CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
ELEVENTH SESSION, HELD SEPTEMBER 23RD, 1867.
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 GAOL 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 23rd, 1867, and following days,
BEFORE THE RIGHT HON. SIR THOMAS GABRIEL , Bart., LORD MAYOR of the City of London; Sir EDWARD MONTAGUE SMITH 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; WILLIAM TAYLOR COPELAND Esq., Sir ROBERT WALTER CARDEN , Knt., Sir WILLIAM ANDERSON ROSE , Knt., WARREN STORMES HALE, Esq., THOMAS DAKIN Esq., 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., LL.D., 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.
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT.
GABRIEL, MAYOR. ELEVENTH SESSION.
A star (*) denotes that 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.
OLD COURT.—Monday, September 23rd, 1867.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. STRAIGHT, for the Prosecution offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
857. THOMAS JONES (20) , to stealing a cash-box, containing postage and receipt stamps, and 6l. 7s. 11d. in money of Hugh Scott and others.— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
MR. BESLEY conducted the Prosecution, and MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS the Defence.
WILLIAM SMITH . I am one of the detective officers of the City police—on 9th August, about twenty minutes to two, I was in company with Legg, another officer, in plain clothes, in Bow Lane, and noticed the prisoner with this parcel on his shoulder—I stopped him and said, "Halloo, Ryan, I need not tell you who I am; what have you here?"—he said, "All right, Mr. Smith, I have some paper; you know I am in the paper-hanging trade"—I said, "Where did you get it from?"—he said, "From home"—I said, "Where is the receipt?"—he said, "I dare say you will
find it on the file at home"—I said, "Where are going to take it to?"—he said, "I am going by the boat to Woolwich"—I said, "Don't have a laugh at me if I let you go this time," or words to that effect; "I will give you the benefit of the doubt"—we allowed him to pass, but watched him—he did not go in the direction of the pier from which the boats start, he went in the direction of Cheapside—we followed and stopped him a second time—I said, "This is not the way to Woolwich: where are you going to?"—he said, "To Woolwich"—I said, "What is the man's name?"—he said, "I don't know"—I said, "What is the name of the street?"—he said, "I don't know"—I said, "Then where are you going to?"—he said, "I am going home"—I said, "We shall take you to the station, as this is not satisfactory"—we took him to the station and charged him with the unlawful possession of the paper—Legg searched him in my presence, and found in his pocket this piece of paper, of the same pattern as the thirty pieces—we went to search the prisoner's house, it is a leaving shop in Golden Lane—articles of wearing apparel were hanging about, but no paper-hangings, or any receipts relating to any—we traced the paper-hangings to the prosecutor, and their managing man identified them—I know a man named Hooper, and have tried to apprehend him, but he has absconded.
Cross-examined. Q. Was he carrying the parcel as it is now? A. No, it was wrapped in brown paper; it was left at the station, but could not be found this morning.
CHARLES MARKHAM . I am a jobbing porter, and live in Crown Court, Bell Alley, Goswell Street—I stand at the corner of Bow Lane, Cannon Street—I know the prisoner by sight—during the last two or three months I have seen him frequently in the neighbourhood; he has got a little girl that he was bringing up in the same line—I know pretty well all the persons employed at Messrs. Potter's, I know Hooper—I have frequently seen him and the prisoner drinking together during the last two or three months—I have seen the little girl at those times while the prisoner has been round the corner, and he has been at the warehouse making signs for Hooper to come out—on 9th August I saw the prisoner outside the Skinners' Arms at the corner of Bow Lane, and the girl with him—I went in to the Skinners' Arms at one o'clock to have my dinner, and was there till about twenty minutes to two—the prisoner and Hooper were in the other compartment drinking together—I did not see them leave, but when I came out I saw the officers and the prisoner going down the lane towards the station with the parcel—after the prisoner had gone to the station the little girl came down crying, she went into Mr. Potter's and fetched Hooper out; Hooper stood at the corner of Aldermary Churchyard, the child went towards the police-station—Hooper waited till the officers came out of the station, and then he and the child went away; they were gone about an hour—they came back about three o'clock—Hooper strolled about and at last went into the warehouse, and I saw no more of him.
GEORGE WILLIAM . I am a surgeon in Bow Lane, City—I have known James Hooper for some years in the service of Mr. Potter—I do not know the prisoner, I don't think I saw him before 9th August; I saw him that day at the Crown Hotel in Bow Lane as I passed up stairs to get my dinner there; he was talking and drinking with Hooper—I did not see any child—I saw a parcel of about this size and appearance—I am sure Hooper was there at the time; I spoke to him, and he touched his hat and spoke to me.
ROBERT TURNER . I keep the Skinners' Arms, 53, Cannon Street, next door to Mr. Potter's—I have known the prisoner by sight twelve months—I have seen him very frequently at my house with Hooper—on 9th August the prisoner came there about twelve or one—he remained there about half an hour, when Hooper came.
JOHN LINDSAY . I am the London manager of J. J. Potter and others, paper makers, 51, Cannon Street—the stock of paper-hangings was taken on 21st July—at that time we had 485 pieces of this pattern—on 9th August, after the prisoner was in custody, we recounted them and found ourselves fifty-five short—Hooper was a packer in our employment at 25s. or 26s. a week—he had authority to sell goods—on 9th August I was at the warehouse—Hooper was paid weekly, every Friday evening—I saw him that evening—one of the clerks paid him his wages—I ordered them to be paid—that was after the police came to us, but we did not suspect him at that time—he gave us no intimation that he was going to leave—he did not return—I have never had any transaction with the prisoner.
Cross-examined. Q. You are in a very large way of business? A. We are—this paper is made for other houses besides ours—I will not undertake to swear positively that this is ours.
MR. BESLEY. Q. Were you shown the brown paper covering? A. Yes, and the string it was tied with—they corresponded in every way with oars, and the bundle was tied in the peculiar way in which we tie them—we do not sell thirty pieces without giving an invoice or receipt.
GUILTY . He further PLEADED GUILTY to a previous conviction at this Court in February, 1853.**— Ten Years' Penal Servitude.
MESSRS. CRAUFURD and STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution, and MR. M. WILLIAMS defended Stevens.
SARAH UPTON . I am the wife of George Upton, tobacconist, of 51, Church Street, Stoke Newington—on 5th September Browning came in with another man who is not here, who asked for two penny cigars, and gave me a shilling—I gave him the change, and they went out together—Kennedy then came in—I examined the shilling and bent it with my teeth—I had put it in the till—there was only copper there—Kennedy went out and brought Browning back—I said that he had passed a bad shilling—he said that it was not him, he did not pay for the cigars, it was his companion—I said that the best thing he could do was to give me a good shilling, and I should take no further notice—I said, "I know it was not you, it was your mate"—he produced his purse and showed me that he had money, but refused to pay—I gave him in custody with the bad shilling, which he broke in two pieces, and I picked them up.
Browning. Q. Do you recollect saying, "It was not the butcher, it was the other?" A. Yes—a woman with a child was in the shop, and you said that in consequence of her insolence you would not pay, although you had good money in your purse—I told the policeman I could not charge you, because you were not the man who gave me the shilling—he said that you were one of the two, and you were as bad as the other.
GEORGE KENNEDY . I am a carpenter, of Stoke Newington—I saw the three prisoners in Church Street, about 3.30, and another man fifty yards from Mr. Upton's—I saw Browning go in with another one, Stevens waited outside, and Jones went to the other side of the road—I went into
the shop and met them coming out—Mrs. Upton showed me a bad shilling—I followed the prisoners and found the four together—I asked Browning to come back, aud she identified him by his smock—when I returned, eight or ten minutes afterwards, the others had gone on—Browning said that he was not the man who had given the shilling—I went for a constable, and met Stevens with an overcoat on his arm, and directly I had passed him he ran away—I followed him—he turned up Pawnbroker's Alley, and when I got there Jones was in the act of putting on the coat which Stevens had—I seized Stevens and gave him to a constable—while they were in the dock at the station I saw Browning nudge Stevens to look across the road—I looked across and identified Jones on the other side of the street talking to two young chaps—he was taken.
Cross-examined. Q. If the shilling had been given back would you have given any of them in custody? A. No, Mrs. Upton told them so—Stevens was a mile from the shop, coming towards me.
Browning. Did not she say, "It was not the butcher, it was the other one only; I identified the butcher by his blue smock?" A. No.
Jones. He says we were a mile from the shop, and Mrs. Upton says the police station is only five minutes' walk from the shop. Witness. It is a mile.
JAMES CRAMINS (Policeman 71 N). On 5th September, about a quarter-past four, Kennedy spoke to me and brought Stevens—I took him to the station—I took Browning and told him he was charged with being concerned with another, not in custody, in passing bad money—he said, "I did not pass the shilling, it was the other one"—I took him to the station, searched him, and found a purse, three shillings and four pence good money, and a bad shilling in one of his boots—I then searched Stevens, and found three half-crowns, two florins, and three shillings, and in his trousers pocket two bad shillings, in his side jacket pocket three fourpenny pieces, one threepenny piece, 1s. 10d. in copper, three duplicates, seven new paper collars, four keys, seven papers of tobacco screws, and a bottle of hair oil—1l. 12s. 9d. altogether—there were thirty sixpences in addition on him—on Jones I found a halfpenny and a key.
Browning. Q. When I was taken to the station did not the police sergeant say he heard something rolling down the leg of my trousers? A. No; I took it out of your boot—the inspector tried all the coin found on Stevens, and on recounting it I found the two counterfeit shillings.
Cross-examined. Q. Was there a remand? A. Yes; I said nothing about the two counterfeits on the first examination, but I afterwards discovered them—I had examined the money and given my evidence before I found they were counterfeit.
MR. CRAUFURD. Q. Where had you kept the money before the remand? A. It was tied up, and the inspector had it in his custody—he is not here, but I found it before I handed it over to him.
Browning's Defence. These two prisoners are perfect strangers to me. Stevens was selling combs, and asked me to buy one, which I did, and gave him 6d. He gave me a penny and a threepenny bit. We then went to buy some cigars, and overtook Jones. Somebody called out "Heigh!" and said, "You are wanted." I said, "What for?" He said, "The woman wants you at the shop you have just come from." I went back, and the woman said, "Where is your pal?" I said, "I believe he is in the street; lock
him up." A woman in the shop was very impudent, and I said that, though I had money, I would not pay her. I was locked up.
GUILTY .— Nine Months' Imprisonment each.
NEW COURT.—Monday, September 23rd, 1867.
