I have never in my life given him authority to sign my name—not on any occasion whatever—I don't know that he has signed it, except on that receipt—I will explain to you why it was I allowed him to be two years without paying me any rent—the people were in force, the number makes the force—there were always a dozen, and when I asked for rent I was always threatened and told to do what I pleased, and I did not dare even to put an execution in, because they would have burnt down the house—about fifteen days before the tax gatherer put in an execution (I have the execution here) and they beat the two men, and took back the goods and broke the carts and the goods—a fortnight before a policeman took one of them in charge, who was fined by the Magistrate 14s. 6d.—I saw all this myself—I spoke to the policeman, and I had to pay the taxes, without receiving a single farthing—the prisoner owes me about 5l. for goods, because I was in the beginning trying to do what I could for him, thinking he would succeed—he bought flour from me, which he did not pay for—I said to him, "Well, you must try to sell the business; we can't go on in this way"—I was trying to get rid of him the best way I could—I told him to try and sell the business, but he did not take my advice—he would not go out—I told him perhaps a hundred times to go away—I told him to put an advertisement in the paper—I don't know that there was an advertisement put in—I never saw one—if I had seen the advertisement I should remember it, but I don't think I ever saw any advertisement—he paid me nothing at all when he went into the business—I did not let it to him myself—Mrs. Holmes, who had the business, had some arrangement with him—he gave me a reference—I have not seen 25l. that he paid when he went in for the goodwill of the business—perhaps he has paid it—I heard he paid something, but I don't know the amount—I don't know that he expended a sum of 10l. to convert the place into a baker's shop—it was a baker's shop before—I mean to swear that Mrs. Holmes let it to him—she came to me and said, "Well, I have lost my husband, and you will oblige me if you will allow me to substitute the business;" and I gave her permission to do so—she always paid me very well, and she was a woman of good conduct, and I put no obstruction in her way—it was not a baker's shop when she had it—she was selling bread and grocery—there was an oven there when she took it—the oven has been there since nine years—I swear that it has always been a baker's shop—I have never told the prisoner to write to millers for large quantities of flour, and to make use of and sign my name to the letters—never have I given him permission to sign my name—I don't know a Mr. Ram—(Ram was called into court)—I know that man, he is one of the lodgers—I have seen him before in the street—I never knew his name until now—I never spoke to him—I did not in his presence tell the prisoner to write to millers for flour, and to sign my name to the letters, and I may add that Ram was one of the mob who took the goods and beat the brokers—I never told the prisoner in Ram's presence to get a customer for the business, and to tell the customer that he was doing a good trade—I never saw the advertisement—it is very likely I told him what he ought to say in the advertisement—I advised him to put in an advertisement—it may be I wrote it down for him myself—I never said, "We shall have forty applications; send them all to me," or anything to that effect—it may be I said, "A business is to be sold at 35, New Road; apply to such a place"—I left the place to him
very likely—I did not describe it as a flourishing business, because it was not flourishing—the shop is in very good order, and if it had been conducted well it would have been a good business—I described it as a baker's business—of course I concealed the fact that it was a bad business—I wished to have another tenant—I did not say to the prisoner, "I have got a gentleman with 100l. to invest in the business, and we must not lose him; we must make things look as well as we can; you must tell him the rent and taxes are paid"—I knew Mrs. Loose, the prisoner's mother—she was living in the house—I did not in her presence tell the prisoner that a gentleman was coming after the business, and that he was to be sure and say that the rent and taxes were all paid—I swear positively I never said so, or anything like it—I did not on any occasion in her presence tell the prisoner to order flour and sign my name to the letters—I have seen James Loose, the prisoner's brother—I don't know him—he lives in the house—I did not in his presence say to the prisoner, "Make use of my name in any way you like to get flour, and sign my name to the letters"—certainly not—I don't know a person of the name of Eliza Downing—(called in)—she is the niece of the prisoner—there were half a dozen living on me—she is one of them—I did not say to the prisoner in her presence, "If you are going to write about coals or flour you can sign my name to the letters"—I don't know Alfred Downing—(called in)—I don't recollect his face, and I don't think I ever saw him—I did not in his presence, about twelve months ago, give a paper to the prisoner, and tell him to make a fair copy of it, and sign my name at the bottom—these premises were about being pulled down—for three years they have been going to pull them down, and that was the reason why I did not put in an execution—I would not take the chance of being murdered, perhaps, by these people, when they would be sent out by the company—that was the reason the prisoner agreed to forego any claim that he might have for compensation for the pulling down of the premises; but what claim could he have?—he agreed to forego any claim of his—he had no business—I did not offer him anything—I was always asking for money—I had no understanding with him—I put in a distress for rent when I heard of the forgery—that was too strong—I may have said I would allow him 12s. a week for bread and potatoes if he would give up possession to Mr. Smith—I was always trying to get him to give up possession—I did not offer it myself—I was telling him to get out of the place, and do the best he could, if Mr. Smith would take him; but Mr. Smith would have nothing to do with the shop since the forgery—the distress may have been put in before the forgery—I don't know that it was before the distress was put in that I told him if he gave up possession he would have some allowance made him—very likely I said that I would make an allowance to him of all that was due, if he would give up possession quietly—I promised him nothing myself, except to forgive him all that was owing to me—I always said that, before and after the distress, and begged him to leave the place quietly—he owed me 89l.—I had discovered the forgery before I put in the distress—I never promised to let him go for the forgery—I always said that if he would leave the house I would forgive him all he owed me—he always refused to give up—I never spoke to him after the forgery—I sent my coachmen to him, and said, "Tell that man to go quietly out of the house, and I will not ask him for a penny of what he owes me; he owes me 90l.; I make him a present of it; but he must leave the place quietly"—my coachman brought me back word that he would go, but he never
went—I sent him four times—he did not go, and then I gave him into custody—my coachman is not here—the prisoner always sent word that he would go—after he was locked up I went to the house—an execution had been put in, and those people in the house stole some of the goods—I said to the prisoner's mother, "Well, you must go; you have not only robbed me, but you have robbed the broker of the goods seized, and you had better go"—then Mr. Firman, who was with me, persuaded her to go quietly, and she went—it may be she said she had no home to go to, or something of that kind—I said, "You can go to your son's"—I did not say, "Go to the devil if you like"—I will swear that she was not turned out of the house; she went out—Mr. Firman pressed her to go, and she walked out—Mr. Smith has not got the house now—I am in bargain with him, but it is not settled—he is to pay the same rent—5l. has been named for fixtures—the sum of 100l. has never been named—Mr. Smith did not come to me in consequence of the advertisement.
MR. COLLINS. Q. You were going to explain something about Mr. Ram? A. When I put an execution in the house goods were condemned to the value of 5l.—I told the broker not to touch any of the lodgers' goods, and Mr. Ram came with another lodger, Mr. Mason, and thanked me for having dealt so with them—all the people I have seen called into court were lodgers at my house—the reason I turned the old lady out was because I found the goods were being taken away—they took away nearly all the goods.
JOSEPH SMITH . I am a coffee-house keeper in Bishop's Court, Chancery Lane—from something I heard from Mr. Firman, I went and saw Mr. Bissett, and went with him to the prisoner—I went, intending to buy the prisoner's business—I asked him if he was prepared to give up possession of the premises if I hired them of Mr. Bissett—he said, no, he wanted me to be a partner with him—I said I did not think much of that, but at all events I should want to know how his accounts stood—he said, "What do you mean?"—I said, "As regards your rates, taxes, and circumstances altogether; how are they?"—he said, "All right"—I said I should want to see the receipts—he took down a file, and showed me a receipt for the water-rate, and also showed me this receipt—I asked him if that was the last receipt for the rent he had paid—he said, "Yes"—I said, "I see it has got no date of the year; does it mean this last midsummer?" and he said, "Yes"—he continued looking on the file for other receipts, and said he supposed Mr. Bissett had got them, as he had to pay some portion of them—I then went back to Mr. Bissett, and afterwards came with him to the prisoner's house—I went in first; Mr. Bissett and Mr. Firman remained outside—I asked the prisoner to let me look at the receipt again—he gave me the file in my hand, and I looked at it—Mr. Firman stood at the door—I asked him to look at it also—Mr. Bissett came in, and the receipt was handed to him—he then said to the prisoner, "You have forged my name, how came you to do it?"—he said, "I will tell you the truth. I wanted to get a loan; they would not grant it without a receipt for my rent, and that is why I did it"—we then went away, and Mr. Bissett took the receipt.
Cross-examined. Q. Did you see the advertisement in the paper about this business? A. I knew of it from Mr. Firman, Mr. Bissett's agent—I never made an offer about the business—Mr. Bissett told me I could have the goods that were there for 5l., and pay the same rent.
—I went with the prosecutor and Mr. Smith to the prisoner's shop, and was present when he produced this receipt—Smith beckoned me in, and asked me if that was Mr. Bissett's writing—I said, "No, certainly not"—Mr. Bissett came in as I was looking at it—I asked him if it was his writing—he said, "Certainly not; it is a forgery"—Mr. Bissett looked at the prisoner, and said, "You have done this yourself"—the prisoner hung down his head and did not answer for a minute or two, and then he pointed to a loan society's bill in the window and said, "I wanted a loan from a loan society; I had to produce my receipt for rent, and that is why I did it; I know that it was wrong; I am very sorry I did it"—I kept the receipt in my hand and walked out of the shop—I afterwards signed my name at the bottom, and gave it to Mr. Bissett.
Cross-examined. Q. Did you know of an advertisement in the paper? A. No, I did not—I was about negotiating this with Mr. Smith—he spoke to me first of all—I then went to Mr. Bissett, and told him I knew of a party who wanted a baker's shop—I had heard nothing about its being advertised—Mr. Bissett did not tell me that he told the prisoner to advertise it—I have known Smith ever since he was a lad—I knew he wanted a baker's shop, and I told Mr. Bissett about it, and he said, "I will let him mine"—he said he might have the fixtures for 5l.—when we first went to the prisoner nothing was said about a receipt—we spoke to him about Smith taking the shop—there was nothing said about it then—we saw him again on the following Friday, 31st August, and he then produced the receipt—that is all I have seen of him.
JOHN HARFLEET (Policeman B 33). I apprehended the prisoner on 3rd September for forging a receipt for 3l. 10s. in Mr. Bissett's name—he said he had signed it, but under the direction of the prosecutor, for the purpose of deceiving the person who was about to take the business.
Cross-examined. Q. Did you take down the words he used? A. No—I am repeating them from memory—he said nothing further—he did not use the word "authorise," to my memory—I do not believe he did—he might have done—I do not recollect any further than what I have told you.
MR. RIBTON called the following witnesses for the defence:—
LYDIA LOOSE . I am the prisoner's mother, and live with him at this house—I know Mr. Bissett quite well—I have seen him there on many occasions—I have seen Mr. Bissett come in, and heard him say, "I am going to send a man to look at the place, and if he asks you if there is any rent or any rates to pay you say, 'No,' and sign my name, so that every-thing is paid; that all is paid"—I swear I heard him say that, and on many occasions he told my son that—I have heard Mr. Bissett tell my son to write to millers, and to sign his name for the flour, and to coal merchants for coals, and to sign his name to it—I am sure of that—many times he said, "Let Mr. Smith come into the place; he will stock the place with flour, and that is what you want to get, a good stock in the place"—he told my son to write for ten sacks on credit, and ten for money, and he would pay for it—my son has had flour from Mr. Bissett—Mr. Bissett wanted to get more on the place than they would let him have—they would not trust him—he said, "Have plenty of bread in the window to show"—he would not let my son have the flour to do it with—that was the reason he desired him to write to other people—he told him distinctly to use his name—the prosecutor's groom came to the house on the
Monday morning; that was after the distress was put in—the distress was put in on the Saturday—the groom came about eight o'clock in the morning, and said, "Now if you clear the place by twelve o'clock Mr. Bissett will forgive you the rent, and not give you in charge"—he said that to myself and son—my son said, "I cannot get a room in such a short time to put my things in," and I said, "If you will give us till night perhaps we can get a room"—my son went out for a short time, and when he came back the police took him—that was about twelve o'clock—I am quite sure the groom said that if my son would give up possession he would forgive him the rent, and he would not give him in charge, and he wanted to give him 12s. a week, bread and potatoes, and to work journeyman for him—my son would not do that—he said, "I have worked here two years; I have expended my money; I will not give it up"—that was after the affair of the receipt—he said, "If he pays me the money as I paid it I will give it up"—my son gave 25l. when he went into the house to Mrs. Holmes, and 5l. he paid for some old things in the place, 30l. altogether—I don't say my poor son kept on his rent, because he could not, he was poor—Mr. Bissett did not decline to let him have flour, but he would not let him have a bushel of flour without the money—after my son was given in custody on the Monday Mr. Bissett came to the place—he laid his hand on me and said, "You must go out"—I said, "Where am I to go to?"—he said, "Go to the devil; I don't care"—I said, "May I have the bread that is in the window?"—he said, "No," and the gave the bread to his horse—Mr. Bull told me that—there was bread in the shop on that Saturday—at that time my son was actually carrying on the business—I think my son has advertised the business, and Mr. Bissett too—I know my son did once—I do not know whether people came up to inquire about it—I was not always there—I was attending to my work in the house—my son is single—I have lived with him for twelve years—I have never had any support except from him—he has always been a beautiful child to me—once there was a dispute about the taxes, the brokers came in, they were paid eventually—what Mr. Bissett had to pay he paid, and my son paid the rest—we were all turned out of the house, and a poor woman allowed me to sit in her house the next day—I went over to the station-house to see my son—Mr. Bissett has come in and taken the last loaf off my son's table—my son's character has always been respectable—no one can give him a bad character—he is not my eldest son; my eldest son is in France in service.
Cross-examined by MR. COLLINS. Q. How long have you lived in that house? A. I do not know—we were to have had three months' notice, or to give three months' notice—I think we have been there two years this next month—I do not know how much my son has paid for rent, but Mr. Bissett has been prompting him that the house was coming down—I do not know whether he paid more than 12s. all the time he was there—Mr. Bissett was always telling my son that he might order flour and coals in his name—that was soon after my sen got in—he had a little money to help himself, and when the money was gone, then he had flour of Mr. Bissett—Mr. Bissett told him to write to different millers—I do not know the names—I think he had some flour once from Mr. Sheppard—I do not know the name of a single miller that he told my son to write to—Mr. Dakins is the man my son had the last coals of—I will not swear that Mr. Bissett gave my son directions to write to Mr. Dakins—the words he used were, "Write in my name for flour and coals"—he said he might order a ton of
coals in his name—I swear he said a ton—I do not know much about the coal merchant's name—I was not always in the shop—I was sometimes down in the lower kitchen, not always—I do not know how many times I have heard Mr. Bissett give my son directions to write to coal merchants and flour merchants—we never got any coals—we never got anything from Mr. Bissett—his character was too bad, there was not a single miller would send flour to the place—his character was too bad—they said, "Ah! Mr. Bissett, we know him"—he was too infamous a character—nobody would ever send in a sack of flour to him—I do not know who said he was a bad character—I cannot tell you the names of the coal merchants we got the ton from in Mr. Bissett's name—my son wrote more than once—I have seen him write to these coal merchants and other people ten times, I dare say—I cannot tell you who they were—he wrote a great many letters—I heard my son tell Mr. Bissett that nobody would send him any flour or coal to his name, that his character was so bad they would not trust him; nobody would take the reference—on one occasion Mr. Bissett told him to write for ten sacks—he said, "I will pay for five, and you take the other five on the place"—we never had the flour—there was a row when the taxgatherer seized the goods—the lodgers rescued them—it was the boys in the street who smashed the cart—I think the cart was smashed—they came and told me they had smashed a cart—some of them took their goods back again—I did not help, nor my son—they took away a bureau which belonged to one of our lodgers, and he went and took it from them—we had four lodgers in this house—we have had a great many at different times—we could not get the rent regular—Mr. Mason, who went out, owed my son a guinea—we got 16s. a week—we did not get it generally—there was three weeks' rent which Mr. Bissett had of Mr. Mason—I do not know that Mr. Bissett told us that he turned us out of the house because we were stealing the goods—we did not steal the goods—he said, "Your son is locked up; you must go out of the house"—he never said to me that the goods were being stolen—I had not touched anything, I know.
MR. RIBTON. Q. You say that you heard your son tell him that the people would not send flour in his name? A. Yes; I am sure of that—the brokers came to seize the goods, but Mr. Ram the lodger would not let the goods go, and that was the cause of the row—that was for rent—that was the first time he sent for rent—the cause of the row was because this bureau was taken from a man there—I do not know whether the taxes were paid by my son at last—I know my son never touched anything on the place—no one touched anything except the man the bureau belonged to—he said he would not let his property go for another man's debt—that was Mr. Foster—the bureau belonged to Mr. Foster.
HENRY RAM . I am a bootmaker, living in Chelsea—I formerly lodged at the prisoner's, up to last Saturday fortnight, when the distress was put in—I have seen Mr. Bissett there on many occasions—about three weeks before the distress I saw him there—I had the front parlour as a shop, and the baker's shop was adjoining—I heard Mr. Bissett come in, and he told the prisoner to write to a miller for some flour, and use his name in any way whatever—I have heard him say that on other occasions—the prisoner afterwards told me that Mr. Bissett had wished him to advertise—I have heard Mr. Bissett on other occasions tell him to sign his name in any way, to get custom and flour to the shop—I heard him say last Friday fortnight, "Has that man Smith been?"—the prisoner said, "No," and he said, "If
he comes, and asks if the rent, rates, and taxes are all paid, you must say yes, for he has got plenty of money, and he will stock the place with flour"—after Mr. Bissett had gone the prisoner came into my shop and told me about it—I heard it, and we talked it over afterwards—it was the day before the distress was put in about eleven o'clock—Mr. Bissett told me that if the prisoner would give up possession he might take his things and go, for the other man to come in, and if he would not he would give him in charge for the forgery—that was after the distress—I am quite sure of that—I know Eliza and Alfred Downing—they were not living there at the time—the brokers were going to seize my things, and I would not allow them—they broke the door.
Cross-examined. Q. Did you go to Mr. Bissett on the Monday and thank him for not taking your goods? A. No. I went to him on the Saturday to ask him to have a little mercy on the man who was left with a wife and six children—he said he would let them have three days in the next week—he did not take the goods, but he made him pay the broker's fee—I paid 6s. a week first for my room, and then 5s.—sometimes there was bread in the shop and sometimes not—there was flour, and coals were supplied—it was Mr. Bissett's constant habit to come in and say the prisoner might sign his name for coals and flour, and he said, "Never mind telling a lie or two to do you good; it is no good minding telling a lie in business"—I never heard him say that but once—I can't give you the date—it was while I was sitting there—I know one particular occasion, about six weeks ago, he came and brought some address of a miller—I believe it was in Peckham—that was not the first time—I can't say when he came first—I heard him so frequently I never took any particular notice—the prisoner said, "Very good, "when Mr. Bissett offered his name, but he told me that he should not to it—he has written for flour—he never got it—he said he had spent shillings in writing to millers for flour in Mr. Bissett's name, but he never got any, for everybody knew Mr. Bissett's character too well to trust him—I don't remember the name of any miller that Mr. Bissett mentioned—I can't think of any name—I was about three yards off when I heard these conversations—I worked at my door in the summer time—I was there when he spoke about the lies—he could see me when he talked about telling lies in trade—I used to have my door open—I have not heard these statements in the presence of customers, that I am aware of—there may have been customers in the shop when he made these statements—he did not speak in a loud tone of voice, in an off-hand manner.
JAMES LOOSE . I am the prisoner's brother, and am a carpenter in the habit of going to his house frequently—I know Mr. Bissett—about two months ago I was in the prisoner's shop—Mr. Bissett came in, and asked him how he was getting on—he said, "Very bad"—Bissett said, "Why don't you write to millers, and stock your place with flour, if you can, and sign my name?"—I have heard Mr. Bissett say that, both in his house and out of his house—I can't say whether my brother ever did write—I should think I have heard Mr. Bissett say that a dozen times during the last eighteen months—he has always asked him first how he was getting on.
Cross-examined. Q. Where do you work? A. In the Cromwell Road, the other side of the Exhibition—I have worked there about three weeks—I worked at different places before that—I don't keep an account where I work—I remember my brother taking this shop about two years ago—it
was almost directly after that that Mr. Bissett told my brother that he might send for flour and use his name—he authorised him to sign his name in any way, for to do good to the place—he has said to him many and many a time, "You write to millers; you ain't half a sharp man; you write to millers, and sign my name in any way you like, and stock the place"—he says, "Get one lot of flour, and then write to another miller, and when he sees the flour in the place he will let you have his flour"—I have not been drinking this morning—I have heard Mr. Bissett tell the prisoner to write for coals in his name on different occasions I have been there—the last time was about six months ago—the last time in my presence he authorised my brother to write to flour merchants was about two months ago—no one else was there—I have seen Mr. Ram there frequently—he was in his room during these conversations—I saw him there—it was about eleven o'clock in the day—I must be excused for not giving the name of the coal merchant whom he gave the order to get the coal from, for I never listened to that—if my brother had been given in charge for forging Mr. Bissett's name he would have been given up long ago—that Mr. Bissett knows well—I believe one flour merchant was the City Flour Mills, and the other one was at Battersea—my brother has been a good son and a good brother, and he has been led astray by Mr. Bissett—he has said, "Never mind the rent"—he has always pressed him to go on—he would say, "The place is coming down, and you will get a premium, and then I shall get my rent. You stop on; never mind your rent," and there was a paper came on the Monday the poor fellow was taken, asking him to send in his claim—he has paid his rent I should say two, or three times—I could not say exactly—I have seen him pay his rent—I have been into Mr. Bissett's house with him when he has paid his rent—I am not able to say when the last time was that he paid his rent—if any-thing is put to me in a fair way I will answer it—I have been with my brother twice when he has paid his rent—I can't give you the dates—I cannot give you the amount—I have seen him pay gold—I wish I had as much in my pocket as I have seen him pay away—I have seen him pay gold to Mr. Bissett—I can say three sovereigns, but I can't tell you what the rent was—that was on two occasions—3l. in gold, and Mr. Bissett would say, "Have a glass of grape wine; that is what we drink in France"—Mr. Bissett gave a receipt for the money—on those occasions he has told my brother to sign his name in any way he liked—what I am speaking is the truth, you may cross-question me as much as ever you think proper—my brother said, "If I could have done well by signing Mr. Bissett's name I might have done so, but it is no good signing his name anywhere"—he has said that to Mr. Bissett—Mr. Bissett said, "Try it on"—he put in a claim for the place himself.
MR. RIBTON. Q. How do you know that? A. There have been papers sent to my brother to put in a compensation, and Mr. Bissett says to my brother, "Say you are doing any amount of business"—I should say I heard him say that about six weeks ago—I believe there was a new road coming there—I believe the house is coming down—Mr. Bissett has it now all to himself—my Lord, what I have said is truth, and gentlemen—I have been a carpenter these ten or twelve years—I am thirty-two—I am married; my wife is outside now—I should say I am as respectable a man as ever Mr. Bissett was.
—I have seen him there on many occasions—I have heard him authorise the prisoner to sign his name—if the prisoner has been going to write for flour or coals Mr. Bissett has always told him to sign his name to theletters—that has happened on many occasions—I was not there when the distress was put in—we left about eight months ago—I was with the prisoner when we took the place—I was in the habit of seeing Mr. Bissett come, and it was then I heard these conversations.
Cross-examined. Q. You say he authorised his name to anything; what did he say? A. When the prisoner was going to write for anything he acquainted Mr. Bissett with it, and he has said, "You can sign my name to the letters"—I worked for Mr. Bissett, and when I took the work home he has always asked me how the prisoner was getting on with his business—sometimes I have told him not very well, and he has said, "Why don't he write and get credit for flour? Tell him to do so," and I have told the prisoner what Mr. Bissett has said to me—he told me to tell the prisoner he said that to me between ten and twenty times—no one was with meat the time—I don't know the names of any coal merchants—he never mentioned the quantity that was to be got—I have seen Bissett in the prisoner's shop, and in the front parlour—he told the prisoner then to use his name in anything—there was chiefly only me and the prisoner there then—I was shop-girl to the prisoner—I was not before the Magistrate—I knew on the Sunday night that the prisoner was taken—I went to the police-court—we Were not called—I believe there was no evidence called for the prisoner.
MR. RIBTON. Q. What did you go there for? A. I went as a witness, but we were not called for—I went to Mr. Smyth, an attorney, first, and he took down our evidence—Mr. Bissett has told me to tell the prisoner to stop on, as the house was coming down, either for the rail or the road, I don't know which, and then he would get a premium for it—that might have been three months before I left—Mr. Bissett told me that more than once, and I have heard him tell the prisoner that—I have heard him say, "Use my name in anything, to get business to the shop."
ALFRED DOWNING . I am the husband of the last witness, and a grocer's assistant—I lived at the prisoner's house for some months—I was there two years before he came, when Mrs. Holmes had it—during the time the prisoner has had it I have seen Mr. Bissett there—I was at dinner one day when he came; he shut the shop door, but I heard what passed—I saw a letter handed by Mr. Bissett to the prisoner for him to copy and sign his name to—I can't remember the name, but I think it was Christy, Chelsea—Mr. Bissett said, "Sign my name, and you will get some flour"—I can't tell you exactly the date—at other times I have heard him tell him to write for coals—the prisoner did write, and I think he got two tons on one occasion—he never got any flour—I am quite confident he wrote for flour—I heard Mr. Bissett say, "The house is coming down for a road; if you stop on, and get a trade to the place, you can get a premium for the business"—the house was never no good—I lived there a twelvemonth—it was a greengrocer's before—there was an oven in the place, but it had never been used for baking for a long time—the prisoner got it repaired when he came there—it cost him 5l.—he laid out about 10l. or 12l. on the place.
Cross-examined. Q. When did you see this letter that was written? A. I can't exactly say the date; perhaps a twelvemonth ago—I saw the letter and read it, and saw it posted—he brought it to me, and said, "Do you think this is right?"—I said, "Yes, I should think this will get you
some flour"—then it passed out of my memory—I recollected it again when I was questioned about it.
COURT. Q. When was that? A. When the prisoner was taken in charge his brother asked me if I could not remember the occasion—I was told the prisoner was taken for forgery—his brother asked me if I could come up as a witness to say what I knew—he did not state what I was to say—I knew the nature of the case—the prisoner's brother said, "Don't you remember me speaking about a letter that Mr. Bissett wrote and told Thomas to copy," and I said, "Yes"—the conversation with me was about this letter—James Loose said that Mr. Bissett had authorised the prisoner several times to make use of his name, and I said, "I remember a letter he wrote amounting to the same thing," and told him about the letter—I am the only one who knows about the letter.
JAMES BISSETT (re-examined). I have my rent-book here—I received 2l. 10s. from Mrs. Holmes when she left, and 1l. 12s. 6d. from the prisoner—that is all—I never received sovereigns from him in the presence of James Loose—I gave him a receipt for the money I received from Mrs. Holmes on account of the shop—that was the first month, and I never had any more money than 1l. 12s. 6d.—I only gave him one receipt, except the receipt for the money from Mrs. Holmes—those are all the transactions—the book will explain everything—I found two other receipts on his file—we find he has tried to forge my name before (receipt read), "Received from Mr. Thomas Loose the sum of 3l. 10s., for one month's rent, due 1st March, 1866, of 35, New Road. James Bissett"—that is not in my handwriting—it is the same handwriting as the forged receipt.
The jury stated that they did not believe the evidence given by the witness called for the Defence.— Confined Eighteen Months .
NEW COURT.—Thursday, September 20th, 1866.
Before Mr. Justice Lush.
MR. R. N. PHILIPPS conducted the Prosecution, and MR. MONTAGU
WILLIAMS the Defence.
LOUISA EDWARDS . I live at 28, Longford Road, Kentish Town—the deceased was my sister-in-law and lived at the same place—on 3rd August I was at my window, which looks into a yard to which the deceased and the prisoner both had access, and saw the prisoner take two counterpanes off a line and throw them in the dirt—the deceased ran down and asked her why she did that—she said, "Because I did"—one of the counterpanes belonged to me and one to the deceased"—the prisoner went to the line to take some more clothes off it—the deceased said, "They are not yours, they are mine; you do not know your own"—the prisoner said, "I will have my revenge," and took a large clothes-prop and jammed it in my sister-in-law's eye, who fell to the ground—I hallooed out, "What are you doing there?"—she said, "If you come down I will serve you the same."
COURT. Q. Had the prop a fork at the tip? A. It had two points, one of which was jammed into her eye—the deceased never returned a single blow, nor did I see her lay hold of the prop—I was looking on all
the time—she stood some distance off when she did it—I came down and went for a doctor.
Cross-examined. Q. Was the deceased a laundress? A. No—the deceased was not a considerably stronger-built woman than the prisoner—her age was twenty-one on 9th August—I was standing with my sister-in-law's baby in my arms—I went down between five and ten minutes after the deceased fell—she fell on her face—I did not hear her say anything—I saw her go away in a cab the day after—I do not know that she and the prisoner shook hands before she went away—I was there all the time—she was in the hospital from Tuesday till Friday—the prisoner has three children, and my sister-in-law had two babies—mine is a first floor window.
COURT. Q. When you went down was your sister-in-law on the ground? A. No, she had got up of herself—she did not say anything, and I do not know that the prisoner did, because I ran for a doctor directly, as I saw that my sister-in-law's eye was pierced.
JAMES CLARK . I live at 17, Winchester Terrace, Kentish Town—on 3rd August, in the afternoon, I was hanging some birds out at my back window, and saw Mrs. Edwards and the prisoner in the yard, where some clothes were hanging—Mrs. Edwards was taking her clothes off the line, and the prisoner began smacking her face with her hand—Mrs. Edwards said, "I do not want to hit you," and was walking backwards towards the kitchen door—the prisoner gave her a good smack, and ran and got a clothes prop, took hold of the thick end of it, aimed at her face, and caught her in the eye—she said, "I will have my revenge," and Mrs. Edwards fell on her knees, with her face covered by her hands—I did not hear her say anything about her eye—I was only at my window at the beginning of it, and then I was by the wall, not ten yards off—the prisoner then took two large quilts off the line, and threw them over the deceased as she lay on the ground—the deceased's sister was looking out at a window, and the prisoner threatened her with the same if she would come down—the deceased did not take hold of the prop at all—she was taken upstairs, and there was a doctor and a female or two there.
Cross-examined. Q. Was there a good deal of wrangling between the parties? A. I heard none—the sister came down crying and screaming almost directly it was done—the prisoner was the stouter woman of the two, but the deceased was the taller, I think—the deceased never lifted her hand—this was going on more than ten minutes.
COURT. Q. When the prisoner gave her that one good smack had Mrs. Edwards said anything? A. No—the prisoner said, "I will have my revenge"—I do not know what their quarrel might have been inside.
MARY BOULES . I live at 16, Winchester Terrace—on the afternoon of 3rd August I was sitting at work at my bedroom window—I heard hard words, looked out, and then ran to the staircase window, which was wide open, and saw Mrs. Edwards taking some things off the line—the prisoner was using very rough words to her, but Jane Edwards was very calm—she said, "Do not you touch my things, I will take them in; why, you are excited, what is the matter with you?"—the prisoner slapped her face two or three times, and she seemed trembling—Mrs. Edwards said, "What will the neighbours think of you?"—the prisoner made some rough reply, which I did not hear, and slapped her face twice, once after the other, as quick as she could, and immediately took the prop down and struck, her with it—the deceased put her hand to her eye, and fell in a kneeling posture—the prisoner threw the prop down on the left side of the deceased;
she then took up some clothes, which she had been scattering about, and threw them at her, but whether they went on her I do not know—I after-wards bathed the deceased's eye—they are strangers to me—I do not know them by sight, although I have lived opposite twelve months—I do not know that I ever saw the landlady before, that is the deceased.
Cross-examined. Q. How long after you went to the window did the woman fall to the ground? A. It might be five minutes, or it might not be so long—I do not think it lasted more than five minutes altogether—when the prisoner beat the deceased on the face the deceased only put up her hands—I did not see James Clark there, because I was only looking at this affair—I know him by sight, and have perhaps said "Good morning" to him—I live next door to him—there were only the two women in the yard—I attended before the coroner, but not before the magistrate—I never saw the deceased's husband till he sent for me, and asked me if I would mind coming and saying what I saw—I do not think I told him what I saw.
Cross-examined. Q. Were you in the yard? A. Yes.
COURT. Q. Did you see Mrs. Edwards do anything to Mrs. Brad-bury? A. I saw her strike Mrs. Bradbury twice—I was there at the beginning—it was Mrs. Edwards who struck first—she said that if Mrs. Edwards touched any b—thing on that line she would give her a b—smack across the mouth.
MR. PHILIPPS.—Q. How far were you off when you heard that said? A. I was in the yard, not as far from them as I am from that wall, and Mrs. Edwards hallooed—the prisoner screamed, and I went and told Mrs. Smith, and when I came back Mrs. Edwards was lying on the ground—I saw nobody else in the yard—I did not see Mrs. Edwards's sister—we did not meet till the deceased was taken away.
MR. WILLIAMS. Q. Was Mrs. Smith in Mrs. Bradbury's room? A. Yes—I went to tell Mrs. Smith, and when I came out I found Mrs. Edwards lying on the "ground.