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
MR. CRAUFURD conducted the Prosecution.
ARCHIBALD JENKINS BOWDON . I am a fruiterer, of 31, Lower Rosoman Street, Clerkenwell—on 23rd August the prisoner and a woman named Stanley came to the front of my shop—I served Stanley with a pound of apples, she gave me a bad sixpence—I bit it, and said, "This is bad, we have been taking a great deal of this money lately, I must know more about it"—Stanley said, "I know where I took it from, we were going to the workhouse to see our mother"—she asked for it back—I said, "No"—Taylor said, "I will pay for the apples," gave me a penny, and made off—I sent Tait after her and detained Stanley—my man came back soon, and almost immediately a young man from the pawnbroker's brought a blue bag, which he said that Taylor, who had a child with her, had left in his shop—I gave them in custody with the sixpence and the bag, which was opened and turned out into a scale—they both tried to get hold of it—I did not see what coin it was, as each was screwed up in tissue paper—they were not undone till the prisoner came.
RICHARD TAIT . I am in Mr. Bowdon's employment—he called me on 23rd August, and I saw a mob round the door—Stanley was there, and I went and overtook Taylor, who was going fast in the direction of the workhouse, but she turned to the right—I did not lose sight of her, she went into a pawnbroker's shop in Exmouth Street, Mr. Sill's—I followed her in, and saw her hiding in a dark corner—I called her out, and said, "My master wants you"—she said, "What for? I am going to see my mother at the workhouse, and if I am not there soon I shall be too late"—I took her back; the pawnbroker's assistant came to my master's shop, and said in her presence, "Look what this woman has left," holding a blue bag in his hand—the constable turned it out into the scale, and there was a lot of money in it—Stanley grabbed at it, and said, "You shall not have them all, you b----s." JOHN GURR. I am assistant to Sill and Moore's, pawnbrokers, of Exmouth Street—I was there when the woman came in, and saw her put her hand under a petticoat which was on the counter—somebody said, "I want you"—I turned over the petticoat, and saw a little blue bag rolled up—I asked if it belonged to anybody, the officer turned it out, and it was counterfeit coin—I also found two sixpences wrapped in a piece of rag where she had been standing—I handed them to the officer.
WILLIAM BRIGHT . (Policeman G 172). The prisoner was given into my charge with this bad sixpence, and this blue bag containing four sixpences and a bad shilling wrapped separately in tissue paper—I emptied the bag into the scale in the shop, and Stanley snatched at it; all the pieces but one fell on the floor—I picked them up—I received from Gurr a rag containing two sixpences—Taylor was searched and 4 1/2 d. in
copper, a duplicate, and a purse were found on her—Stanley said that it was her first time, three farthings were found on her.
WILLIAM WEBSTER . I am inspector of coin to her Majesty's Mint; these sixpences are bad, and this is a bad shilling—here are two sixpences of 1866, from the same mould, one of which is the one tendered to Bowdon.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. CRAUFURD conducted the Prosecution.
TAYLOR— GUILTY .**— Two Years' Imprisonment. STANLEY— GUILTY .— Eight Months' Imprisonment.
MR. CRAUFURD conducted the Prosecution.
GEORGE THYER . I am a clerk in the South-Western district post-office, Buckingham Gate—on 5th August the prisoner came in for some postage-stamps—I do not remember how many, but she put down several silver coins, among which after she left I found a bad crown—I kept it by itself and afterwards gave it to Mr. Steele.
JAMES FREDERICK STEELE . I am assistant in the money-order office, Buckingham Gate—on 9th August, about 7.30 p.m., the prisoner came and asked for three shillings' worth of stamps—she gave me a good sixpence and a bad half-crown—I did not examine it till she had left—I bit it in half and handed it to the constable—on the following Monday, about 9.30, she came again—I recognised her as she entered the office—she asked for 6s. worth of postage-stamps and placed some coins on the counter, among which I found a bad half-crown—I had not parted with the stamps—I ran round and told her it was bad—she said that it was not—I said you were here last Friday—she said, "Yes"—I said, "You passed me a bad half-crown"—she said, "No, I had no bad money"—I gave the half-crowns to the constable.
Prisoner. Q. It is false, he never asked me any questions about being there on Friday. I was never in the shop before.
JONATHAN RICKARD (Policeman 70 B). The prisoner was given into my charge—I received two crowns and one half-crown from Mr. Steele—I told her the charge—she said that she took it from a gentleman over night—a halfpenny and a purse were found on her.
GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Imprisonment.
MR. CRAUFURD conducted the Prosecution.
JOSEPH VALE . I am assistant to Mr. Pulford, a trimming-seller, of Newgate Street—on 31st August I sold the prisoner a pair of brace ends, which came to sixpence—he gave me a florin—I told him it was bad—he
said, "Dear me, is it? give it here"—I said, "No, I had rather not," and handed it to Mr. Hand, a friend of mine, who went out with it to fetch a constable, and I gave the prisoner in charge, with the florin, which I had marked.
ROBERT SMITH (City Police Sergeant 39). I was called, took the prisoner, and received this florin (produced)—he was taken to the station and discharged by the Magistrate at Guildhall, about 2 or 2.30 on 31st August.
FRANCIS CRATE . I live with ray parents at 11, Essex Road, Islington—they keep a confectioner's shop—last Friday five weeks, about a quarter to eight p.m., the prisoner came for one ounce of the best cough lozenges—I said that I had not got them in stock, and he bought something else, either three halfpenny worth or twopence halfpenny worth, and gave me a florin—I put it in the till and gave him change—there was 3s. worth of small silver there, but no florin—he left, something was said to me and I found that the florin was bad two minutes afterwards—I could then see him on the other side of the way—we kept the florin till next morning, when my mother bent it and threw it in the fireplace—on Saturday, 31st August, about 9 p.m., the prisoner came again for some of the best cough lozenges, but I had none—a gentleman followed him in; he seemed rather confused and did not attempt to make any purchase, and when the gentleman went away he came back and bought an ounce of pear drops and an ounce of other drops, which came to three halfpence—he gave me a florin—I said, "This is another of the same sort you brought me one before"—he said, "You make a mistake"—I called my father, a constable on duty was passing, he was called in, and the florin was given to him—it had never gone out of my sight.
CAROLINE CRATE . I am the mother of the last witness—I was in the shop when my danghter served him in the middle of August—as soon as the prisoner had gone I spoke to my daughter, who went to the till and found a bad florin—I kept it tell next morning, showed it to a friend, and then broke it and threw it in the fireplace—I was in the shop on the 31st when the prisoner came in—I recognised him, saw my daughter serve him, and saw a florin in her hand—I have heard what she says, it is correct.
GUILTY .*— Two Years' Imprisonment.
CRAUFURD conducted the Prosecution, and MR. CUNNINGHAM the Defence.
ELIZABETH WEBSTER . I am the wife of William Webster, of 7, Sutherland Place, Pimlico—on 16th August, between eleven and twelve o'clock, I was at the door and saw the prisoner with a fish barrow—I bought some eels of him, which came to 1s.—I gave him a florin with a hole in it—he said that he had no change, but would call again in a quarter of an hour for the money—he went to No. 12 opposite—I laid down the florin and then saw that it was not mine—my fingers became black with it, and I found it was bad—I went over to No. 12 and accused him—he said that he had no other florin about him—I held the florin out to show him, and he took it out of my hand, pulled a handful of silver out of his pocket and gave me a shilling—I said, "You vagabond, you have been passing bad
money; how came you to say you had no change?"—he went away and I went indoors, and afterwards a policeman came.
Cross-examined. Q. Was it nearer eleven than twelve? A. Nearer to twelve; but I should say it was not twelve—he promised to return in a quarter of an hour, but a quarter of an hour had not elapsed, not more than five minutes, nor had he left the locality—I saw sixteen or seventeen other shillings in his hand when he gave me the shilling—I am certain the prisoner is the man—I had never seen him before—I saw him again on the following Tuesday among other persons, and picked him out directly I saw him—he was not pointed out to me.
JAMES REYNOLDS . I am eleven years old, and live with my parents in Rochdale Rpw—I have known the prisoner three years—on 16th August I was with a boy named Croxon in Sutherland Terrace between half-past eleven and twelve o'clock, going towards Ebury Bridge, and saw the prisoner run from Sutherland Street into Sutherland Terrace with his coat and waistcoat off—he had not got his barrow—he put his hand in his pocket and put something down a grating opposite Mr. Pearce's coffee shop—it was like silver, like a half-crown with some sand on it—I heard it drop on the sink from his hand—it jingled like silver—he then ran back the way he came—I was about six yards from the grating—I went to it, and tried to fish up what he had dropped, but could not reach—Mr. Pearce got a pair of tongs and pulled up two half-crowns and two florins—I saw some silver sand about, such as fish-dealers carry with them—I went and looked for the prisoner—Mr. Pearce came round the corner, and when he saw him he ran away from me towards Clarendon Street—I saw no one pass the grating between the time he dropped it and the time we picked it up—there was only one man in the street, standing near the public-house.
Cross-examined. Q. How often were you before the Magistrate? A. Twice—I stated the first time that I saw something like silver down the grating—the investigation did not take place on the day the money was passed—I am quite sure I told the Magistrate right—Mr. Smith cross-examined me—the prisoner was remanded—on the second occasion I said, "I told the Magistrate on the first examination that I did not see what was put down the sink hole"—I did say on the first examination that I saw something the size of a florin drop from his hand, and on the second examination I said the same—I saw something white—I told the Magistrate I did not think it was money—it looked like silver—I never saw fish scales as large as a half-crown.
EDWARD CROXON . I am shopboy to Mr. Harding, a baker, of Hendos Street, Pimlico—I was with Reynolds—I have heard what he has said—it is correct—I have often seen the prisoner about Pimlico selling things—I did not see what he dropped in the grating, but I heard money jink on the bottom of the drain—I looked, and saw a sort of brown sand on the coin, such as they use for holding eels.
JESSE PEARCE . I keep a coffee-house at 2, Sutherland Terrace—on 16th August the two boys came to my shop, and in consequence of what they said I went to a grating in front of my house, looked down, and saw part of a florin or half-crown—it was partly covered with sand—I got a pair of tongs and fished up two bad half-crowns and two florins with silver sand on them—I gave them to Spurgeon.
Mrs. Webster, who told me something—the boys described the prisoner to me, and I saw him on the 20th in Lillington Street—he said he supposed he must go—I found on him 6s. in silver and 1s. 0 1/2 d. in copper—he gave a correct address.
Witnesses for the Defence.
JULIA CLARK . I live at 1, Francis Street—the prisoner is my stepson—on Friday, 16th August, I saw him at a quarter or twenty minutes to twelve—I am positive it was a quarter, if not twenty minutes—he called at my house, my being newly married—he remained some minutes, and left about twelve—I saw him again between two and three, and also between twelve and two, but I can hardly say at what time—he came in several times—he was arrested on the Tuesday—I pledged an article for him that day—I know this was on the 16th, Friday, because I pledged the article on the Monday after he was taken in custody—I remember that that was the 19th, from seeing it on the ticket—he was at my house the previous Friday.
cross-examined. Q. What are you? A. My husband is a general dealer, and keeps a shop—Francis Street is some distance from Sutherland Street—I live opposite Tothill Fields Prison—I have no clock in the shop—I heard the church chimes go—Miss Burdett Coutts's church—I know it was the quarter, because I was boiling meat, and put it on at a quarter to twelve, when I heard the chimes—I do not know Sutherland Street, or whether it is within five minutes walk of the church—I remarked the time because I believed the prisoner was taken up innocently—his father asked me if I would come to-day—he did not ask me to come and say that he was at home—I did not wish to be called as a witness, but I believe he it accused wrongfully—I am married to his father—he did not ask me to come—my husband is outside in the street with a pony and cart—he was not at home with his son—we have no shop—he goes out with a pony and cart, and gets his living—I was in Court at Rochester Bow when the prisoner was there, but I did not wish to be examined—I heard the witnesses examined there against my stepson, but said nothing—he was at home at the time—that is all I have to say.
MR. CUNNINGHAM. Q. Did you think you could speak there? A. No; I did not go to speak—I heard this false charge, and did not give evidence, because I am unacquainted with anything of the kind, and did not think I should be allowed to speak—I came with his father to-day, but did not know I was going into the box—I came in because my name was called by the constable.
SARAH BARRETT . I am a laundress, of 5, Broadway, Westminster—I know the prisoner well, from being married to the person's daughter where I have worked these seven years—on Friday, 16th August, I saw the prisoner before twelve, but I cannot say how many minutes before, because we leave off at twelve—he came into his mother-in-law's with a few eels which he had to sell—I know it had gone a quarter to twelve, but it had not gone twelve, as we had not gone to dinner.
Cross-examined. Q. Where do you work? A. At 3, Windsor Place, Tothill Fields, the prisoner's mother-in-law's house—it is his stepmother who lives in Francis Street—I work at his wife's mother's, close by Francis Street—I do not know Sutherland Street.
SARAH BENTON . I live at 2, Horseshoe Alley—I saw the prisoner on Friday, the 16th—I work there—I know it was the 16th because my mistress told me as I was writing to my brother—I asked her the day of the month—the prisoner came in with a few eels to sell my mistress at five or ten minutes before twelve—we leave off work at twelve o'clock—my mistress is Mrs. Ede, the prisoner's mother-in-law.
Cross-examined. Q. How far is Horseshoe Alley from Francis Street? A. About ten minutes' walk.
JURY to SPURGEON. Q. What is the distance between Francis Street and Sutherland Street? A. From ten minutes' walk to a quarter of an hour.
GUILTY .— Eight Months' Imprisonment.
Three Months' Imprisonment.
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, September 24th, 1867.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MESSRS. SLEIGH and STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution, and MR. RIBTON the Defence.
HENRY REED . I am a picture-frame dealer, of 12, Gutter Lane, Cheapside—up to 20th July I was with Mr. Nottage, of the London Stereoscopic Company—I managed the frame department and the wholesale department as well—I have known the prisoner four or five years—he is a frame-maker—he occasionally supplied the company with goods; when he brought them there was an invoice, which I examined and put my initials to—he could then take it to the cashier and get the cash—the cashier would not pay it without my initials—it was generally the custom to pay him when he delivered the goods—on 5th July the prisoner and I and a gentleman named Way went and dined together at the Bay Tree, in St. Swithin's Lane—as soon as the prisoner had finished his dinner he said, "You must excuse my going; I must go and get some money, and will come back and pay your account"—he said that to me—he owed the company 2l. 10s.—he then went out—I paid for his dinner—I afterwards returned to the company's place in Cheapside—I went up stairs—when we sell goods up stairs we have a little check-book in which we make entries—I went down stairs about twenty minutes after I had left the prisoner to enter 1s. and on the fly-leaf I saw a memorandum, "Cohen paid 2l. 10s."—I spoke to the cashier about it, and demanded to see the invoice—the cashier showed me this invoice for 4l. 1s.—there are the initials H. R. to it—they are not my writing—I gave no authority to write them—it is ft very good imitation indeed—none of the goods specified in that invoice had been supplied to the company—in consequence of seeing that document I made a search into the books for a few days back, and found that an invoice had been presented on the Wednesday before, while I was out of town—this is it, for 2l. 18s. 6d.—it is dated 3rd July—my initials are on the top line of that invoice—that is my writing—the one below is a forgery—I gave no authority for those initials to be put—the goods mentioned in that top line have been supplied to the company—there are two
other items: those have not been supplied—I was never more surprised in my life than when I found this invoice—about a week before we were at the Bay Tree the prisoner asked me to be security for a loan of 10l.—he said that he was going to pay the company part of it—he then owed the company 2l. 10s., or I think a little more, at that time—he said part of the loan was to pay the company—I don't know what he was going to do with the remainder—he said he was going to send his wife to Germany—I was in the Dolphin, Milk Street, on 5th July, after I had discovered this—about ten minutes to eight I saw the prisoner—he asked what I was going to take—I said I must run over and see Mr. Nottage, instead of doing so I went to Bow Lane Police Station, and brought a man up and gave him in charge—I tapped the prisoner on the shoulder and said, "Mr. Cohen, I have got a very painful duty to perform, but I must do it; you have brought or you have taken an invoice into Cheapside, forged my initials to it, and got the money;" and I think I said, "There is a policeman before you"—he said, "Oh! yes, I know; but you are not going to look me up; if so, I shall commit suicide"—he put his hands to his head and began to cry—he was charged at the Mansion House on the following morning; while there he said to me that if I pressed the charge he would deny it, that I might have looked over it if I liked, and he would ruin me if possible.
Cross-examined. Q. How long have you been in the service of Mr. Nottage? A. Between six and seven years—the prisoner was employed there some time after, perhaps three years, or it might have been two years—we were upon yery friendly terms—we were often in the habit of dining together, he used to come to my private house to visit me; we were on very friendly terms indeed—I am not in Mr. Nottage's employment now—I left to go into business on the 20th of the same month—I can't remember the date of the last examination before the Magistrate—I left Mr. Nottage on the 20th—I left of ray own accord—Mr. Nottage is, I believe, in Paris—I was certainly not discharged by Mr. Nottage—I had been looking after premises, and was going into business for myself—I did not give him notice, I left without giving any notice; the reason I left was I had been out an hour or so, and Mr. Nottage was rather cross, and I told him he was not satisfied—he said he would suspend me for a short time, and I told him I would leave at once—he certainly did not discharge me there and then—he had before told me that complaints had been made to him about me; he did not do so on that day; he complained of my being out—I forget what he said—it was perhaps a fortnight before that he had complained of me; I can't recollect what it was he said; I swear that—he was a little cross about something, I can't say what it was; I don't think he made a complaint since—I left on the 20th in consequence of his being cross—one of my fellow clerks is here, who was in the counting-house and heard all that took place, Mr. Clark—I am now in business for myself—I can't say how long Mr. Nottage has been abroad—the body of this invoice is in the prisoner's writing—I do not know what motive he had for paying the 2l. 10s. out of this 4l. 1s.—he did pay it; the company was pressing him for the 2l. 10s.; it was my duty to do it—I did press him for it—it was for frames that had been supplied to him by the company—it had been due some months, and it was my duty to press for it—they were supplied on 11th June—I am referring to the day-book; that is in the handwriting of Mr. Heal, the clerk that was up on the first floor with me; he is here—the other invoice, for 2l. 18s. 6d., is dated
July 3rd—there are two items in that which the company neverhad from him, a dozen Oxfords at 2s. each, and three maple frames—he never delivered those to the company—we never had them; I swear that—I never sent any body for them, I swear that—I did not on 2nd July go to the prisoner's house in a cab and take away those frames that are charged for in this invoice—I do not know Julia Jameson, Mrs. Nightingale, or Joseph Jameson. (They were here called in.) I know that man by sight, I may have seen Julia Jameson before, but I could not swear it; I do not know Mrs. Nightingale—I know the prisoner's brother—the prisoner lived at 34, Little Charlotte Street, Blackfriars—I had been to his house some time previously to 2nd July, I can't say exactly the date—I can't recollect whether I saw the prisoner's brother on 1st July—I did not on that day give him an order for one dozen Oxford frames and for three Maple ditto—I did not direct them to be finished by dinner-time on the next day—I did not on the next day go in a cab and in the presence of the prisoner's brother and the three persons just called in, take away the Oxford frames and the three Maples, nor did any body for me by my orders—they were not brought to Cheapside—nobody fetched them froa the prisoner's house by my direction, I swear that—no accident happened in the removal, one of the frames was not broken—I have sent to his house for things a great many times; I have sent perhaps a dozen people at different times—I can't tell when I bad sent before 2nd July—I have gone myself lots of times—I can't recollect how soon before 2nd July I had been—I directed the prisoner to take a frame for a picture to my house; it was for myself—it was charged to the company, and I paid for it about a week after—that was six or seven months ago—it was for a picture of Christ walking on the sea—he took the frame and picture to my house—it was entered in the books of the company when I paid the cash, which was in about a week—it was entered in one of the, very old books, it may be six or eight months ago, I may possibly be able to find it—I did not tell any body in the establishment that he was going to take it to my house—I said what the cash was for when I paid it—I don't know that I had told any body in the establishment that the frame was to be charged to the company—I never used to tell them where the frames were going—I told the prisoner to charge it to the company—I believe it was paid for in the ordinary way, by sending in a bill which was initialed by me before the money was paid—I used to send out hundreds of frames, and no one knew anything about where they were going to—he may have delivered goods at other places for the company, but not for me—I was in authority over him—I directed him to take this frame to my place, and to charge it to the company—I never told him to takes things to other places and charge them to the company—I did not see the prisoner on 3rd July—I did not meet him about twelve o'clock that day and walk with him as far as the Peel statue in Cheapside—I did not see his brother David and his brother-in-law Jameson, and another person with him—I did not tell them that I was going home to Brixion as my children had a holiday—he and I did not walk together down Ludgate Hill and go into Lockey's public-house—the prisoner did not ask me what time I should return, as he wanted money of the company—I did not say, "Probably between four and five"—I had told every one that I was going for the day and should not be back—I had told the manager so—I was in town up to one o'clock—the prisoner did not ask me if I would pay him part of the money I owed him—I did not say, "No, but have you got your