COURT to LOUISA EDWARDS. Q. Did you see this girl (Revell) in the yard at all? A. No; she was not in the yard.
COURT to JAMES CLARK. Q. Did you see this girl in the yard? A. No; and she was not in.
COURT to MARY BOULES. Q. Did you see this girl in the yard? A. No; she was not there—there was nobody in the yard but Jane Edwards and Emily Bradbury.
ANN SMITH . I live at 38, Longford Road—on 3rd August I heard a noise, went to the back door, and saw the deceased lying on the ground—the little girl Anna Maria Revell was in the yard at that time, standing at the coal cellar—I saw nobody else in the yard—the prisoner was in the house at that time—there was nothing upon Mrs. Edwards.
Cross-examined. Q. Do you know Mrs. Smith who lives with Mrs. Bradbury. A. I am Mrs. Smith—I live in the prisoner's house—it is correct that the little girl came up and fetched me—she came to the door just as I was going out—I asked her who struck the first blow, and she said, "Mrs. Edwards struck Mrs. Bradbury twice."
HENRY SIDMORE SHAW , M.R.C.S.—I am house-surgeon to Middlesex Hospital—Mrs. Edwards was brought there on 14th August—the opthalmic surgeon examined her—she had a contusion over the eye and all round it, and was profusely salivated—we found an ulcer on the cornea—
the eye was very much inflamed—Mr. Hulton tried to probe to find A foreign body, but the probe would not enter—she continued very ill, and had to be fed by injections—it was impossible to feed her by her mouth—tetanus set in and she died on Thursday evening—we found, on a post mortem examination, all the viscera and the brain healthy, but on opening the orbit we found the eye completely destroyed, and between the eye and the external part of the orbit was an abscess and a piece of wood three quarters of an inch long and several smaller splinters—in my opinion her death was caused by lock-jaw, which was caused by the piece of wood in her eye.
COURT. Q. Did you see the larger piece of wood? A. Yes—it was not pointed, it was jagged.
Cross-examined. Q. If she had fallen on a piece of wood projecting from the ground would that have done it? A. If it was firmly fixed in the ground and standing up, not a loose piece.GEORGE EDWARDS (not examined in chief).
Cross-examined. Q. Did you see your wife go away to the hospital? A. No—the prisoner did not say when I was there that she was very sorry for the accident, or shake hands with her—I believe it is true that the prisoner gave her 2l. 10s., and said that she was very sorry for what had happened, and wished to make amends to her.
MR. PHILIPPS. Q. Did you see it given? A. No, only what my wife told me—my wife did not give me the 2l. 10s.
MR. PHILIPPS proposed to put in the prisoner's statement, although it was made before the Coroner and not before the Magistrate. MR. WILLIAMS also desiring it, the COURT ordered it to be read, as follows:—"EMILY BRADBURY says—I reside at 38, Longford Road—on Friday, 3rd August, I went to take my linen off the line—Mrs. Edwards came down and told me not to take that which did not belong to me—she said the linen I was taking away was hers; with that she punched me twice, once in the breast and once in the arm—I screamed out, and little Ann went in for Mrs. Smith—
Mrs. Edwards said if I touched a b—thing on that line she would give
me a slap across my mouth—she then flew to the prop—I took one end andshe took the other, and in the struggle she got hurt—she fell down on some bits of wood and gravel—I am very sorry it happened, it was in a struggle—deceased made it up with me, and I gave her 2l. 10s., in order that she should not proceed further against me—she bid me good bye before she got into the cab, and said she was very sorry to think it had happened."
The Prisoner received a good character. GUILTY . Strongly recommended to mercy by the Jury.— Confined Three Months .
MR. COLLINS conducted the Prosecution
HENRY HUBBARD . I live at 26, Alma Road, Bow Common, and am A fishmonger—about seven o'clock in the evening of 13th September I was passing Bow Common Lane, and saw the prisoner with her husband about three yards from me, and twelve yards from the shed which was afterwards set on fire—they were having a bit of a disturbance—the prisoner said to her husband, "I will set it on fire"—she did not say what—they both went through the gate; the husband waited outside in the little bit of the yard
which he occupies, in drawing metal from tin kettles—she went into the shed and struck a match on the woodwork or on the tin, and threw it on to the shavings, which blazed up, and I ran to the prosecutor—I was looking at her outside the fence—she then came outside and said, "Now let them burn"—it was not dark—we got pails and got some water and put the fire out.
Prisoner. Q. You were not in the yard when I dropped the match? A. I was outside the fence, twelve yards off—I was in front of you when you went in.
ALFRED PHILLIPS . I am an oil refiner, of 76, Fernley Street, Bromley—this shed is built of wood and partly of iron—it adjoins the stable by a wooden partition—it is about half a mile from my dwellinghouse—the stables are built of wood, and there is a wooden building attached to them, on the other side of which is an oil refinery divided from the shed by a wooden fence—the division is merely the width of the wood—there is a quantity of oil there—there was a pipe of oil standing close to the fence at the time—there were some shavings in the shed for the prisoner's husband to sleep on, it was his dwelling—the prisoner does not live with him, and she has not done so for nearly four years—they were separated at Arbour Square—last Friday night, about seven o'clock, I was going home with a load, and received information of the fire—I fortunately had four buckets in the van; and, water being handy, I put the fire out with assistance, but the place was all in ablaze; the flames were coming out at the roof—the oil did not catch fire.
COURT. Q. How near was the pipe of oil? A. Within three feet of the shed—the buildings near are mostly wood—there is a wooden dwelling-house occupied and wooden stables—there is also a timber yard quite full of old timber and sundries.
MR. COLLINS Q. Did you see the prisoner there? A. Yes; she said that she had not done it, but I detained her and gave her in custody.
Prisoner. I did not say that I did not do it—I dropped a brimstone on the shavings—my husband goes away from me and comes back when he thinks proper.
COURT. Q. Where was she standing? A. Outside, twenty yards off—she made no attempt to put it out, but her husband assisted.
CHARLES BAINBRIDGE (Policeman 169 K). I was called, and found the prisoner standing in Bow Common Lane with Phillips, about thirty yards from the shed—the fire was out when I got there—Phillips gave her in custody—she said that she did not set it on fire with the intention to burn the place down—she was quite sober—she said nothing else.
Prisoner. I was not sober—I had been drinking a great deal, two or three drops of beer and a glass of ale and some rum—a tall gentleman gave me a good shaking, which sobered me.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate:—"I went to my husband—he leaves me, and I have hardly any victuals—I asked him for a shilling for food, and went into the shed to try to get some bread—I saw a box of matches and struck one—the brimstone went on the shavings—I tried to put it out, but could not—I went into the yard and said, 'Harry! Harry! the whole place is on fire'—it was not done with the intention to set the place on fire."
COURT to ALFRED PHILLIPS. Q. At the time you were there was it so dark that a person could not see inside the shed without a light? A. It was far from being dark; it was quite light enough even to pick up a Pin
by the daylight—there are no buildings high enough to block the light; it is an open space all round.
Prisoner's Defence. I went to ask my husband to give me a bit of food—he said that he would not—I went to the shed, to see if there was any food there—I took a match and struck it, and before I could see what I was doing the brimstone caught the shavings—I called to him, "Harry! Harry! your shavings is on fire"—he said, "Let the b/—/shavings burn"—it was more his fault than mine, for if I had been strong enough I would have put it out myself—I have a home of my own, and my children are suffering there ever since I have been here, but my husband has never been near them.
GUILTY — Confined Twelve Months .
MR. COLLINS conducted the Prosecution, and MR. PATER the Defence.
GUILTY of the attempt only.— Confined Eighteen Months .
MR. BESLEY conducted the Prosecution, and MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS the Defence.
NOT GUILTY .
THIRD COURT.—Thursday, September 20th, 1866.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. GRIFFITHS conducted the Prosecution.
GUSTAVUS GIDLEY (Policeman K 468). On the morning of the 18th August, about one o'clock, I was in Salmon's Lane, and noticed that the shutters and window of the "Prince Regent" public-house were down, and a pane of glass broken—I listened, and heard a lucifer-match struck, and immediately afterwards saw a light in the parlour—I called to a man and woman who were passing by for their assistance—I then saw the prisoner Collins look over the window and the shutter—he then jumped out of the window, and I caught hold of him—I had a struggle with him—he got away, and was shortly afterwards stopped—I saw Thomas also look out at the window, and I tried to get in, and he pushed the shutter up inside—I was then admitted by the landlady at the door—I burst open the parlour door—Thomas then jumped out at the window, and was stopped by another constable—I gave my rattle to some one to spring—I am sure the prisoners are the men.
HENRY LAWSON . I live at No. 3, Wright's Buildings—about one o'clock on the morning of 18th August I saw three men standing outside the "Prince Regent"—the prisoners are two of them—I am sure of that—shortly afterwards I heard a window go down, and some glass broken—I called my father, heard the door shake very much, and then saw a man in custody, not either of the prisoners, a third man—I saw Collius jump out of the window, followed him for about 300 yards, and saw him stopped by a policeman—I never lost sight of him.
Collins, Q. What turning did I take? A. You ran down Margaret
Street, and through a court—I did not lose sight of you a second—you turned a corner, but I was too close to you to lose sight of you.
WILLIAM BAGWELL (Policeman K 328). On the morning of 18th August I was on duty, and heard some hallooing—I ran to the "Prince Regent" public-house, and saw Thomas jump out of the window—I turned my light on him, and showed him my staff—he said, "Don't ill-use me, policeman; I'll be quiet"—I jumped over the railings and caught him between the railing and the window—I charged him with burglary—he said nothing—I searched the house and found some matches on the floor, and a piece of wood broken from the parlour door, near the lock.
JAMES BOWLER (Policeman K 236). About one o'clock on this morning I heard the cry of "Stop him," and saw Collins running from the "Prince Regent"—I stopped him, took him back, and charged him with burglary—he said he was running after the one that had made his escape—I found some matches in his pockets—in the parlour of the house I found a chisel, a screwdriver, and a knife (produced).
MARGARET SEWARD . I am a widow, and keep the "Prince Regent" public-house—at eleven o'clock on 19th August I saw the house all locked up and safe—the window and shutters were both safe—I was called up about one o'clock, and found the parlour door and window broken—I think I had left a few matches on the table—these instruments are not mine—they were not there when I locked up—I did not lose anything—they did not get into the bar—my house is in the parish of St. Anne, Limehouse.
Collins's Defence. I was returning home from a meeting, and heard a noise and the spring of a rattle—I ran to see what it was, and was stopped by a constable and charged with this burglary—I was taken to the station, and saw this prisoner there, he appeared to be in a state of much excitement.
Thomas's Defence. I was returning from my brother's, and went into this house—I was intoxicated, and must have been locked in—when I found myself in this place I made a good deal of noise, and got over the top of the window, and the policeman knocked me down with his staff.
GUILTY . They also PLEADED GUILTY to former convictions of felony/—Collins in March, 1859, in the name of John Dalton, and Thomas in July, 1865, in the name of Robert Snooks.
COLLINS.**— Ten Year's Penal Servitude .
THOMAS.*— Seven Years' Penal Servitude .
816. ENOS JUDD (18) and THOMAS JUDD (14) , Burglary in the dwellinghouse of Henry Hall, and stealing one hat and other articles, the property of William Burgess, and two coats of William Darwell. Second Count, receiving.
MR. COOPER conducted the Prosecution.
WILLIAM DARWELL . I am a carpenter, and live at No. 18, Wood Street, Upper Clapton—I lost a pair of boots, a hat, and a meerschaum pipe, and two coats, which were all safe on Monday night, 13th August, in a kitchen which I occupied with Mr. Hall and other people—I missed them between five and six o'clock on Tuesday morning—I found the kitchen window about halfway open—I was not the last in bed—I have since seen the boots—these are they (produced) the maker's name has been torn out—the things I lost were worth about 2l. 15s.
shoes (produced)—I was the last to go to bed—the kitchen was then shut—there was a fastening, but I have my doubts about it being fastened—it was a sash window—it lifted up.
DANIEL SAUNDERS . On this Monday evening, between six and seven o'clock, I met the prisoner Enos alone—he said, "You have got a little lamp at home, have you not?"—I said, "Yes"—he said, "Lend it to me, will you?"—I said, "All right"—he said, "I am going somewhere to-night to get some money for to go Kent; when will you give it to me?"—I said, "Perhaps to-night, if I can"—he did not say where he was going to get the money—he said, "I am going somewhere to-night to get some money to go down to Kent "—I do not remember that he said anything else—I lent my lamp to David Aldridge—I gave it to him on Newington Common on the Monday—it was on the Saturday when Enos Judd asked me to lend him the lamp—I saw David Aldridge, and Jess Young, and Thomas Judd on Newington Common on the Monday—Newington is on the way to Clapton.
Enos Judd. Q. What did Aldridge say he was going to do with it? A. He said, "We are going somewhere to-night"—he returned the lantern to me on the Tuesday night after the burglary—I met him on Newington Common—I saw you in Stamford Lane on the Tuesday at a different time, after the lamp had been returned to me—Aldridge did not tell me I was to meet him—I met him by chance—I earned the money I had—I was out of work at the time, but Jess Young went singing, and we earned it finding bones and rags, and one thing and another
. DAVID WHITE . I live at 2, Carlton Street, Upper Clapton, and am a labourer—on Wednesday, 15th August, as I was going over to a coffee-shop in Stoke Newington, I met the prisoners, with David Aldridge and Jesse Young, coming out of the coffee-house, about seven o'clock in the morning—I walked with them down to Leytonstone
.Enos Judd. Q. Did you hear a quarrel? A. There was a quarrel between Saunders and Aldridge about a hat that Aldridge had on—Aldridge had the stolen hat on, and Saunders complained that the hat Aldridge had was stolen—Saunders was jeering about the stolen hat—Aldridge did not say anything to him—you were in company with them—you told me that the police were looking after Jack Hall for the robbery, because he was at Mr. Hall's house, and he looked at this pipe and said he should very much like to have it—the witness Foster told me they suspected Hall, and also a lodger who lodged at Mr. Hall's
. JAMES ORAM (Policeman M 358). In consequence of some information received from the prosecutor, I went in search of the two prisoners, and found them on Stoke Newington Common—that was on 13th August, about half-past six in the evening—they were alone—Enos had a pair of boots on, which are here now—I asked him how he came by the boots—he told me that Aldridge had given them to him—on going to the station he said that Aldridge was not going to give them to him, he was going to give him a shilling for them
COURT. Q. Does your son live in the house with you? A. No—I am the occupier—my son is between seventeen and eighteen—he did lodge at Walthamstow—he worked for his uncle—I cannot say where he was on 13th August.
ALBERT PAY . I live at 5, Fairleigh Street, Stoke Newington—I know Enos Judd—on the Tuesday morning, after the robbery, about 11 o'clock, he offered me a pawn ticket for a meerschaum pipe—he said it was pawned for 4s.—I would not have the ticket—he asked me a shilling for it.
DANIEL FOSTER . I am a bricklayer, and live at 10, Carlton Street, Upper Clapton—I have looked at these boots (produced)—I know both the prisoners—on Sunday night, 12th August, I saw Enos Judd, and he asked me if I had got a pair of side-spring boots to give him—I told him I had not—I looked at those he had on—these are the boots.
ISAAC BOREHAM . I live at 5, Union Street, Stoke Newington—I found these pair of boots in a brickfield, where I work, at six o'clock on Tuesday morning, 14th August, about forty yards from the house that was robbed.
JOHN GRAY . I am assistant to Mr. Cotton, pawnbroker, of 8, Hackney Road—I produce a meerschaum pipe pledged for 4s. on 14th August, in the name of Towers—I do not recognise either of the prisoners—false names are constantly given.
The Prisoner's Statements before the Magistrate read:—Enos Judd says, "On the night of the robbery I was not at home—I stopped in a brickfield close to where the robbery was done—I left Aldridge on Stoke Newington Common—in the morning Aldridge and Jess Young woke me, and said, 'Look what I have got here, a coat and a pair of boots'—I asked what he was going to do with the pair of boots, and he offered to give them to me—my brother was at home in bed that night—they wanted me to go with them, but I refused. "Thomas Judd says," I went home and went to bed about ten o'clock—I was not with them."
The Prisoners in their defence repeated in substance, their statements made before the Magistrate. The COURT considered there was no evidence against THOMAS JUDD.— NOT GUILTY . ENOS JUDD— GUILTY on the second count.— Confined Nine Months .
MESSRS. SLEIGH and CLARKE conducted the Prosecution, and MR. METCALFE the Defence.
JAMES WEIR . I am a warehouseman to Mr. Mungo McGeorge, of Friday Street, London, Manchester warehouseman—the prisoner was in his employ as assistant warehouseman, and had been there between nine and ten years, I think—on the evening of Friday, 24th August, I saw the prisoner leaving the warehouse, and followed him—I noticed an unusual bulk in his coat pocket—I followed him to the corner of the Mansion House, then stopped him, and said, "What have you got in your pocket, William?"—he said, "I have got a paper"—I said, "You have got more than one paper"—he said, "Yes, I have got two"—I said, "It is more bulky than that, William; you must show me what you have got"—he then hesitated for a moment, and then said, "Shall I go back to the warehouse with you?"—I said, "Certainly"—he then walked back to the warehouse, and he took this
waistcoat (produced) out of his pocket and gave it to me—it is the property of Mr. McGeorge—I said, "This is very wrong, William, and I must give you in charge"—he said, "I am very sorry; don't say anything about it," or words to that effect—I said, "No, I cannot look over this; I must give you in charge, William"—he said, "Pray do not; only think of my wife and family," and one or two expressions of that kind—I said, "It is perfectly absurd to talk of them; you ought to have thought of that before; you have done wrong, and I must give you in charge"—we then waited for some time in the warehouse, thinking an officer would come past—I omitted something which he stated at first—he said, "I was only taking it home to show my wife, and if she approved of it I intended to keep it, purchase it," and then what I have stated took place—no officer came past, and he suggested that he should walk to the station with me, and he did—I gave him into custody at the station—the persons in Mr. McGeorge's employ are allowed to purchase goods—when the goods are selected they are brought forward to the entering counter and entered to the parties for whom they are intended—if he does not purchase them he makes an entry, to show that they are had on approval, and if they are not approved of and returned on the following day they are credited to their account—no person is allowed to take goods on approval without reporting the fact and having an entry made—the report ought to be made to me—the prisoner did not report that he was taking this waistcoat away to me.
Cross-examined. Q. Has he on other occasions bought goods, which have been entered? A. He has on many occasions—I have got the invoices of all the goods he purchased—those are some (produced)—I don't think he had any goods on credit, except up to the end of the week—he has not on many occasions had credit, that I am aware of—all the warehousemen have a similar privilege of buying goods—I never knew a case of a man borrowing goods for a day—I never took goods for a day in my life—I put a pair of trousers on for about two hours one day, to go to a funeral, but not without the knowledge of Mr. McGeorge—the warehouseman gave them to me, and put them back in stock again afterwards—I believe there was one other similar case on one other occasion—I don't know that some of the men have engagements as singers in the evening—I don't know of their borrowing clothes occasionally—if the prisoner had asked permission to show the waistcoat to his wife it would have been granted, the proper entry being made—he was originally a porter in the service, and has been raised to a warehouseman—I went to his house with the police directly after he was taken into custody—he gave us the address at the station.
MR. SLEIGH. Q. When was this other occasion that you mention when somebody else took a pair of trousers? A. On the occasion of Lord Palmerston's funeral Mr. McGeorge himself had a pair of trousers out of the stock—they were handed to him by the warehouseman, and when he took them off they were handed to the warehouseman again and returned to stock.
MR. METCALFE. Q. And then sold for new trousers? A. Yes, I dare say.
MUNGO MCGEORGE . I am the prosecutor—the prisoner did not make known to me that he was going to take that waistcoat away—things must be entered before anybody is allowed to take them out, and if they are for another person they must be entered also and signed for them—that is the invariable rule.
to the station—he was charged with stealing this waistcoat—he said he was going to take it home for his wife's approval, as the one he had got on was very shabby.
Cross-examined. Q. It was rather shabby, was it not? A. The one that he had on was rather shabby.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. COOPER conducted the Prosecution, and MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS defended Fudge.
MR. COOPER having opened the case against the prisoners, the COURT considered that no case had been opened against Fudge, and directed a verdict of NOT GUILTY as to him.
THOMAS CAPES . I am a cabinet-maker, of 89, Nape Street, Bethnal Green—on 15th August, nigh one o'clock, I was going home through Fins-bury Square—I met the female prisoner—she asked me to treat her, and I refused—she said, "Will you give me a glass of ale?"—I put my hand to my pocket and pulled out a penny—she refused it and said, "Will yon give me sixpence?"—whilst putting my hand to my pocket again I was seized by a man behind—he put his hand across my shoulder and almost strangled me—in the meantime the female prisoner tore my trousers and my pockets, and took all my money, about 11s. 6d., among which was a halfpenny, which I recognise—this is it (produced)—I am quite sure the prisoner is the person—I had an opportunity of seeing her by the gas-light—a second man came up in front of me and tore my waistcoat open and my shirt—he found nothing, and then punched me in the face and cut my hand—at that time I was losing consciousness, and one of the men, who has since died, said, "Now let him have it," and the one behind threw me on my head and cut it—for a short time I was insensible, and when I got up I saw the prisoner and a man along the road—I picked up my hat and a bag of pigeons which I had, and went after them—I met two constables, told them what occurred, and pointed some people out to them—I was sober at the time.
Prisoner. Q. You asked me where I was going, did you not? A. No, nothing of the sort—I did not go to the back of Finsbury Square with you, and give you a shilling and some halfpence—two men did not come up and ask me about the pigeons.
THOMAS HOLMAN (Policeman G 207). The prosecutor came up to me in Finsbury Market, with his hat in his hand, his coat torn, and his waistcoat open, and bleeding from the head—he said he had lost sight of the people who had attacked him, but they were coming in that direction—I said, "Silence"—we stood still for a moment, and out a man came from the passage—I said, "Is that one?"—he had scarcely time to speak before out came the other one with a hat on, and the woman with a white hat on—I took the man Simmons, who afterwards died—I knew him by the name of Cockney Bill—directly he saw the woman taken into custody by the other constable he appeared to get very shaky, and he died directly he got to the station—the prosecutor identified them both then.
Prisoner. I did not know the man who has been here—I never see the man that died in my life.
was 3s. 8 3/4d. and a smooth coin, which the prosecutor gave a description of and identified.
FREDERICK JAMES (G 271). I took the prisoner into custody in Fins-bury Market—she ran round the market, and I ran after her—when she saw me coming she bobbed down on a doorstep and sat down—I never lost sight of her.
Prisoner's Defence. The money I had was what he gave me.
GUILTY . The prisoner PLEADED GUILTY to a former conviction in January, 1859. Sentence/—Four Years' Penal Servitude.**— Seven Years' Penal Servitude ,
MR. COLLINS conducted the Prosecution.
JOHN GREEN . I live at the "Bedford Arms," Copenhagen Street, Islington—on 17th August, between one and two in the morning, I was coming up Rahere Street, Goswell Road—three men came up to me—they caught hold of me behind—I immediately turned round, caught hold of two of them, and missed my watch, which was in my waistcoat pocket—they got away—the prisoner was one of them—I caught hold of him, called out, "Police!" and a policeman ran across the road—the prisoner ran towards Charles Street, and the policeman took him—I ran after him—I never lost sight of him—I had had a little to drink—I knew what I was about.
JOHN EDEN (Policeman G 175). On the morning of 17th August, about two o'clock, I heard cries of "Police!" went to the place, and saw the prisoner running—I stopped him, and kept him till the prosecutor came up—he was about twenty-five yards behind him—he said the prisoner, with two others, had stolen his watch, and he would give him into custody—the prisoner made no answer at all—he was sober at the time—he appeared to be drunk when we got to the station, but was sober again in a very few minutes—the prosecutor had certainly had a glass to drink, but he was not drunk—he could run fast—he knew what he was about.
The prisoner PLEADED GUILTY to a former conviction of felony in December, 1864, in the name of Joseph Kenny. Sentence/—Eighteen Months,— Seven Years' Penal Servitude ,
MR. GRIFFITHS conducted the Prosecution.
FREDERICK GREGORY . I am a metal repairer at 12, Waterloo Street, St. Luke's—about one o'clock on morning of 17th August I was aroused by a noise downstairs—I went down into the front parlour, and found the window was up and the outside shutter open—I called the police—the prisoners were afterwards taken and charged—there was nobody there when I came down—I missed my coat and a lot of children's things—I have seen them since—they are mine—I went to bed about half-past ten—the window in the front parlour was safe then.
ADA. GREGORY . I am the wife of the last witness—on 17th August I went to bed about ten o'clock—I fastened the shutters of the front parlour window about nine o'clock—I put the window down—these things (produced) are all mine—they were in the room when I went to bed downstairs—I missed them as soon as my husband told me the window was open.
THOMAS SMITH (Policeman G 95). About half-past one on 17th August I was called to this house—at the door of one of the dwelling-houses in a court adjoining the house I found this bundle of things open—I went into a privy adjoining that house, and found three of the prisoners, Blundell, Stives, and Kennell—I then went to a privy immediately opposite and found Crook, and on the outside of the closet door was this bundle, which contains a skirt and a child's pinafore and shirts—the three first prisoners said on my opening the closet door, "We have not done it, we know nothing about it, we have not touched the things."
Crook. We never spoke to him till he asked us about it.
COURT. Q. How did it come out? A. As soon as I opened the door the three prisoners said, "We know nothing about the things"—I said, "What things? you come out"—I passed them over to 74 G while I went and searched—I did not kick them to wake them up; they were not asleep.
WALTER BAKER (Policeman 74 G). Just before one on this morning I was on duty in Lever Street—I saw the four prisoners and two lads pass up Lever Street—they went up Little Nelson Street and Cross Street, which is immediately in front of the prosecutor's premises—about half an hour after that I heard a cry of "Police!" and went with the other constable.
COURT. Q. Did you examine the shutters of the house? A. I did, but could not see any marks of great violence—they were fastened by a bolt at the bottom, one bolt on each shutter—fingers put in could prize it open.
Blundell's Defence.—I am innocent. Kennell's Defence.—I know nothing at all about the clothes—I do not know the prosecutor's house. Stivers Defence.—We did not speak to him till he came out of the court, and then he said, "You have been breaking into the house and taking them things out." Crook's Defence.—When I came out he found the bundle about three yards from the door, and said, "This bundle belongs to you"—I said, "I have not touched anything" NOT GUILTY .
MR. F. H. LEWIS conducted the Prosecution, and MR. CARTER the Defence.
RICHARD HELSTON . I live at 14, Lismore Road, Kentish Town—I have known the prisoner for twenty years, or something like that—about the 14th of March the prisoner's clerk Anderson brought me this bill—upon that I went to the prisoner with it, and said, "Mr. Curnock, this acceptance seems rather different from what your brother's usually is"—of course I had done a few for him before—he said, "It is all right, it is my brother's acceptance "—he said the bill had been given for manure, I believe, and gravel—upon that I gave him a cheque for 137l., less 6l. discount—I gave him 132l., in two cheques, one of 90l., and the other of 42l. 11s. 6d.—that bill was dishonoured—I afterwards went to the prisoner and saw him about it—I heard there were forged bills out, and I asked him whether that was a genuine bill, and he said no, it was a forgery—I then asked him how much had been forged—he said, "About 400l."—I said, "Mine is more than that"—he said he hardly knew then what amount his
clerk had done it for, but I said, "Mr. Curnock, you are the drawer of the bill; this is your handwriting, and you endorsed the bill; he could not do it without your knowledge"—I asked him who wrote the body of the bill, and he said, "Edward," meaning his clerk Anderson—I held at that time about 570l., or something like that.
Cross-examined. Q. Do I understand that you had discounted bills with George Curnock as drawer? A. Yes—I think, from what I can see in my book, I had discounted about 15, 700l. prior to this transaction, with the 570l. that I held—those bills were taken up—they were paid—the acceptor to those bills was Thomas Curnock—drawn by George Curnock, endorsed by Thomas Curnock, and duly paid when they became due—I had never seen the brother write—I did not know his writing at all, but this looked to me different from the other bills—I compared it with some bills I had got by me—the prisoner has been contractor for the parish of St. Pancras—I can't say whether the prisoner is an illiterate man—I don't know that his clerk took the management of his business—I believe he did—I should say this bill is drawn by his clerk—I should say the acceptance is in a disguised hand—I should say the person who wrote the body of the bill wrote the acceptance—I should say the acceptance is not in the prisoner's hand-writing—it appears to me all to have been written at the same time, by the ink—Anderson is not here; we cannot get him—attempts have been made to get him—I was in hopes you would have produced him to-day on your side—I did not serve the prisoner with a writ, or his brother—I did not attend a meeting of creditors at any time—he was not given into custody till September, I believe—if he had gone away, and taken his family away altogether, I don't think anybody would have prosecuted him—he did not go away—I believe he petitioned the Court of Bankruptcy—I don't know that the whole of his property was divided amongst his creditors—I think he said "I will pay the bill out of the money I shall receive from the parish"—I don't know whether we should have prosecuted him if he had paid the money—I did not wait to see if I could get my money—I made up my mind that if he did not leave the country I would try to get him out myself, to do my best to get him away—I mean leave the country voluntarily—I heard there was a meeting of creditors—this bill was left at my house during my absence, for the purpose of being discounted, and the next day I took it down and gave Curnock a cheque for the money—sometimes Anderson brought me the bills on former occasions, and some-times I have called on Mr. Curnock—he handed me the bills several times—generally I have given him the money for the bills personally, and he has handed in the bills personally—this bill was left—he did not say it was for work done, for manure, I think—when I went to him and said, "Is this a genuiue bill?" he did not simply say, "No, it is not;" he said, "It is a forgery"—he used the word "forgery"—I can't say where Anderson was at that time—he had not gone away then.
WILLIAM ASPINALL . I am a stone merchant, carrying on business in High Street, Camden Town—I have known the prisoner as a neighbour about fourteen years—I recollect Anderson the prisoner's clerk bringing me this bill (produced)—he brought it to my office, and I gave him a cheque for the bill—I watched him across the road, and saw him go towards his master's office—I live just opposite—I felt rather uneasy about giving the young man the cheque, and I went down the steps after him and met the prisoner—I said, "I have given your clerk a cheque, and, as it is a large sum, I thought I would come down"—he said, "It will be all right"—
I gave the clerk this cheque for 188l. 11s.—when the bill became due it was dishonoured—the day after, on the 11th of June, the prisoner came to me and asked me if I had got the bill—I said I had, it had been in my desk all the while—he said, "I am very glad of that; I shall take up the bill as soon as possible"—I was not well at that time, and I went away—when I came back I found the prisoner was a bankrupt—I attended a meeting of his creditors—he came up into the room when he was asked—I was chairman—I asked the prisoner if the bills drawn on his brother were all forgeries, and he said, "Yes, all of them"—he said that in the presence of the whole of the men—his brother was there also—another gentleman present put a question to him as to a bill drawn on Mr. Bowen—that was the only question that was put to him.
Cross-examined. Q. Had you discounted any similar bills to that? A. Never—I knew Anderson—Mr. Curnock has borne the character of a very respectable man up to this—from what I have seen of his writing, I should not consider him an educated man—I believe Anderson went into his service as a boy—I only know the prisoner's writing from seeing the endorsements—the acceptance to my bill is not his handwriting; it appears to me that the filling up and so on are the handwriting of a person more schooled than himself—Anderson delivered the bill into my hand on the 8th March, and took the cheque away from me—I watched him go to Mr. Curnock's office—I had not the bill in my hand that I know of when I met Curnock—he called on me before 11th June; he asked me if I could do another bill for him—at that time the money market was high—I believe the Bank of England were charging ten per cent.—the prisoner said he should have some money bye and bye, and he was to take the bill up—I consented to wait—my clerk presented it on the 12th June—it was payable at his own house—I did not know at the time he told me he should have some money that it was a fictitious acceptance—I only knew after he was a bankrupt—when he was a bankrupt I put the bills in the hands of my solicitor, who served the prisoner's brother Thomas with a writ, and it was when the brother made an affidavit that I knew it was a forged bill—I believe he made himself a bankrupt—he did not show any concern what-ever at the meeting of creditors—he seemed totally indifferent—the question was put to him, and he said outright, without any hesitation," They are all forgeries, those bills drawn on ray brother Thomas "—he did not appear to be ashamed of it—he did not say at the time that Anderson wrote these bills—I have heard him say so since—he first said that in my hearing, when we had him in the cab, in charge, in the presence of the policeman—he said it was his clerk had got him into this trouble—that is the only bill I discounted—I am not a bill discounter—I did it as a neighbour, as a neighbourly act—I was only present at one meeting. Q. Why did you not give him in charge at the time? A. Well, I don't enjoy very good health, and I thought there were others, greater sufferers than myself, in the meeting who perhaps might take it in hand, but I made the remark at the meeting that I had lent the money to the prisoner as a friend, but I should prosecute him as a felon—that was in June—I did not take steps till September, but I have been out of town—if I had been able to attend to my business I should have taken steps to have brought the prisoner here—it was not the promise that the bill would be taken up that prevented me—there was no promise made to me that the bill would be taken up.