bill here?"—he did not produce the one for 2l. 18s. 6d.—I did not read it, and then borrow a pen from somebody at the bar and put my initials to it—I do not know Lockey's public-house by name—there are several public-houses in Farringdon Street opposite the station—I have not to my knowledge been in any of them with the prisoner—I may have been, but not that day—I would not swear I may not have been at Lockey's with the prisoner, his brother and Jameson—very likely I may have been—I don't recollect it—I think it is very likely that the prisoner called on me in Cheapside on 4th July—he was there nearly every day—I did not tell him that if he did not pay a bill of 2l. 10s. that he owed for goods supplied before Saturday, I should be discharged, as I had no authority to give him credit—I told him I wanted the money and must have it—I meant the, 2l. 10s. that he was indebted to the company for some job frames that he had bought of the company—I might have owed him about 3s. at that time, not more—I think if we were to balance up I should owe him about 4s.—we had been on very good terms—he had borrowed from me and I from him—I owed him 2l. 15s., and he owed me about 2l. 10s. or 2l. 11s.—he did not say that unless I paid him the 2l. 15s. I owed him he could not pay in the time—I did not then say, "I must give you an order for some goods"—I did not receive a letter from him next day—I received one about a fortnight ago, which I have here—that is the only letter I have received—it is in the prisoner's writing, his wife brought it, a few, days after he was let out on bail—his brother did not on the 5th bring me a letter and this invoice for 4l. 1s., nor did I in the brother's presence put my initials to it—I never saw the invoice until it was produced by our cashier—I did not give back the invoice to the prisoner's brother and tell him that his brother must come himself for the money at one o'clock—he was there at one o'clock on the 5th—I saw him—he was not paid until after he returned from the Bay Tree, where he dined with me and Mr. Way, a pictnre-frame maker, of the Edgware Road—the prisoner used to come to the premises very often,'at all hours of the day—he did not show me this invoice when he came at one o'clock—I can't say at what time he was paid on the 5th—it was not paid before we went to dinner—these are very like my initials—it was at the Dolphin that I gave him into custody—I did not tell him there had been a row at the office, and the governor had found out that I had passed bills before the goods were delivered; nothing of the sort—I did not say, "I have been detained for two hours; you know I have a wife and three little children, and I cannot afford to lose my place, and bo I said I did not sign the bill which got paid to-day"—something was said about three little children, but they were his children that I offered to take care of—I have three children—I told him that Mr. Nottage had told me to lock him up—I was the one to find the matter out and put it before Mr. Nottage at once, about an hour after I, returned from dinner—I told him they were not my Initials, and upon that he de sired me to give the prisoner into custody—there is a witness here who was in the counting-house at the time—nothing had happened previously about these invoices to make them the topic of conversation by any of the clerks—this little book (handing it in) will explain how I came to find this out—I have put my initials to invoices for goods before they were delivered, upon the understanding that they would be in, to accommodate the prisoner, and I have had them—I have done so on two Or three occasions—this, book is the cashier's, Mr. Morrell's writing—you will find the date, of the payment of the 2l. 10s. a few leaves forward—this is not all in the cashier's writing, perhaps a dozen persons—it was quite by accident that I saw this 2l. 10s., and on seeing it I asked to see the invoice—I was very much astonished—I said, "What! has Cohen paid?" and Morrell said, "Yes, I have taken it out of his account"—I have got the young man here who was sitting just behind Morrell when he gave me the invoice—I told Mr. Nottage of it as soon as he returned, the same day—I told him that the prisoner had received the money and put my initials, which he had no right to do—this 4l. 1s. was not due to him at all, none of it—the goods had not been delivered—the three days' work had taken place, but it had been paid for previously; some time before—it might have been a fortnight before; I can't tell when—he generally had his money as soon as his work was done—I never paid him; the cashier, Morrell, did—he would not know whether the work was done or no, so long as the invoice was signed he would pay it—these "twelve Oxfords, 18s." had not been ordered, not by me—I did not say on this occasion, "Don't say a word about it; I will make it all right with the governor; you will be locked up to-night only, and as no one will appear against you you will be discharged"—I said I would make the case as light as possible for him, because it was not a very pleasant thing to lock up an intimate friend—I did not say, "You don't blame me, Cohen, do you?" nor did he reply, "To-morrow will show"—I don't remember anything of the sort—Heal has never signed my initials—I never authorised him to do so—I may have done so when I have been busy; I would not swear that I have not—I have never authorised the prisoner to do so—Heal was a confidential clerk up stairs, and the prisoner only an outdoor frame joiner—I know Mr. Watson, a frame-maker, he supplies the firm with frames—Heal was in the habit of writing orders to Watson for goods—I can't say whether he has signed my initials to those—I can't say—I know Mr. French, the landlord of the Coachmakers' Arms—I don't know Mr. Newton Wood by name—(Mr. Wood was here called in) I know him very well by sight—I remember French and Wood calling on me in Cheapside after Cohen had been locked up—I did not say to them, "I was obliged to lock Cohen up to save myself from being locked up"—I received this letter from the prisoner after he was out on bail. (This was an application for 2l. 15s. as due by the witness to the prisoner.)
MR. SLEIGH. Q. Has any charge ever been made against you by Mr. Nottage of improper or dishonourable conduct? A. No; if so, it must have been a very long time ago—I have been just upon seven years in his employment—I had been in employment previously—the invoice of 3rd July does not contain any charge for the three days' work; those three days' work had been long before—he does not specify the dates upon which they were done—I have here some I O U, and rough memorandums of the prisoner's for the money I lent him—I wote them, and he initialed them—these are them, "2l. 5s. J. H. C."—"I O U 6s., J. H. Cohen, 3rd April, 1867"—that is his writing—the balance is perhaps about 4s. now—I don't deny that I was indebted to him 2l. 15s., but he can't say that I am, he had no memorandums—it was about a week after the prisoner had been first examined before the Lord Mayor that French and Wood called on me; he was in gaol at the time, there was no one else present—they said, "What have you done with Cohen?"—I said, "You know very well where he is"—they said, "What has he been doing?"—I told them that he had brought invoices and forged my initials and received the cash—they pretended not to know where he was—they said they had heard that he was locked up somewhere, but
they thought it was for selling indecent prints—that was what Mr. French said; the other young man had nothing to say—this interview took place in the frame department in Cheapside—it is false that I said I locked Cohen up to prevent being locked up myself, there is not one word of truth in it.
COURT. Q. Did they go on to make any request of you, or anything of that kind as to what you would do? A. No; they merely called to inquire.
MR. SLEIGH. Q. Did Mr. Nottage know anything whatever about this matter until you first discovered it? A. He did not, he was as much surprised as I was—it is not true that I signed this invoice at a public-house—the book is not here in which the entry was made of the frame that I directed the prisoner to take to my house—I have had no notice to produce any booke in reference to it; it was entered in a small book like this, and the money was paid by me to the company in the usual way.
JURY. Q. Did you pay it before the prisoner was given in charge? A. Yes; long before—this was treated by me as all other transactions were.
COURT. Q. Do you know anything about that frame (produced) being damaged in its removal from the prisoner's house on 2nd July? A. I do not; it may have been damaged, but not on that day; they very often are broken, but I did not take them in a cab, nor did I send for them—I never ordered the frames charged in this invoice, nor were they ever received to my knowledge—Mr. Heal had authority to order frames sometimes, and Mr. Green, who was with us for a short time, had authority to order small quantities; in nine cases out of ten they would report it to me.
WILLIAM MORRELL . I am in the service of the Stereoscopic Company as cashier—it is nay duty to pay the men on receiving proper vouchers for the purpose—on the 5th July the prisoner presented this invoice to me—I paid it on seeing the initials "H. R.," deducting 2l. 10s., of which I made an entry to the prisoner's credit—I believed those initials to be Mr. Reed's, or I should not have paid it—the prisoner signed this receipt—on the previous 3rd July the prisoner produced this other invoice for 2l. 18s. 6d—I paid that, deducting 1l. 10s.—that is the course of business; on seeing Mr. Reed's initials on the invoice I pay the money—I know nothing about whether the items are correct or not—I rely entirely on the initials.
Cross-examined. Q. The first item on that invoice is for three days' work; have you ever paid the prisoner on any other occasion for work? A No; I pay all the bills that are presented with proper signatures—I don't recollect this particular circumstance—I don't know whether that three days' work had been paid for before—I have no book that would enable me to state that—I do not examine the invoice—I simply see the amount and the signature authorising the payment—I do not know how often the prisoner was in the habit of working there for three days.
WILLIAM ALFRED HEAL . I am clerk in the service of the Stereoscopic Company—I have known Cohen for some time as dealing with the company and the company with him—about a fortnight or three weeks previous to this matter happening he was in the counting-house waiting for Mr. Heed, who was out, and I saw him scribbling something on the blotting pad—he was doing so for about five or ten minutes as he sat in my seat at the desk—I looked at the pad, and saw he had been writing the letters H. R. a number of times—those are Mr. Reed's initials—I should thiuk he hud writteu them a dozen or eighteen times—some of
them were like Mr. Reed's initials—I said to the prisoner, "It is like your impudence to make these initials"—I then tore off the sheet from the blotting pad and destroyed it—he did not make any observation; be merely laughed—I remember his being there on the 3rd July, about three o'clock—I don't remember his going to the cashier—Mr. Reed was absent at the time—I believe he had left about one o'clock in the day—he did not come back—I don't remember seeing him again that day—the prisoner asked for him, and I said he was out, that he might return about six, and he might not come back again that day—on the 5th, when I saw him paid this money by the last witness, Mr. Reed was not on the premises, he was at dinner.
Cross-examined. Q. Have you ever, by Mr. Reed's permission or direction, signed his initials? A. I have signed H. Reed to letters for him when he has been busy—he has said, "I wish you would write a letter for me and sign my name; I will give you my permission"—I have done so, and he has seen the letters afterwards—they were written on memorandum forms to customers, not private letters—I have done that three or four times—they were answers to business inquiries—I have never signed his initials that I am aware of—I never remember doing so—I have always been particular to sign H. Reed—I will not swear that I have not signed his initials—I know his handwriting pretty well—I am not aware that any of the other clerks were permitted to sign for him—I can't say what day it was I saw the prisoner writing those initials—I did not tell Mr. Reed of it until after the prisoner was in custody—I have been in the employment fourteen months—I was very intimate with Mr. Reed—I do not know whether the other assistant, Mr. Green, has written his letters for him and signed his name; he may have done so—I was not examined on the first occasion before the Magistrate; I was on the second—between those examinations I had some conversation with Mr. Reed—it was then I told him about these initials—he had told me that the prisoner had signed his initials, and I then told him voluntarily that I had seen Cohen writing his initials on the blotting pad—these initials on the invoice are very like Mr. Reed's, I should not know the difference—I should very likely say they were his if they were shown to me without my having heard anything about them.
MR. SLEIGH. Q. Did you ever write his initials on any papers like this invoice? A. Never.
CHARLES EDWIN BANNISTER . I am a framemaker and carver, and live at 8, Ashley Crescent—I happened to be present at the Dolphin when Mr. Reed gave the prisoner into custody—he said to him, "Cohen, you have presented a bill over the way and signed my initials to it, for which I must have you taken"—Cohen said, "I know I have, but you won't have me taken up, will you, Harry?"—Mr. Reed said, "I must have you taken," and with that forthwith called a constable in, but before he called him in Cohen put up his hands and made some remark, and nearly fell backwards against the door.
Cross-examined. Q. How long have you known Reed? A. Four or five years—I make Oxford frames and carved wood frames for the firm—he has been in the habit of signing my bills, that is putting his initials, and I have taken them down stairs to get paid—I have never sent anything to his house to my knowledge—a Mr. Glyn was present at the Dolphin on this occasion—he is a mount-maker—I do not know whether he is here—he was here yesterday morning—I was not examined before
the Magistrate on the first occasion. I was not subpoenaed between the first and second examinations—I was asked if I knew anything at all about it—I think Mr. Reed asked me; I am not quite positive about that—I had some conversation with him—he asked if I knew anything about it, and I immediately told him all I knew, what I had seen at the Dolphin—he asked if I heard what was said, and I said, "Yes"—he did not positively ask me to go up, but, as the evidence was required, he certainly did ask me to go, and I did—those initials look very much like his, so much so that if I had not heard him say they were not his I should have said they were—I went across to the Dolphin with the prisoner and Mr. Glyn after receiving my money—I stated the same before the Magistrate that I have now. (The deposition of the witness was put in and read.)
FRDERICK DUNBAR (City Policeman 670). On the 5th July I was called to the Dolphin and the prisoner was given into my custody by Mr. Reed—I took him to the sation; he said nothing—no witnesses were called for the prisoner at the Mansion House.
Cross-examined. Q. Was he represented by Mr. Lewis, the attorney, at the Mansion House? A. He was—he was charged by Mr. Reed with obtaining the money by forging his initials, or obtaining the money under false pretences—I think it was, obtaining money under false pretences—he did not make use of the word forgery then—at the station-house I was told to take him into custody for forging Mr. Reed's signature, and he made no reply.
MR. REED (re-examined). The initials to this invoice (looking at one) are mine; it is dated 25th June.
MR. RIBTON called the following witnesses for the defence:—
DANIEL COHEN (through an interpreter). I am the prisoner's brother—I understand English a little—I have known Mr. Reed these nine months—I recollect going to Cheapside and seeing him in the early part of July—no one was with me—I received an order from him on paper—I took it and gave it to my sister-in-law, Mrs. Cohen—Mr. Reed said, "Make the frames as soon as you can"—he spoke in English, I cau understand every word you say, but I cannot speak to you—Mr. Reed said I was to make twelve Oxford frames first—he gave me the Oxford frames and prints to pat the prints in; and he also gave an order for three maple frames as well and two black bead frames—ilext day (Tuesday) Mr. Reed called at my brother's house, I think between one and two in the afternoon—there was a gentleman with him in a cab—my sister-in-law gave Mr. Reed the twelve Oxford frames, aud I gave him the three maple frames myself, and he took them away in the cab—the glass of: one of the Oxford frames was dropped and broken—this is it (produced)—we put another glass to it—this was on Tuesday, the 2nd July—the next day I met Mr. Reed with my brother and a gentleman named Pitt, and my sister-in-law's brother, Joseph Jameson—we went to a public-house, I don't know the name of it, near the railway station, Ludgate Hill—we remained at the bar some time, and while there I saw Mr. Reed putting his name to some invoices—I am sure this produced is one of them—it was the initials at the bottom I saw him put, not the top ones—I did not hear anything pass on that occasion—on the Friday following I was sent by my brother to Mr. Reed—I took an iuvoice aud a letter and gave them to Mr. Reed—this produced is the invoice—Mr. Reed had got a little desk near the wiudow, aud he put these initials H. R. to this invoice and gave it back to me, saying, "Your brother must come at one o'clock"—I think this was
somewhere about half-past nine or ten in the morning—I went home and" told my brother what Mr. Reed had said.
Cross-examined. Q. Do you live in the same house with your brother? A. Not during the last fortnight—I have worked for him—I am out of employment now—on the 2nd July I was with my brother, living with him, and working for him—I have been doing so for seven months; I have only been in England a little over seven months—I have not been in any employment but my brother's—I used to go every morning to the Stereoscopic Company's office in Cheapside for my brother—I went at, least once a day, and sometimes two or three times a day, sometimes taking frames—I sometimes took printed papers like this and handed them to Mr. Reed, and he put his initials to them—I did not take them back to my brother every time, only when he authorised me to do so—sometimes I went to the cashier aud got paid for them—I did not go every day with invoices, but I did go every day for orders—I heard of my brother being in custody on the Monday—I attended at the Mansion House, and was present when he was examined and when Mr. Reed gave his evidence—I saw Mr. Reed produce these papers, and swear that they were net his signatures—I saw the lawyer who defended my brother—I was only there once—I engaged the lawyer to appear for him, on the Tuesday or Wednesday, I think—I did not say anything to the lawyer myself; my father-in-law did, who went with me—he speaks English—he is not here—he was not at the Mansion House—I did not offer myself as a witness at the Mansion House—when Mr. Reed came in the cab to our place Mrs. Cohen was there, Miss Jameson, my sister-in-law's sister, and another woman, I do not know her name; she is here—she used to work there—I think it was between one and two o'clock in the day, but I cannot say exactly—I don't remember Mr. Reed coming in a cab on any other occasion—he has been there at various times without a cab—he has not taken frames away—he came there one day when my sister was confined, but whether he took anything that day I can't say; that was between three and four months before—it was a four-wheeled cab he came in on this occasion—Mr. Pitt is not here—I think it was between twelve and two that I saw Mr. Reed at the public-house near the Ludgate Station—(looking at two papers) this is the paper I saw him write, the one for 4l. 1s.—I don't know anything about the one for 3l. 10s.—I cannot say whether that is his writing or not—the bottom signature of this other one is what he signed at the public-house—he signed it on the bar, some one in the bar gave him a pen and ink to sign it with; it was a man—when Reed had signed it he gave it to my brother, and I do not know what he did with it—he went away with Mr. Reed—I have never seen these papers until they were handed to me to-day—I did not have them in my hand at the Mansion House—I never saw them since Mr. Reed wrote his initials on them till to-day—I know this was the place where he signed it, because they put a receipt stamp to it—it was in the same line as the stamp was put—as soon as I heard of my brother being in prison I said I knew something about it—I was here last session—it was before last July that I said I could give evidence—it was not taken down in writing—nobody ever took it down.
MR. REED (re-examined by MR. RIBTON.) There is a young lady in Court named Dudley—I have had conversation with her in reference to this trial—she did not say to me, "I know I shall tremble when I get into the box;" she was never expected to get into the box—I did not Hay to her,
"Don't be afraid; I don't care what I give you; be firm; I shall point him out to you, and then you can swear to him"—no such words were ever mentioned, nothing like it—I merely said, what a sad thing had happened to the prisoner, and how very sorry I was to take him up—Miss Dudley is saleswoman in St. Paul's Church Yard—she has nothing at all to do with this case—she is an acquaintance of mine; we used to go backwards and forwards together to Brixton night and morning, and of course we had something to chat about while going there—that is all I recollect saying to her—I don't know a Mrs. Nightingale by name—(she was called in)—I don't know her at all; I don't recognise her—the conversation you have referred to did not take place outside the Court in the presence of that woman, or in any one's presence—Miss Dudley had never been into a Court before, and I promised she should come in and hear the case.
JOSEPH JAMESON . I live at 217, Kent Street, Borough, and am a picture-frame maker—I am brother-in-law to the prisoner—I remember meeting Mr. Reed in Cheapeide early in July; it must have been on the 3rd, as the 2nd was the wedding-day, and it was the day after that—I know nothing about the things being fetched away in the cab, I was not there—when I met Mr. Reed, on the 3rd, there was the prisoner and a young man—we went to a public-house opposite the railway station in Farringdon Street—I do not know the name of it—Cohen said to him, "I shall want pome money, Mr. Reed"—he said, "Have you got a bill with you?" and he said, "Yes," and took it out of his pocket—this is it, the one for"2l. 18s. 6d.—Mr. Reed said, "Very well, I will sign it for you:" at least he did sign it, whether he said those exact words or not I can't say—he signed it in the public-house, that is he put his initials "H. R." at the bottom—he told Cohen that he would see him at four o'clock, and they went away—this was on Wednesday, the 3rd July—he got the penfthat he signed it with from a man standing at the bar, a sort of commercial man, rather shabby-looking, rather inclined to be stout—he carried the pen in front of him with a little bottle.
Cross-examined. Q. How long were you in the public-house together before this paper was signed? A. Not very long—it might be about ten minutes, I can't say exactly—it must have been about one or two in the day, as near as possible—Reed said, "If you will produce the bill I will sigu it"—I can say positively he said those words, something to that effect, I can't say the very words—he did sign it—the shabby man was not behind the bar, he was in front of it—he was not the barman—I might know him again if I saw him—we have been to I don't know how many places to find him—the other young man was a foreign-looking man—I did not know him previously—I happened to make his acquaintance and asked him to have a glass of something to drink—he was a Jew, and I befriended him because he was in want—I did not know his name or address at the time—I found it out since—I saw him at a barber's shop where he engaged himself, in Kent Street, just opposite where I lived, about a month ago, abut he is not there now—he only worked there a few days—I remember this 3rd of July, because the day before was the prisoner's wedding-day—I remember the name of the public-house now, it was Lockey's—I did not instruct the lawyer to defend Cohen—I have never been to Mr. Lewis's office—I was at the Mansion House on the second occasion, but I could not hear what was said, I was such a distance off—I offered myself as a witness, but I could not come forward—I could not make out how tfee business was conducted—I
have not been living in the same house with the prisoner since he has been out on bail—I live about a quarter of a mile off—I have not seen him day after day, sometimes not for a week—I have seen him about once a week.