MR. LEWIS Q. You say that he brought you a bill between the period
of your discounting this one and its becoming due; did you see the bill? A. I did not—he did not say anything about whose bill it was.
THOMAS CURNOCK . I am the prisoner's brother, and live at Northithe, Middlesex—the acceptances to these two bills of exchange are not in my handwriting, or written by my authority or with my knowledge—I have not accepted a bill for my brother for four years, I think.
Cross-examined. Q. Had you accepted bills at a former time? A. Yes—we dealt together down to the time of his falling into difficulties—we did a goodish deal of business together—he generally loaded manure to me, and I sent up gravel to him—we had a running account between us—my brother is not an educated man—any one can see that by his writing—Anderson managed all his business and did all his writing, and had the management of all the books, and kept them all under lock and key—my brother knew nothing about the writing—Anderson was very much in his confidence—he came to him as a youth—he is about 30 now, I should think—everything was left to him—the writing of my name is not in my brother's handwriting, or the body of the bill—I believe it to be Edward Anderson's writing, but he has tried to imitate mine—my brother had been a prosperous man—I know of his having met with a loss in the Royal British Bank some years ago—the extent of his transactions with the parish were some thousands a year—I attended the meeting of creditors where Mr. Aspinall was chairman—I attended a meeting at a lawyer's office in the city—we went to see if we could arrange it, and take a composition—he made himself a bankrupt.
MR. LEWIS. Q. At the time of his bankruptcy were you a creditor of his? A. Yes—230l. was the balance of our account
JOHN DOWLING (Policeman G 173). I took the prisoner into custody—I told him it was for uttering forged bills, well knowing them to be forged—he said, "All right"—on the way to the station in the cab, in company with Mr. Aspinall, the prisoner said it was his clerk brought him into this, the clerk had filled the body of the bills, and he had signed them.
Cross-examined. Q. "My clerk has done all this for me," was not that what he said? A. Yes, "My clerk filled up the bills, and I signed them"—it was on the night of the 4th September that I arrested him.
The prisoner received a good character. GUILTY . Strongly recommended to mercy by the Jury.— Confined Eighteen Months .
The following prisoners pleaded guilty:—
822. HERBERT WILLIAM HALL (47) , to feloniously sending certain threatening letters to George Rahn, demanding money, with menaces.— Confined Six Months, and to enter into recognisances to keep the peace towards the prosecutor for twelve months .— [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And
823. WILLIAM ENGLISH (22) , to a burglary in the dwelling-house of Sarah Bendell, and stealing therein, after a former conviction in February, 1864.— Confined Eighteen Months [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
FOURTH COURT.—Thursday, 20th September, 1866.
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
ROGERS PLEADED GUILTY .
MR. F. H. LEWIS conducted the Prosecution, and MR. BROOKE defended Perrot and Rousinot.
ELIZA MASTERS . I am a servant in the service of Mr. Selim, 4, Upper Bedford Place—upon the night of the 23rd August, about half-past ten, I went to bed—I closed the house up before I went, with the exception of the back drawing-room window—I came down the following morning about a quarter-past seven, and found all the bedroom doors open, the drawing-room door, the dining-room door, and the shutters in all the rooms—every shutter was closed before I went to bed—I had barred and bolted the street door—when I came down I found that ajar—it must have been opened from inside; it was impossible to open it from the outside—I found the door in the lower passage leading to the scullery opened; that also must have been opened from inside—I went into Mr. Selim's bedroom and found a quantity of apparel gone—the timepiece out of the drawing-room was in the back drawing-room on the bed, it was not taken out of the house—I, the cook, and a friend of the cook were alone in the house that night—we all slept upstairs.
SAMUEL JOHN CHOWN (E 9 Sergeant). On the 25th August, about eleven o'clock, accompanied by Constables Foley and Blissett, I went to Castle Street, Long Acre—I saw Perrot come out of the house No. 24, Castle Street, with two parcels under his arm—I watched him to a pawn-broker's in Cranbourne Street, Leicester Square—he returned to 24, Castle Street—I did not see him come out of the pawnbroker's—I returned to Castle Street—he had not the parcels in his hand then—he went into the house, and came out again in about two minutes with Rogers—they both stayed in conversation in the street—I went up to them and took them into custody, with the assistance of the two other officers—Foley spoke to them in French—I took them back to 24, Castle Street, to the second floor back room, which the landlady pointed out as the place where Rogers lived—he opened the door with a key, which he brought from his pocket with my assistance, as he was handcuffed at the time—I found a large sheet on the bed tied up, containing this property (produced)—a great deal is marked "Henry Selim"—I then took both of them to the station—I afterwards went to 24, Arthur Street, Oxford Street—I found Rousinot living there in the second floor front room—Foley spoke to him in French—I saw a bench fitted up, and on the top of the bench there were a number of files and rasps (produced)—I also found in a drawer of the same bench a number of skeleton keys and other keys (produced)—I also found three crucibles—I took him into custody—I then went to 45, London Street, where Perrot lived—in the front parlour, which I was informed of by the landlady, in a box I found the whole of this property, dresses, shawls, and other things (produced)—I found also there this rope ladder (produced)—I have no doubt that this was used in committing the burglary—I found this under the bed in a bag—there was not a passport or any papers in the bag.
Cross-examined by MR. BROOKE. Q. It was near Castle Street you first saw Rogers aud Perrot together? A. I was within twenty yards of the house—Perrot gave his address 40, London Street—I didn't hear him speak English—I got that information from Foley—Rousinot said he was a watchmaker—the conversations the prisoners had was with the officer who speaks French.
JOHN FOLEY (Policeman E 131). I was with Chown on the morning of the 25th August, and spoke French to the three prisoners—I told Perrot and Rogers that they were charged with committing a burglary in a house
in Upper Bedford Place, Russell Square—Perrot said he knew nothing whatever about it, and said that he was in bed that night—Rogers made no reply—I went to Arthur Street, to Rousinot's residence—I asked him if he knew Rogers—he said he did—he afterwards told me he had known him for a fortnight—I asked him what he had done with the basket he had taken from Castle Street, containing articles of wearing apparel—he told me had taken away an empty basket—he said Rogers had given it to him to take away because it was in his way—I asked him at what trade he worked—he said he was a watchmaker and worked at home—he said Rogers had given him the skeleton keys—on searching his room, after I had taken him to the station, I found this under-shirt marked "H. Selim"—I also found these (articles produced found at Perrot's)—they have been entified as belonging to Mrs. Selim.
Cross-examined by MR. BROOKE. Q. When you took Perrot into custody did he tell you he lived in London Street? A. Not then, at the station—he did not tell me that there was some other property, which Rogers had brought to London Street, other than that which he had pledged—Marie told me that Rogers had given these things to her—she is a young woman who is a witness in the case, and was staying at that time at Perrot's house in London Street—Perrot did not say, "If these things are stolen they are a lot of things that Rogers has given to a young girl at my house"—I do not recollect anything of the kind—I don't know whether Rogers speaks English or not—Perrot knows two or three words, not much, and when he spoke to me he spoke in French—I am not usually employed in French cases—we don't keep French officers—very probably I was imported into this case because it was a French case—I was with Sergeant Chown when he found these tools at Rousinot's house—Rousinot says he is a watch-maker—I asked him where he worked—he said, "At home"—there were no watches or anything of that kind there—there was no clock there what-ever—we took away all the property of any value there.
JURY. Q. Did he have any tools proper to the watchmaking? A. He had some large files used for filing skeleton keys.
COURT. Q. Did you ask him where his tools where? A. I asked him if these were his tools, and he said they were.
MR. BROOKE. Q. Did he not say he worked sometimes at home and sometimes elsewhere, where he found work? A. No; he said he worked at home, nothing more—he did not tell me his tools were not there at that moment, but were at Mr. Laupeuvre's, where he worked—I do not know that a large number of watchmakers live in Clerkenwell, and do work sent to them by the different large shops—I know nothing about Clerkenwell—these articles (referring to those produced as being found at Perrot's house) were all found in Perrot's room—some were in a box, others in bundles in the drawers—we ransacked the whole place—we found some silver buttons, yet to be produced—the young woman who is a witness in this case was not at home when we went to Perrot's house—the landlady let us in—the girl told me she had been in a situation some time before—I did not make inquiries—she told me it was with some French family.
RICHARD BLISSETT (Policeman E 106). I went to Castle Street with Chown and Foley—I found a bag there with the second rope ladder that has been produced—there is not much difference between the two—this appears to be a little newer than the other, that is all—I searched Perrot in that room, and found upon him a pawn ticket (produced) and 2l. 11s.—I after-wards went to Arthur Street—at 45, London Street, I found a silk veil,
three jackets, and twenty-nine pawn tickets—I also found a purse containing silver buttons (produced).
Cross-examined by MR. BROOKE. Q. That ticket merely represents goods pledged for 2s.? A. Yes.
JULIA KREMER . I am a single woman—Perrot lodged with me about three months—he occupied the room I showed to the officers—I have seen Rogers there—I believe I have seen some articles like these in Perrot's room
Cross-examined by MR. BROOKE. Q. Perrot had lodged in your house about three months, he and his wife; do you know what business he is? A. A cabinet-maker—Rogers came two or three times to my house to see Perrot—I don't know whether he came to see a young French girl—there was a young person stopping with Mr. Perrot, Marie Mesnage—Perrot occupied the front parlour on the ground floor—I never let Rogers in—I saw him when he rang the bell.
MR. LEWIS. Q. Did you ever see any cabinet-making going on at Perrot's? A. No.
MR. BROOKE. Q. Did not Perrot work with your husband? A. I have no husband—the man I am engaged to be married to is a cabinet-maker—I don't think Perrot worked with him—he has worked with a master in Brunswick Street, but not since he has lodged with me.
Cross-examined by MR. BROOKE. Q. Did Rogers tell you how he came to be possessed of these goods? A. He told me he had them from a gentleman who had gone to America, and took them out of the money which he brought over from Paris—I had left a situation I had been at, and was stopping at Perrot's a few days—the situation I had been at was the French Society, in King William Street—I had been there four years—Rogers brought in the things, threw them on the bed, and said, "All these things are for you"—he represented himself to be a widower, and wanted to pay his addresses to me—that is the reason he gave me these presents—he gave me these buttons—it was on a Friday—I saw him on Wednesday and Thursday, and on Friday he brought these things—Wednesday was the first time I saw him—I slept in the parlour at the bottom of the house, the next room to that occupied by Perrot and his wife—Rogers gave some of the things to Perrot, and some to his wife—he threw them down on the bed in Perrot's room.
WILLIAM JOSEPH CASELEY . I am assistant to Mr. Brown, pawnbroker, Cranbourne Street—I produce a couple of duplicates—I recollect Perrot coming to my master's shop on the 25th August—he pledged two pairs of trousers and a flannel shirt for 6s.
CHARLOTTE MACKINLAY . I am a servant at Castle Street, Long Acre—Rogers and Rousinot lodged at the house—I saw Perrot there twice—Rogers and Rousinot had a latchkey—I recollect Friday morning, the 25th—I saw Rousinot carrying a large linen basket—it was a long round basket with a lid, and a red mark round it.
Cross-examined by MR. BROOKE. Q. Had Rogers many visitors? A. Not very many—two or three came and saw him—I used to let them in—Rogers occupied a ground floor bedroom, Rousinot occupied a third floor front—Rousinot lived there about six or eight weeks before Rogers—I think Rousinot was there one night during the time Rogers was there.
HENRY SELIM . I recognise all these things—these trousers are the property of my father, and marked with his name—I was examined at the police-court, and examined them there—two linen baskets were missed from the house, with sundry little things.
Rogers's Statement before the Magistrate:—"I admit I committed the robbery—the things found in the rooms of Rousinot I gave, to disembarrass myself of them—those found at Perrot's I did not give them to him; I gave them to Menage."
JURY to SERGEANT CHOWN. Q. Was the rope-latter in the packet with some men's and women's clothes all together? A. No—it was found underneath the bed in a bag with some rags.
PERROT and ROUSINOT— GUILTY .
Rogers was further charged with having been convicted on 20th January, 1866, of felony, at this court, in the name of Frederick Necker. To this he PLEADED NOT GUILTY.
ROGERS—GUILTY of previous conviction.— Ten Years' Penal Servitude .
PERROT— Seven Years' Penal Servitude .
A certificate was produced that Rousinot had escaped from the French convict prison at Cayenne, where he was undergoing a sentence of twenty years' travaux forces.
The sentence on Rousinot was respited , that the French Government might be communicated with.
MR. WOOD conducted the Prosecution.
THOMAS EDWARDS . I am a seaman—on the evening of 28th August I was at No. 11, Ship Alley—the prisoner also lived there—when I came in I heard a quarrel between prisoner and the landlady, about some money—I said to him, "If you don't pay her you are no man"—he asked me what I had to do with it—I said, "I am no more in the house than you are, but I like to see things go on in rights"—I used no gesture in using these words—the prisoner then got hold of me and tried to heave me over the table—I said, "Hold on," and pulled my coat off—nothing unfair in the fight occurred till he hit me under the chin—after I got my coat off I hit him back and made his nose bleed—I took a candle and went out in the yard with him because he said he did not want to fight me—I said, "Neither do I you"—I then went into the yard and washed his nose—we shook hands and got friends again—when we got into the house again the mistress said, "All are quiet; if you want to sleep go up in the berth "—he said, no, he did not want to sleep in the house any more—he says to me "I want you to come along with me to the man who told you I was trying to cheat the mistress"—I said, "All right, I'll come along with you"—he went before me, and I was going to follow him, but when I saw him putting his hand
in his pocket I got rather scared, and drew back, and shut the door—at the same time I told him he had better go to bed now, and to sleep—I spoke in a friendly way to him at that time—he tried to break the door open when he saw me shutting the door—he was quite sober—neither of us had been drinking—I opened the door when he was trying to break it, and as soon as I opened it he struck at me, and hit me here—it is now healed up—there were other cuts about me—as soon as I put my head outside the door I got the cut—he then caught hold of me round my neck and dragged me into the street—I fell down, and then a woman came up and dragged the prisoner from me—I don't know the woman—I was taken to the station-house, and have been under the care of Mr. Phillips since—I was stabbed twice in the head, and once in the shoulder—I did not see him with the instrument in his hand, but I saw his hand in his pocket—this is the same knife—it belongs to the prisoner—it was found on the ground where I was stabbed—I know the knife well.
ANN STINSCOMBE . I was standing outside No. 6 on the night in question—I saw prisoner and prosecutor come out of No. 11—they appeared to be fighting—the prisoner came out first—he appeared to catch hold of the prosecutor round the neck—that was directly they came to the door—the prisoner ran backwards, dragging the prosecutor with him, and they both fell on the ground—the prosecutor went on the ground first—the prisoner fell on him—the prisoner appeared to be striking him—I said, "Don't strike a man on the ground"—I got the prisoner by the hair of his head, and dragged him from the prosecutor—it was neither light nor dark, dusky—I saw more by the light from the windows—I was present when the knife was found at the prisoner's feet—he said it was not his—there was blood on it.
GEORGE BAGSTER PHILLIPS . I am surgeon to the H division of police, and reside at No. 2, Spital Square, Spitalfields—on the morning of 29th August I was called to the Arbour Street station to see the prosecutor—I found an incised wound on his forehead—it appeared to be produced by some sharp instrument—this knife is a likely instrument to have produced it—he had also a wound in his head, and a more serious punctured wound at the back of his shoulder—for the wound on the forehead and the wound on the shoulder some considerable violence must have been used—the one in the head was slighter in its character—there were three distinct blows.
Prisoner's Defence.—I went at eleven o'clock that night to 11, Ship Alley—the mistress of the house said I might go upstairs and go to bed—the prosecutor then said, "Why don't you go up stairs, and not make so much noise. You haven't got any money to pay the money you owe "—I then said to him, " Is that anything to you? Are you the master of the house?"—he then struck me in the face, that my mouth and nose bled—directly afterwards he said, "You want to cheat the mistress, and you don't want to pay her anything"—I then said to him, "Who has told you so?"—he then named another man—I said, "Of course if I want to cheat her I can do so if I like "—he then struck me a second time in the face, and made my mouth and nose bleed—I then went into the yard to wash my face—he went with me—we then made it up together, and I said to him, "Come and show me the man who has told you so"—I then went into the house, and he followed afterwards—I then went outside the street door, thinking he was going to follow me—when he came outside I said, "Come and show me the man"—he then opened the door, and with one step out of the door got hold of me by the hair of my head—I then laid
hold of him, got my arms round his neck, and both fell to the ground together on the stones—when we were lying on the ground together he said in English, "The b——'s got a knife"—I then said, "I have not got a knife; I won't strike you with a knife "—I had no knife, I never struck him with a knife—the policeman then took me into custody—I had a coat at the house which had a knife, and that knife was stolen from me—I had a knife, but that is not my knife
. GUILTY of unlawfully wounding.— Confined Three Months .
EDWARD WILLIAM COLVILLE . I am a stevedore, and live at 7, Church Road, Stepney—on the afternoon of 27th August I was on Tower Hill—I saw prisoner go up to the prosecutor—he took something, which I supposed to be his watch—I told the prosecutor he had lost his watch—he said, "I think not"—he felt in his pocket, and found he had—I said, "There goes your watch over the road"—we both went after the prisoner—he took a turning where there was no thoroughfare, and stopped and put the watch down on the pavement—I saw him do it—the prosecutor stopped to pick up the watch—I caught the prisoner, and took him to the station—I never lost sight of him
. JAMES WANT (City Police 794). On 7th August the prisoner was brought to Seething Lane by the last witness—I took him to the police-station, Leman Street—I produce the watch—it was taken in the usual way.
WILLIAM FITZGERALD . I am engaged as steward on board a vessel callod the Harrowby—on the afternoon of 7th August I was standing on Tower Hill looking at a sailor showing a picture—Colville came up to me and asked me if I had lost anything—I said no, but put my hand in my pocket, and found my watch gone—we pursued the prisoner, and he was eventually caught—this is my watch.
Prisoner. I was at the top of this turning thinking which way to go home, when the watch was slipped into my side pocket by a lad, who ran down a entry.
GUILTY . †— Confined Twelve Months .
The prisoner was said to have been four years in Wandsworth Reformatory
MR. LANGFORD conducted the Prosecution, and MR. RIBTON the Defence.
EDWARD JONES . I keep the "Blue Anchor," Duke Street, Wapping—on Wednesday, 1st August, the prisoner came to me with this cheque (read, "London, August, 1860, City Bank, Threadneedle Street, corner of Finch Lane. Pay 225, or bearer, 7l.10s. Thomas Day (crossed), London and Westminster Bank, (endorsed) L. Prickett. 'No account' ")—he said he had received it from Mr. Day, a wire worker, of Whitechapel, and wanted 30s. to pay a small account—I said, "To oblige you, you can have it all now"—he put his name on the back of it—I told him I must pay it into the distiller's the following Saturday morning—I asked him about the paying 225, and he said, "It's a friend of mine; he didn't want his wife to know what for"—on the following Saturday I paid to the cheque to the distillers, Cookson and Co.—on the Monday the prisoner came to me and
said, "Jones, have you paid the cheque away?"—I told him I had, and he said, "Mr. Day has given me the money; I will go to the City Bank and take it up"—I went to Whitechapel, to see if I could find the man—I walked all up and down Whitechapel—there is no such person there as Day—I then went to the City Bank—I did not know it was a forgery till the manager told me—I went and searched for the prisoner, and found him the next day—I said, "Prickett, you ought to be ashamed of yourself; I am a poor man"—he wanted me to give him till the next day—I said, "If you don't give it to me in ten minutes I shall give you into custody"—I advanced the full amount, 7l. 10s.
Cross-examined by MR. RIBTON. Q. How long have you known him? A. About fourteen years—I have lived with him as a youth, and had a very high opinion of him until this time—I thought that he was a respectable man, or I should not have done it—it was on a Wednesday—I kept it till the following Saturday—he did not request me to keep it—I told him I had a payment to make on the following Saturday—I heard that the prisoner called on the Saturday while I was gone to the distiller's to pay the money—he called also on the Monday and Tuesday—I suppose it was to make some arrangement like that which he wanted to make when I gave him into custody—he did not then offer to pay the money—he said if I would wait for a day or two he would pay it—I knew him in Basinghall Street in a large way of business, and I am very sorry to see him where he is—I think it is loss of business and trouble at home which caused him to do it.
POBTER WILLIAM DUNNAWAY (Polfceman H 11). I took prisoner into custody—I told him he was charged with obtaining 7l. 10s. by means of passing a forged cheque—after he had got to the station I searched him, and found a key upon him—he said that belonged to his street door—I said I should want that to go to look for the cheque-book at his lodgings—he said, "It's no use going there; you won't find it; that is the last one; that is the wind up of a bad book."
Cross-examined by MR. RIBTON. Q. How long have you been in the force? A. Twenty years—I said at the police-court all that I have said here to-day—that is my signature—it was read over to me, and I signed it.
HENRY SMITH . I live at 11, Duke Street, Portland Place, and am a clerk in the City Bank, Threadneedle Street—I know the prisoner only as keeping an account at that bank—I have not seen the prisoner at the bank since the 15th June, 1865—I know of my own knowledge that no cheques of his have been passed through since that time—I do not know Thomas Day—we have no such account at our bank.
GUILTY . Recommended to mercy by the Jury and prosecutor.— Confined Eighteen Months .
MR. LANGFORD conducted the Prosecution.
EMILY HEAD . I am a single woman, staying with my sister at 32, High Street, Wapping—it is a mission house, and belongs to a clergyman named Burnaby—these articles produced are mine—I missed them at six
o'clock in the evening of Wednesday, 10th of July—I identify these as part of the property—except the spoons, I have not seen any of them since last Christmas—they were locked in a drawer in the back bedroom at 32, High Street, Wapping—I was visiting my sister there—she lives in the house, and is the superintendent.
ALEXINA FISHER .—I live at 32, High Street, Wapping, and am a widow—I am superintendent of the Mission House—I am sister of the last witness—these articles were left in my charge—they were safe in my house—I left my house on 2nd July, and left my mother and the mother of the prisoner Skinner in the house—Mrs. Skinner was a woman under my superintendence at the time—Skinner came to see his mother sometimes—I came back on 21st July, and found the articles gone.
ELIZABETH BARNETT . I am governess at the Mission House, High Street, Wapping—about a quarter-past seven on the morning of 10th July I went downstairs—I saw a box on the kitchen table, and the keys by the side—I don't know whether the street door was shut—I noticed there was no breakage—the box was a little trunk—I did not know it had contained the plate—I do not know the drawer where the plate was kept—I saw some one had been in the house at that time—I did not look at the windows—it was Mrs. Skinner's place to do so—Mrs. Skinner put out the gas the night before—she was just before me on the stairs the night of the robbery.
SARAH SKINNER . I am the wife of Robert Skinner—the prisoner is my son—on the night of 9th July I was in charge of the house, No. 32, High Street, Wapping—I did not fasten the door—I was not the first who came down in the morning—I believe it was Miss Barnett—my daughter is not here—I don't know where the plate was kept—I saw the box on the kitchen table, which Mrs. Head said was her plate box—I saw the door of the bedroom was open, and was told there had been a robbery, but I don't know anything more.
ROBERT SKINNER (the prisoner). I remember 9th July—I was in company with Howard—he watched my sister at the back of No. 32, High Street, Wapping—he afterwards gave me a description of some one he had watched—then he went in—I went with him—the door was left open—it was, as near as I can guess, about ten o'clock—we went into the schoolroom when they were all gone to bed—we went upstairs—we went into the bed-room—Howard said, "What have we got here?"—he went to the drawer, got the keys out, and tried the drawers—he got the box out, took it down-stairs, opened it, and got the things out, and put them into his pocket—I don't know what he took out—I saw silver, I heard it—it was about two o'clock in the morning—next morning he gave me some to pawn—some I pledd in Leman Street—some in Bethnal Green Road—when I came back we went down Petticoat Lane—I do not know what he had about him—we went into Burnell's, the public-house—he put the silver out of his pocket in a handkerchief on a small bar, where I could hardly see it—Burnell looked over it and went out with it—he came back and gave the money—all I received was 30s.—that is all I know of it.
PORTER WILLIAM DUNNAWAY (Policeman H 11). On 4th September I went to the House of Detention to speak to Skinner—I afterwards went to Colney Heath—when I got there I saw the daughter of Howard, Emily Howard—she gave me this silver thimble (produced)—after that I went to Stepney, and took Howard into custody—I told him he was charged with being concerned with Robert Skinner in burglariously breaking into the
house, No. 32, High Street, Wapping, and stealing a quantity of silver plate—he said, "I know nothing at all about it"—I said, "I have had an interview with Skinner, and he tells me you were alone with him at the time the plate was stolen"—I said, "I believe you have given a silver thimble to your daughter at Colney Heath"—he said, "Nothing of the kind; I have not done so"—I then took out the thimble, showed it to him, and said, "I have seen your daughter, and she gave me this, and said it was you who gave it to her"—he then said, "Yes, I did give it to her; but he gave it to me"—when he was put back in the cell at the Thames Police-court he said, "I want to speak to you"—he said, "Have you been to Burnell's?"—I said, "No, I have not"—he said, "Well, if you go there, that's where I sold the plate for 30s."
Howard. I said Skinner did.
Witness. I went on the Sunday, and saw Burnell—I told him what had been said by the prisoners—I asked him if he had got any in the house, and to allow me to look over—this he did—I wanted him at the Thames Police-court on the day of remand—he did come down—afterwards I was informed he had gone away—I got the case put back, but found he had gone away.
MARIA HEAD . I live with my daughter, Mrs. Fisher, at No. 32, High Street, Wapping—this is my thimble—I last saw it safe on the night of 9th July—it was safe in a drawer near where the plate was kept—I missed it the next morning, and did not see it again till the constable brought it to me.
EMILY HOWARD . I am the daughter of the prisoner Howard—I live with him at Colney Heath—my father came down in the country and gave this thimble to me—I cannot say when he gave it me—it was in July—some time after 9th July—he told me it was a thimble for me, which he hid found.
HOWARD— NOT GUILTY . SKINNER— Confined Four Months .
OLD COURT.—Friday, Sept. 21, 1866.
Before Mr. Justice Willes.
MESSRS. GRIFFITHS and WOOD conducted the Prosecution, MESSRS. DALT and NICHOLSON the Defence.
MARY ANN SULLIVAN . I live at 34, Royal Mint Street, and am the widow of the deceased Thomas Sullivan—he was forty-four years of age and was a plasterer—on Saturday, first of September, he returned home about two o'clock—he gave me his wages, 35s.—after he had been some little time at home he sent me for half a gallon of beer—he did not drink any of it—the prisoner and his wife lived in the same house, above me, on the second floor—I cannot say what time the prisoner came home that
day—he came home before my husband, I think when he got paid—I saw him leave the house, and go out about four o'clock—he was then sober—I think he returned about eight, tipsy—I saw him in the passage as he was going out, partly lying down—me and my husband assisted him on to his feet, and he went upstairs into the room with us—it was then that my husband told me to fetch half a gallon of beer—while the prisoner was in the room he made an offensive remark about me having slept with a man named Murray—it was very bad language that he made use of—he told my husband to kiss his—my husband became angry, and told him to leave the room—that was about a quarter-past eight, or rather better—there was no quarrelling at that time—the prisoner did not leave the room when my husband told him to do so—he remained in the room about a minute, and was then taken up to his own room by his wife and another person—he made use of some bad language on the stairs, and my husband put one foot on the second step, and said, "You scoundrel, if you make use of that language to my wife I will bring you down by the leg," and he kicked my husband over the eye as he was on the stairs—I and my husband then went downstairs, and remained there above an hour—I then heard Mrs. Murphy call out, "There is Murphy in Sullivan's room, breaking his things"—my husband said, "My God! breaking my things?" and he turned round and went upstairs very quickly—I followed him in about a minute—when I got up I saw my husband lying down, and Murphy lying on the top of him—my husband's head and shoulders were in his own room, and his legs on the landing—I had not heard any words of quarrelling, or any blows struck before I went up—if there had been any quarrelling I think I should have heard it, as I was coming up the stairs—I took the key out of my door, and struck Murphy in the head with it as well as I was able, to make him let my husband go—I heard my husband say, very slowly, "Murphy, you have bit me; don't bite me"—when I found he would not desist, and let my husband go, I chucked the key away, and I rose Murphy off my husband by the hair of his head—I pulled him off; my husband tried to stand up, but he reeled and fell, and put his hand under his head—he spoke no more—it was about half-past nine at that time—it was dark, but there was a candle on the stairs—my husband was sober when he went upstairs—he had been out at the door before this, but not above two or three minutes—he had drank nothing but his tea whilst he was in the house—I did not find that he was bleeding from a wound in his side until the doctor came—it is a very dark landing where he fell; it is not so narrow—there were other lodgers in the house at the time, and they came up, and I said my husband was dead—a policeman came—I afterwards found a blade of a knife where my husband was killed—I found it next morning when I was wiping the landing—the prisoner went downstairs after my husband fell—this (produced) is the blade I found—I had seen the prisoner with a four-bladed knife previous to this that had a white handle, but it was dirty, and it had like silver at the bottom of it—it was something like this knife (looking at one), but not the same handle—I saw the knife in Murphy's possession in my room at the time I had a child lying dead about eight weeks ago—I found this blade in the flannel as I was wiping the passage—at that time the crack on it looked quite fresh, but it got wet—I took it to the station-house myself.
Cross-examined. Q. Were not you drunk yourself that night? A. No, I was not—I did not get drunk after my husband was dead—I was not
outside the door—I took the blade of the knife to the station next morning—I was not drunk then—I heard the policeman say before the magistrate that I was, but it was false—I was excited, but not drunk—I had only had a glass of water and a glass of wine that day—my husband and I always lived very happy together—he was as good a husband as was ever born—I never threatened him at any time—I have come here on habeas this morning from prison—Mrs. Murphy locked me up—she said I had threatened her—I did not do so, I only asked her for some tickets of my children's clothes that I had lent her—I am in for trial till Tuesday—I do not know how it is—I was once in prison for an assault—that was for assaulting a woman with a jug—I am not in the habit of drinking—I was not drunk that night—I saw a knife in the prisoner's possession on this night when I went for the beer—he was picking his teeth with it in my room when I went downstairs—I am speaking of the evening on which my husband was killed—the prisoner was drunk at the time—I have not said before to-day that he was picking his teeth with a knife; I was not asked—I do not think I was asked before the magistrate whether I had seen him with a knife—I said before the magistrate that I had seen him with one—I do not know whether my deposition was read over to me—I do not remember signing it before the magistrate, I did before the coroner—I said I had seen him with a knife, but I did not say at what time—it did not occur to me that it was important to say that he had a knife the very night—I did not think anything about it, I was excited—I did not use any other weapon but a key on the prisoner; I am sure of that—my husband had no knife to my knowledge—he had a large knife sometimes, and my little boy used to take it out of his pocket—I have not seen it for some time—the child took it away or lost it, I think—he used to take it and give it away, or sell it, and many other things—I do not know what he did with it—he might have sold it for marbles for what I know—he often took it—I have often heard my husband kick up a row with him about taking his knife—he took away a good many knives—my husband was always complaining about it—I do not think he took as many as eight or ten; it might be two or three—I had not seen my husband with a knife for some time—he did not smoke cut tobacco—he used sometimes to have a knife—I do not think he bought one—he used to have one given to him—I cannot say exactly the last time I saw him with one; not for two months, it might be six months—I know that the prisoner had two or three cuts on the back of his head—I did that with the key—I do not know about his having black eyes—I might have struck him in the face for what I know. I could not exactly say where I struck him, I was very much excited, and I struck him everywhere I could—I had a knife in my hand that night eating my tea with it, cutting some meat; but that was a large table knife—I had that in my own room at my own table—I did not take the knife upstairs when I ran up—I had not taken it downstairs with me—it was in my own room that I had it—I believe there was a bite on my husband's hip—there was no blood there, only very small drops indeed—Mrs. Gale was the person who helped the prisoner's wife to take him upstairs—she was not in my room—there was no one in my room but Murphy, me, and my husband—I do not know whether there is any other person here who saw Murphy with a knife—I found this blade on the landing outside our room.
MR. GRIFFITHS. Q. Is it true that you were quite sober when you went to the policeman? A. Yes—I did not strike my husband at any time while he was on the ground.
COURT. Q. How soon after your husband fell did you send for a doctor? A. I should say a quarter of an hour—I took Mrs. Murphy up to show her where her husband had kicked my husband in the eye, and he was dead—I put my mouth to his, and he had no breath whatever.