MR. RIBTON. Q. Did your father go to the lawyer? A. Yes—I have done all I could to find the man Pitt—the name of the young man whose name and address I got was Pollock, he is here—I found him after a great deal of difficulty—he stood next to me, and must have seen the signing of the bill—it was the bottom signature I saw him sign—I did not see any top one there at the time.
JULLA JAMESON . The prisoner married my sister—I live with my father—the last witness is my brother—I know where the prisoner lives—I was there on 2nd July—I had been stopping there—I know Mr. Reed—I remember his coming there in a cab with a gentleman—he took a dozen Oxford frames away with him, the glass of one of them was broken and it was left behind—this is the frame, it has a new glass in it—he also took away some maple frames, they were given to him by David Cohen, it was a little while after dinner, we dine about one o'clock, or sometimes two.
Cross-examined. Q. Do you remember Mr. Reed coming there at other times before that? A. No—I knew him before—I have been to the stereoscopic company with the prisoner—it was on Tuesday, find July, that Mr. Reed took the frames away—he came in a four-wheeled cab with another gentleman—the prisoner was not at home—David Cohen was there and Mrs. Cohen, and Mrs. Nightingale was in the parlour—I had been stopping there two or three weeks—I went away the next day because my sister, Mrs. Cohen, went to Germany—this was on the wedding-day, they keep it every year.
ELIZABETH NIGHTINGALE . I am no relation to the Cohens, and am not of the Jewish persuasion—I was at the prisoner's house on 2nd July—I had been there for the last two or three, months off and on—I am monthly nurse to Mrs. Cohen—I have seen Mr. Reed once or twice—I saw him come in a cab on the Tuesday; there was another gentleman In the cab, I believe—he took some frames away with him; I was in the parlour, I did not go into the shop, the parlour is very close adjoining—I did not hear what was said—I saw the frames taken out by the little girl, and Mr. Cohen's brother was putting some brown paper on some others—Mrs. Cohen was there—the frames were put into the cab, the string slipped, and one dropped out and the glass broke—I think it was between two and three in the afternoon—I am quite certain it was on Tuesday afternoon, 2nd July—I heard of Mr. Cohen being taken into custody—yesterday I heard Mr. Reed have a conversation with a young lady in the Court—I was sitting on a seat by the side of the young person, reading a piece of paper—she said, "I know I shall tremble when I get into the box"—Mr. Reed said, "Don't be afraid; I don't care what I give you; be firm; I shall point him out to you, and then you can swear to him"—I am quite sure I heard him say those words.
Cross-examined. Q. You had been nurse to Mrs. Cohen? A. Yes—she left for Germany the day after this—she was intending to leave for some weeks—I had been there several weeks, making baby's things—I had been there off and on three or four months—I only lived a few doors round the corner—I had seen Mr. Reed once before, three or four weeks
previously, when he came and asked for Mr. Cohen—I never saw this young lady before yesterday—I don't know her name—she did not say, "I should tremble if I had to get into the box"—Mr. Reed was asking whether she would know Mr. or Mrs. Cohen if she saw them—she said, "No"—Mr. Cohen was standing a distance away, and Mr. Reed said, "There is Mr. Cohen; shall you know him again if you see him?"—I don't know exactly the words that were said after that, but there were several more words said—he then pointed to Mrs. Cohen and said, "That is Mrs. Cohen"—she said, "That person with the hat on?"—he said, "Yes," and she said, "What a significant looking little b----she looks!"—that was all I heard her say—it was at the beginning of the conversation that she said she should tremble when she got into the box—I mentioned this conversation yesterday to several who are here—I am sure her words were, "I know I shall tremble when I get into the box."
JOSEPH JAMESON (re-examined). What the prisoner had to do with the frames was to put the pictures in—there was the glass to put in, and the beading and the backs—he charged hajf-a-crown each, and cheap too, I would not do it for the money.
MR. SLEIGH called
LETTY DUDLEY . I reside at Tulse Hill, Brixton—I have been until within the last two months in an establishment in St. Paul's Churchyard—I was in the habit of coming morning and evening to and from Brixton by train—I have been acquainted with Mr. Reed for the last three years as a passenger coming to and fro—I had never been in Court, and he brought me here simply to hear the trial—I heard from him that this trial was coming on, and asked him to bring me into Court—I was never here before yesterday—I was at the first examination at the Mansion House; but I was no witness in the case—I did not say to Mr. Reed yesterday, "I know I shall tremble when I get into the witness-box," nor did he say, "Don't be afraid; I don't care what I give you; be firm; I shall point him out to you, and then you can swear to him"—nothing to that effect—I had known Cohen previously—I have seen him at the Stereoscopic Company, and knew him quite well by sight.
Cross-examined. Q. Have you been in Court the whole of the day? A. No—I did not hear Mr. Reed examined this morning—I was sitting in Court this afternoon, but I went out—I came in after the adjournment—I heard Mr. Reed recalled, but I was sent out—I heard a word or two before I went out—I heard you ask him whether I did not say to him, "I know I shall tremble when I get into the box," but I did not hear his answer—I was sent out before he answered—I have not had any conversation with him within the last hour; I wanted to speak to him, but he would not allow me, he would not say a word to me—I said nothing like the words you have put to me—I did not say that I should tremble if I had to get into the box, nor anything like it—I have not spoken to anybody about this within the last half-hour—I came here to-day simply to hear the case, as a friend of Mr. Reed—I don't recollect his asking me whether I should know Cohen—he pointed him out to me yesterday morning—he said, "There's Cohen"—we were then standing down below—I made no reply—he did not ask me if I should know him again—he knew I should know him, because I have known him for a long time—he afterwards pointed out Mrs. Cohen, and said, "That's Mrs. Cohen"—I don't recollect making any answer—I certainly did not say she was an insignificant little b----I am living at home with my friends, my grandfather
and aunt—I am not in any business at present—I was with Mr. Beales, of St. Paul's Churchyard, nearly three years—I left of my own accord—I have seen Mr. Reed in business and also in the train.
MR. RIBTON called
PHILIP FRENCH . I am a publican, and live in Blackfriars—I heard of the prisoner being committed—I know Mr. Reed—I called on him with Mr. Newton Wood—after some conversation he said he was obliged to lock Cohen up, or he should be locked up himself—Mr. Wood was present.
Cross-examined. Q. Had you known the prisoner previously? A. Yes—I have known him for fifteen months—he lives about a quarter or half a mile from me—he was a customer of mine, and so was Mr. Reed occasionally—I have not been in the gallery during this trial—I have been outside in the passage all day, and Mr. Wood also—it was at the office in Cheapside that I called on Mr. Reed, the day the Sultan came to Charing Cross—I do not know what day of the month it was—I had lost sight of the prisoner for about a week, and I went to Mr. Reed to inquire if he knew where he was—it was some time before last Session—I did not know that he was in jail till Mr. Reed told me—I knew where the prisoner lived, but he was not at home, so I went to Mr. Reed to know where he was—I thought probably he had got him there at work—his wife had gone to Germany—I don't know where his relations live—that was not the first time of my calling to see Mr. Reed—Mr. Wood and I had been to see the Sultan come, and I said, "Now we will go to Cheapside and see where Cohen is"—it was out of the way—I believe no one else was present at the conversation—when we went up stairs Mr. Reed was at the window looking at the Belgian soldiers passing, and he came from the window to speak to us—it was some time in the afternoon, I should think about three or four—I asked him if he could tell me where Cohen was—he said, "He is in the lock-up, in the Old Bailey; have not you heard?—I said, "No, that was why we came to you to know; I thought you and he had probably gone to the Paris Exhibition"—he said, "Oh! I have had to give him in charge; I was obliged to lock him up; if I had not I should have been locked up myself, so I did it to save myself"—he did not say why he should have been locked up himself—he said Cohen was locked up for a forgery, for signing his name on a bill—I did not ask him what he meant by being locked up himself; that was not my business; all I wanted was to ascertain where Cohen was—I went to Newgate to see Cohen once; that was about a week after that conversation—Mr. Wood was not with me—I did not make any inquiry of Mr. Nottage about this matter.
Q. Did you understand from what Reed said that he had given Cohen in custody wrongfully? A. I did not know what he meant—I can't say—Mr. Wood and I had no conversation about it as we walked home, none at all—we might have spoken about the case, but nothing particular—we might have spoken about it—I can't remember whether we did or not—I did not think from what Reed said that Cohen had been given into custody on an unfounded charge—I did not think one way or the other—I did not know what he meant, and I did not ask him.
COURT. Q. Did you say to Reed, "What have you done with Cohen? A. Yes—Reed afterwards said it was for forging his initials and receiving money—I did not say I thought he was locked up for selling indecent prints—nothing of the kind was mentioned—I did not say I thought he was locked up at all.
NEWTON JOHN WOOD . I am at present out of a situation—I was clerk to Messrs. Wheldon, of Cheapside, for seven years—I have been out of employment since Christmas—I know the prisoner and French—I went out with French the day the Sultan came, and on returning went with him to Mr. Reed's—I knew Reed before—I heard him say he was obliged to lock Cohen up to save himself from being locked up.
Cross-examined. Q. How long have you known the prisoner? A. About two years—I was in the habit of visiting him, and associating with him and French—I missed him for something like a week—I did not know what had become of him until I saw Mr. Reed—I live about four or five minutes' walk from Cohen—I was passing by one day and saw his brother at the door, and asked him how it was we had not seen him, and he said he did not know where he was; it was not good for him to be away—Mr. French and I did not start out on that day for the purpose of making inquiries about him—we went to see the Sultan come, and from there we went to the City to see the Belgian volunteers pass, and while outside, opposite the company's house, he saw Mr. Reed at the window, and we then thought we would go and see where Cohen was—we did not make an arrangement at Charing Cross to go into the City and make the inquiry—Mr. French said, "We will go and see if Mr. Reed knows anything about Cohen;" for we had heard he had gone to the Paris Exhibition with Reed—I have not been in Court while French was examined—I came in for about two minutes, but was told to go out—I cannot say who spoke first—when we went up we shook hands with Reed—he was at the window, seeing the Belgian soldiers pass—we walked to the staircase together, and French said, "What has become of Cohen?"—Reed said, "You know very well what has become of him"—I said, "No, that we don't; we have come to see"—he said, "Well, he is in Newgate"—I said, "In Newgate? what for?"—he said, "For signing my signature to a bill, aud receiving the money from the cashier"—I said, "Indeed? that is a very serious affair; that is forgery"—he said, "Yes, it is; it went very hard against my feelings to do it, but I was bound to lock him up to save myself," or "to clear myself;" I won't swear which words he made use of—he also said, "As to Cohen's children, I would take them into my own family and see that they are cared for as my own, out of the respect I have for the man."