BRIDGET DONOGHUE . I am the wife of Timothy Donoghue, and live at 34, Royal Mint Street—on the Saturday afternoon in question I was in my shop—Murphy came in at the door about eight o'clock—he was very drunk—a man brought him to the door, and all he could say was, "Thirty-four"—he could not say he lived there, he could only say that—I own the house, and Murphy and Sullivan were lodgers of mine—when Murphy came to the door he fell and retched—I called to his wife and said, "Mr. Murphy has made a mess in the passage"—he was then lying there—Sullivan and his wife came downstairs, and said, "Mr. Murphy, come upstairs"—they got him up, and he went upstairs—he did not want to go, but Sullivan said, "We will have a drop of beer"—Sullivan was not sober, but he was not to say drunk—he had been drinking a little—this was about eight o'clock—Murphy then went upstairs with Sullivan and his wife—he went upstairs by himself as well as he could—they had not been long upstairs when Mrs. Murphy came to the door—she had been out marketing—that was a little before eight, and then the two women began arguing and rowing, and then the two men upstairs began—I saw nothing of what occurred upstairs—I remained in the shop—two of the tenants got Murphy upstairs to his own room, and Sullivan and his wife came downstairs to the door—the next thing I heard was Mrs. Murphy running downstairs saying, "Get a police-man; he is breaking Mr. Sullivan's things; get a policeman"—that was about nine o'clock—I went outside the door then, and Murphy and Sullivan were fighting upstairs—at that time I heard a noise on the first floor—when Mrs. Murphy came down Sullivan ran up, saying, "Will he break my things? will he break my things?"—at that time Mrs. Murphy was on the stairs, hallooing for help and for police—they were then fighting with pokers upstairs—I went outside and called "Police!"—it was some of the tenants who came down and told me they were fighting with pokers—Mrs. Sullivan and Denis Byrne told me—I saw Murphy come downstairs before that and go through my shop to go to the doctor's to get his head dressed—his head and nose were bleeding very much—all was quiet after that.
Cross-examined. Q. Was all the row and disturbance before Murphy went to the doctor? A. Yes—Denis Byrne came and said to me they would have killed Murphy if it had not been for him—Byrne does not live in the house—he lives two doors off—he was in and out all the time between eight and ten—the second row commenced about nine o'clock—Byrne was there then, and also at the time of the first row—he was in my shop, but he ran upstairs to help part them—I was not examined before the magistrate—I was before the coroner—I did not mention about pokers before the coroner, or about Denis Byrne—I was not asked—I cannot say how many persons were present at the second row—Murphy was in Sullivan's room at the time—I did not see him.
JOHN FOX (Policeman H 114). On Saturday, the 1st September, about ten o'clock, I was sent for to 34, Royal Mint Street—I went upstairs and found Sullivan in his own room—I apprehended the prisoner—he was tipsy, but he understood perfectly well what he was doing—Mrs. Sullivan handed me this blade of a knife—I did not see Byrne there that night—I noticed the knife when it was brought to the station—it looked as if it was quite fresh broken—it was examined by a great many parties, the jury, the
magistrate, and others, and has got black since—there were five or six women in the room with the body.
Cross-examined. Q. I suppose you made a diligent search for the knife? A. I did, but, being dark, I might have overlooked it—there was a good deal of scrambling about—I saw no signs of any poker being used—the poker, tongs, and shovel were in the fireplace, where I suppose they are always kept, and I saw no appearance of any others—I looked to see if I could find any weapon—I looked where this blade was afterwards said to be found—Mrs. Sullivan brought it to the station next morning—she was a little the worse for liquor at the time, not what you would term drunk—she had had a little, and I suppose the excitement made her appear worse—the deceased was dead when I got into the room.
COURT. Q. When you got to the house where was Murphy? A. Locked in his own room—we said we would break the door open, and his wife opened it—Mrs. Sullivan charged him with stabbing her husband, and he said that the deceased had called him a b—Fenian—I charged him with the murder at the station, and he said he was drunk and did not remember anything about it.
MART ANN GAME . I am the wife of Maurice Game, a labourer, living at 34, Royal Mint Street—I saw the deceased on the evening in question about eight o'clock—he was in drink, but he was often drunker than he was then—the prisoner was very tipsy indeed—he was not able to walk or talk—he could hardly tell where he lived—when he came up to the house he could only say, "Thirty-four, thirty-four"—a man brought him to the door—he went away, leaving him standing there—he had to lay in the passage, and Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan, I believe, carried him upstairs—about nine o'clock I came to the door and saw Mr. and Mrs. Murphy going upstairs—Mrs. Sullivan was dragging him up, hallooing that her husband was dead—he was not dead at that time—I saw him when he was dead—it was about twenty minutes or half an hour afterwards—I had heard Mrs. Murphy cry out, "Oh! my God, my husband is breaking Mr. Sullivan's things," and with that Sullivan ran upstairs—I was upstairs at the time—I heard a row, but did not go to look at it—I heard a lot of things breaking when Sullivan ran up and while he was running up—Byrne was not there at that time—he came up shortly after—he was there before the deceased was dead—Mrs. Donoghue told him to go upstairs, and I saw him run up—Mrs. Sullivan was upstairs then—I do not think it was above five minutes after that she went up that Byrne went up—I did not go up till I heard Mrs. Sullivan halloo out, "Oh! my God, my husband is dead"—that was about twenty minutes or half an hour after she ran up, as near as I could judge—I saw Murphy go out to go to the doctor's—it was not until after he came from the doctor's, and had gone up to his own room, that Mrs. Sullivan called out that her husband was dead—I did not go up before that—she had not been upstairs above five minutes before she hallooed out—Murphy was in his own room at that time—when I went up there was only there Mrs. Sullivan and another Mrs. Sullivan who lives at the top of the house—I did not see Byrne there then.
JOHN LOANE . I am a member of the College of Surgeons—I was called into the deceased on Saturday, the 1st September, about twenty minutes to eleven—I found him dead—I examined the body externally—there were four wounds, one an incised one, behind the left ear, a contused wound over the right eyebrow, one over the right or left hip, I forget which (that was a lacerated and contused wound; the teeth would have done that),
and one on the left side of the chest punctured—I afterwards made a post-mortem examination—death was the result of a punctured wound of the heart—that corresponded with the wound on the left side under the nipple—I found the body was otherwise healthy, comparatively speaking—there was a good deal of internal hemorrhage—such an instrument as this knife-blade might have produced that wound—it seemed to correspond with it, as far as length and breadth went—I think a knife similar to this could scarcely cut through the rib without breaking—it had cut through the rib, which is rather unusual—it completely divided the rib—the blow must have been given with considerable force—death would be almost instantaneous—it was the left ventricle of the heart that was punctured. Q. Would you expect if it was broken by the collision with the rib that it would be rejected by the wound? A. I cannot speak as to that point—I see no reason why it should be rejected, unless possibly by the heart's action it might be thrown out—it punctured the bony part of the rib, completely dividing it—before the post-mortem I was unable to discover whether the chest had been punctured or not, on account of not being able to penetrate into the rib, as it had closed again—I do not think the rib would be depressed before the knife would go through it—I do not think the rib was elastic enough to allow of that, being in the nature of an arch—there is no doubt it was a punctured wound, and such an instrument as this might have caused it—the knife might possibly be rejected from the wound—the knife might have been broken in withdrawing it.
Cross-examined. Q. Had the deceased his clothes on? A. do not remember—he was not naked—there was a hole in the shirt—I should imagine he had not his clothes on at the time he was wounded, except his shirt—I saw the shirt, but I have no recollection of the other clothing—the hole in the shirt was a small one—when a man is struck in the heart there is a convulsive spring—the length of the wound was about half an inch—the rib may be about half an inch thick—wounds inflicted on a living subject have a tendency to retract after death—I dare say this wound was about the same size when inflicted as it was when I saw it—I do not think this wound was more likely to have been inflicted with a table-knife—a table-knife would not inflict a punctured wound; of course if it was pointed or narrow it might do so.
THOMAS LOANE . I am a surgeon—I assist my brother, the last witness—about half-past nine o'clock on the evening in question the prisoner came to the surgery and wished to have his head dressed—his head was bleeding at the time—it had been cut—I did not examine him—I was very busy and the man was drunk, and I told him to go to the hospital and have it dressed there—the wound was on the back of his head—I have not the least idea whether it was a contused wound—there appeared to be a good deal of blood about it—when I told him to go to the hospital he said he would have his revenge, he would go and knife him—he did not say who—that was all he said.
Cross-examined. Q. He had been very much ill-used? A. Yes, very much—there were marks of violence on him.
MARY ANN SULLIVAN (re-examined). My husband had taken off his coat and waistcoat when he came home—he mostly took them off when he came from work—after I pulled Murphy off my husband I went downstairs, and it was on coming back that I found my husband was dead—I cannot say that I saw Byrne there, I was so excited—I did not use any poker—we only had a very small bit of poker in our room—my husband had
no poker—I think my husband fell on his left side—I used a flat table-knife at my tea—it had not a sharp point—we have not got such a thing in our place.
MR. J. LOANE (re-examined). It would depend on the size of the wound whether a man would be able to move after receiving it—I think the deceased might have been able to endeavour to get up, and then fell—the wound punctured the substance of the heart to its cavity—he might have been able to put his hand to his head at the time, and afterwards fall.
GUILTY of Manslaughter. Recommended to mercy by the jury, believing it to be a drunken row.— Five Years' Penal Servitude .
MESSRS. WOOLLETT and POLAND conducted the Prosecution, and MESSRS.
RIBTON and COOK the Defence.
HENRY CUNDELL JULER . I reside at No. 5, James Street, Hyde Park—I am a member of the College of Surgeons, and an M.D. of Aberdeen University—I am also one of the governors of St. Mary's Hospital—I have been in the habit of attending the Craven Hill Chapel, at Bayswater—the prisoner Cracknell was a member of that congregation, but has not been for some time—there was a youth's institute connected with the chapel, at which there have been soirees given from time to time—I and the prisoner have attended those soirees with the other members of the congregation—I was first secretary to the institute for the first year, and afterwards vicepresident—in December, 1864, in consequence of my position at the institute, I gave a soiree at my own house, to which all the members of the institute, without exception, were invited—amongst the others, Cracknell came—his father is a plumber and glazier, and I employed him to do some work for me at my house—Cracknell assisted in doing that work—after-wards some work was to be done; I was to pay for the materials, and Cracknell was to find the labour; that was the arrangement—I was dissatisfied with the charges, and I declined to employ the father any further—I employed another tradesman of the name of Stevenson instead, two or three doors off Cracknell's father—I cannot remember the date at which Cracknell was last employed for me, my solicitor has the bills—I should think it was about four months since—the prisoner afterwards applied to me for a character for honesty and integrity, and I declined to give such a character—while he was employed at my house the dog of a friend of mine that I had charge of, bit him—on Wednesday, the 5th of this month, I came home from evening service at Craven Hill Chapel about a quarter to nine—I did not find the two prisoners waiting in my dining-room when I got home—I was subsequently informed that they were there waiting—I went into the dining-room and found them there—I had never seen Walker before, and did not know who he was—I had not seen Cracknell for some three or four months before—when I went into the room I said, "Oh! Cracknell, how are you? Will you be seated?"—the prisoners were very much confused apparently—Walker said, "He has come to speak to you, sir, upon what took place some time ago"—I said, "What do you mean?"—Cracknell said, "You know what I mean"—I said, "How should I know what you mean?"—Walker said, "He has come to speak to you, sir, about what you did together some nine months back"—I said, "What's that? Why don't you speak out?"—Cracknell hesitated and seemed not at all
inclined to offer any explanation, and Walker said, "The fact is, sir, he accuses you of an abominable offence"—I said, "Surely, Cracknell, you have not said such a thing as this of me?"—Cracknell said, "Yes, you know you did, and I will swear to it before any judge, but don't make a noise; nobody knows anything about it, and I should like to see you by yourself"—I said, "You vile fellow, what can have possessed you to make such a false charge as this?"—he said, "I would rather speak to you by yourself"—I said, "Mrs. Juler is in the next room, but I will ask her to step out if you wish"—I asked her and she stepped out—I then opened the door and Cracknell and myself walked in—Cracknell shut the door after him—I immediately opened it, and said, "I can't see what you have to say to me alone; if you have got anything to say, why not speak out"—I found he would say nothing, and therefore Walker, who had entered the room when I opened the door, left it, and closed the door after him—I then said, "Now, Cracknell, what have you got to say?"—he kept his eyes fixed on the carpet, and played with the carpet with a stick that he had in his hand—I said, "I understand that you accuse me of indecent conduct?"—he said, "Yes, you know you did"—I said, "Tell me what I did. Do you intend to go so far as to accuse me of sodomy?"—he said, "I don't know what that is"—I said, "You cannot have been in workshops without knowing what that means"—he still hesitated, and said he did not know what it meant, and said, "Well, I will tell you what it is" (the witness here described the offence in question)—he hesitated a minute or two, and then said, "Well, that is what you did to me"—I said, "Oh! pray, for God's sake, Cracknell, don't accuse me of such a thing as that; you surely don't know what you are doing; I never did such a thing as that in my life"—I then opened the door and said, "He accuses me of an abominable offence"—Walker was then in the next room, the front room—there are two folding doors between the rooms—Crack-nell said, "We will come and speak to you again; we will come again, sir"—I said, "What can be your motive for preferring such a charge as that against me?"—Cracknell said, "I was thinking of some compensation"—I said, "What do you mean by compensation?"—Walker said, "You see, sir, he has been ill, and a few pounds would be very useful to him just now"—I said, "Oh! I see your motive," and Cracknell said that he was prepared to swear before any judge, and Walker said that they intended to see it to the end—Cracknell seemed somewhat frightened and anxious to leave, and he said, "Sir, we will call again; when can we see you?"—I said, "You can see me at any time"—Cracknell said, "We will come to-morrow night"—Walker said, "You know I cannot come to-morrow night," and Cracknell said, "Well, come on Friday night"—Walker said, "Yes, we will come on Friday night." Because, "said Cracknell," as you have joined me in this matter, I wish you to come again with me "—Cracknell then told me who the other young man was, that he was his cousin, and that his name was Robert Walker—I said, "Where does he live?"—he hesitated, and then said, "He will tell you that himself"—they then agreed to come at eight o'clock on Friday night—I said, "I cannot think, Cracknell, what has possessed you to make such a false charge as this against me," and I said to his cousin, "I have to thank you for telling me what his motive was"—I said, "I have been a good friend to you, Cracknell," and Cracknell held out his hand and said, "Dr. Juler, I don't wish to be unfriendly with you"—I said, "How can we be friends? You must withdraw your statement, make an apology, and hope
for my forgiveness"—Walker said, "Yes, you cannot be friends; you must apologise and ask his forgiveness"—I believe my servant Wesley then shewed them out of doors—I did not take Cracknell's hand—directly after they had gone I communicated with my son, and arranged for him to be at home on the Friday when they came—On the Friday evening I was in the back drawing-room, and my son in the front room, a curtain being between—they both called about eight o'clock that night, and were shown up by Wesley, the page—I entered the back drawing-room and said, "Well, is it the same game to-night?"—they said, "Yes, sir, I suppose so"—I don't know which one said that—I said, "Have you well considered this matter?"—Cracknell said, "Yes, sir, and we intend to go on with it"—Walker said, "Yes, so would I"—I said, "Well now, what do you accuse me of?"—Cracknell said, "Well, sir, the same as yesterday"—I said, "Well what is it that you accuse me of? Just state what I did, "and Crack-nell said, "I don't know in what words to put it, sir," and then he said, "It is sodomy, sir"—I said, "Well, go on"—he said, "You did it to me several times," and Walker said, "You pulled * * * as you know what would happen"—I kept asking them to go on, for I was anxious to hear the full statement, what they had to say—Cracknell said, "You unbuttoned my trousers as I was leaning against the mantelshelf, and did it again"—when he said, "Sodomy, "he said, "There it is, it's out," and Walker said, "That's plain"—I said, "Well, that is what I did; now what do you want?"—Walker said, "He want's compensation, sir"—I said, "What is compensation? What do you mean by compensation?"—Crack-nell said, "I don't know, sir, what such a thing as that is worth; I would not have such a thing as that said of me for 10l.; I am inexperienced in these matters"—I said, "Perhaps"—Walker said, "Well, we do read of things, where sometimes from 5l. to 500l. is given; I do not know what a judge would give in such a case"—I said, "Well, what do you want? How much do you want?"—Walker said they had not made up their mind as to what to ask—I said, "Oh! you have made up your minds what sum you were to ask before you came in"—they hesitated a long while, and I stepped out of the room a moment, and when I returned I said, "Well, how much?"—Cracknell said, "Well, sir, between 30l. and 40l."—I said, "Oh! 30l. or 40l.? I should think 10l. a handsome sum"—Cracknell said, "Well, if you look at it in that light, perhaps 10l. is a handsome sum when you consider that I had not any work to do for it," or words to that effect—Walker said, "The gentleman is only offering you a quarter of what you ask; take half"—they exchanged glances, and then Cracknell said, "It must be between 30l. and 40l., sir. I would not have such a thing as that said of me for 10l."—I said, "Well, 40l. Now what are you going to do for this 40l.?"—they both seemed astonished, and Walker said, "Do, sir?"—I said, "Yes. What protection are you going to give me for this 40l.? How do I know that you, Cracknell, have not mentioned this to some one else?"—he said, "I will give you my word of honour, sir, I have not mentioned it to any one"—I said, "Why you have mentioned it to your cousin"—he said, "Ah! sir, but only to him"—I said, "How do I know that Walker has not mentioned it to some one else?"—Cracknell said, I will pledge you my word that he has not; have you?" (addressing Walker), and Walker said, "No, I am sure I have not"—I said, "How do I know that you will not mention it to some one else?"—Walker said, "Well, we will give you a paper; we will write on a paper," and the boy Wesley brought me up the inkstand and paper—Cracknell said, "Draw
up something yourself, sir"—I said, "No, I have nothing to do in it; you come here for money, you give the paper"—Cracknell then took the paper and commenced writing, and after having written a paper he pushed it to me and said, "Will that do, sir?"—I said, "No; you have not mentioned here what you charge me with; you have not mentioned the sum of money you require"—Walker said, "No, you must put both them in"—Cracknell said (addressing Walker), "Perhaps you will draw out the paper yourself"—Walker said to Cracknell, "You must put both in, both the nature of the offence and the sum required"—Cracknell kept writing on this piece of paper, filling it up, and he then handed it to Walker to transcribe it on to another piece, a clean sheet, and said, "Perhaps you will write it out"—Walker said, "Oh! no; you draw it up"—Cracknell then tore the piece of paper into many pieces, after having copied it, and after writing the paper he pushed it to me, and asked if that would do—I said, "Yes, I think that will do if you will sign it"—they hesitated a little, particularly Walker, and then affixed their signatures to the paper—I have omitted to say that before this I said to them," Supposing I don't give you the 40l., what will you do?"—Cracknell said, "I intend to push it; I can swear to it before any judge"—and Walker said, "Yes, we will give you in charge and see it to the end"—that was on the Friday, after the writing was suggested by Walker—he asked me what sort of protection I should require, and I said the kind of protection I should require would be a retractation of the statement, an apology for having made such a statement, and an expression hoping that I might forgive him, and Walker said, "Why, if we were to admit that statement to be untrue, you would call in the police, and we should be transported for life"—and Cracknell said, "No, I am ready to swear it before any judge"—This is the paper that was signed by the prisoners—it was drawn up and signed in my presence. (Read) "September 7, 1866. Robert Walker, of 91, Cirencester Street, Harrow Road, and Horatio Cracknell, of 8, Sheldon Street, Bishop's Road, hereby pledge themselves not to divulge or mention to anybody whatever the indecent conduct of Dr. Juler towards Horatio Cracknell upon one occasion of sleeping together, upon condition of having received a sum of 40l. for the same. Signed: H. W. Cracknell, Robert Walker." That document was pushed towards me by Cracknell, and I immediately rose up, and said, "Edward, will you witness this"—that was to my son, who was behind the curtain; he is twenty-four years of age—he rushed forward, and Cracknell, turning very pale, reached his hand out and seized hold of the paper, and, looking at Walker said, "I told you this would be so when we came in"—Walker rose and seized hold of Cracknell's hand to wrest the paper from him, and eventually my son took it away from Cracknell and placed it in his pocket, Walker saying, "It is no use"—I took the paper from my son, left the room, and showed it to my wife—I sent for a constable—my son locked the door, and put the key in his pocket—the constable came, and I gave the prisoners into custody—after they were in custody the constable asked them when this occurred, and Cracknell said, "About nine months ago"—they were ultimately taken to the station, and after some time the charge was entered by the acting inspector—I think I was at the station an hour and a half—some law books were consulted—the officer said he did not know how to take the charge—I did not pay the prisoners any
money—there is no truth whatever in the charge that they made against me—it is the vilest, and the most false, and the most cruel charge.
Cross-examined. Q. How long have you known Cracknell? A. I should think nearly two years—I think I first knew him about the early part of '65—I am sure of that—I might have known him in '64 (referring to a paper)—I am looking at a programme of a soiree that was held in '65 at the church, and I think that it was in the early part of '65 that I knew Cracknell—I think it is very likely that I may have known him at the latter end of '64, but I cannot call it to memory—he tells me now he is about seventeen years of age—he would be about fifteen in '64—I knew him first by his father coming to put in a pane of glass at mine—I cannot tell whether it was in'64—my solicitor has the bill; he can tell—the father said his son was at the institute, of which I was co-secretary (looking at some bills)—the first bill is not amongst these—these are partly Cracknell's own bills, and partly his father's—the last I have got here is February 28th, 1865—I am not sure whether that was the first bill or not—that was not the first time he did work at mine—the institute consisted of a number of young men who attended the church—they thought they should like a discussion class, to attend on their spare evenings—it was not held in any particular month, but generally in the winter months—it was kept up while there were any attendants, in November, December, and January—there are meetings held in February and March, but generally after Christmas there are not so many attending—I think I first saw Cracknell at the next meeting of the institute, at the discussion class—the soirees I speak of were evening gatherings, sometimes at my house, and sometimes at the chapel—there was one in February, 1865—it is impossible for me to say whether it was at that soiree that I first saw Cracknell—I do not exactly remember when I first saw the father, therefore I cannot say—there was a soiree in November, 1864, at which I met the boy—there might have been one in December—I will not undertake to swear that I did not see him there—I was in the habit of bringing the boys up to my door after the soiree, when they left me and bade me good night—they accompanied me voluntarily; I did not bring them—I did not bring Cracknell home to my house to supper after a meeting at the chapel at the latter end of 1864, not to the best of my recollection—his father did not come and ring the bell and ask for him, nor did I answer it and tell him that his son was going to stay all night: I swear that—I have not the least remembrance of it—it is not likely at all, because I do not answer my own door—I never told the father on any occasion that he was going to stay all night, or anything like it—I say most emphatically that he never did stay all night—I did not state at the police-court, in the presence of three constables, "I admit the boy stayed at my house all night"—the sergeant did not reply, "What! in your bed?" nor did I answer, "Yes, in my bed"—I know that man (Sergeant Eames)—I saw him at the station—he put questions to me and I answered them—I did not say that to him—it is quite a misapprehension—they kept me talking for an hour and a half at the police station—the sergeant said, "Has he ever stayed a night at your house?" and I said, "He may or may not; but not to my knowledge," that was all—it is not at all likely that he said, "What! in your bed?" and that I answered, "Yes, in my bed"—I swear I did not say it—I know James Millard—he was in my service at the latter end of 1864—he left at the beginning of 1865—I gave him verbal notice to leave me on the 10th of December, and I gave him a written one on the 19th of December, 1864, and
he left on January 19th, 1865—I do not remember while he was in my service in the winter of 1865 bringing Crackwell home to supper on the evening of a meeting at the Craven Hill Chapel—I will swear to the best of my recollection that I did not—I am sure I do not know that Millard left Cracknell and myself in the dining-room at supper—he was not always up when I came home from the meetings—he did not leave me there with Cracknell at supper; I swear that—it is a long time ago—it might have happened, not at supper, if the boys had walked home with me to my door from the institute I have some-times had coffee waiting for me and I have said, "Children, will you stop and have a cup of coffee?" and they have generally refused to do so; and as to supper, I have no set supper, I never take suppers—I can state that Cracknell, to the best of my recollection, never came to supper at mine—to the best of my recollection, he and I were never left alone in the drawing-room by Millard—I swear that Cracknell was never with me in my bed—Millard did not bring up a jug of hot water in the morning and see Cracknell in my bed—Cracknell and I did not breakfast together in the morning at my house—I never breakfasted with Cracknell; I swear that—I have never been in the habit of giving boys cigars to smoke—I gave one boy a cigar to smoke who suffered from asthma; that was Ross—I have never given Millard cigars to smoke—I did not like him well enough, and there was no occasion to give my ser-vants cigars to smoke—I swear I never gave him brandy-and-water to drink—he was never in my bed—I never saw Mrs. Cracknell in my life till the other night—I do not know John Kirk, a railway porter (Kirk was called in)—I do not know that man—I have never seen him until he has been hovering about this court—I swear most positively that I do not know the man—I never saw him till I saw him hovering about here for the last two or three days.
Q. Then I suppose it is not true that in the summer of last year that man found you and another man standing under the railings of Kensington Park practising or committing some indecency? A. You ask me if it is true, nothing could be more wretched and abominable, and it only shows plainly the line of defence that you have been asked to take in such a case—nothing could be more abominable—I deny it most positively—I thought he was something of the police kind by the look of him, hovering about outside, and peering into the windows where I was, in a most extraordinary way—but this is a most abominable thing to say, a most cruel thing to say—I swear I never saw him before—at the first part of the conversation Walker said this occurred some time ago, and then afterwards he said nine months ago—that was further on in the conversation—I could not say whether I made use of the expression, "Nine months ago," before the magistrate, unless I saw my deposition—I know that what I said before the magistrate was true—I spoke from the best of my memory—I cannot say why I omitted it before the magistrate—I was about two hours in giving my evidence, I had been up all night, and had been in a dreadful state with these young men before-hand, and I may have omitted it—I did not call in a constable at the first interview, because I could not clearly understand what he meant by his statement, and because I thought, as he came with a witness and made such a statement as that, I would have it repeated before a witness, and I thought I would go and consult my son what he would advise me to do under tile circumstances—they came creeping into the house, they mights
have perhaps watched me from church, and they made this statement in a low voice and said, "Don't make a noise," and they got Mrs. Juler out of the neighbouring room, so that she could be no witness—I went into the other room to speak to him alone at his earnest wish—I did not know the full extent that he meant, and I wished to know clearly what he did mean—I surmised of course—when he named that he accused me of an abominable offence I knew there was something of that kind—instead of sending for a constable, I took him into a private room and said, "Now, Cracknell, what have you got to say?" and then, what I have stated took place.
Cracknell wrote this paper—I did not dictate it or suggest a word—he asked his cousin whether he should put their address, and he said, "Yes, you had better "—it was the constable who took them in charge who asked Cracknell when this happened, to which he replied, "Nine months ago"—I do not know his name.
MR. WOOLLETT. Q. What time was it when you got to the police-station? A. About ten o'clock I think—I saw a woman there when I got there—I now know her to be Mrs. Cracknell—the policeman took down a book several times—the officer who was called in just now was not the policeman who took down the book, I do not see him here—I was kept there until past twelve o'clock—I then went at once to my solicitor—it was about three o'clock when I got to his house, and next morning, having been up the whole night, I went and gave evidence at the police-court—it was at the second examination, when I first heard it suggested that this occurred two years ago—Millard was a discharged servant of mine—he applied to me for a character and I gave him one, but it was not a character which enabled him to take an indoor situation, because he was not fit for it—I have never in my life been charged with any indecency of any kind whatever, directly or indirectly, in any shape or form whatever.
HENRY EDWARD JULER . I am a medical student at St. Mary's Hospital, and am twenty-four years old—in consequence of some communication I received from my father, I placed myself behind the curtain in the front drawing-room on Friday evening, 7th September—I could partly see into the room, and was not seen—the prisoners came into the back drawing-room—I was examined as a witness before the magistrate, Mr. Mansfield, and heard my father give his evidence—it was correct in every respect—I heard my father call, "Edward"—I entered the back drawing-room through the curtain, and saw Cracknell and Walker, and my father—Cracknell was trying to get a written paper from near my father's hand—I don't know whether he was holding it or not; he was snapping at it—Cracknell said to Walker as I entered, "I told you it would be so"—I saw Walker try to get the paper—I told Cracknell to give me the paper, and I took it from his hand—they were very much frightened, both of them, and Walker said, "I suppose, sir, you intend to give us in charge? This is just what I expected you would do if you were innocent"—my father gave them a good talking to, and he took the paper from me and went down-stairs—I locked the door, and remained in the room with the prisoners—in about twenty minutes a constable came, and they were given into custody.
Q. Did you hear anything said by either of the prisoners as to the time this was said to have occurred?—A. I heard Cracknell say nine months ago—I went to the police-station with my father—my father said, "Cracknell may have slept at my house, or he may not; but I have not
the slightest recollection of it"—he did not say that he had slept in his bed
Cross-examined. Q. Did you hear Sergeant Eames ask him if it were true that the boy had slept at his house? A. Yes—I did not hear my father reply that he did.
MR. JUSTICE WILLES was of opinion that this evidence could not be given It was matter for the cross-examination of the prosecutor; but it was immaterial to the issue whether he was innocent or guilty of the charge made against him by the prisoners.
CHARLES JABEZ WESLEY . I am in Dr. Juler's service—the prisoners came there on Wednesday night, 5th September—Dr. Juler saw them in his dining-room—they came again on Friday evening, and he saw them in the drawing-room—on the bell being rung, I fetched pen, ink, and paper into the drawing-room.
Cracknell's Statement before the Magistrate:—"Dr. Juler can't say before me that it is not true—I could point out the very place where it occurred."
The prisoners received good characters.—Seven Years' each in Penal Servitude .
NEW COURT.—Friday, Sept. 21st, 1866.
Before Mr. Justice Lush.
MR. MOIR conducted the Prosecution, and MESSRS. RIBTON and HARRRIS the Defence.
HENRY HUNT . I live at 3, Down's Place, Shacklewell—on 17th August, about six p.m., I was in my kitchen—I had a full view of the front door, and saw the prisoner Harper bring a sack of shavings, and put it against my door—the sack was set on fire, but I did not see either of the prisoners light it—it was lighted when she brought it—she brought it from the palings by my garden, about seven yards off—there were about 200 people in the street shouting—I did not see anybody bring it to the fence—I could not hear what Mrs. Harper said, but it was something very awful, and she put her fist up towards the window just by the door—I could not hear what she said, because I was inside the house—I Was at the window—I gave her in custody.
Cross-examined by MR. RIBTON. Q. Did you see the sack actually on fire? A. I did—there was a good deal of excitement in the street—my daughter prosecuted a person here last session, who got five year's—there was a good deal of dissatisfaction among the neighbours with her and with me—this was not burning me in effigy; it was a corn sack—I think they meant to set fire to my house, by placing a corn sack at the door between five and six o'clock—I do not think Harper saw me, but I was at the window so near that she could have seen me—Mrs. Harper hallooed out, "Burn him out"—my house would have been burnt if the sack had not been put out—the sack was scorched—this is it (produced)—the owner's name is on it—my daughter opened the door and extinguished the fire.
MARTHA HUNT . I am a daughter of the last witness, and live with him—on the 17th August, about six o'clock, I was peeping out at the side of the kitchen window—I had drawn the blind down, as I was frightened, because Mrs. Harper came up about ten minutes to six, when I was mangling at the window, and put her first in, and said that she would smash all the b—windows, and put a piece of steel across my throat if I went out—I went into the back room, as I was frightened, and said, "Mother," she said, "Go and draw down the curtain if yen are frightened"—Mrs. Harper went away then, when she found nobody was there—there was only one there then—I did not see where she went to—when I went back to the front window I saw a sack of shavings brought round the corner by women, but I do not know who; but I saw Mrs. Harper holding it over our fence, and Anna Hitchcock struck a match and put it to the shaving in the middle of the bag, where there was a hole—Mrs. Harper then ran with it to our door in a blaze, and placed it on our doorstep.
COURT. Q. How? A. So that when the door was opened it fell in—it was placed upright—I screamed, and my sister, who was very close against the door, opened it directly, and she rolled it over—it fell in—it was not burning when it fell in, my sister rolled it over too quick—it was blazing when it fell in, but I think, it must have been damp—my sister rolled it over into the street back again—there Were many people about—I heard Mrs. Harper say that she would put a piece of steel across my throat if I went up the street, and she said, "I will burn them out."
MR. MOIR. Q. Was that about the steel before or after the shavings were put at the door? A. Once before, and once afterwards—they insulted me, and said that I gave a young man five years, and that I were red stockings—the young man committed a rape on me—there were about 200 people there.
Cross-examined by MR. HARRIS. Q. Were you a prosecutrix last session, and did the young man get five years? A. Yes—the people are always on to me—there were 200 or 300 boys, women, and children; but mostly women—I knew Mrs. Harper above them all—I do not know where she was standing, because I was so frightened—I saw her standing outside her mistress's gate—Hawksworth went I think directly after she got the matches—this is the sack; it is not an effigy—these arms were not attached to it—it was thrown into our front garden, it is a little bag—I saw an effigy of me in a blue bonnet in a chair, which was carried about all day, and they said that that was how I was served on the trial—I believe they burnt that at a post in the street—I see marks of burning on this sack, and some of the shavings fell out blazing—I saw them blazing in the sack; she put it up against the door blazing—it did not burn the door, because no sooner had they put it there than the door was opened—the crowd never came up to our door, but Sarah Street saw it all—I do not know whether the sack belongs to her—I have not heard her say that she used it to rub her irons on.