COURT. Q. Did French say, "Mr. Reed, what have you done with Cohen?" A. "What has become of Cohen?"—Reed said he had been Bigning his signature and receiving the money from the cashier—he did not make use of the word "forgery"—Mr. French did not say, "I thought he was locked up for selling indecent prints"—I did not hear him—I did not hear anything of the kind mentioned—we left together, and Mr. Reed came to us outside afterwards—there was no more talk particular, nothing to do with this case—he was only saying it was a bad job, that it went very hard against him, and he was very sorry for it.
The prisoner received a good character. GUILTY .— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment.
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, September 24th, 1867.
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
867. ROBERT BARTLETT (33) PLEADED GUILTY to burglariously breaking and entering the dwellinghouse of James Nelson, and stealing a coat and other articles, his property.— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment.
868. EDWARD NUTTER (28) , to stealing seven pairs of boots and other articles, the property of George Vaughan; also to stealing one coat, the property of Lipman Deeks.— Seven Years' Penal Servitude. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
872. GEORGE JOSEPH GILBERT FRASI (28) , to feloniously forging and uttering a bill of exchange for 50l., with intent to defraud.— Five Years' Penal Servitude. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
874. JOHN WILLIAMS (22) , to stealing a purse from the person of Sarah Rugby, after a previous conviction; also to attempting to steal a watch and chain from the person of James Samuels.— Seven Years' Penal Servitude. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
875. JOHN OWEN (39) , Burglariously breaking and entering the dwellinghouse of George Scott, and stealing therein twenty-four bottles of wine, twenty-four bottles of brandy, and other articles, his property.
MR. DALY conducted the Prosecution.
JOHN SCOTT . I manage the King's Arms, Slater Street, Bethnal Green; my brother George is the landlord—on 5th September I fastened the house up and bolted the cellar with two bolts—next morning I was alarmed by a servant, and found the wine-cellar door forced open, and some brandy and champagne removed to the beer-cellar to take away, also some stone bottles of peppermint, spruce, and bitters.
GEPRGE EASTWOOD (Policeman 19 H). On 6th August, about three a.m., I was passing Swann Street, which runs parallel to Slater Street, and saw a man close to the King's Arms public-house in a stooping position, two other men crossed the road and stooped down, one man recrossed, and the two others disappeared—I suppose they must have been alarmed—I saw two meu come up from the cellar flap, one of whom, the prisoner, came towards me—I pursued him, and Policeman 198H overtook him—I then went back and found that the cellar-flap had been opened—there was a hammer in the cellar, and this crowbar (produced) was inserted in the door between the wine-cellar and the beer-cellar.
Prisoner. You were fifty yards from the cellar in Baker Street, and could not see me get out of the cellar; I met you. Witness. I was thirty or forty yards from the cellar-flap at the time you came up; I never lost sight of you.
GUILTY . He was further charged with a conviction at Chelmsford in 25 Victoria, when he was sentenced to Five Years' Penal Servitude: to this he PLEADED GUILTY.**— Ten Years' Penal Servitude.
876. DAVID HENRY DOWST (20) and HENRY PAINTER (16) , Stealing seven medals and 259 pieces of coin of George Holmes, the master of Dowst, to which DOWST PLEADED GUILTY. He received a good character. Recommended to mercy by the Prosecutor.—Judgment respited.
MR. BESLEY conducted the Prosecution, and MR. LILLEY the Defence.
EDWIN GILLINGHAM LEGGE . I am clerk to Holmes, Robinson, and Stoneham, solicitors, of 5, Philpot Lane—Dowst was their junior clerk from March, 1865, till his apprehension—in July last the firm was in possession of 266 coins and medals—there were five gold medals and two silver ones, about thirty gold coins, and the rest silver—they were brought to me by Mr. Stoneham in a wooden box—I opened it to see that they were there, and placed the wooden box in a deed box, with some papers—the box was taken down to Westminster and brought back again—I saw the coins in the box when they were brought back to the office on 22nd July—Dowst was at the office on Saturday, 10th August, but I do not know of my own knowledge that he was there after the other clerks left—on 12th August I noticed marks of violence on the lock of the table drawer, which is never locked, and on Tuesday morning, the 13th, I went to the deed box, which was locked as I left it, but all the coins and medals were gone—the papers were there—the box lets down in front, and there are two shelves in it—the coin box had been on one shelf, but it was gone—I next saw them at the Bermondsey Police-station on 20th August—Painter was then in custody—these are the coins (produced)—this bent medal has the name of Phillips, our client, on it—I have seen Painter at the office repeatedly of an evening with Dowst.
FRANCIS WIEWIG . I deal in miscellaneous property and curiosities, at 244, Old Kent Road—on 21st Angust, a little after nine o'clock, Painter came and said, "I have a small collection of silver coins to sell; will you buy them?"—I said, "I do buy coins, but, as you seem to be very young, I wish to know whether your parents gave you leave to sell them"—he said that his father was dead, and had left them to him to sell—I asked him if he had a mother; he said, "Yes"—I said, "Did she give you permission to sell them?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "I must have her address, as I am very particular what I buy"—he gave his name Mr. West, or Webb, 3 or 4, Chatham Place, Old Kent Road, I am not certain which—I spoke to my wife, and then asked him if he had the coins; he showed them to me, one bundle after another, wrapped up in newspapers—my wife then left the shop, and after she was gone I bargained with him about the price—he wanted 10l. for them, I offered 9l. 10s.—a bargain was made at that—I gave him 3l. first, and he wrote out a receipt for 51.—that was that my wife should have time to come back—I afterwards gave him 2l.—he was very fidgetty to get away to his business in the City, as he said, but I invited him into the parlour to have a glass of wine—I turned my back, and heard him say to Mrs. Howlett, an old lady in the shop, "I will be back again bye and bye," and he left—I ran after him, and saw him walking—when he saw me running he began to run—he was stopped, brought back, and taken to Bermondsey Station—he said that he hoped the coins would be all right—I demanded my 5l. back, which he gave me—four days afterwards I found this broken medal (produced) on a shelf on my premises—I had not purchased it of anybody.
Cross-examined. Q. Had you known the lad before? A. Not Painter—he told me ho ought to be in business in the City at a little after nine o'clock; it was then close upon ten.
medal at Mr. Viewig's shop on the Saturday afternoon after Painter had been taken—he gave mo his correct name and address—I have been to 19, Clifton Cottages, Clifton Street, Peckham, but found nothing there.
MARY PAINTER . I am the wife of John Painter, who is in the service of the London, Chatham, and Dover Railway, and lives at 19, Clifton Cottages, Clifton Road—Painter is my son—Dowst came there and asked for him on the 18th of August, Sunday—I saw him sealing these two boxes (produced), in which the coins were afterwards found—I did not see them again till Turpin found them and opened them in my presence—they contained five gold medals and one silver one.
Cross-examined. Q. Was the box sealed at the time it was found by the officer? A. Yes—my son was employed at Mr. Lloyd's, the silk manufacturer—his time to be at business was nine o'clock—Dowst was a school-fellow of his—he has always borne a respectable character since he was ten years old—he was in the employment of Messrs. Slater and Wood, of Cheapside, three years, and of Messrs. Snape, of Cannon Street, for twelve months—he was sixteen last February.
LOUISA FORREST . I am a widow and clean the office of Holmes, Robertson, and Stoneham, of 5, Philpot Lane—I was there on a Saturday in August—I do not know the date, but it was the Saturday before the robbery was discovered—I was there from four o'clock till nine or ten in the evening and saw Dowst leave—I did not see Painter there; I think I saw him on the Thursday previous to the robbery, but he did not go into the office—he came twice; and I told him on both occasions that Dowst was not there—I saw him leave with Dowst several times, a week or a fortnight before the robbery.
PAINTER— NOT GUILTY .
MR. DALY conducted the Prosecution.
ELIZABETH TAYLOR . I live at 92, Euston Street—I saw the prisoner Collins at the corner of Regent Circus about a quarter to one o'clock—she asked me for twopence, and I said that I had not got it—I walked up Oxford Street, she followed me, asked me again, and struck me in the face—I sent for a constable and heard somebody saying, "Snatch at her watch and chain," using bad language—I turned my head and she knocked me down, and the man came up and snatched my hat, and another man, who has had three months, hit me—I had no watch, only a chain and two lockets; they did not take them—a coalman rescued me, and I gave the prisoners in charge.
Williams. I never had your hat. Witness. You took it.
ROBERT FRENCH (Policeman 220). I met the last witness, bleeding—she made a complaint to me, and I found this hat (produced) lying where a coalman had stopped the prisoners in Regent Street—they were running and trying to get away—I took them.
Collins's Defence. She is always walking up and down Regent Street, and has men following her. I asked her to lend me a penny; she said, "No; it is dirty w—s like you who prevent respectable women getting money."
Williams's Defence. The coalman said that he did not see me take the hat.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. POLAND conducted the Prosecution.
HENRY STUTTLE (City Policeman 727). On 22nd June I was on duty in Lower Thames Street at about half-past three, and Goodens called my attention to the prisoner as having assaulted him—I endeavoured to persuade him to go away—he said, "You b----, if I cannot get at him lean at you," and struck me in the mouth and kicked me on my ankle—I fell, with my legs doubled under me and the prisoner on top of me—I was taken inside Messrs. Baker's warehouse and found my ankle severely injured—I was taken to the hospital, and remained there seven weeks—I then had leave for four weeks, and am now on reserve duty; my ankle is dislocated and the small bone broken—the prisoner started off and was pursued; he was taken on 10th September—I was in uniform and on special duty—he had been drinking, but perfectly knew what he was about.
ALEXANDER MCKAY . I am a constable employed at Brewer's Quay—on 22nd June I was called by Goodens and saw the prisoner on top of Stubbs, who was on his back, holding him with both hands—I got hold of him, we pulled him off, but he escaped—I assisted the constable into a warehouse.