CHARLES DICKINS . I am a baker out of business, and live in Stoke Newington Road—on 17th August, about six o'clock, I was at the end of my garden, which runs down to Mr. Hunt's house, six or seven yards from it, but on a higher level, twenty-five feet higher—I looked over, and all at once there was a sack lighted, a blaze of burning came out of it, and then two young females whom I do not know carried it up to Hunt's door, six or seven yards, and I lost sight of them—I do not see any one in court whom I saw there.
Cross-examined by MR. HARRIS. Q. There was another effigy, was there not? A. Not that I saw—I did not see what they did with it—I could not see the door—the crowd was thirty or forty yards from the females—there was such a noise all day that I do not know what the mob called out—there was no rough music or tin kettles, or frying pans that I saw—the whole mob were shouting the best part of the afternoon, but I could not distinguish any, particular sounds—they were speaking filthy words all day—there was shouting, and hooting, and rough music, so that I could not distinguish any sounds in particular.
MR. MOIR. Q. How do you know it was filthy language? A. They were swearing and using every word that was bad—this is the same sack that the two women were carrying.
WILLIAM HAYES . I am a porter at a silk warehouse, No. 21, Brown's Place, just opposite Mr. Hunt's house—I was in Mr. Hunt's house on 17th August, and his daughter came to the parlour, saying that they had attempted to set fire to the house—when we went to the door there was this sack of shavings, both blazing and smoking—it fell into the passage, and Mr. Hunt and his daughter put it out with some difficulty—I saw quantities of people in the street, but did not hear them say anything.
Cross-examined by MR. HARRIS. Q. Did you see Mr. Hunt come out? A. Yes—he put it out when it was blazing—I had been in the house about twenty minutes—the mob was there when I went in.
ELIZABETH CLEWIN . I am a widow, and live at No. 1, John Street Kingsland—I was at work at No. 6, Brown's Place, twenty or thirty yards from Hunt's, and at about six o'clock I saw the prisoners with a sack of shavings—Hawksworth placed a light to the hole in the sack, and I saw Mrs. Harper carry it to Mr. Hunt's door, place it on the step, and knock one loud knock at the door—she called some one inside an old cow and left—there is a knocker—I did not hear her say anything—she went and joined the mob, and when Mr. Hunt went to fetch a policeman I saw her put her fist in his face.
Cross-examined by MR. HARRIS. Q. Was the sack on the, step of the door? A. Yes; I swear that; there is only one step, and it leaned against the door.
The COURT considered that there was no evidence of any intention to burn the house.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. NICHOLSON conducted the Prosecution, and MR. M. WILLIAMS the Defence.
EDWIN HAWTHORN . I am a barge owner, and live at, 3 Clement Street, Burdett Road—on 24th or 25th August I left my house quite secure and fastened—my family were out of town—I double-locked the front door, and left the key next door—I had a coffee-pot, sugar-basin, and creamewer there, which I next saw at the police-court—I left a person in charge of the house, but she went out with me.
Cross-examined. Q. When were the things missed? A. I knew nothing about it till I received a letter three or four days later.
SARAH ANN ABBOTT . I am servant to Mr. Ralph, of 1, Clement Street, Limehouse—on 25th August, about 10 minutes to 10 at night, I was looking out at my window, and saw the prisoner go in at Mr. Hawthorn's gate—there is a garden in front of the house—he gave a gentle
knock at the door, and then put his knee and his hands, and pushed it open, and went in, and shut it—I watched the door about ten minutes—it was moonlight—I ran into the garden, and made an alarm to a gentleman next door but one to Mr. Hawthorn's, who told me to call out, "Thief!" which I did, but no policeman came for an hour—I afterwards saw the prisoner, and identified him, at Behil's oilshop—he had no hat then, but when I first saw him he had a black hat on.
Cross-examined. Q. Had you ever seen him before? A. No.
JOHN EDWARD WESTON . I live at 27, Cowen Street, Limehouse—on the night of 25th August I heard a noise at the back of my house, looked out, and saw the prisoner running across the garden from Clemen Street towards No. 25.
MR. WILLIAMS here stated that he could not struggle against these facts.
GUILTY . The Prisoner received a good character.— Confined Three Months .
FOURTH COURT.—Friday, September 21st, 1866.
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
The prisoner, being called upon to plead, stood mute. The jury were there-fore directed to try whether he was mute of malice or by the visitation of God.
JOSEPH NEWMAN (Policeman H 146). The prisoner was tried, convicted, and sentenced to six months' imprisonment on 21st February last—I had him in custody at that time—he pleaded then, and was tried—he addressed the jury through an interpreter.
JOHN ROWLAND GIBSON (Surgeon of Newgate). The prisoner has been under my surveillance since 4th August—I have no reason to believe he is incapable of speaking from either physical or mental reasons—he perfectly understands everything that is said to him—he has obeyed the instructions given him by the governor.
The Jury found that the prisoner was mute of malice, and not by the visitation of God, and a plea of NOT GUILLTY was entered on the Record.
MR. HARRIS conducted the Prosecution.
GERARD KOESTERS . I am a tailor, residing at 82, Back Church Lane, Whitechapel, St. George's in the East—on the night before the 4th September the house was fastened up—the front door was shut, but not locked—we only shut the doors; we don't lock them—they were all shut—about a quarter-past one in the morning, from what the girl said to me, I got up, and went out in the street—I saw the prisoner running down the street—I called out "Stop thief!"—the prisoner said, "There he goes, there he goes"—as he ran round the corner he took a lamp out of his coat and threw it on the ground—it was my lamp—I had seen it safe about 12 on the night before—it is worth Is.—I don't know the prisoner.
MART ANN LORTON . I am servant to the prosecutor—on the 4th of September I went to bed about a quarter-past one—there is one window in my room—it was shut down, but the shutters were not closed—about a quarter-past one I heard some one at the door try the key—after that the prisoner got up at the window, struck a match, and lit a piece
of candle—I saw him take some things off the line—I called out, "Master! master! "—I was in bed in the kitchen—the prisoner said, "What's the matter? what's the matter?"—I saw his face—when I called out he got up off the window, took the lamp from the table, and went away.
THOMAS FITZGERALD (Policeman H 189). On the 4th of September, about a quarter-past one, I was on duty in Commercial Road East, when I heard a cry of "Police!" and "Stop thief!"—I ran back and stopped the prisoner—the prosecutor was pursuing him—he gave him into custody for stealing a paraffin lamp—the prosecutor had the lamp in his hand at the time—the prisoner had this key in his hand.
The prisoner was further charged with having been convicted of felony. He again stood mute, and the jury were again directed to try if he stood mute by malice or the visitation of God.
The jury found that the prisoner was mute of malice, and a plea of NOT GUILTY. as to the previous conviction was entered.
GUILTY.— Confined Two Tears .
MR. HARRIS conducted the Prosecution, and MR. PATER the Defence.
ADAM SCHMIDT . I live at 12, Hanover Court, Long Acre—on 22nd July, about 2 o'clock in the morning, I was going home—I came from Leicester Square, and heard a cry of "Murder!" and "Police!"—I ran up; and saw the prosecutor lying in the street on the ground at the corner of Long Acre—three fellows were over him—one of them had got his throat so—that man is the prisoner—I have seen him before sometimes at the public-house at the corner of St. Martin's Lane—I said, "What's the matter here?"—at the same moment I sprang back and called the police, and the four fellows all ran away—a little boy was with me—when the policeman came up he gave orders to go with the prosecutor to the police court—two days after, on the Wednesday morning, the police asked me if I knew this man, and I identified him.
Cross-examined. Q. What were you doing out so early in the morning? A. I was with three friends, countrymen of mine—I left them at the corner of St. Martin's Lane, near where this took place—at the same moment that I heard the cry a little boy came up, attracted by the cry as well—I was the first who went to the spot where I heard the cry—the boy came after me—my three friends did not hear the cry—I don't know how long it was after I parted from them—I am a jeweller—I have a very bad business—I now live in Bedford Chambers, Regent Street, Drury Lane—I have lived there a fortnight—I lived before at St. Martin's Chambers about a fortnight or three weeks—I lived before that in Hanover Street—I was turned out because the people said I was a police spy—I was turned out from the first lodging on that account—I came home late one night at the second lodging, and then the man said he had not room for me any more—I have never been a witness in another case—I have no connection
with the police—I have been in England since the 9th February last year—I have had very little work since I have been in this country—I have been ill and am in rather bad circumstances—you may ask Dr. Kinkel about me—I have worked for Mr. King—I cannot tell you whom I have been recently been working for—I have done some work together with a friend, a little—his name is Hearn, 103, Old Street—that was recently—no one was present except the little boy; afterwards several people came up—I don't know the boy at all—he was selling matches—he did not go to the police-court—it was only a little boy—it was dark—I am a Prussian—I left Berlin to come to England to get work—I don't know of any other reason.
MR. HARRIS. Q. Were there any gas lamps in the street? A. Yes—it was not quite dark—it was a wet night and rained—it was light enough to see the prisoner—I have no doubt the prisoner is the man—I have not the slightest interest in the matter whether the man is convicted or not, and therefore I speak the truth.
ROBERT HEBDEN . I live at 34, Junction Road, Upper Holloway, and am an engraver—I was returning home on the morning of the 22nd July last—I think the time was after one—I turned up a court for a necessary purpose—I am a stranger in the neighbourhood, and do not know the name of the court—as I was turning round to leave I was seized hold of by one man round the throat, and another attempted to rifle my pockets—I laid hold of the man who had got me by the throat and called "Police!" as loud as I could—I struggled for a second or two, but was released immediately—I don't know from what cause—the police did not come up at the time—I saw the last witness come up immediately I was on my legs again—I saw three men running away, and one in front of me seemed to cover the retreat of the others—he menaced me—I don't identify the prisoner—the pressure on my throat was far enough back to prevent my calling out: it was severe, still I struggled violently against it—only my hat was taken from me—it was off in the struggle—one of them said, "Who's took the b—'s hat?" and I saw one of them take the hat and run.
Cross-examined. Q. The police did not come to your assistance? A. Not at the moment—several boys came to the end of the court at the moment—when I saw the last witness I saw a small boy with him, and presently two or three more boys came up—the witness was an utter stranger to me—he came up to me and said he had witnessed it, and should know him—it was darkish—it did not rain—it was not particularly a dark morning—it was dark where I was standing—it was light enough in the streets—had it been near a gas lamp I could have identified the prisoner—it was not near a gas lamp.
WILLIAM MILES (Policeman F 121). On 25th July last prisoner was given into my custody for knocking a man down and stealing his pocket handkerchief—I took him to the station—on looking over the descriptions, I saw he answered the description given by Schmidt—Schmidt identified him in the yard the next morning—he was with eleven other men—he picked him out without any difficulty—he walked up immediately and picked him out.
Cross-examined. Q. You allude to some other case; was he not brought before the magistrate and discharged? A. No, he was not taken before the magistrate—he was taken into custody, and the man could not recognise him.
Five years' Penal Servitude and Forty Lashes with the Cat .
MR. R. N. PHILIPPS conducted the Prosecution.
CHARLES ANDREW GUARDELLI . I live at 3, Bedford Place, St. George's, Middlesex—about three o'clock on Sunday afternoon, the 9th September, I was in Leman Street—I saw Scotto hit a gentle-man under the railway arch with a great lump of iron, and he fell down—when the gentleman got up they unscrewed his watch—Scotto held his hand.
COURT. Q. Who unscrewed his watch? A. The other man held his hand, and Scotto unscrewed his watch—the watch was in the left hand pocket.
MR. PHILIPPS. Q. Do you recollect seeing the watch, distinctly? A. I saw the watch—I don't know what sort of a watch it was—when they had unscrewed the watch they ran away with it—I was about as far off as from here to where those gentlemen are (a few yards)—they were about three minutes unscrewing the watch—I was looking at them all the time—I went with the gentleman to the station, and there described the prisoners—I saw both the prisoners next day—I saw one of them at the Sailors' Home, and one at the bottom of the Sailors' Home,—directly I saw them I said, "Policeman, this is one of them"—they took that one to the station-house—I came out again and saw the other one, and said, "Here is the other one"—I have no doubt. these were the men—I had never seen them before—I know them because I saw them. take the watch.
Audley. The last time, at the police-court, he said that Scotto unscrewed the watch and I held his hand
Witness. Audley unscrewed the watch—Scotto unscrewed the watch, and the other held his hand—I don't know what kind of a watch it was—it was a red watch—the piece of iron Scotto hit the man with was a hollow iron, a piece of iron pipe—the man had had a little drop.
COURT. You said before the magistrate that a drunken man fell down.
Witness. He did not fall down—they hit him with a lump of iron, and then he fell down.
Scotto. I didn't hit the man with any iron.
Audley. I was not in London at the time—the lad states this was at three o'clock—about that time I was walking up from Portsmouth—I left my ship at Portsmouth, and got to London about eight o'clock on Sunday night—I sold my papers to a lad in the shipping office—I wanted something to eat—I hadn't had anything to eat that day—the lad bought my papers, because he could go in the same name if he wished it—I have been in the merchant service—the name of the ship is the Lucknow, collier brig, Captain Morton.
JAMES GREEN . On Sunday, 18th September, about three, o'clock, in the afternoon, I was at the bottom of Leman Street near some railway arches—I was the worse for liquor—I had just left a ship in the deck—I am a pilot—I was coming along, going home, when I got blow across my face—I put my hand up to my face, and the blood flowed from my nose—I did not fall down—I am sure of that—when I was struck I was completely stunned—the fire came in my eyes—the last witness came to me and said, "They are running away with your watch"—I turned round and saw the boy running—the boy said to me when I got this strike,
"Your watch is gone, sir"—I looked round and saw the guard hanging down—the blood was so flowing from me I could hardly see it—I scarcely knew what I was doing at the time—I went to the station-house and gave a report—I cannot identify either of the prisoners—I saw two boys running—after I got the blow I sat down on a doorstep.
COURT. Q. What became of the iron with which the blow was struck? A. I cannot tell whether it was iron, it struck me so heavily—it might have been iron—my watch was a gold one—I have not seen it since.
CHARLES CHILD (Policeman H 193). From information I received, I took Scotto into custody in Wells Street, between five and six o'clock on Monday evening, the 10th—he was identified by the first witness—he was pointed out amongst a hundred other chaps the same as himself standing outside the Sailors' Home—I charged him with being concerned with another not then in custody in assaulting the prosecutor and robbing him of a gold watch—he said, "I know nothing about it"—I took him to the station and locked him up.
COURT. Q. Where were you when the little boy spoke to you? A. I met him by arrangement at the Leman Street police-station on the Monday morning—we looked for these boys some time before we found them—I went down to Wells Street, knowing that was a resort of an evening for boys of that sort, and there found Scotto.
GEORGE FORSTER (Policeman 207 H). About six o'clock on the 10th I was in Wells Street, when the witness Guardelli came to me and said, "That's the other boy," pointing out Audley—I was at that time in search of him—I went to him and said, "I want you for being concerned with another boy in robbing a man of a gold watch yesterday afternoon, at three o'clock"—he said, "I know nothing about it; I didn't get into London till eight o'clock in the evening; I walked from Portsmouth"—I took him to the station—the boy said it was him—he insisted several times that it was him.
COURT. Q. Have you ever seen Audley before? A. No.
Scotto. I know nothing about the robbery—I wasn't near Leman Street at the time—I was at Poplar on the Sunday afternoon.
COURT to CHARLES CHILD. Q. Were you present at the examination? A. Yes—I heard the boy examined—he said it was a red Watch—the description given of the prisoners tallied with their appearance.
COURT to GEORGE FORSTER. Q. Do you recollect what the boy said before the magistrate? A. I did not hear him say anything about Scotto striking the prosecutor with a piece of iron—my attention was called to something else at the time—he said Scotto had Something black in his hand—I don't recollect his saying it was a piece of iron—he said it was a red watch.
JURY. Q. Did the boy (Guardelli) know you before? A. He had seen me previously—I was on duty in plain clothes, but he had seen me previously With the other constable.
COURT to C. A. GUARDELLI. Q. Where do you work? A. I work nowhere—I live with my father and mother—there are four more of us—we all live at home—I don't go to school—I do work sometimes when I can get any—I work at a blacksmith's; then I blow the fire.
The Prisoners' Statements before the Magistrate:—Scotto does not say anything. Audley says, "I was not in London at the time."
SCOTTO— GUILTY . AUDLEY—
GUILTY. The jury expressed a wish that an inquiry should be made as to the truth of Audley's statement.— Judgment respited .
MR. R. N. PHILIPPS conducted the Prosecution.
DAVID DUTHOIT . I am an auctioneer, carrying on business at 16, Clement's Lane—my offices are in a court—there is a passage leading down to the entrance from the street—on 4th September I was going down from my offices to the street—I heard some one behind me—I felt a pull at my pocket—I turned round and saw the prisoner with the hand-kerchief—he was concealing it—I called out "Stop thief! "—he crossed the road into King William Street—I scarcely lost sight of him one moment—I then saw him in the hands of the police—this is the hand-kerchief (produced)—I have no doubt at all about the prisoner.
GEORGE DAVIDSON . I am a cabdriver—on 5th September, I think, I was at the corner of Arthur Street, King William Street—I saw the prisoner run up behind my cab pursued by the constable. Turner—I turned round, and looked into my cab—I found a handkerchief—I took it to the police-station—this is the handkerchief.
WILLIAM TURNER (City Policeman 624). On 5th September I was standing at the corner of Cannon, Street West—I heard a cry of Stop thief! "I turned round and saw prisoner running—the prosecutor was following him—I pursued him—he dodged about amongst the traffic in King William Street, and ran through Crocked Lane into Arthur street was compelled to pass the cab of the last witness—he went behind it—I look him to the station—the inspector received the handkerchief—prisoned gave an address, Wood Street, Borough—I went and made injury there and such place.
Prisoner's Defence. I was coming across the road when the policemen caught me in the middle of the road—I hadn't and handkerchief.
GUILTY . ††— Five Years' penal servitude .
MR. STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution.
ALFRED HASSELL . I live at Three Colt Street, Limehouse, and am an oil and colourman—about a quarter past two on the morning of 30th August I was woke up by the constable—I had gone to bed the night before at eleven o'clock—the house was fastened up—the street door was, locked, but not bolted—I went down into the dining-room to the window—the constable informed me that. the prisoner had just come out of the shop door—it was open—the prisoner was in charge of the constable in the road—I found nothing open, with the exception of the street door—I missed 3s. 6d. in silver and 1s. 1 1/2d. in copper money—I went down to the station—when I came back I found a candle alight placed upon a box at the door and a box of matches—I had not left any of these things there.
WILLIAM ELLIOTT (Policeman 261 K). On 30th August I was in Three Colt Street, Limehouse—I saw the prisoner come out of No. 3, and walk away—I saw the door open—I said, "Stop a moment"——he commenced to run—I pursued and caught him—he took off his coat and threw it down—it contained half a crown, two shillings, and sevenpence threefarthings in
coppers—I picked up the coat and money and took the prisoner back to Mr. Hassell's—he identified the coat.
MR. HASSELL (re-examined.) This coat belongs to a man formerly in my employ—I identify it—the key was left in the door the night before—it was not there the next morning.
Prisoner's Defence. I was coming down the street, when I saw a man run out—I ran after him, and he threw away the coat at the corner of the street.
He was further charged with having been convicted.
JOHN GLEE (Policeman 221 K). I was present at the Middlesex Sessions on 26th July, 1864, and saw the prisoner, who was convicted of felony and sentenced to six calendar months—I am quite sure he is the same man—I had him in custody at the time.
GUILTY.**— Seven Tears' Penal Servitude .
MR. CLARKE conducted the Prosecution, and MR. STRAIGHT the Defence.
CHARLES REICH . I live at 57, Castle Street East—on the evening of 20th August, about half-past nine, I was in Margaret Street, Cavendish Square—the prisoner came up to me, used abusive language to me, and struck me in the face—his three companions came up to me and took my watch from my pocket—they were with him at the time he struck me—my watch fell on the ground—I scrambled for it with them—one of them got it and ran away—I immediately caught hold of one of them and held him—another one came up to me, struck me in the back, and threw my cap away—then they all got away—I looked about for my cap, found it, and hallooed "Stop thief!"—I could not see any of them then—I saw the prisoner again on 27th August, a week after, at George Street—he Was mixed with twelve others, and I picked him out—I had never seen him before the night of the robbery.
Cross-examined. Q. Had your watch got a chain? A. Yes—a steel chain—the watch was pulled out of my pocket, the watch broken off the swivel—it was not very late—there was a lamp over the place—it was opposite Margaret Chapel—I don't know whether All Saints' Church was opposite—I don't know the name of the church—I had been walking about, like any other young chaps might have been doing—I had not been drinking—I am quite sure of that—I am quite certain the prisoner is the man.
CHARLES COLE (Policeman 23 L). On the night of 20th of August I was on duty in Oxford Street, near Berwick Street, in plain clothes—I was opposite Wells Street—I saw the prisoner and two other men named Day and Doyley coming up Wells Street—they turned up Castle Street into Adam and Eve Court, running—I then got near the end of the court into Oxford Street, and they passed me and went down Berwick Street—I followed them into a court in Little Windmill Street, and then left them—I afterwards heard of the robbery, and was then on the look-out for the prisoner and the other men—on 27th I ascertained where he was living and took him into custody—I said, "Prendergast, I want you for being concerned with three others in stealing a watch"—He said, "I didn't take it," or, "I didn't do it," I can't be sure which were the words—I then placed him at the station in George Street with ten or twelve others about his own height—the prosecutor was sent for by the inspector into the yard—
he immediately selected the prisoner—he went up to him and said, "You are the man; I should know you from a hundred"—the prisoner said nothing—I have known the prisoner for years, ever since he was a boy.
Cross-examined. Q. This was at nine o'clock at night? A. It was before ten—I think it was a fine night—I would not pledge my word it was not raining—I had no umbrella—I attend a good deal in criminal trials—I have never made a mistake as to identity—I have never made a mistake in this court—two men were brought to the police-court in George Street charged with felony—I placed those two men, with ten or twelve others, in the inspector's yard with Prendergast—I said to him, "Prendergast, you stand where you like now"—the men were all people out of the street, with the exception of two or three prisoners—I was in the yard at the time.
MR. CLARKE. Q. Did you give any indication at all to the prosecutor where this man was standing? A. No.
CHARLES REICH (re-examined). Sergeant Cole said he had a man on suspicion of robbing me—I went to George Street with him—I waited in a little room until they said, "It's your time to come"—I then went into the yard and saw eleven or twelve men standing all in a row—I immediately pointed out the prisoner—he was not pointed out to me by any one—I did not see any of the twelve men go in—I could not see anything from the room where I waited—there was only one little window, where a man was waiting—all the, men were of the same height as the prisoner. and appeared of the same position of life—some were not. as well dressed—at the time that the prisoner hit me and robbed me I noticed he had the appearance of a black eye; not properly a black eye, the appearance of one.
MR. STRAIGHT called
BRIDGET PRENDERGAST . I am the prisoner's mother—I recollect the 20th Angust—the prisoner was at home on that day—he was never out from the time he got up in the morning until he went to bed, at a quarter to eleven—he never left the room—he was making out bills for me—I am a washerwoman—he is accustomed to making out bills for me—he has always lived with me to do that, and nothing else—it was a Monday—that is the day I have my bills made out and take out the soiled linen—I have got my living round Regent Street this five years from shops and families—It is always his custom to make out bills on Monday.
Cross-examined. Q. When do you send out for soiled linen? On Monday? A. Always—I send my washer out for my soiled linen, and give her my bills—she went out from four o'clock until six—I have not got a long round—my longest round is to Knightsbridge—on other days the prisoner goes out on my errands—he takes home linen and brings it—I employ only one washerwoman, myself and an ironer some weeks on half-hours—I do not keep the whole house.
COURT. Q. Who was the other witness who was here? A. Margaret Locke—she is my washer—we were here all the week—I get work from the shops in Regent Street—I get work from families about Silver Street and Golden Square—there is No. 3 next door but two to me—I cannot tell you her name—I don't know what she is—I wash for her—I get 5s. a week from her—I sent out linen a month ago, on Monday, to Mr. Carter, at Knightsbridge—his bill was 8s. 10d.—I sent out a bill to No. 3, within two doors of myself, that came to 2s. 10d., and No. 38 came to 4s.—the prisoner also wrote a letter for me as well, to his sister—his sister is in
Brighton, 16, Broad Street—she is not now there—she was there for the season—she was away three weeks—she went at her own expense—she is a milliner—she lives at Forest Hill—I have never been there—I don't know whether it is a shop or a parlour.
The prisoner was further charged with having been convicted of felony on the 23rd February, 1863, to which he PLEADED GUILTY.
Seven Years' Penal Servitude and Forty Lashes with the Cat .
MR. STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution, and MR. CLARKE the defence.
JOHN BODMAN (City Police 572). On 30th August, about half-past one o'clock, I was on duty at the water-side, Upper Thames Street—I saw the two prisoners, the prosecutor, and about five or six more people—the prisoners were standing on each side of the prosecutor—the prosecutor said he had lost his watch, and believed one of the prisoners had it—the prosecutor handed me the watch, and said, "This man gave it to me, saying that he didn't know how it came in his pocket"—that was Cotton—the prosecutor said that one of them had taken it and. passed it to the other—he pointed out the other prisoner—I took them to the station.
Cross-examined. Q. What time was it? A. About, half-past one in the day—I was in Thames Street, by the Old Swan Pier, by the water-side—the prosecutor said he believed Jackson had taken it from his pocket.
MR. STRAIGHT. Q. Do you mean the left-hand man or the right? A. They have changed their names—that is the man who took the watch (Cotton) and passed it to the other one (Jackson)—the prosecutor was sober—the other people were merely looking on.
CHARLES HENRY ROBINSON . I live at 10, John Street, Adelphi, and am secretary to the Operatives' Housebuilding Company—on the 30th August I was near the steamboat pier—I saw both the prisoners—Cotton was on my left hand—he did not give the name Cotton at the police-station—Jackson was in front of me, with his back turned to me—I was looking at a man selling pictures—there was a crowd of about twenty people—nobody, was on my right hand—this is my watch (produced)—I felt a slight tug at my watchguard, and looked down and saw the guard hanging down—the watch was gone—Cotton was near to me—I charged him with taking my watch—as I charged him I saw his left hand pass in a secret manner in front of me—if he had moved his hand from the shoulder I should not have called it a secret manner—he moved it forward from the wrist—when I saw his hand move in this way I said, "You must have passed it to some one else if you haven't got it"—I insisted upon having the watch—Jackson turned round on that, with the watch in the palm of his hand, and said, "Is this your watch, sir? I found it in my pocket, but I am sure I cannot tell how it came there"—he had said nothing before—he had stood unusually silent—a few minutes elapsed before he turned round with the watch—when Cotton saw it given to me he went a little way towards the steamboat pier, as if going away, and he came back with the crowd with a policeman—I then gave them both in charge.JACKSON.**— GUILTY . COTTON.**— GUILTY .
They were further charged with and PLEADED GUILTY. to having been before convicted/—Jackson on 22nd February, 1865, at the Police-court, Marylebone,
by the name of William Sheen; and Cotton on 6th October, 1862, at Clerkenwell, in the name of George Parker.
JACKSON.— seven Years' Penal Servitude .
COTTON.— Seven Years' Penal Servitude .
MR. STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution, and MR. BROOKS the Defence. EDWARD LYNCH. I live at 15, Dean Street, Hampstead Road, and am a blacksmith—on 2nd September, about 9 o'clock at night, I was in Tottenham Court Road—I went into a public-house, and there saw the two prisoners—one of them asked me for a shilling, and said I should give him a shilling before I left—I had not got one to give him—I knew Gorman before—I went out—they turned, and saw me outside—they followed, and struck me—I lost my silver watch, worth about 8l. 10s.—my watch was safe in the early part of the evening.
COURT. Q. When did you see it last? A. About half an hour before that—I had had half a pint of beer—I cannot say I was exactly sober—I had been to a funeral at Kensal Green—that was in the afternoon—I went out at 3 o'clock—this was when I got back—I might have had more than half a pint of beer all that time.
Cross-examined by MR. BROOKE. Q. What time; did you get back to London? A. About half-past 7 or a quarter to 8—I went into a public-house going to London—there were about 15 or 20 cabs at the funeral—I cannot say whether the prisoners were at the funeral—I have known Gorman for years.
COURT. Q. You and the funeral people had been into a public-house on the way home? A. Yes—I cannot say how many—a couple, perhaps more—I do not recollect how many public-houses I had been in—I do not recollect how many times I had half a pint of beer.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution, and MR. OPPENHEIM the Defence.
ISABELLA BROWN (on affirmation). I live at 55 St. Mary Axe—I was married to the prisoner in the month of August, 1863, at St. Giles's-in-the-Fields—I do not recollect the date—I had known him four years—I had been living with him—I have had three children by him, one before I married him—I knew he was a married man, and that his wife was alive—he told me that—the prisoner is the person named in this certificate (produced).
Cross-examined. Q. You were a widow at the time that you married him? A. Yes—I have been living with him from that time up to this—he has always treated me very kindly—I have seen his wife—she used to come and abuse me, and call me such names that I could bear it no longer, and therefore I took this step—I know that he made her an allowance, and that allowance was, as far as my knowledge, always paid.
GUILTY .— Confined Fourteen Days .
MR. TAIYLOR conducted the Prosecution, and MR. CLARKE the Defence.
GUILTY . of indecent exposure.— Confined Fourteen Days each 10l.
THIRD COURT.—Friday, September 21st, 1866.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution.
MICHAEL MCGUINNESS . I am a stoker—on 27th August, about one in the morning, I was in Prince's Street, Ratcliff Highway—I went into a coffee-house in St. George's Street, and when I came out the prisoners and three other men followed after me; one caught me by the throat, and one got behind me and pulled me down, and Smith cut my pocket out with a knife Higgins was holding me by the throat, almost choking me—Smith took my money from my pocket, 3s. and 1/2d.—I shouted "Police!"and they ran away; they were caught—I am sure the prisoners are two of the men—I was quite sober.
WILLIAM AMBRIDGE (Policeman N 192). On the night of 27th August, about a quarter to one, I was at the corner of St. George's Street and Prince's Street, and saw Smith and another man (not Higgins) in company—they turned up Prince's Street—I said, "Where are you going to?"—they said, "We are going home"—the moment afterwards I heard some one calling out "Murder!" and "Police!" and I ran after Smith round the square; just as I caught hold of him he put this pocket (produced) through the rail—I took him to the station—the prosecutor came there some time afterwards and identified him as the one who cut his pocket out—he also identified the pocket—from information I received from the prosecutor, I went back and apprehended Higgins in the same street, about 100 yards from the place where this happened—I took him to the station, placed him with five others, and the prosecutor picked him out—I told him the charge; he said, "I know nothing of it."
MICHAEL MCGUINNESS (re-examined). Higgins was behind me when he seized me by the throat; but I saw them walking up the street before they caught me—I am quite sure he is the man—there was nothing but gas-light there—I am perfectly sure these two are the men who attacked me.
The Prisoners' Statements before the Magistrate read:—Smith says, "I was going down the highway, two of us together, I and another man not here—a man came running down the street, and put the pocket into my hand, and walked ahead of me, and past the constable—I heard fellows singing out, 'Police!'—the man who was with me said, 'The money has been stolen; give it to the man who gave it to you'—the policeman asked him where he was going; the other said something—I walked on the policeman followed me up—I saw him running—I had the pocket in my hand, and threw it down—I know the man well enough who gave me the pocket—I have not seen him since." Higgins says, "I was locked out of a boarding-house that night—a shipmate of mine can certify that I know nothing about it."
Higgins. My witness has gone to sea now I believe.
SMITH— GUILTY .— Confined Nine Months .
HIGGINS— NOT GUILTY .
MR. BROOKE conducted the Prosecution; MR. F. H. LEWIS defended Young.
FREDERICK GRAY . I am a ship-keeper, and live in Corder Street, Poplar—on the night of the 14th August, about half-past eleven, I was in Naval Row, Poplar, with a steward of a vessel, whose name was Slade—we were in the "Prince of Wales" public-house—when we came out several seamen followed us out—as I went up the street I called the steward—I was followed presently by that tall man on the right (Collins), he was called Scotty, and two or three others—as I got a little distance up he came up to me and flung me on my back—I got up again directly, and said, "Where is my cap?"—he said, "I have not got your cap"—I said, "Some one has; it is a villainous trick to serve a man that way"—I walked on a little farther, calling to the steward, and had got about seven or eight yards, when I was knocked down again by Collins—he jumped on me and said, "I want your money, and I must have it"—I said, "I have got no money"—he said, "You have," and he felt in my pockets, and turned them out—I pulled at my pocket myself as well as I could, but there was another one on me, and that young gentleman there on the left (Young), he was in the presence, but there was another young fellow much like him, and I can't swear whether it was him or the other—Young was with them at one time, but not at the time of, the robbery—I have been looking ever since to find the other one, but he can't be found—I lost 2s. (that was all I had) and my cap—the men got up, and one of the men belonging to the ship said to Collins, "Scotty, leave that man alone, or it will be a bad day for you," and he said to me, "If you molest me I will settle you another time"—with that I got up and ran away, and found a policeman and made a report to him—we went back, and the prisoners were apprehended directly afterwards—Slade is not here to-day—I don't know where he is—I have been trying to find out—he sent no a letter to his lodging to say that he would be there on Sunday evening, but he has not arrived yet.
COURT. Q. Did you see O'Connell there at all? A. They were all in company, but at the time of the robbery I can't swear to the Other three being there, but Collins I know perfectly well he knocked me down twice.
GEORGE BLACKSTONE . I live at 9, St. Leonard's Avenue, Bromley, and work on the river—on the night of the 14th August I was near the "Prince of Wales" public-house—I saw the prosecutor come out, and seven or eight men followed him—when they got him out into the road they knocked him down—Collins said to Gray, "You have been robbing that man" (meaning Slade)—he said, "No, I have not; that is my mate, and I am with him"—Collins then struck the prosecutor in the face, and knocked him on the ground—he said, "Now give me your money"—he said, "I have none," and Collins felt in his pocket; what he took from him I can't say—while he was doing that another man knelt on his breast—I don't know who it was—Young was there, and another party very much like him—I did not see any one else but the prosecutor—after Collins took his money he picked him up and knocked him on the ground again, and struck his head on the kerb—I followed them—they beat the steward after that—then the prosecutor got up and ran away—I followed the men till a policeman came up, and saw him take them all—Young was not taken at the same time—the other three are the three who were there.
O'Connell. Q. Did you see me do anything? A. Yes, you hit the steward, Slade—I did not see you do anything to Gray.
Cass. Q. Did you see me there at all? A. I saw you there—I can't say whether I saw you do anything—you were in. the company—you followed the others into the station-house.
MICHAEL HOLTON (Policeman K 26). On the night of the 14th August, in consequence of information, I went to Preston Street, and saw the prosecutor there, and also saw Collins, Cass, and O'Connell there together—the last witness said to me, in their presence, " There is a man lying nearly dead in Naval Row; he has been knocked about and robbed"—I went down and saw the steward Slade lying on the ground, bleeding very much—I then ran back again into Preston Street, and took Collins into custody—the last witness said, "That is one of the men," pointing to Collins," and that is another, and that is another, "pointing to Cass and O'Connell—that was on the first interview, when he came up—when I told Collins the charge he said, "I know nothing about it"—after I took him to the station I went back again into High Street, and O'Connell was pointed out to me by Blackstone and another boy—I took him into custody, told him the charge, and he said, "I know nothing about it"—he called out to Cass," Pat, follow me to the station, so as you will be able to take word down to the ship where I am, "which he did, and he was charged also—he was pointed out by Slade as being one who knocked him about—Gray came to the station and identified Collins—he appeared to me to have been drinking—the prisoners had also been drinking—I have endeavoured to get Slade here—he is in Liverpool—he was bound over—I took Young about an hour after at Brunswick Pier—Blackstone pointed him out—I took him to the station, and he was identified by Slade as being one of the men—he said, "I know nothing about it; I was not there at the time"—he was sober.— NOT GUILTY .
O'CONNELL, CASS, and YOUNG— NOT GUILTY .
COLLINS— GUILTY .— Confined Twelve Months .
The prisoners were again indicted for a robbery with violence on charles Slade, and stealing one cap, one coat, and 2l. 11s. his property, upon which no evidence was offered.—NOT GUILTY.
MR. TAYLOR conducted the Prosecution.
HEINRICH SCHMINKE . I am a baker at 6, Hanover Court, Hart Street, Covent Garden—soon after one on the morning of Sunday last I was in Fleet Street—the prisoner came up and spoke to me, and asked me to go home with her—I said, no, I would not, and told her I was a married man—she caught hold of my arm and walked along with me, and as we came to the corner of a court she put her hand in my left-hand trousers pocket, where my purse was—she pulled it out—I caught hold of her hand, and she dropped the purse and money down—I picked up a sovereign, two half-crowns, and the purse—a constable in private clothes came up and held her tight—I had 1l. 10s. 6d. in my purse—the policeman picked up a shilling—I lost 12s. 6d.
JAMES BADMAN (City Policeman 436). About twenty minutes past one on this morning I was on duty in Fleet Street in plain clothes—the prisoner and prosecutor passed me—my attention was drawn to her by the way she had hold of him—her right arm was round his left, and her left hand was feeling about, as I understood, to see where he kept his money—just as they came to the corner of Johnson's Court I heard money fall—
I ran up and took hold of the prisoner by her left hand—I said to the by-standers, her companions, "Stand on one side; give the man an opportunity of picking up his money"—at that time I saw a policeman in uniform, and called to him to turn his light on, and the prosecutor picked up his purse and part of the money—he gave the prisoner into custody—she said she did not take it out—she only asked him for sixpence.
Prisoner's Defence. I never touched the money—I asked him for six-pence, he was going to give it to me, and he dropped it.
She PLEADED GUILTY to a former conviction of felony in November, 1862, in the name of Ann Green. **— Seven Years' Penal Servitude .
CHARLES DENNY . I am in the service of Mr. Silas Tucker, of 234, High Holborn—I know Hiatt's father—he is a paperhanger, at 26, London Street, Tottenham Court Road, and a Customer of ours—on the 28th August the prisoner Hiatt brought this piece of paper (produced)—he said he wanted a quantity of papers on this order—I delivered them him—I did not see anything of Aston—I know nothing of him—Hiatt went away with the papers—I afterwards saw some of them at Mr. Brooker's, 19, Whitcomb Street, Leicester Square—the morning after I saw Hiatt I went to his father—I did not see him till the following Tuesday—I do not know where he is now—I have not received any money on account of the paper I delivered on that order. (Order read): 26, London Street; August 28 th, 1866. Sir, please send ten pieces of bedroom and seven of lime sienna marble paper to Mr. Tucker. Thomas Hiatt. "I do know whether Hiatt lives with his father.
Hiatt. Q. I suppose you are aware that I had father's authority to get anything from any of his tradesmen in his name? A. I was not aware of it—I believe your father wrote to Mr. Tucker saying that he believed there had been some misunderstanding—I have not got the letter.
Hiatt. Q. The writing ia not disguised in the least, is it? A. Decidedly—it is not nearly so good as he could write eight months ago—when he was in our employ he could write much better than this—he was a very good writer.
Hiatt. Q. Did I tell you where they came from and show you the invoice? A. Yes.
MR. BESLEY. Q. Whose invoice was it? A. I did not notice it particularly—it was an invoice—I believe I saw the name of Tucker on it, CHARLES BUTCHER (Policeman C 137). I took Hiatt into custody on 31st August, and told him I took him for forging an order for the delivery of paper from Mr. Tucker, of High Holborn, forging his father's name—he said it was a bad job, but he had been led into it by another party—he said he should not bring the other party into it; he should not mention the name—I said, "I don't think there is any necessity for that, for it is your brother-in-law, who is in custody, who has written the orders"—he further said he thought his father could settle it all if he were allowed,
he was sorry that it had happened—about two hours before I apprehended Hiatt I went to his father's residence—they said he was not in town, and had not been in during the week—he is not here—I saw him on the Monday after this occurrence—he inquired for me, and I went up to see him.
Hiatt. Q. Will you swear that I said it was a bad job, I had been led into it? A. Yes, certainly, you said it two or three times.
MR. BESLEY. Q. Did you say that before the Magistrate? A. Yes—he did not put any question to me then.
RICHARD BENSTEAD . I live at Whitcomb Street, Leicester Square—I bought some marble paperhangings from Hiatt, but did not pay for them—I was to have paid for them on the Saturday night—Hiatt's father came for them after his son was in custody.
Hiatt. Q. Did I tell you where I had the papers from? A. You told me you had got credit for so long for them—you did not mention the name you got them from.
Hiatt, in his defence, stated that he had authority from his father to sign the order, and to get goods from his tradesmen.
Aston's Defence. I wish to state that I wrote this order, as I have done before several times, but always with Hiatt's father's authority—it has been my custom to write the orders for him, as he writes very indifferently.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. BESLEY conducted the Prosecution.
ROBERT SCOTT REYNOLDS . I am in the service of Scott Adie, 115, Regent Street—I know Aston, by his coming to our shop about twelve months ago from his masters, Mackay and Co.—on the 28th of August last he came into the shop and said he wanted two lengths of cloth—he had got the patterns of them, and I was to cut the length of each piece—he said it was for Mackay, Burke, and Wheeler, 120, New Bond Street—they are customers of our firm—I entered the cloth, and saw it delivered over to him—the value of it was 2l. 16s.—I gave him the invoice, made out to Mackay, Burke, and Wheeler—he went away with the cloth—as near as I can recollect, it was between three and four o'clock in the after-noon—I parted with the cloth because I did not know that he had left Mackay, Burke, and Wheeler's—he said he came from them, and I believed that to be true.
GEORGE HENDERSON MACKAY . I am a member of the firm of Mackay, Burke, and Wheeler—Aston was in our service up to November, 1865, for about two years—on the 28th of August I did not employ him to go to Messrs. Scott Adie and get goods for us—I have never seen him since he left our service—he was not sent by me or by anybody in our service—I never saw the cloth.
FRANCIS WILMOT . I am in the employment of Mr. Wells, a pawn-broker, of Bloomsbury—this cloth was pawned at our place in the name of John Smith, about half-past six o'clock on the evening of the 28th of August.
CHARLES BUTCHER . I took Aston into custody on the 31st of Angust in Great Queen Street—he was with another man—I told him I had a warrant to apprehend him for obtaining goods under false pretences from Scott Adie, in Regent Street, in the name of Mackay, Burke, and Wheeler—he said he knew nothing about it—I asked him if his name was Aston
—he said it was, and he had certainly lived in their employ in Bond Street, but he had left twelve months ago—I found thirty-seven pawn tickets in his room, one corresponding with the ticket produced by the pawn-broker's boy for cloth pawned for 6s. in the name of John Smith—they were in a cupboard in a room where he was living—I found another ticket on him relating to a ring.
R. S. REYNOLDS (re-examined) This cloth is my master's property—it is one of the lengths delivered to the prisoner on the 28th.
Prisoner's Defence. This case is a mistake throughout—this cloth, to my knowledge, was obtained on Tuesday evening at seven o'clock—I was not in Scott Adie's shop but once before in my life—I did not go there till the Wednesday.
GUILTY .— Confined nine Months .
MR. BESLEY conducted the Prosecution.
CHARLES DENNY . On the 30th of August the prisoner Hiatt came and produced this written order to me. (Read): "Sir, Please send two pieces of metal dining-room paper, twelve yards of border to match, and six pieces of white marble ceiling paper. Thomas Hiatt. "I delivered the papers to him on that order—he was taken into custody about one o'clock on Saturday morning, the 1st of September—I saw his father on the following Tuesday—I have not been paid for the paperhangings that Hiatt obtained—I have been in attendance at this court every day this week—I have not seen his father here.
CHARLES BUTCHER (Policeman C 137). This witness's evidence, as given in the former case, was read over to/him, to. which he assented. I have not seen Hiatt's father here—I saw this piece of. border paper at Mr. Brooker's place in Whitcomb Street.
JAMES BROOKER . I am a coffee-house keeper, of 19, Whitcomb Street—I bought some paper of the prisoner Hiatt, and gave them to his father after Denny had seen them—Butcher got a pattern from me—I gave Hiatt 8s. 6d. for the papers—I did not notice the invoice.
CHARLES DENNY (re-examined). I saw the pattern of paper shown by Butcher—that was part of the paper obtained on the 30th on this order—I have never had back any of the papers—the metal paper is 4s. 6d. a piece, twelve yards at 8d. a yard, about 18s. 6d. altogether, with the white marble ceiling paper.
HENRY BRADFORD . I am a publican at 25, St. Martin's Street—I bought four pieces of paper from the prisoner Hiatt for 2s.—I saw his father after he was in custody—the last time I saw him was on the Tuesday that his son was committed for trial—I have not seen him since.
Hiatt's Defence. I have nothing more to say—I saw father last Saturday, and he told me he would be here to prove that he gave me authority.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. STARLING conducted the Prosecution.
on Saturday, August 18th, I was in the "Duke of Sussex" public-house, in Royal Mint Street, with a friend—the prisoner was there—I had some words with him, and he said, "If you will come out I will fight you"—we went out—he struck me on the arm, and I struck him on the side of the head and knocked him down, and when he was down he got hold of my leg and stuck me in the calf of the leg—I did not see anything in his hand—I sang out he was cutting the leg off me—there were five wounds on my leg—some one got hold of the prisoner and held him—I was taken home and the doctor attended me.
JOSEPH LOAME . I am a surgeon and apothecary, at 1, Dock Street—on 19th August I examined the last witness—he had three incised wounds on his leg, one on the calf about half an inch deep, the others were not so bad—they bled considerably—they were not dangerous—they are entirely well now—they were such wounds as might have been inflicted by an instrument like this knife (produced)—I don't see any stains on it now.
JOHN FOX (Policeman H 144). On 19th August I took the prisoner into custody, and charged him with stabbing Peter Looney—he said, "I did it in self-defence"—the knife was taken out of his hand—I took him on the spot—there were stains on the knife then, they are rubbed off now—it was open when I took it.
COURT. Q. Was the prisoner knocked about? A. No—he had no particular marks—he was a little excited, no blood about him, no black eye—his clothes were not torn—he was perfectly sober—Looney and the other man were in liquor.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate:—"They were very drunk—I was sober—I did not interfere with them—they were on the top of me at the time."
Prisoner's Defence.—I own I did it, but if I had not they would have killed me—they got me down and threatened to kill me—they took my beer, and ran after me down the street.
GUILTY . of unlawfully wounding./— Confined Nine Months .
MR. WOOD conducted the Prosecution.
HUSLEY SHAW . I live at 3, Union Court, Spitalfields—on 31st August, about eight o'clock, I was in Ratcliff Highway, and saw the prisoner and several others striking a female, with a baby in her arms—I said, "It is a scandalous shame; if you have any animosity don't hurt the infant," and I took the baby out of the woman's arms—the prisoner than seized me by the hair, and struck me on the head twice with some sharp instrument—I bled very much—one wound was on the right aide of the head, and the other on the back—I knew the prisoner by eyesight before—after she struck me she turned round to her companion and said, "She has got some money; we can go and. drink her health"—the companion said, "Whereabouts has she got it?"—she said, "In her front pocket"—the companion then tore my apron off me, and put her hand in my pocket, and took my money out, 8s. 6d., 7s. 6d. in silver, and 1s. in copper—they tore the lining out of the pocket—somebody said, "You had better go away; here comes a policeman," and they all ran off—I only knew the prisoner and her companion—I had seen them together several times before—I made my way to the London Hospital, and had my wounds dressed—I afterwards gave information to the police, and they would not take her—I
went to Leman Street Station, and then the inspector sent a policeman with her, and I gave her in custody.
RAISLEY WELLAN . I am house surgeon at the London Hospital—about 9 o'clock on 31st August I examined the prosecutrix—she was covered with blood, and her clothes were very much torn—she had lost a good deal of blood—I examined her head, and found two wounds, which were evidently caused by the same instrument—I don't think it was a knife, it must have been some instrument that was jobbed in—they were punctured wounds, but the wounds were curved—the wounds were exactly alike—both reached to the bone—the bone was laid bare—she has been spitting blood she says for some weeks—I could not say that the wounds would cause that—she had signs of erysipelas—the wounds have healed now.
Prisoner's Defence. This is all spite—I was never in the row at the time she was cut—I was at the "Melbourne Arms," and when I was coming home the two sisters met me and laid hold of me, and beat me, and tore my bonnet off, and their brother was there—the prosecutrix said, "Don't beat her any more; they have locked my companion Kate Regan up; I will lock her up, and say it was her that stabbed me."
ALBERT FRANKLIN (Policeman A 677). I took the prisoner—she bore no marks of ill-treatment—her dress was not torn or disordered—her hair was rough—she had no signs of ill-treatment that I saw—when I charged her she said she knew nothing about it, when it happened she was in the "Melbourne Arms." GUILTY .— Confined Twelve Months .
MR. STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution, and MR. GRIFFITHS the Defence.
EMMERSON AYRES . I live at 35, Friendly Place, Mile End and am a plumber and painter—on Tuesday, 31st August, I went to bed about ten or eleven o'clock—my window was then fastened with a latch and a bolt outside the shutters—on Wednesday morning I woke, and opened the window and shutters—I looked at my watch, it was twenty-five minutes to five—I thought I would have another half-hour in bed, and I closed the window and fastened it—about twenty minutes past five I was awoke, and saw the prisoner in the act of taking my coat from behind the door—there was another man standing by the window, which was open—I jumped up and said, "What is this, and who do you want?" and the prisoner jumped out at the window—I looked round, missed my watch and guard, jumped out after him, and ran, with nothing else on but my shirt—a policeman stopped him, and he was taken—the other man got away—my watch went away as well, it was worth 2l.—there was a pane of the window cracked, just behind the fastening.
Cross-examined. Q. Had you ever seen the prisoner before? A. Not that I am aware of—I saw him and two others run away—there was no one else about there at the time; there were three of them running, two ran one way, and this one ran the other way—I dare say he had fifty yards' start of me—I did not lose sight of him when he jumped out of the window—I was in the act of jumping over the foot of the bed as he jumped out—I was out as soon as he was—they ran together—when they got about 200 yards off they parted—I hallooed out, "Stop thief!" all the way.
MR. STRAIGHT Q. Have you any doubt that the prisoner is the man who was in your room? A. He is the one.
WILLIAM CARTER (Policeman K 78). I was in the Mile End Road on this morning, and saw the prisoner running, followed by the prosecutor in his shirt—I stopped the prisoner—the prosecutor was about 40 yards behind him perhaps, calling out, " Stop thief! "—when he came up he charged him with stealing his watch—first he said he knew nothing about it, on the way to the station he said, "You have taken the wrong man"—he gave me a false name and address—his name is Taylor.
Cross-examined. Q. How far Were you from the prosecutor's house when you took the prisoner? A. From three to four hundred yards, as near as I can tell—I saw nobody else running—I saw only a milkman and a stonemason, who assisted in stopping him.
GUILTY .—He PLEADED GUILTY to a former conviction, in August, 1864, at Guildford.— Confined Eighteen Months .
Before Mr. Justice Lush.
JOHN JENNINGS . I live at No. 2, Ince's Terrace, 'Angel Place, Stratford—I was in the service of, Mr. Courteney—on Saturday, 18th August, in the middle of the day, I took out a perambulator, with the deceased child in it—I went into a house to leave a parcel—I left the perambulator on the stones close to the kerb in the carriage road—I thought it would be more dangerous on the pavement, as the pavement gose on a slant, and if any one had touched it, it might have gone down into the middle of the road—the road is macadamised, and there are stones on each side—when I came out of the house from leaving the parcel I found the perambulator and the child gone—I made inquiries, and afterwards went with the child to the doctor's in a cab.
Cross-examined. Q. Are there stones placed in the road for heavy carriages, so that the wheels may run on them? A. Yes—it was on these stones that I placed the perambulator—it was facing straight along, even with the road—the paved part of the road is lower than the pavement.
JOHN IMPEY . I am bailiff of the Bow County Court, and live in Esmond Road, North Bow—on Saturday afternoon, 18th August, I was coming down Water Lane, Stratford, into the Romford Road—I heard somebody call out, "Hoy!" or, "Look out!" or something of that kind, which attracted my attention—I looked round, and saw a waggon drawn by four horses approaching the perambulator, which was standing close to the kerb—I should say the waggon was coming between four and five miles an hour—there is six or eight feet of paving on each side of the road there, and the centre is macadamised—I Saw the waggon go up against the perambulator—the forewheel struck it and turned it over—I went and turned the perambulator up, and found the dead body of a child—I believe the waggon had diverged a trifle from the course in which it was originally coming, about a foot towards the centre of the road, as if it had turned out of the way—that was either with the intention of clearing it, or after the collision, I could not tell—I did not see who had command of the horses
of the waggon—it was pulled up as soon as possible after the accident, and the prisoner waited till a constable came up—he was perfectly sober, and greatly excited—he seemed to feel his position very acutely—he seemed to be suffering very acutely indeed from the results of the accident.
Cross-examined. Q. He showed all the sorrow that a man would show under the circumstances? A. Certainly—I asked him his name, and he gave it at once—it was a very heavy waggon indeed, used for the cartage of animal manure—I should think it would hold six or eight tons—I believe the driver's seat is very high up, and the driving seat would reach nearly up to his hips, if he was sitting—they were very strong horses—my attention was not drawn to the prisoner at all until I saw him on the pavement after the accident—the horses were two and two, and the reins reached to the four horses' heads—when I first looked I should think the waggon was five or six yards from the perambulator—I could not see whether there was time for the driver to get out of the way at the distance I was.
JOHN JUBILEE SPILLER . I am a solicitor, at No. 3, South Place, Finsbury—on Saturday afternoon, 18th August, I was in the Romford Road—I saw a perambulator standing in the road near the kerb, and a waggon drawn by four horses coming towards it—when I first saw it I fancy it must have been twenty yards from the perambulator—it was going at a very slow pace, not exceeding two and a half miles an hour—I did not observe the driver—I did not see the waggon strike the perambulator—shortly after I had passed it I heard a shout, and looked round, and saw the second near wheel of the waggon catching up the perambulator, and giving it a rotatory motion—I ran back, with my son, who was with me, and saw the perambulator upset, and the body of a child, with its blood and brains on the stones—the child was fastened in the perambulator—the last witness rushed up and unfastened it, and it was taken away in a cab—I saw the prisoner—he was perfectly sober, and deeply affected.
GEORGE OSBORNE . I live at No. 5, Skinner Street—I was in the Romford Road, driving a cab—I passed the waggon—the prisoner was driving it—I afterwards turned back, and saw it in the act of upsetting the perambulator.
COURT. Q. Where was the prisoner sitting? A. On the front part of the footboard—he had got a child with him on the top—he was coming along very slowly, from two to two and a half miles an hour—he had the reins in his hand—he was quite sober.
CHARLES HORELICK . I live at No. 52, Cross Street, Borough—on this Saturday afternoon I saw the waggon, drawn by four horses, coming along the Romford Road—the prisoner was in it, and a little boy with him, about ten years old—he was on the seat of the waggon—the boy had hold of the reins—I saw the perambulator in the road—the front horse of the waggon had just cleared it, when I first saw it—I called out to the prisoner—he caught the reins out of the boy's hands, and tried to stop the horses, but it was too late, and the perambulator was turned over.
Cross-examined. Q. The prisoner was on the footboard, was he not? A. No—on the near side of the waggon, on his load, and a little boy by the side of him—this is not a very frequented part of the road.
Cross-examined. Q. I believe you have known him a good many years? A. Eight years—he bears the character of a very steady careful man—he is one of the steadiest men going along the road—he showed all the sorrow a man could under the circumstances—he was crying—everybody who knows him is grieved for him.
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. BROOK conducted the Prosecution.
WILLIAM MASON . I am a labourer, living at Barking Road, Essex—on Saturday night, August 25, about half-past eleven, I left Stratford with about seven other men, of whom I only know Johnson—I was going home—they walked some distance with me—Johnson then walked a step or two before me, and struck me in the face twice with his fist—I fell, and he said, "Get up; you are as drunk as a pig"—a gentleman was coming along, and I got up and walked with him about twenty yards—he then left me, and I went on to the Barking Road—I got about 200 yards further, and Johnson came and said, "If you do not give me 2s. I willl knock you about and take your life"—I said, "I have not got 2s."—I was knocked down a second time by Johnson, and one of the boys sat on my face while the others put their hands in my pocket, and took out my purse and 2d. or 3d. in coppers, a knife, a ticket, and a bootlace—there were seven persons round me when I was robbed, but I only know Johnson—I know Harris by sight; he was along with them—I do not know what he did because some got on my face and some on my legs—I afterwards identified Harris at the station as one of the men who had been attacking me—Johnson and I had had a pot of 4d. ale together—the officer showed me a knife at the station—the men all ran away but Johnson—he remained with me and Driver—he said that he had not interfered with me, but Driver said that he had—I gave information to the police, and gave Johnson in custody—Driver is a person who heard that I had been knocked down, and came back to me.
Johnson. Q. Were you with two young girls outside the Albion? A. No—I was not half drunk when you hit me—you did not say, "Get up, you drunken fool—I did not go to hit you so hard."
COURT. Q. Had you taken out your purser at the public-house to pay for the beer? A. No—Johnson knew me; he works with me—I got my wages on Saturday morning, and he was paid at the same time.
THOMAS DRIVER I am a bricklayer—on Saturday night, 25th August, I was coming from Stratford down the railway passage, and overtook the prosecutor—he was smothered in blood, and said that he had been robbed—I went over the railway bridge, came back afterwards, and heard a screaming—I went down the Manor Road 200 or 300 yards, and three young fellows about the same age as Johnson were coming away—Mason was lying down in the road, and the two prisoners were standing by him—his pockets were turned out, and I saw a ticket and a pair of bootlaces lying beside him—he said in the prisoners' presence that they had robbed him of a sovereign
and said that if he did not give them 2s. they would take his life—he did not name anybody—I went for a policeman, who took Johnson; Harris ran away—Johnson knew that a policeman was sent for.
CHARLES BLEWITT (500 E). I am stationed at West Ham—on Saturday night, 25th August, I took Harris, coming from the spot, with his jacket turned inside out—I sent him to the station, and went on, and the prosecutor gave Johnson into my custody—the prosecutor had been drinking, but appeared to be suffering from being knocked about—he charged Johnson with knocking him down, and stealing a sovereign from him—he said that Johnson demanded a shilling of him, which he refused to give him, and that Johnson then struck him two blows on the face—he identified Harris at the station as one of the boys who had assaulted and robbed him—Mason was covered with blood, and he had a black eye—he had been drinking, but he knew perfectly well what he was about—I found on Johnson 4 1/2d., 6s., and two knives, one of them the pro-secutor's, and on Harris some coppers.
JOHNSON— GUILTY .— Confined Nine Months .
HARRIS— NOT GUILTY
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
ELIZABETH BOKING . I am barmaid at the "Hope of Erin, " Woolwich—on Sunday night, 26th August, I served the prisoner with; home porter—he gave me 1s.—I gave him 10d. change and he left—I put the shilling shirting into the till—there was no other shilling there—in about ten minutes he came again for some ginger beer—we had none and he had half a pint of beer, and gave me a shilling—I said, "This is a bad shilling"—he made no answer—I went to till, and found another bad shilling on top of the money there—I gave them both to the landlady—the prisoner sat on a seat near the bar the second time.
MARY ANN LEEHAY . I am the landlady of the beershop—the last witness gave me two bad shillings—the prisoner was in the bar—I told him that he had passed bad money—he said that he did not know it was bad, and gave me a good florin—I told him he had better give me the value of what he had of mine, and took him by the shoulders and put him out of the door—the barmaid's father, who was there, picked up a paper and gave me two bad shillings—I gave them to the prisoner with the two others, and gave the prisoner in charge.
JAMES BOKING . I am a shipwright, of High Street. Woolwich—I was at this beershop on the 26th August, and saw the prisoner being put out by the landlady—I picked up a piece of paper on the seat where he had been sitting, containing two bad shillings, with a piece of paper between them.
ARRAHAM SMITH (Policeman). The barmaid pointed out the prisoner to me—I searched him, and found twelve sixpences, three shillings, 2d. in halfpence, and a, bad shilling—I produce four other shillings, which the landlady gave me.
Prisoner's Defence. I bought a box of herrings, and changed a sovereign, and this was the change I had out.
GUILTY .— Confined Eighteen Months .
Before Mr. Justice Lush.
MR. MOIR conducted the Prosecution.
SOPHIA WALLACE . I am married and am a laundress—I live at 4, John Street, Greenwich—on Friday, 20th July, I was at work at my ironing board, when the prisoner came in and struck me with a stone on the head three times, and the last time the stone flew out of his hand and hit the cupboard door—he then walked out of the house—it was the half of a large pebble, about the size of my hand—it was taken to the station and the doctor saw it—I was in a gore of blood, and Dr. Ryland was sent for—I was laid up, and have not been well since; the doctor is still attending me—I had not spoken to the prisoner, and had not seen him—I had done nothing to provoke this—I have only taken my daughter in when he has ill-used her—she is his wife—she was at Leytonstone at the time.
COURT. Q. Had you had any quarrel with him before? A. Yes—he had only been out of prison a fortnight for Striking me—he had a month for it—he never opened his lips while he was doing this—he is hammer-man to a smith—he struck me, with the edge of the half pebble, which was in his right hand.
Prisoner. Q. What time was it? A. Nine at night, or a few minutes after—I had an iron in my hand ironing a shirt.
FRANCIS JAMES RYLAND ., M.R.C.S. I live at 8, South Street, Green-wich—I examined the prosecutrix the same evening, and found her suffering from two contused wounds on the scalp—the openings were not very large, but the contusions around them were about the size of a crown piece—she had been bleeding very freely, but the blood had stopped when I arrived, and she seemed to be in a very nervous state from the shock to her system, and was suffering much pain—I attended her for a week and have seen her occasionally since—she still suffers from giddiness and dimness of vision—such a stone as she describes would cause the wounds—the blows must have been very violent, as they cut through her head-dress—the bones were not injured—the wouuds must have been produced by a jagged point somewhere on the stone—a stone about half the size of my fist was shown to me which would very likely have caused the wound, as it was not perfectly even—I cannot say whether there is any permament injury—she seems to suffer still.
BENJAMIN ROBINSON (Police Constable 215 R). I took the prisoner on the 18th August on a warrant, which I read to him—he said, "I was not in the house at all. I went to the door and asked for my wife, and my mother-in-law struck me with a flat iron. I pushed her and she might have fallen against the stove"—the stone was brought to the station.
COURT to SOPHIA WALLACE. Q. Did you strike him? A. Not at all
—I fell, not on the floor, but on the ironing-board—that was through his striking me on the head—his wife was not at my house, but at Leyton-stone—she went there on the Thursday before—she had been at my house before that—he did not, ask me for his wife—he never spoke.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate:—"I went to Mrs. Wallace's to see my wife, prior to my joining, a man-of-war—I asked for my wife—Mrs. Wallace said, 'She is not here, and if she was you should not see her'—she was ironing, and said before she should come to me she would rather see her on the streets—I knew she was upstairs, and called, and Mrs. Wallace shoved the iron in my face—I shoved her in self-defence, and walked away, when she fell down."Prisoner's Defence. This old woman has led me a miserable life for six years—I married my wife off the streets, but she, has been a, good wife and virtuous to me till her mother-in-law poisoned her mind—I joined a man-of-war, and was away six weeks, and left her, 3l. a month, my half-pay—when news came to me that my wife was drinking and prostituting herself, and the old woman was encouraging her and living on her—I could not go back to sea, and was at home five or six weeks—my wife and her mother came in the worse for liquor—she had a bad leg, and was obliged to drink a good deal of rum, as she was in such pain—on the Monday morning my wife and I parted good friends, and I went to Southampton, and walked back to London—I heard that a warrant was taken out against me—I went and appeared, against it and was bound down to keep the peace for, three months, and, having no securities, had to go to Maidstone Gaol—I came out and afterwards found that my wife had been found sleeping with another man—I went home heartbroken—I had no food, and went to my wife on Monday evening, but she would not show herself—I went again try to see her, and found Mrs. Wallace ironing—I asked her if I could see my wife—she said, "No"—I thought I heard my wife upstairs—I put one foot on the threshhold of the door, to call "Ann," and Mrs. Wallace jammed an iron into my face—I did not know what I was doing, or whether I struck her with the iron—I had no intention of taking a stone, and did not go near her with any bad intention.
Witness for the Defence.
CATHERINE FRESHWATER . I am prisoner's sister—I accompanied him close to the house—he went to the house—he had no stone in his possessions—he went to the door and knocked—he had one foot on the threshold and one on the pavement—Mrs. Wallace came to the door with the iron in her hand—I saw no violence on either side—I did not see him strike her, or her strike him—he came away directly—I accompanied him to the house to see his wife, to make peace between them—I came away with him—it was between seven and eight, to the best of my knowledge.
COURT to MRS. WALLACE. Q. Was your door open or shut when he came? A. It was ajar—I did not go to the step—he did not knock at the door, he walked in—I was standing behind the door—I did not see his sister.
GUILTY .— Confined Nine Months .
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. DALY conducted the Prosecution.
JOHN DAVIS (City Policeman 921). About five o'clock on Saturday afternoon, the 8th September, I was on duty in Bishopsgate Street Within—I met the prisoner coming from towards Bishopsgate Street Without, close to Wormwood Street—he was carrying this box underneath his arm—it was wrapped up in some brown paper, and also covered over with one of these napkins—I followed him till he got the other side of Thread-needle Street—he then went into a gateway in Bishopsgate Street Within—I followed him there—he then spoke to me, and said, "It is a very wet afternoon, sir"—I said, "Yes, it is"—I then told him I was a police officer, and asked what he had got underneath his arm—he hesitated for a couple of minutes, and then said, "Oh! it is a thing"—I asked what it was—he did not tell me—he was uncovering it at the same time—I said, "Is that silver?"—he said, "Yes"—I asked where he got it from—he said, ""From home"—I said, "Where are you taking it to?"—he said "Home"—I then asked whether he had had it given to him—he said, "No"—I said, "Have you made it then?"—he said, "No"—I said, "Have you bought it?"—he said, "Yes"—I asked where he bought it—he said, "I refuse to tell you"—I then said, I shall take you to the police-station"—he said, "Oh! I knew that"—he also said, "I know where you are going to take me to"—I took him to the station—he then said he had had it left to him by his great grandfather—I searched him, and in his coat pocket behind I found this cruet-stand, mustard-pot, and castor, also this bouquet-holder, three spoons, a pair of scissors, and two napkins marked "Marshman, 12, 65, " also a pocket-book containing this duplicate for a tablecloth—he refused to give his address or any account of himself, and I have not been able to find where he comes from—from inquiries I made, I found the property belonged to Mr. Marshman.
Prisoner. Q. When I was under the gateway did you not ask me if I wished to sell it? A. No, nor whether you had been trying to sell it, and you did not say no—(the witness had so stated in his deposition)—you did not tell me at first that your grandfather had given it to you, you said that at the station.
JOHN CLARK MARSHMAN . I live at 7, Kensington Palace Gardens—I am at present living at Bickley Park, Kent—the biscuit-box and other articles (produced) are my property, and were at my house at Bickley Park—I saw them safe at ten o'clock at night on Thursday, 6th September, when I retired—we missed them next morning.
HENRY COOPER .—I am footman in Mr. Marshman's service—on Thursday night, 6th September, before going to bed, I fastened up the house, about ten o'clock—I was the last up—I locked the doors myself—I put this biscuit-box off the dining-room table into the cheffonier at ten o'clock, and this cruet was on one of the shelves of the cheffonier; next morning when I came down I missed the articles, the glasses were taken out of the cruet-stand and left—these tea cloths belong to my master—the value of the things altogether is about 9l.
Prisoner. Q. You never saw or knew me before? A. Not that I am aware of.
ELIZA BLOOMFIELD . I am cook in the prosecutor's service—when I came down on Friday morning, 7th September, I found the kitchen door and window wide open—they were closed when I went to bed at ten the night before, and the blinds down—it was a sash window, fastened by a catch in the usual way—I missed nothing from the kitchen—I missed some
tongue and beef from the larder, and a kitchen cloth, and the larder door was left wide open—it was shut and locked the night before.
Prisoner. Q. You don't know me? A. I never saw you before.
CHARLES BENNING . I am in the service of Mr. Hawes, a pawnbroker, of Kingsland Road—I produce this tablecloth, which I took in pledge on Saturday, 8th September, about ten in the morning—it was wrapped in one of these cloths—I lent 6s. 6d. on it—I cannot swear to the prisoner as the person who pledged it—it was a young man about the same age—it was pledged in the name of Thomas Drake, 10, James Street.
The prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate:—"I wish to say I know noting of the robbery—I bought the things, not knowing them to be Stolen. "
The prisoner, in a long address, stated that on Saturday morning, 8th September, he was accosted on London Bridge by two persons, one of whom introduced himself as his grandfather, and invited him into a coffee-shop, where, after some conversation, he gave him the biscuit-box as a present, and the other articles he purchased of the other person for 15s.
GUILTY of Receiving.— Confined Twelve Months .
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
MR. POLAND conducted the Prosecution.
GEORGE CANTY . I am a tobacconist at 20, Beresford Square, Wool-wich—on Thusday, 6th September, I saw the prisoner near the " Elephant and Castle" with the woman who is standing behind—(Harriet Tedbury; see next case)—I went over to the "Elephant and Cattle" to have a glass of ale, and while there a female came in—she tendered a bad shilling, and while she was there the prisoner came in—I am sure they were the persons I saw outside—I saw a parcel in the man's hand.
EDMUND BIDDICK I am the landord of the "Elephant and Castle," Beresford Square, Woolwich—on Thursday evening, 6th September, the female came to my house—I served her with some soda-water, and she gave me a bad shilling—I told her it was bad—she said, "I' have another one; my friends are respectable; my character will bear the strictest investigation"—she, took out her purse and gave me another shilling, which was also bad—she said, she got them from the steamboat pier, coming across the water—about five minutes; after that the prisoner came in and asked for a glass of beer—he did not speak to the woman, or take any notice of her whatever—I sent my waiter for a policeman, and gave the woman into custody—I got the prisoner up to the station, and he was taken there—I gave the two shilling to the constable, after marking them.
WILLIAM KEEN . I am a labourer, and live at 6, Peat Street, Woolwich—on Thursday, 6th September, I saw the prisoner going along with Mr. Biddick and another person—I saw something go out of his hand—I looked after it and could not find it—a little further on I saw something else drop and picked it up—it was a parcel with a bit of tissue-paper round it—it contained seven bad shillings—I took it to the station and gave it to the inspector on duty.
woman was brought there—shortly after she was charged the last witness brought me a parcel containing seven counterfeit shillings wrapped separately in paper—I took him to the cell to see the prisoner, and he said, "That's him," or, "That's the man"—I showed the prisoner the parcel containing the shillings, and said, "This man says he saw you throw these away on your way to the station"—he made no answer to that.
WILLIAM WEBSTER . The two shillings that were passed are both bad—there are seven shillings all bad, and there are four from one mould; and from the same mould as one of the shillings passed, and' there is another one of the same mould as the second shilling passed—the florins are bad.
Prisoner's Defence. I did not throw the 7s. away, it was impossible—two gentlemen were Walking with me—I was at the station-house half an hour before that man came—he took them home—I suppose he thought they were good—if they had been I should not have heard anything of this. GUILTY . He pleaded guilty to a former conviction, in February, 1866, (See next case.)
MR. POLAND conducted the prosecytion.
Tedbury. I have only to say this man is A stranger to me, and I was not in his company.
EDMUND BIDDICK . On Thursday, 6th september, the female prisoner came into my house—I served her with A bottle of soda-water, and she gave me bad shilling—she had a leather purse in her hand she took out another shilling, which was also bad—I said, "This is as bad as the other one," and bent it up—she said, "I took it at the steamboat pier"—I sent for a constable and gave, her into custody,—during that time the male prisoner came in and called for a glass of ale—from information I received, I took the man to the station-house.
Tedbury in a written defence, stated that she did not know the money was bad. TEDBURY— GUILTY . Confined Two years . SULLIVAN— GUILTY .**— Ten years' Penal Servitude .
Confined Twelve Months .
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
MR. LANGFORD, for the prosecution, offered no Evidence.
MESSRS. POLAND and STRAIGHT conducted the prosecution.
ELIZABETH FRENCH . I am the wife of William French, who keeps a chandlers shop—on 10th August the prisoner came for half a pound of fourpenny sngar, and gave me 1s.—I gave her the change and she left very quickly—I put the shilling in the till—there was no other shilling there—some one spoke to me, and I want to the till and found it was bad—I had not left the shop, and no one else had come in—I found this shilling, a sixpence, and a few coppers in the till—I went into the street and found the prisoner, without her bonnet about three minutes walk off—I told her she had better give me my change and my sugar, as the shining was bad—she said that I could not swear to it, as I had put it in the till, and I might give her in charge if I liked, and if I liked to go to her house she would get me my sugar and my change, but I did not—my husband marked the shilling, and I gave it to the constable—this is it (produced).
MARY ANN BARNES . My husband keeps a general shop in Russell Street, Bermondsey—on 1st August, about eight o'clock, the prisoner came for threepenny worth of eggs—she gave me a florin—I bent it in the detector, and told her it was bad, and that she knew it—she said that she did not—I gave her into custody, with the forin—I said nothing more to her
Prisoner. You asked me where I got it and said that you would forgive me if I told you who the girl was who passed the half-crown before. Wit-ness. Yes, I did.
LAWRENCE KEEFE (Policeman 474 A). I recieved this florin (produced) from the last Witness, and this shilling from Elizabeth French—the prisoner told the inspector at the station-house that she was with a gentleman on the night before and received the florin from him, and did not know it was bad—I received it from Dent at the station.
GUILTY Judgment respited .—.
MESSRS. POLAND and STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution. LOUISA BUTLER. My mother keeps a confectioner's shop at 65, Camber-well Road—on 27th August, between ten and eleven a.m., the male prisoner
came in and asked for a bun, which came to 2d., and gave me a shilling—I had seen him there a fortnight before—I looked at the shilling, found it was bad, and returned it to him—he gave me a good florin—I gave him his change, and he left—a lady who was in the shop followed him, and told a policeman.
HENRY MASLAND . I am shopman to Messrs. Penston, ironmongers, of 244, Walworth Road—on 27th August, about a quarter-past one o'clock, the male prisoner came for twopennyworth of tacks—he gave me a shiling—I put it in the till, and gave him 6d. and 4d. change—he left, and in about three minutes a constable came in—I went to the till, took out a bad shilling, and gave it to the constable—there were four or five other shillings there—I cannot say that I took it from the male prisoner.
JOHN VINCENT (175 P). On 27th August I was in the Walworth Road—a woman made a communication to me, and pointed out the prisoners, who were talking together—the male prisoner crossed Walworth Road, and went past Messrs. Penston's shop—the female went in the opposite direction—the male prisoner afterwards returned, looked into Messrs. Penston's shop, crossed the road again, and went into a draper's shop—he then went back up to Messrs. Penston's, went in, and purchased something—I saw Masland give him change—my brother constable went in, and I followed the man when he came out, and saw him go across the Walworth Road and join the female prisoner—I went up to him, and saw this shilling (produced) in his right hand—I took 6d. and 4d. coppers from him, and found in his breast pocket a purse containing one half-crown, three florins, and seven shillings, and in his waist-coat pocket 2d. in copper—I also found on him a new knife, a chain and flash cheque (produced).
THOMAS BUNTING (240 P). I saw the male prisoner leave Messrs. Penston's shop—I went in, and Masland gave this bad shilling (produced)—I took the female prisoner, and on the way to the station she put her right hand into this bag, and took something out I took hold of her hand, and took a purse from her—after she had proceeded some little distance she said, "For God's sake, be as lenient as you can with me"—at the station I found in the purse three bad florins and two shillings, and in another compartment another bad florin bent—the florins were wrapped in tinsel paper—I found in her reticule a purse containing seven good shillings, thirteen good sixpences; a threepenny piece, 10 1/2d. in copper, and one bad shilling, a packet of nails, and a bun.
WILLIAM WEBSTER . This bent shilling is bad—this one, taken out of Masland's till, is also bad—this one, taken from the male prisoner's hand, is bad—this one, from the other compartment of the purse, is bad, and from the same mould as the first—these florins are bad, and these two other shillings also.
George Mayo's Defence. I am quite innocent of knowing the money to be bad—I met my wife in Walworth Road, who told me she had picked up a purse with some money in it—she opened it, gave me a couple of shillings out of it, and sent me for a Bath bun and some tacks—they said that the shilling was bad—I did not tender the other shilling for the tacks, but kept it in my hand, and paid with money out of my purse.
Sarah Mayo's Defence. I picked up the purse, gave my husband 2s., and put 1s. in my own purse—I could not have taken the purse out of my bag, because it would take both my hands to open it, and the policeman had hold of my right hand.
GUILTY .— Five Years' each in Penal Servitude .
MESSRS. POLAND and STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution.
ROSANNA HODGKINS . I live at 1, Eaton Place, Wandsworth—on Wednesday night, 22nd August, I was serving at the bar of the " Wardell Arms, " kept by Mr. Clark, at Wandsworth—a little before six Murphy and Wilson came in—Wilson called for a pint of sixpenny ale, and put down a florin—it looked very dirty, and I showed it to Mr. Clark—he did not think it was bad, and threw it into the till, and said, "That is all right "—there were not any half-crowns or florins in the till; not any money at all—they both drank of the ale—after that the other prisoner came in, and wanted a smoke or a pickwick, I am not sure which he said—that was not more than a minute after the others had gone out, I think.
Murphy. Q. When you came to the police-station did you not say you did not know me, because I had whiskers? A. No.
May. Q. Was the shilling I gave you good or bad? A. A good one.
JAMES CLARK . I am landlord of the " Wardell Arms, " Wandsworth—on the 22nd August I saw Murphy and Wilson in my bar—there are three doors, and they were in the third—the last witness was serving in the bar, and she put a florin in my hand and said, "Here is a florin; it is a very dirty one, but it is a good one"—I said, "All right," and threw it in the till, which was open—I should think were five or six shillings and some sixpences in the till together—there was no other florin—as I was going out through the trap I turned my head and saw the two prisoners, and I thought they looked rather suspicious—I went out, and was back in ten minutes—I went to the till, took the florin out, put it in some water, and it came bright—I went half-way to the station and came back—over half an hour after I heard the prisoners were locked up—I took the florin out about ten minutes after the prisoners went away—I marked it and gave it to the inspector, and saw the inspector give it to the constable.
ELLEN STANFORD . I live at the "Wheatsheaf "beershop, in Wandsworth—I don't know how far that is off the," Wardell Arms "—on Wednesday, the 22nd August, May came to my house, between half-past six and seven—he said, "Can you give me half a crown in change for two sixpences and one shilling and sixpence in copper?"—I gave it him, and he left directly—immediately after the other two prisoners came in together and called for a pot of beer—I served them, and Murphy gave me a florin in payment—there were several half-crowns in the till—I gave him change, and put the florin in the till—there were not others there—after I gave them change they went out directly—I do not think they finished the beer—the potman came round and spoke to me, and I then looked in the till, and found that the florin was a bad one—I gave it to the potman—I clear the till every half-hour.
Wilson. Q. I did not call for anything, did I? A. No—you did not
give me any money—I had no two-shilling pieces in the till—I did not give May the half-crown out of the till—I had just been clearing it then.
SAMUEL TEBBUTT . I am potman at the " Wheatsheaf"—on Wednesday, the 22nd August, I saw May; when the half-crown was given to him in change—after he left I saw the other two prisoners meet him at the door—I saw one of them give a florin in payment—I spoke to Miss Stanford, and she and I looked in the till—I saw her take a bad florin out—I am sure there was no other florin in the till—I took the florin and handed it over to the sergeant—it was broken before I gave it to the Serjeant—I followed the prisoners down the Merton Road—a constable was with me—they were altogether—Murphy was not along with them When we saw them first, but he walked on to them—he saw me, and knew me again, and gave the other two the signal to run away, and he stood his ground—I went up to him and said, "You must go the station-house along with me—he said, "There they go; you will catch them"—I said, "You are the man I want; you passed a bad two-shilling piece at our house"—with assistance, I took him to the station—the constable went after the other two—while the constable was bringing May along to the station I saw him put his hand in his trousers pocket and drop something—I did not see what it was—I was with Murphy, and I could not go back to look for it then—I told the constable just where it was, and I believe he went back afterwards—I took Murphy to the station.
WILLIAM BLYKE (Policeman V 51). On Wednesday, the 22nd August, I saw the prisoner May at the " Wheatsheaf, " and afterwards the other two—the last witness showed me this bad florin (produced), and I went out with him after the prisoners—I saw them in the Merton Road—I over took Murphy—Wilson and May were over a stile in a field—I went after them, and they ran across two fields—another constable went with me, and I overtook Wilson—I found 17s. 5d., in good money, on Murphy, at the station, most of it in florins and some half-crowns—I searched Wilson down in the field, but found nothing on him—I produce another florin, which was given to me by the inspector, in the presence of Clark—I and another constable afterwards searched in the road and in the field, but could not find anything.
May. Q. Was I in company with these two when you saw me down the Merton Road? A. You were in company with Wilson—he was going down the road, and you were waiting for him—Murphy was close to you when we overtook you.
EDWARD OLDMAN (Policeman V 96). On Wednesday evening, the 22nd August, I saw the three prisoners together in the Merton Road, and soon afterwards met Blyke and the potman coming after the prisoners for passing bad money—I took May in a field—he ran away—when I took him he said, "What do you want me for?"—I said, "You are wanted for passing bad money; I shall be able to tell you all the particulars when we get to the station"—I found eightpence in coppers, and a penny cigar on him, no half-crown—I looked in the road, but could not find anything.
May. Q. Did you not search me in the field? A. No—I did not see you throw anything away.
Murphy's Defence. When I came from home I took a sovereign off the mantelpiece—I had a glass of ale, and got half a sovereign and some silver—I came by train to Wandsworth, and met this young man, went to this house, and gave a two-shilling piece—I took the money as good—I work hard for my living.
Wilson's Defence. When I came out in the morning I had 3s.—I rode to Wandsworth, went into the public-house and called for a pint of ale—I gave the young woman the two-shilling piece—she said it was a black one, but a good one, and the master said it was a good one—I never had a bad coin about me.
May's Defence. I don't know either one of these persons here present, and what money I gave was good.
GUILTY .— Confined Two Years each .
MESSRS. POLAND and STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution, and MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS the Defence.
MARIA STEADMAN . I am a daughter of William Steadman, landlord of the "Royal Oak" beershop, Battersea Park—on the 6th of August there was a party of men drinking at the bar—I cannot say whether the prisoner was there that afternoon—I received three florins at the bar, and put them into the till—I afterwards took all the money out of the till, and gave it to my mother—I then went upstairs, and saw some men, whom I do not know, passing money from one to another outside the door—I do not know whether the prisoner is one.
Cross-examined. Q. Were the florins passed in the morning? A. Yes.
WILLIAM STEADMAN . I am landlord of the " Royal Oak " tavern, Battersea Park—on the 6th of August, between two and three o'clock in the afternoon, the prisoner was in the bar and taproom, and I served him with beer—there were five or six men in the taproom with him—I cannot say who called for it, but the prisoner gave me a bad florin—I said, "This is another one," and put it in my pocket—he said nothing, but some time afterwards he came out and asked for his change—I said that there was no change from me, and asked where he got it—he said that his master gave it him—I told him to go and fetich his master, and then followed him—he jumped into a gravel pit when he saw me—I gave him in custody five or ten minutes afterwards, with the florins—he appeared sober—he said that his master was Mr. Norris, who is here—I found four other bad florins in my till.
Cross-examined. Q. Where was his master when he pointed him out? A. At work at some buildings in front of my house.
DAVID NORRIS . I am a bricklayer, of Herne Hill, Dulwich—the prisoner worked for me, but only one morning, from nine to twelve o'clock, at Battersea—he had earned 15d., and I paid him a shilling on account, as he required that for his dinner—he returned to me between three and four o'clock and asked me for the price of a pot—I gave him no florin that day, only 1s.—it rained in the afternoon, and he did not come to work.
PETER HOOPER (Policeman V 59). I took the prisoner on the 6th of August, and told him he was concerned with others in passing bad money—he said that he received it from his master—Mr. Stedman gave me this florin (produced).
NOT GUILTY .
MR. POLAND conducted the Prosecution.
asked the barmaid for a pint of beer—she gave the barmaid a half-crown, who showed it to me—it was bad—she escaped, but the prisoner remained, and I allowed her to go—I am sure they were together.
Prisoner. Q. Do a great many people come in and out of your house? A. Yes—I suspected you because you were watching me very carefully—I allowed you to go because you did not pass the half-crown—I afterwards recognised you among ten others at the station.
ELIZABETH PAYNE . I am the mother of Robert Payne, a pork butcher, of 223, High Street, Borough—about the 16th of August a man came, who gave me a half-crown—I put it in the till, where there was one other half-crown—my shopman, Ayres, said something to me, and I took both the half-crowns out of the till; they were bad—he gave them back to me—I cannot swear to the prisoner.
THOMAS AYRES . I am shopman to Mr. Payne—on the. 16th of August I served the prisoner with two pork chops; he paid Mrs. Payne with a half-crown; he had his change and went away—Mrs. Payne gave me two half-crowns; they were both bad—I broke one of them.
Prisoner. Q. Did any strangers come in at the time? A. No, you were the only customer—I had served other people previous to you—I had never seen you before—I next saw you when Mr. Payne gave you in charge ten days after—I have no idea of the person who passed the other bad half-crown—I am positive you are the man—there were no other half-crowns in the till, only small money.
ROBERT PAYNE . I am a pork butcher, of 223, High Street, Borough—on the 26th of August the prisoner came for some pork sasages, and gave me a bad half-crown—I gave him in charge, with the bad half-crown and two others which I had received previously.
Prisoner. Q. Did not I say that I was not aware it was bad? A. Yes.
GEORGE GASCOYNE (Police Constable 144 M). I took the prisoner—Mr. Payne gave these three half-crowns (produced)—I also produce a half-crown I got from Walter Larkin—I searched the prisoner at the station and found on him a penny and a farthing.
Prisoner's Defence. I was not in company with a woman—I saw no female passing a half-crown—I had a pint of beer by myself and left, but next day I changed a crown and receivea a half-crown, and tendered, it without knowing it was bad—if he had thought I was an accomplice would he not have given me in charge at once?—do think he is not liable to make a mistake in ten days, when he had never seen me before?
GUILTY .— Confined Eighteen Months .
MR. POLAND conducted the Prosecution, and MR. WOOD the Defence.
SARAH HAMAN . I am the wife of John Haman, a greengrocer, of the Old Kent Road—on the 7th September the prisoner bought potatoes, which came to 2d., she gave me 1s.—I put it in my pocket, to keep it separate—I had no other money there—I knew her, and had taken bad money before, which I suspected was from her—my child screamed, so I gave the prisoner her change quickly and she left—I tried the shilling an hour afterwards, and found it was bad—I put it in a drawer upstairs by itself—she came again next evening and ordered a half-hundredweight of coals to be
sent to 10, Alfred Place, nearly opposite, and gave me a bad florin—she said that there was no hurry to send them, as she was going into the road for some tea and sugar—I said, "You came here last night and bought some potatoes and gave me a bad shilling"—she said, "I was not here"—I bent the florin and gave it to her—she said she was very sorry, she did not know that it was bad, and it was all the money she had—I said, "It is not the first or the second time you have been here"—she said, "I have not been here before," and that her husband gave her the florin—my husband said, "If you are a respectable woman, as you say you are, you will not mind stopping here while I go and see whether you live at No. 10"—she stepped in the shop while my husband went—he came back and said, "You do not live there"—she said, "I do not, sir"—I said, "If you give me the money you have had of me I will not lock you up"—she said that she had nothing: to pledge and nothing to leave, or else she would—I gave her in charge—the constable asked her for the florin, and she said that she had thrown it into the road—I marked the shilling I had received on the Friday, and gave it to the constable.
Cross-examined. Q. Are there not other people in the neighbourhood like her? A. No—I have been in the shop six week, and she has been there four times—when she asked me to send the coals to No. 10 I asked her what name it was, and she gave me the landlady's name, and my little girl said, "Oh! yes, mother, there is that name there, for I go to school with her little girl"—I inferred that the florin was bad because I had taken four before—I felt it was bad, and then bent it a little in the detector—it would have bent double if I had chosen—I also bent the bad shilling.
JOHN HAMAN . I was in the shop when the prisoner ordered the coals to be taken to 10, Alfred Place—when the florin was found to be bad I said, "You will have no objection to my going to see if you live there"—she said, "No"—she gave me a name, but I forget it—I. made inquiries at 10, Alfred Place, came back and said, "You do not live at No. 10"—she said, "No, I do not"—I said, "Then stop where you are, and we will lock you up "—I. sent for a constable, and she was locked up.
Cross-examined. Q. What made you infer that she was the person who lived at No. 10? A. Because she gave her name, and said that she lived there—I did not send the coals.
WILLIAM DIBBEN (Policeman 113 P). On Saturday night, the 8th September, the prisoner was given into custody—she said that her husband gave her the florin, and she did not know it was bad—she did not say who her husband was or where she lived—I asked her for the florin—she said that she had thrown into the street—I could not find it—Mrs. Haman gave me a bad shilling—the prisoner said that she was not in the neighbourhood the previous night.
SARAH WELLS . I am searcher at Carter Street Station—I searched the prisoner, but found nothing on her—I asked her where she got the florin—she said that her husband gave it to her when he got his wages, that the prosecutor gave it to her quite doubled up, and she threw it into the street—I asked where she lived—she said that she did not want her friends to know—I said, "It is a great deal better; it will go better with you."
GUILTY .— Confined Twelve Months .
870. VICTOR DESLANDES (26) PLEADED GUILTY to burglariously breaking and entering the dwellinghouse of Robert Slade, and stealing therein one coat, five spoons, one umbrella, and other articles, his property.
MR. STRAIGHT, for the Prosecution, stated that the prisoner used great violence to the Prosecutor's wife. Five years' Penal Servitude .
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. COOPER conducted the Prosecution, and MR. LILLEY the Defence.
ELIZABETH STRONG . I am single, and live at 8, Rokeby Road, New Cross—on Sunday, 26th August, I left home about a quarter before eleven, leaving my door double-locked, and the windows all secure, and the back door fastened—I returned at about a quarter-past ten, and on attempting to open the door found it not double-locked, but on the spring—I founds a Japanese cabinet on the stairs, with all the drawers out, and the papers scattered about; a workbox was upset; in, the parlour, and the things were out of it—I missed a silver watch, two silver, bracelets, a pair of gold bracelets, a gold brooch, and ring, and other property, value about 10l.
Cross-examined. Q. Has any part of the property been found? A. No.
HENRY RUSSELL . I live in Rokeby Road—on Sunday, 26th August, about a quarter to seven in the evening, I was in my garden opposite, the prosecutrix's house, and saw the prisoner at her door trying, to unlock it—I looked at him a minute or two, he turned round and looked hard at me and I looked at him—it was daylight—I did nothing—I thought he would think me inquisitive, and he walked away—I described him to a policeman next day.
Cross-examined. Q. Is the road wide? A. Yes—I had never seen him before—when I first saw him his back was towards me, and he was in a stooping position at the door—he looked round, and then turned away from looking at me—I took great notice, but I had no suspicion of any-thing wrong—I see many people on Sundays in black with white chokers, not only clergy, but deacons of chapels, and so on (the prisoner was so dressed).
ANN KNIGHT . I am single, and live next door to Miss strong—on Sunday evening, 26th August, between six and seven o'clock, the prisoner come to our gate, and then turned and went out, and went in at Miss strong's gate.
Cross-examined. Q. Had you ever seen him before? A. No—I only saw him one instant, when he stepped in at my gate and stepped out—I was seated at my window, visible to anybody—there is nothing unusual in a visitor going to Miss Strong's.
WILLIAM JUPP (Police Sergeant). On Sunday evening, 2nd September, the prisoner was given into my custody on another charge—I found on him this jemmy, which folds up and goes into this case in a small space, and
this leather case of skeleton keys, which looks like a surgical instrument case.
GUILTY .— Confined Eighteen Months .
MR. GRIFFITHS conducted the prosecution.
GEORGE MCRAE . I am senior partnerof the Bow Nursery Company—the defendant called on me about the middle of May, and asked how I was off for bedding plants—I told him I had a large quantity—I knew him—he had purchased cuttings of me on one occasion—he said that a client of his masters, Messrs. Newbury and Starke, of Doctors' Commons, had called that day, and wanted to be recommended to A florist who could supply him with a large quantity of plants, and that it was Captain Goldsworthy, of the 91st Highlanders, 4, York-Street, St. James's (handing me his card, which I have lost), who had taken a house at Wimbledon, but had no plants in the garden, and wanted to make a show at once, and had instruted him to get them, and to see that they were large and blooming—he said that they would be paid for on delivery—I went with him to look the plants out, he selected 3600, there were 50 dozen verbenas, 50 dozen calceolarias, 100 dozen scarlet geraniums, 50 dozan variegated geraniums, and 50 dozen large fuchsias—I took that order down in penoil in my pocket-book—no one was with him—he said, "What is the commission on this order?"—I said, "The usual commission is 5l. per cent., but if it is paid on delivery I will allow you the odd money, 7l. 10s. "—he said that he did not want all the money at once—he wanted 12 dozen bedding plants for his ground, and one dozen for his window, which I afterwards supplied him with—the prisoner kept writing letters, telling me not to send the plants to Captain Goldsworthy's, as he was out of town—I found out that the Captain was at Brighton, so there was some truth in it—I did not send the plants, as my suspicious were aroused—I sent the prisoner 13 dozen plants at 3s. a dozen—I have lost the sale of the 3600 plants, they are of no use whatever—I refused taking customers for them—it was two months before I found out that it was a false order—the prisoner wanted his plants at once—he said that he had a week's holiday, and wanted to plant them out—I should not have parted with them had it not been for the representations he made.
Prisoner. Q. When did you call on Captain Goldsworthy? A. Not at all—I communicated with him some six weeks afterwards—I sent the plants to you long before I received your letter, telling me not send Captain Goldsworthy's plants at present—I did not send your plants that week, and you wrote the week after, saying that you would send the order elsewhere, as I was so long—I then sent them—I took the order in pencil in this memorandum book (produced)—it is the clerk's place to book it—you have not been in the habit of having plants of me—you ordered 5s. worth of rooted cuttings three years ago, and I have lost sight of you ever since—I have some slight recollection now of sending you two or three flowers in pots four or five years ago, which you were to send postage stamps for, but never did—I have not produced the order book, which you gave me notice to do, because there is nothing entered there for you—I wrote to you on the 22nd June, and have a copy of the letter—this is my second letter, written on June 16—I called at your house five times, for you to explain the matter, and saw your wife three times—I did not take proceedings from May till August, because when I called on Captain Goldsworthy's
brother he told me that his brother was in the country, and therefore I thought the order was genuine, but the captain afterwards wrote and said that he had not given the order—I did not tell your wife I had been at a loss of 50l., and claim 50l. compensation, or 20l.—I did not instruct Messrs. Wood and Ring, the attorneys, to make any proposition—I heard that you called at their office once—I never instructed them to compromise the matter.
MR. GRIFFITHS. Q. Then there is not the slightest truth in anything of the sort? A. Allow me to explain that the prisoner's wife said, "I will pay you the whole of the 7l. 10s.—I said, "I will do nothing without consulting my solicitors"—I did not at first send the plants to the prisoner, owing to pressure of business, and received a very sharp letter from him on the 6th June, saying that he would send the order elsewhere.
Prisoner. Q. Did not you offer to take 24s. for the plants? A. Certainly not—your wife offered me the money, but I refused it.
WALTER TUCKFIELD GOLDSWORTHY . I am a captain in the 91st Highlanders and a member of the British Service Club, Park Place, St. James's—I know the prisoner by sight—my mother formerly occupied apartments that belonged to his mother, and when I returned from India I visited my mother there—I never authorised him to order plants for me of Mr. McRae—Messrs. Newman and Starkie are not my solicitors—I was never a client of theirs—I believe I never gave the prisoner a card—I knew nothing about these flowers till my brother wrote to me and sent me Mr. McRae's card, which very much Surprised me.
Prisoner. Q. Are you positive you know me, or have you mistaken me for one of my brothers? A. I have seen you at your mother's, at Penge, I think it is called, eighteen months ago—I cannot swear that I never gave you a card, as you were in the same house, I cannot say that you may not have come into possession of my card—I have no recollection of having any conversation with you at Penge—I have my card in my pocket—here is my address at my club on it—I was not a member of that club when my mother was lodging at your mother's—my address then was 4, York Street, St. James's.
MR. GRIFFITHS. Q. Will you swear that you did not give him a card authorising him to go to Mr. McRae? A. Yes.
The Prisoner called
RICHARD RING . I am a solicitor, of 65, Basinghall Street—my partner took the first instructions in this case to apply for a summons at the police-court, but before any instructions were given Mrs. Anthony called on me and explained the case—we received instructions about ten days before the date of the summons, August 25th or 26th—after your wife called I called to see you, but saw her—I asked if you were within—she said, "No"—I said that my instructions were, unless I obtained the money to apply at once for a summons or warrant—I called again, but no conversation took place, and then I said that I must go to the police-court—I did not leave word for you to come and see me, but I said that if you could give any explanation of the matter, I was very anxious to hear it—you did call at my office some little time before the summons was issued—you said that you should like to see Mr. McRae, as you could explain the matter, and I said that you had better see him—I did not offer to take 10l. down from you and 30l. in two months—I had no instructions—I only remember you calling once—my books are not here—I only received my subpoena after I came into court to-day—I have never seen a letter from you; perhaps Mr.
Kean received it when I was out of town. (A letter from the prisoner to the witness, dated 20th August, was here produced, stating that he was confined to his bed with a bilious attack, and had not been able to raise the money to settle the matter, and requesting that it might be allowed to stand over.) You had every opportunity of explaining—I do not remember your calling—on the 22nd August I was not in town, I think, and I do not remember that letter—I do not know whether my clerk opened it—he is here—I do not think he did, as it is marked " Private." (A letter from the prisoner to the witness, dated 22nd August, 1866, was here put in, stating that he was going to Liver-pool, and requesting Mr. Ring to hold the matter over till Monday, when he would pay the money.) I never wrote to you in my life—no letter signed by my firm was sent to you by my instructions—I was out of town—our managing clerk would write letters in my absence. (The prisoner stated that he had lost the original letter and called for the copy in the witness's letter-book, which, being produced, contained the following letter:—"24th August. Sir. In McRae's Matter. Unless that matter is settled satisfactorily we are instructed to take such proceedings as will be necessary under the particular features of the case. Yours obediently, Wood & Ring.") I deny all knowledge of that letter—I knew nothing of it till I was subpoenaed at the Lambeth Police-court—I deny that there had been any negotiations for a settlement of the matter—I told my clerk not to take the summons out till my return—you had offered an explanation over and over again, and afterwards delayed it.
MR. GRIFFITHS. Q. Did you delay taking out a summons until you had gjven him every opportunity of explaining the matter if he could? A. I did.
Prisoner's Defence. The letters clearly show that I was in negotiation for a settlement of the matter—if I had had 10l. in my pocket I could have settled it over and over again—Mr. King says that he has never offered to compromise the matter, but there is his own letter, signed "Wood & Ring"—the prosecutor has compromised the matter, if there has been any offence committed—Mr. McRae stated in his deposition that he would not part with any commission until he was paid by Captain Goldsworthy, and yet he sent me these plants, value only 2l., 8s., the large order never being executed, and he never attempted to execute it—I think it is a very cruel thing that I should be charged here, as I have been in the habit of buying goods of him at three months' credit—I gave him notice to produce his order books for 1864, 1865, and 1866, but he does not do so, because they would tell against him, and show that I have been dealing with him for some years—I told him to make inquiries before he executed the order, and he said, "Undoubtedly I shall do so"—I met three gentlemen at a music-hall, and when we had had a little drop too much one of them, handed me the card which I gave to Mr. McRae—he said that he was Captain Goldsworthy, and I had no reason to disbelieve him, as I had not seen Captain Goldsworthy—the subject turned on plants and flowers, and he asked me "whether I could recommend him to a place to Obtain some plants—I mentioned Mr. McRae, and he said, "Well, there is my address; order me the plants, and the money will be paid down "—I went to Mr. McRae the next evening, and said that I wanted some plants for my garden—he said, "Well, Anthony, what do you want? how many will do?"—I said, "A few dozen"—he said, "I will find you 12 dozen, and a dozen window plants "—he picked them out, and I then said, "I think I have got an order for you, but you must take it for what it is worth; make
your inquiries, and if you get paid you will allow me something on it"—he said, "Yes," and sent me my plants in the ordinary way—as the person representing himself as Captain Goldsworthy did not write to me I wrote to Mr. McRae, telling him not to execute the order, and it never has been executed—he sent my plants after I had written him that countermand, and, therefore there could have been no fraud—he very well knew that it was a separate transaction altogether—he called on my wife, knowing me to be away, and said that he had been at a loss of 50l. on the order, and yet he does not charge me with anything on the order—on five occasions lie threatened my wife, and tried to get money from her—Mr. Ring says, in his letter," Unless this matter is settled forthwith, "showing that he understood it as a civil transaction, as if it had been a felony he could not compound it—he asked me to pay 10l. down—I said that I could not—he said 7l. 10s.—I said "No"—he said, "Then name your own time"—my object is to show that the prosecutor never believed that I intended any fraud.
GUILTY .— Confined Six Months .
Confined Eighteen Months .
875. THOMAS SHEA (17) was indicted for stealing one bag. and other articles, the property of William Thomas Gardner, and LOUISA EVANS and GEORGE EVANS feloniously receiving the same. SHEA PLEADED GUILTY . Confined Eighteen Months .
MR. LILLEY conducted the Prosecution, MR. OPPENHEIM defended Louisa Evans, and MR. CLARK defended George Evans.
WILLIAM THOMAS GARDNER . I live at No. 45, Lansdowne Place, South Lambeth, and am clerk to a provision merchant—on 13th August I was with a horse and cab at the" Weymouth Arms, "Wejmouth Street, New Kent Road—I had in the cab a box, a carpet bag containing a mackintosh coat, three pair of goloshes, a pair of side-spring boots, and a pair of small sand boots—I was that night from-the eab about three minutes, and when I returned I missed the bag and contents—these are them (produced)—I think it was between eleven and twelve o'clock at night when I lost them.
Cross-examined by MR. OPPENHEIM. Q. Is the mackintosh there? A. Yes—there, is only one pair of goloshes—the bag was not locked wken I left it in the cab—there was no key to it—it was tied round with string—I saw it again about a week after I had given information of its loss.
WILLIAM ROBINSON (Policeman P 48). On the night of 13th August I received information from Mr. Gardner—I also received information in another quarter which caused me to go to Nelson Court, Walworth, where I found the prisoner Shea—a conversation took, place between us relative to the bag, which induced me to take him to the Waterloo Road, No. 13—it is a tobacconist's and a brothel—I there found the female prisoner, and the male prisoner Evans, alias "Spicey"—Shea was in my company at the time—I introduced three other constables and Shea into the back parlour—I there found this bag and the contents—I believe the mackintosh was partly out of the bag—the bag appeared to me to be open, and I could see the mackintosh—I asked Shea if the man Evans was the one who purchased the bag of him—he said, "Yes"—I told Evans to dress himself, and put
his hat on, and I said, "Yes, you will do, according to the description Shea has given of you," and I said to Shea, "Are you quite certain that is the man that bought the bag of you? because you made a mistake next door "—Shea said, "Yes, I am quite sure that is the man "—the female said, "It was me who received the bag from him, and not this man"—I said, "The boy Shea identifies this man as receiving the bag from him, and giving him 6s. for it, and I shall take you both into custody "—the female prisoner said she received the bag from the boy, and they had known him well, and that he had been there a great number of times—she also said two men left it there that night, who went over Waterloo Bridge, and she very often had things left there—I then said, "You must both consider yourselves my prisoners; I am going to search the house now, and shall take you and Shea with me, to see that everything is all right"—I found this paper, and the female said, "Take particular care of that paper; it is my marriage certificate "—this is it (produced)—she is not the Wife of the man—this is a correct copy from the register. (This certified the marriage of George William Head and Louisa Brenny, August 29th, 1852.)
Cross-examined by MR. OPPENHEIM. Q. Do you know that she has been married twice? A. No; I do not believe she can prove it—when I took Shea into custody Shea's mother and some children Were in the bedroom—there was no young man with him—he did not say he had been assisted by any person in selling the bag—he first took me to No. 11, Waterloo Road, and he there pointed out a man as the person he thought had purchased the bag of him, but he could not be positive—I took that person into custody—I only had him in custody about a minute before Shea altered his mind, and then I went with him to No. 13—it was about three o'clock in the morning when I went to No. 11—I believe the man was in bed when I knocked—he was partly dressed when Shea saw him—the Evans's were not in bed when we went into No. 13—I could not say who let me in, because it was dark, and I did not take particular notice; it was a female—when we got into the back parlour the prisoners were partly dressed—I believe they sleep downstairs—three constables went with me—there is only One here beside myself to-day—the others have no important evidence to give—one of them was present at the conversation—the other was at the door—I do not know how many times; Shea has been in custody—I do not know that he has ever been convicted—I knew him before I arrested him, loitering about the public-house, as a shoeblack or an attendant on the busses or such like—I always had my suspicions about him—I took him about two hours after Mr. Gardner gave me the information—he never told me that two other men assisted him in it—he told me he took it by himself, and sold it for 6s.—he did not tell me afterwards that he had made a wrong statement, that he had not taken the bag to Evans, bnt that it was taken there by two other persons—I swear that.
Cross-examined by MR. CLARK. Q. Was Shea the first person you took on this charge? A. Yes—when we went to No. 11, and the man was dressed, he said he very much answered the description of the man—he was very much after the style of the male prisoner, very much like him, and he wore the same kind of hat—he was a stout big man—when we went into No. 13 I made Evans dress, and When he was dressed Shea said he was the man—the female prisoner mentioned about the two young men leaving the bag soon after I went in, directly the male prisoner was accused of it.
MR. LILLEY. Q. Was No. 11 a tobacconist's shop as well as No. 13? A.
It was—before Evans was dressed Shea said he was sure he was the man—I ordered him to dress himself and put his hat on, to make sure of him—he did answer the description I had received from Shea—I found the bag and these articles in the prisoners' presence.
GEORGE EVANS received a good character. LOUISA EVANS— GUILTY .— Five Years' Penal Servitude . GEORGE EVANS— GUILTY . Seven Years' Penal Servitude .
THOMAS KNIGHT . I am a tanner, of 24, Weston Place, Bermondsey—on 12th August, about ten minutes past twelve at night I was in Long Lane, Bermondsey, walking home alone, when a man came up from behind, and put his hand round my neck—the prisoner then came across the road, put his hand in my pocket, and took out a purse containing 5s. 6d.; a half-crown, two shillings, and two sixpences—he made an attempt to take my watch, and I pushed it right down in my pocket, and he broke the chain—he gave the purse to a third man, who came up, and he ran down a court with it—the prisoner went across the road—I watched him; he went into a crowd of about twenty or thirty persons, over the way—I saw him again within about a minute afterwards, and gave him into custody—I am certain that he is the person.
Prisoner. I was not there at all at the time of the robbery—I was in a public-house playing a whistle.
COURT. Q. Did you see him at any public-house before that? A. Yes—two hours or more during the evening in the same house I was, playing a tin whistle—I never knew him before.
GEORGE HARSUM (Police Sergeant 9 M). At ten minutes past twelve on 12th August I came up to the prosecutor in Long Lane—he told me he had just lost his purse and 5s. 6d., and they had attempted to steal his watch—he afterwards pointed out the prisoner to me in a crowd of twenty or thirty persons, and gave him into custody—I found on him 1s. 4 1/2d., and a tin whistle.
Prisoner's Defence. About half-past seven on 11th August I came up Long Lane, and they called me in to play the whistle in front of the bar—the prosecutor was there and he got up and sang a song, and there was some dancing—directly I came outside he came up and said, "Here is one, sergeant; I will give him in charge"—I knocked at the public-house door, to get the publican to prove I was there, and the policeman would not let me stop—I, am innocent of it.
GEORGE HARSUM (re-examined). The prosecutor was sober—it is true that the prisoner wanted to knock at the public-house door, but I told him the publican would not know what became of him after twelve—I have seen the publican since; he said he was in his house, and left about a quarter to twelve,
GUILTY . He PLEADED GUILTY to a former conviction, in March 1865, at Kingston.**†— Seven Years' Penal Servitude .
MR. COOPER conducted the Prosecution, and MR. PATER the Defence.
ABRAHAM DEERLING (Policeman M 38). On 10th September I went to apprehend the prisoner's daughter, a girl about twelve years old, for stealing a watch—I told her the charge, and she screamed, when the prisoner came out of her house and endeavoured to rescue her—she said that she should not go, she would take her home—I told her to be quiet, we were going to take her to the station—I did not, notice anything in her hand at that time—we moved on a little further, and she said, "I will take my daughter home, " and she put her hand round against me—I put my hand up to save myself, and I felt a stab in my hand—it made a deep cut right across my four fingers, in the front part of my hand—I took the prisoner by the wrist, and took this knife (produced) from her right hand—it is a common shoemaker's knife—if what she did with the knife was done accidentally I should not have attempted to take her into custody—she made a direct blow at me—I still suffer from the cut—it is getting on very well.
Cross-examined. Q. Did not she ask you what you were taking her child into custody for? A. I believe she did—I refused to tell her—I don't know whether it was a false charge that was made—I was at the police-court—I heard the watch fall out of the dress of the person who charged her—the prisoner's daughter was discharged, decidedly—the prosecutrix found the watch the same morning as the remand.
MR. PATER called
WILLIAM BRIGHT . I am a carman, in the employ of Messrs. Stanford, hay and straw dealers—on the evening of the 10th I was in Mr. Giltott's yard, talking to him, and heard a very loud scream from a young girl—I went towards Gunn Street, and there saw this young girl in the hands of an officer in private clothes, and there were two in uniform—she was screaming, "Let me see my poor mother; fetch my poor mother" presently the mother came running across the road, and said, "What has my poor child done, that she should be taken away?"—no satisfactory answer was given her, and one of the men turned round and said, "What do you do with that knife in your hand?"—she said, "I have been shelling of walnuts"—he said, "Give me this knife"—she said, It is my knife"—he laid hold of the blade of the knife, trying to take it away from her—she held it very fast in her hand—I saw his hand flinch from the knife, and he twisted her arm round, and said, "I will lock you up as well as the child"—I said to him, "Don't hurt the poor woman; she has done nothing wrong"—no answer was made to me, and a man with me said, "Don't you interfere, Bill"—I saw the woman go away, and she was treated very cruelly by the officer—they are total strangers to me—I know nothing of them—I can declare that the prisoner never made any attempt to stab the policeman—I saw him take hold of the blade, to try and take it away.
Cross-examined by MR. COOPER. Q. Did you see the blood flow directly after? A. I did not—I never saw a drop of blood—I saw him flinch from the knife—I was here yesterday—I come hear to speak the truth—no one pays me for coming here that I know of—I will swear that—I
will swear I have not been paid—I have not been promised money—I will not take anything—I never knew the woman, or any of the family before.
MARY ANN BENTON . I am married, and live at 54, Gunn Street—on 10th September I was at the prisoner's house shelling walnuts with her—between seven and eight o'clock we heard the scream of a child, "Mother!"—Mrs. Wetherby ran out—she thought it was her own child—I did not run out directly—when I got out I saw the constable and Mrs. Wetherby struggling together, with a knife—I saw him have hold of the blade of the knife, and she the handle—he said, "Give me the knife"—she resisted, and would not give it to him—I saw him take the knife, and said, "I shall lock you up as well as the child."
Cross-examined. Q. Did you see the blood? A. No—I saw his hand in a handkerchief the next morning—I did not see the hand without the handkerchief.
MR. COOPER, in reply, called—
JOHN MADGET (Policeman W 176). I went with Deerling to take the prisoner's daughter up for stealing a watch—the child shrieked, and the prisoner came out—I told her to keep away, and told her that the child was charged with stealing a watch from a lady—she said the child never saw the watch and never had it—Deerling told her to stand away, and if she had anything to say to come to the station and say it there—she made a rush again, and he took her into custody—she then makes a deliberate stab at him, he puts up his hand, and he was stabbed in the hand—I have heard the statements of these two witnesses—it is not true.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution, and MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS the Defence.
GEORGE FRITH . I am a shoemaker, at 224, Westminster Road—on the 5th of September, about a quarter-past one o'clock in the day, the prisoners came to my shop together—Welch asked for a pair of common boots—while I was finding them I saw Welch shuffling and arranging her dress—I went on fitting her, and at last I found a pair; she said she would wear them—I put the right boot on her foot, and while putting the left on I saw one of these pair of boots (produced) projecting from under her shawl—I threw her shawl back, and said, "What the deuce are you doing of? You are robbing me," and further up her arm she had another pair—Smith sat directly opposite, within a yard and a half of her—Welch was very much confused—I sent for a constable and gave her in charge—the value of the boots was 9s.—Smith said she was a respectable woman—the boots were hanging on a rail just behind Welch—Smith could not have reached them.
Cross-examined. Q. Were the boots thrown over her arm when you found them? A. Yes—I did not notice that Welch's boots were in a bad state—one of my little boys was sitting by Smith—I gave them both into custody—I distinctly told the constable to take both.
are you doing with these?"—she said, "I merely picked them up off the ground, to give them to the proprietor"—I turned round and said, "Did Smith come in with her?"—the prosecutor said, "Yes, you had better take them both away"—I asked Smith if she knew anything about the other—she said she knew her to be a respectable woman—I said, "You had better come down to the station with me," and she came down.
Cross-examined. Q. I believe you stated that the boots of Welch were in a bad state? A. I saw a hole at the side in her boots—when I first came in the prosecutor only gave Welch into custody, and then said, "You had better take them both"—5s. was found on Welch.
The Court considered that there was not sufficient evidence to go to the jury against SMITH.
NOT GUILTY .
WELCH— GUILTY .— Confined six months .
Before Mr. Justice Lush.
MR. WOOD conducted the Prosecution.
FREDERICK WIDDAL . I am barman at the "Duke of York" tavern, York Road, Lambeth—on the 11th of September, about nine o'clock in the evening, the prisoner came in—I have known her four years, but I have been in my present situation two years, and during that time I have not lived with her, as I slept at my situation, but I have visited her—we had had words on this day, as for three or four weeks I had not visited her at all—I have provided her with money—there was a report that I was going to get married, and she was jealous—I did not pay any attention to what she said, as I was attending to my business—I was rather off-handed with her—she had something to drink, and stayed about a quarter of an hour, but no conversation passed between us—after she had drank it she threw something, which I believe was vitriol, over me—it went on my back, and burned my waistcoat, and some went on my neck, but that was very slight—this rag (produced) was in the bar, and this is part of the prisoner's dress—they are both burned—I did not see a bottle in her hand—I saw it at the station—I had turned my back on her when this took place.
COURT. Q. What time was it when you first saw her? A. Between eleven and twelve o'clock that morning, at the same house—we had not parted in anger—I did not speak to her—there were a few remarks made—I had not seen her between that time and nine o'clock.
Prisoner. Q. Have you been keeping me and paying my rent? A. I have been assisting to keep you—you called for sixpennyworth of brandy and water, and I served you—you had a basket—I did not go to you as you were drinking the brandy and water and ask you what you wanted there—I never spoke to you in the evening till you threw the vitrol over me—I did not say, "What has that to do with you? You had better go out, or I will kick you out"—you threw the bottle at me first, and then the contents of a cup.
JOHN WINTERS (L 88). I met the prisoner, and asked her what was the matter—she pointed to the prosecutor, and said, "Oh! that man "—the prosecutor was going away in his shirt sleeves—I do not believe he had seen me—I said, "Tell me what is the matter"—she said, "You had
better ask that man"—he returned, and gave her in custody for throwing vitriol over him—she said, "I did, and I will do it again"—the prosecutor's waistcoat was burnt into holes, and there was a small mark at the back of his neck—the burning of his waistcoat was recent, and I could smell what appeared to be vitriol—there was a sulphurous smell—I got these rags from the female searcher—on the way to the station the prisoner said, "I have kept him for five years on my prostitution, previous to his going to his situation, and he has now turned his back on me, and I will serve him the same"—I produce the cup—it has the same sulphurous smell—this newspaper is also burned, and this apron too.
ELLEN WILSON . My father keeps an oilshop at 20, Borough Road—on the 11th September, about eight in the morning, the prisoner came for twopennyworth of vitriol—I gave it her in this bottle (produced)—she said that it was very handy for cleaning brass.
GEORGE BLACKMAN , one of the jury, was sworn. I can tell by the cork of this bottle that it has contained diluted vitriol—vitriol itself would have destroyed the cork—these stains are produced by diluted vitriol.
COURT. Q. Would that vitroil burn, disfigure, and disable a person? A. Yes.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate:—It was accidentally done—the bottle must have turned over in my basket—I never touched the bottle after I left the shop, but I put my hand in my basket to take the cup out and throw at him—it must have been turned over before I got there, because part of my dress was burnt then—if I had intended to injure him I should have thrown the bottle.
GUILTY . on the third count. Strongly recommended to mercy by the Jury.— Confined Eighteen Months .
MR. SLEIGH conducted the Prosecution, and MR. WARNER SLEIGH the Defence.
GUILTY .— Ten Year's Penal Servitude .
MR. WOOD conducted the Prosecution, and MESSRS. SLEIGH and DALY the Defence.
JOHN BOWEN (Police Sergeant L 3). On the evening of 2nd July, about a quarter to seven, I was on duty in. the Waterloo Road, and saw a large crowd at the top of Tower Street—from information I received, I went to the house of Trotman, the father of the deceased child—I then went to Tower Street Station, and saw the prisoner there—he was under the influence of drink—I could tell that by his excited manner, nothing else parti-cular, only the way that a man in liquor generally has—I did not perceive the smell of liquor—he was charged with being drunk, and with furious driving—I was afterwards informed that the child was dead, and he was then charged with causing its death.
Cross-examined. Q. I suppose you never mistook excitement for drunkenness? A. Not that I am aware of.
attention was drawn by a lot of people hallooing, "Stop him! stop him!"—I came to my shop, and saw three men in a horse and cart coming from Waterloo Bridge at a furious rate—the prisoner was one of the three—I should think they were going about twelve miles an hour, that was my idea—there was no obstruction in the road—I looked down the road, and saw nothing, except a little child coming across the road—it was a very short distance from the horse and cart, about the same distance that I am from his lordship—at the time I heard the cries it was about thirty yards off, as far as my recollection goes—it was crossing the road to the side where I live—I did not see the slightest slackening of the horse's pace—I believe they were going rather faster—they were whipping the horse at a most tremendous rate—I saw the child knocked down—it passed the horse and came in contact with the axletree, and caught its head and turned a sommersault—the horse went on, I should think, about 150 yards before it was stopped—I did not see it stopped.
Cross-examined. Q. Do you drive vehicles? A. Not at present—I have done so—I never drove at such a pace as that—I do not profess to be a judge of pace—I only give my humble judgment—from what I have learnt from others, I should say such a pace was about twelve miles an hour—this is the first time I have given evidence on this matter—I was not examined before the magistrate or before the coroner—I knew there was an inquest, and came here to-day, because Mr. Neale came to me a little while back speaking on another business, and I told him I saw this, and he said he should subpoena me—Mr. Neale is the attorney for the prosecution, I believe—he is not my attorney—I did not introduce him to the father of the deceased child—I did not see the prisoner and the persons in the cart with him both lay hold of the reins to check the horse—I saw nothing of the kind—I cannot be positive that the prisoner had the reins—I have some doubt, but as far as my recollection goes he had the reins—I cannot say who was whipping the horse.
DAKING MOORE . I am a clothier, of 75, Waterloo Road—between seven and half-past in the evening of 2nd July I saw the prisoner driving a dogcart, with a pony in it, at a furious rate—there were two gentlemen with him—I heard some men screaming, "Stop!" which drew my attention—I looked up and they were about thirty or forty yards from the child—I had not seen them until then—I am no judge of pace, but the horse was travelling as quick as it possibly could—it was going much faster than it ought to go, and than I had ever done—it was coming down the road at a zigzag rate, first on one side, and then the other—the road was quite empty—the horse was not slackened in its speed—it was being whipped at the time I heard the screams by the prisoner—I saw the child in the road, and then the horse got within about a yard of it—it either shied, or was pulled on one side—my eyes were fixed on the child—the horse passed the child, and the wheel and the axle struck it on the head, and it revolved round—there was plenty of space to have avoided the child—there were six yards on one side, and seven on the other, and there was time to have got out of the way.
Cross-examined. Q. It was just toddling across as a child of that age would do, I suppose? A. Yes—it was entirely by itself—it was broad daylight—the horse was coming from Waterloo Bridge—it had passed under the railway bridge—I did not drive myself—I did not see that the prisoner and his companion was pulling the horse back just before the child was struck—I ran and picked up the child—it might have been so without me seeing it.
MR. WOOD. Q. How far was the horse and cart from the railway bridge? A. I should think about forty or fifty yards—I did not hear any train passing at that moment—I could not say whether the prisoner saw the child—if he had seen it he could have avoided it—I have said before that I should not think he could see it until he got close up to it—that is right—I should think he never could have seen it, or it would never have happened.
HENRY CHIPPING . I am a greengrocer, of 209, Waterloo Road—I was standing in the shop and heard the cry of "Stop him! stop him!"—I ran out and caught hold of the horse's head and stopped it—it was going at a sharp trot, I should eight or nine miles an hour, at the time I stopped it—I afterwards saw the place where the child was knocked down—it must have been over 100 yards from where I stopped the horse—the prisoner was driving it—he said, "Let me go; let me go. I want to go to the stables."
Cross-examined. Q. How many persons were in the cart when you stopped it? A. Two—one had jumped down a little before.
WILLIAM HENRY LANDFORST . I am a gas-fitter, of 193, Waterloo Road—on the evening of 2nd July I was standing at my door talking to a neighbour—I heard a great hallooing, looked round, and saw the prisoner driving a trap very furiously and a lot of people hanging on behind—this was after the accident, I should think about seventy yards from the place—the prisoner seemed to be lashing the horse, by what I could see, but I could not swear to that—the horse was zigzagging up and down—I could not form any opinion as to the prisoner's state—he seemed very much excited when he got out of the trap.
Cross-examined. Q. Did a mob of people immediately surround him? A. Yes—I have known him for some years as a very steady, sober man—two or three of the crowd had hold of him very roughly, and he was much excited—I am no judge of pace—I do not think I ever drove a horse in my life.
ALFRED TROTMAN . I am a greengrocer, of 219, Waterloo Road—the deceased child, Rosina Mary Elizabeth Trotman, was my daughter, and was three years and a half old—on the evening of the 2nd July, between seven and half-past, I went out of my house with a friend and crossed the road—I had left my little girl in the shop, and was standing seeing the prisoner coming down at a tremendous rate, as fast as he could come, and the people hallooing for him to pull up—he was then about thirty yards from where the accident took place—I was watching him come along, when I saw my little child in the road, and as I saw the child it went over and over about three times like a ball underneath the cart—I saw no attempt to stop the horse after the cries were raised—I was watching him the whole time after the child was struck—he went on whipping the horse again—he would have got away if he possibly could, but a crowd of people followed and stopped him—the child was about the middle of the road—I suppose it was following me, but I was not aware of it—there was plenty of room for a vehicle to have passed on each side of it—there was nothing else in the road—it was quite light—Mr. Moore picked up the child—I took it from him and ran with it, into the nearest chemist's—he told me so take it to the hospital, but Mr. Donahoo was just by the door, and he came in and saw it—it died in about an hour and a half.
Cross-examined. Q. I am afraid this poor little child was left at your door without anybody to take care of it? A. It was always taken care of,
only for that one moment it appears that nobody was looking after it—the prisoner did not come to me as soon as he got out, released on bail, and say it was an entire accident, and that he did all he could to stop the horse—nothing of the kind—he came to me after he was up here last sessions, and said he was very sorry—he did not offer to pay the expenses I had been put to, and to pay the funeral expenses—he wanted me to take a little money—of course I refused it—I was not going to sell my child in that way—I could see that he had the reins before the accident occurred, and the whip—the horse's head turned a little on one side just before the child was struck—it was coming in a sigzag way all down she road as fast as it could come—I employed Mr. Neale to conduct this case, and shall have to pay him.
WILLIAM JARVIS . I am a plumber, of St. George's Road, Camberwell—on the evening of 7th July I noticed the prisoner in a light cart, with two men—when I first saw them they were against the fire-engine house, about 280 yards from where the child was struck—the horse was then galloping as fast as it could—between five and ten minutes after I saw them returning—they passed me as I was at the end of the Victoria Theatre, about 230 yards from Trotman's house—I should think it was then going at the rate of fourteen or fifteen miles an hour—I am a judge of pace—I have driven a horse fifteen miles an hour—it was going in a zigzag way, to and fro—after if passed me I watched it until it got to the child—I saw the child tumble over and over, as far as I could see at that distance—I should think it was the axletree that caught it—it did not appear as if the horse had knocked it. over on the wheel.
Cross-examined. Q. You could not positively state that the child may not have stumbled? A. Yes—I saw it did not stumble—I think I can safely say it was the axletree that struck it—I was perhaps 150 or 180 yards off—it was 130 yards after he had passed the child before he would stop—at the distance I was I could not see whether he attempted to pull up—I could not see whether he let go the reins or whether he had them in his hand—I have said before I believe he tried his utmost to pull up after he had run over the child—that is correct—I did not see the horse suddenly pulled on one side just before it struck the child—when I first saw the cart there were two persons in it, sitting in front, and there were three in it coming back.
MR. WOOD. Q. Did you see whether the horse was whipped just before it arrived where the child was? A. He was lashing it constantly till he got to the child—I say he endeavoured to pull up afterwards, from his action—he appeared to be leaning back as if he was endeavouring to do so—whether he was or not I cannot say, but to the best of my belief he was too much intoxicated—I am sure he was intoxicated.
THOMAS MALCOLMSON DONAHOO . I am a surgeon, of No. 19, West-minster Bridge Road—I was stopping at a house in the Waterloo Road on this evening—when the child was brought to me it was in a state of collapse, suffering from contusion of the brain—there was a large contusion on the left side of the skull, and also on the right temple, such as might have been caused from being run over—death was the consequence of that
Witnesses for the Defence.
evening in question, about seven o'clock, I was locking up the stores, when my brother came with Mr. Wilde, the traveller—I got into his dogcart with them—he was perfectly sober—I was sitting in front, on the left side, next my brother—we came along Waterloo Road—the accident happened almost opposite Tower Street—the horse was cantering at the time—when it is going home it is very apt to go off the trot, and I have sometimes found it difficult to pull up—the road was quite clear—I saw the child before the accident happened, but a very short distance—I did not know at first whether it was a child or not, the object appeared so small—I told my brother to look at the child, and I at once leaned over to the right side of the cart, and took hold of the reins—he observed it at the same time, and he pulled too, and that made the horse go in a zigzag way—I did not know that an accident had happened—I was under the impression that the child had got clear, but a little on I heard cries of "Stop! stop!"—I looked behind, and saw a crowd, and told my brother something must have happened—I did not tell him to pull up, but he at once pulled up of his own accord—the horse was stopped—a young man took hold of the reins at the head—it was stopped and standing still before any one came to it—I got off the cart—about half a dozen persons took hold of my brother and forcibly took him away, and they took the horse out of my hands—my brother became very much excited.
Cross-examined. Q. When did the horse begin to canter? A. About the Victoria Theatre—I heard no cry before the accident occurred—I should think I was eight or ten yards from the child when I seized the reins—that made the horse swerve—it did not swerve before that; I swear that—I took hold of the reins because I thought two hands better than one in pulling it up—I did not hear the cries of "Stop!" till some moments afterwards—we had not gone anything like a hundred yards—I should say we stopped about seventy yards from where the accident happened—we did not stop to have any beer as we came along—the horse cannot go fifteen miles an hour.
MR. SLEIGH. Q. Had your brother at the time you joined him the slightest appearance of being the worse for liquor? A. Not the slightest—it was near Webber Row that we pulled up.
DANIEL WILDE . I am a commercial traveller—I have been in the prisoner's service nearly a year—I am not at present—I live at 15, Caroline Terrace East, Surrey Grove—on the evening in question I went in the dogcart with him and his brother from the stores towards the stables—I was sitting behind—the horse was not going at a furious pace, at a moderate pace—I did not see the accident take place—I first heard cries to pull up—I just turned my head round, to see what was the matter—both the prisoner and his brother tried their utmost to stop the cart—I think they succeeded in stopping it before any one came up—I have driven the horse many times—it is not a particularly fast horse—it requires a good deal of whip to keep him on at all—he generally goes a little faster in going home—I have only been in the dogcart a few times when the prisoner has been driving—he is not in the habit of driving furiously—he is generally a very steady driver—he was perfectly sober on this evening—I have never seen him the worse for drink.
Cross-examined. Q. Did you go with him in the cart to the warehouse? A. Yes—I had been with him about half an hour—we had been to collect an account, and we had a cigar and one glass of beer each—that was all—
no spirits—I had brandy and water instead of beer—the prisoner had a glass of stout—the place we went to was Mr. St. Aubyn's, a cigar manufacturer, about three-quarters of a mile or a mile off—that was about twenty minutes before we got to the warehouse—we did not go anywhere else; we did not go fast—the horse was not whipped—it might have been touched up—I did not see it touched up as we came from Waterloo Bridge to where the accident happened—I turned round to see what was the matter—I thought we were very nearly running into a cart—I did not know what was the matter—I saw the prisoner trying to pull up—I did not see the child at all—it was run over before I turned round—I did not hear anybody cry out before we got to the child.
RICHARD WHITTLE . I am a commercial traveller's clerk—on this evening I was walking in Waterloo Road with my little boy, on the opposite side of the way to where the prosecutor lives—I heard several women screaming, and saw a child lying in the road—the prisoner had passed it at that time—I did not see it knocked down—I should fancy the cart was going six or seven miles an hour, or it might be eight—from the spot where the child was lying to where the prisoner pulled up I should think was about thirty yards, it might be a little more—I saw him in the act of pulling up, and his brother had the reins as well—that was instantly after the accident—I afterwards saw the prisoner taken to the station he seemed excited from the accident, but it did not seem from drink.
Cross-examined. Q. What are you? A. I am with a firm in the city, where I have been twelve years—I came forward voluntarily, hearing the prisoner was committed for trial, and spoke of what I saw, and had a subpoena served on me—I believe the prisoner stopped the horse as soon as he eould—he is an entire stranger to me.
HENRY DREW . I reside in Redcross Street, Borough—I knew nothing of the prisoner before the accident—I saw it happen—I was coming down the Waterloo Road, and saw the prisoner driving down the road, and I saw him try all his endeavours to stop the horse this side of Webber Row—I did not see the child in the road—he was going about five or six miles an hour, going towards where the accident happened—the horse was not stopped by him—I saw two or three persons run towards the horse's head as he was endeavouring to pull up.
MARTHA BROMLEY . I am the wife of John Bromley, a carrier, of 13, Webber Street, Blackfriars Road—I saw the dogcart before the accident, and I saw the child in the road, but did not see it fall—I was seven or eight houses off at the time—the horse was going at a rapid pace, and it seemed to me that the prisoner could not control it—that was after the accident—as far as I could see, he was trying to control it—he was in front of me and some distance from me—I saw him afterwards molested and ill-treated—he was not tipsy—he might have had a little, but he was far from being intoxicated.
Cross-examined. Q. Did you see the cart coming towards you before the accident? A. Yes—I can't say at what rate it was coming—it was a rapid rate, but not faster than I have see horses before—there were three parties in the trap—I did not see any one pull the reins but the prisoner.
The Prisoner received a good character.
NOT GUILTY .