JOHN GOODENS . In June I was in the service of Messrs. Barber, of Brewer's Quay—on 22nd June I saw the prisoner; he threw a bar of wood down towards me, I put my hand up, stopped it, and spoke to him about it; he went two or three steps and thfew it again—I fetched an officer to remove him, but he struck the officer, threw him down, and broke his ankle.
GUILTY .— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment.
MR. MOIR conducted the Prosecution, and MR. M. WILLIAMS the Defence.
WILLIAM MAJOR . I am a printer, of 6, Cross Keys Square—when this occurred I was living at Cotterell's Buildings, Bartholomew Close—on 5th July, between one and two in the morning, I was in Golden Lane with my friend George McDougal, and went into the prisoner's house to have a cup of tea or coffee—he met us in the passage; he keeps a lodging-house—he knocked me down, jumped on me, kicked me, and I became in sensible—when I came to myself I was lying in George Yard, about two houses off, and the policeman had come up—there was a light in the passage—there were others behind him, and my friend was behind me—I am positive the prisoner is the man—I was taken to the station, where I was attended by a surgeon, and next morning I was taken before a Magistrate at Clerkenwell and charged with being drunk and incapable—I was discharged and sent to the hospital, and am still in the doctor's hands—I am sure I was not drunk, but I was slightly under the effects of drink—when I recovered I missed my purse and five or six shillings and my guard, but not my watch.
Cross-examined. Q. How long had you been in McDougal's company?
A. About five hours; we went to two or three houses, and had sereral glasses during the evening; we met at eight, and he left me about one o'clock—we may have gone into three public-houses—I will not swear it was not four—I had a sovereign and some silver when I startedit may have been 5s., it was not 10s.—I paid half-a-crown for a cab—I did not lose all my money—I had a half-sovereign left.
NOT GUILTY .
JAMES SCOTT BAKKER PASSMORE . The prisoner was my shipmate on board the Tundill, we both slept in the forecastle—I put my clothes in my berth, my watch was in the waistcoat pocket—next day, about three in the afternoon, I mentioned it to every one in the forecastle—the ship was then about 100 miles outside the Line—I suspected one or two persons, but did not name anybody—I blamed somebody in New York, the runner in the boarding-house—we arrived in London on 18th August, and I left the vessel about six a.m.—after I left I suspected Lynch, and a week afterwards I met one of my shipmates, who told me the prisoner had the watch—I gave him in charge on the evening of the 26th—he said that he had taken the watch, but did not know it was mine—I told him he knew very well it was mine, and if he would give it to me I would not press the case—he said that if I would wait till next morning he should be able to get it for me—I gave him in custody.
ALBERT DAVIS (Policeman 193 K). On 26th August Passmore gave the prisoner into my custody for stealing a watch—he said he knew nothing about it—he afterwards said to Passmore, "If you let me be till the morning I will get you the watch"—on the way to the station he said that he had sold it for 8s. to a Jew.
WILLIAM PENDRED . I am a seaman; when we came ashore at London I saw the prisoner with the watch in the boarding-house—I recollected that there had been a disturbance on board the vessel about the watch, but I did not tell Passmore.
Prisoner's Defence. I found the watch in the forecastle.
GUILTY .— Six months' Imprisonment.
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, September 20th, 1867.
Before Mr. Justice Smith.
881. WILLIAM HENRY HODGSON (22) PLEADED GUILTY to eight indictments for forging and uttering certain transfers of stock, relating to two sums of 213l. 3s. 2d., and 141l. 18s. 9d., and personating the parties entitled to the same.
Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
882. DAVID JOHNSON (20) , Feloniously and without lawful excuse having in his possession a copper plate upon which was engraved a promissory note for the payment of money of the Union Bank of Scotland.
MR. MURRAY conducted the Prosecution and MR. SLEIGH the Defence.
RICHARD SMITH . I am a die-sinker and engraver, of 4, Upper Smith Street, Northampton Square—on 17th June the prisoner came to my house, accompanied by a man named Zelman—I had never seen the prisoner before—I have known Zelmau for three or four years perhaps—I am not perfectly certain of the time; he introduced the prisoner to me—
I am referring to some notes which were made at the time, at least two or three days after the prisoner first visited me; they were made under the instructions of Inspector Foulger—Zelman said, "This is a friend of mine, who I think I can introduce to you to do some business"—I asked him what description of business it was—he said it was some engraving—I said, "It is perfectly uncertain whether I can do it or not without you explain yourself more fully and thoroughly"—he said it was to engrave a plate—I asked what for, and Zelman, I think, said, "Show him the note"—the prisoner then handed me a 5l. note of the Union Bank of Scotland—(I afterwards gave it back to the prisoner)—I said, "It is a very serious matter, a thing of this sort, not to be undertaken very lightly"—he said there was very little chance of detection in the affair, in fact none, and it was a very good chance of making a deal of money; he said I was to receive 20l. for engraving the plate in the first instance if I agreed to do it, and 300l. when the plate was finished—he said the reason there was such a slight chance of detection was that there were only four persons in it; they were himself, Zelman, the banker from Australia for whom the notes were intended, and myself—I asked him how many notes he thought of printing if he procured the plate, and he said 30,000l., and it would be impossible to find it out for twelve months, as the voyage to and from Australia would take that time before it could be detected—I told him I could give him no answer then, but I would see Zelman the next day if he would call at my place—Zelman introduced him by the name of Johnson; at least he was not exactly introduced by name, but it was mentioned incidentally during the evening that his name was Johnson—Zelman called him Charlie at the time—next day, Tuesday, the 18th, I saw Zelman, but not the prisoner—on the 19th Zelman came to my house and told me I was to meet the prisoner in the City Road, near the Eagle—he went with me and we met the prisoner—he asked me if I would engrave the plates—I said, "Yes"—he asked how long it would take to do them—I said about six weeks, I thought—he said that was too long, I must do it in less time—I said I did not think I possibly could—he asked me if I could get the paper for the notes when the plate was engraved—I said I was not quite certain, and he gave me then the size of the sheet required for a double note—they are printed in twos, of which he seemed to be aware—he asked me if I should want some money before I started on the plates—I said yes, and he gave me 5l. in gold; at the same time he gave me the 5l. Scotch note for the purpose of engraving the plate, as a pattern to work to—(that note was afterwards changed by the engraver at a money-changer's at the West End for another more legible)—he asked me if I could do the printing myself, or how it would be best to arrange about the printing—I said it would be dangerous, of course, to employ an ordinary printer in a thing of this sort—he said, "Well, then, we must try and do it ourselves"—I said I could give him no decided answer then whether or no I could do it; that would be an after consideration—I gave Zelman half of the 5l.—next day, Thursday, the 20th, I met Zelman at half-past nine in the morning, and we went to the Moor Lane Police Station—I inquired for Inspector Foulger, and was referred to Bow Lane—I went there and saw him, and he gave me directions how to act in this matter—since that time, until the prisoner was apprehended, I have acted entirely under his directions—during that period I saw him nearly every day, and also Mr. Mullens, the solicitor engaged in this case—after leaving the inspector I went to Hughes and Kiraber's, copper plate and printing
material manufacturers, in Fetter Lane—Zelman was with me, but I forget whether he went into the place or not—I there bought a copper plate, the size of the note—this (produced) is it—I saw the prisoner afterwards that same day in the neighbourhood of the City Road, close by the Eagle—I showed him the plate and arranged to meet him again on the 22nd—I did not do so—it was afterwards arrauged that I should give Zelnun notice when I wanted to see him—I next saw him on the 24th with Zelman, at my bouse—I showed him the plate, which then had a portion of this ornamental scroll engraved on it—he showed me a 1l. Scotch note on that occasion—he thought the signature of the cashier of the bank was more distinct and easier to copy than that on the 5l. note, it being very dirty and rather obliterated—I have not got that 1l. note—it was impossible to have copied that, as it was a different size from the one on the 5l. note—I asked him for some money and he gave me 10l.—I afterwards gave Zelman 5l. of it—I saw the prisoner on Tuesday, 25th June, and on Saturday, the 29th—on 3rd July I saw him again, I then had the plate with me; Zelman was with him—I showed him the plate—it was further advanced not completed—he asked me if it was necessary to have a press for taking the proofs off, and afterwards, of course, for the printing, and I said, "Yes, as soon as possible"—he said he would put an advertisement in the Clerkenwell News for one—he asked me if I could get the paper, and I said most likely I could get it at Birmingham—afterwards, on that same day, I went again to Hughes and Kimber's for another plate to engrave the front of the note—this is the plate I bought (produced),—on 4th July I saw the prisoner again—I showed him this plate and the other as well, and he found some fault with the scroll ornament—it was not quite correct, not perfectly agreeing with the pattern note—on 5th July I saw him again in the evening, and he said I was to go to Birmingham the next day, Saturday, and he said I was to write to Zelraan's address, 57, Herbert Street, if I wanted to write, and he would hold himself in constant communication with Zelman, and would get the letter immediately—on 6th July I went to Birmingham; the prisoner came to my house with Zelman, and accompanied me to the station and saw me go—he gave me 9l.—I gave Zelman a portion of it—I stayed at Ballivant's Hotel, Carr's Lane, High Street, Birmingham—I wrote a letter to the prisoner, addressed to Zelman, from Birmingham—I have a copy of it. (Read; notice to produce the original had been given:—"7th July.—I enclose a sample of the goods you require, but I think they are a little too heavy. They were made for the Russian market. The price is higher than I thought; the party thinks they would be 30l. for the 2000 pieces, the quantity you require, but I have induced him to do them for 24l., and the time they will take will be twenty-four days to get the quantity you waut. Please telegraph to say what I am to do, as I shall return by the 3.50 train. You can say, 'Wait for further instructions.'") I received this telegram purporting to come from Zelman—(Read:—"Please apply National and Provincial Bank for 10l. Sample sent too heavy; try and manage and have it done in less time.") On Friday, 13th July, I went with the prisoner to Mr. La Riviere, in Clifton Street, Finsbury—that was in answer to an advertisement in the Clerkenwell News, and in the prisoner's presence I selected a lithographic press and a copper-plate press—they came to 6l. 5s.—the prisoner paid a sovereign down, and said he would pay the rest when he fetched them away—this receipt (produced) was given for the 1l. in the name of Simpson—Mr. La Riviere asked me what name, aud I said Simpson—the presses
Were to be taken away on the ensuing Wednesday, 17th—on that day I went there with the prisoner and took them away, and took them to 76, Gray'd Inn Road, in a cart, which the prisoner engaged—on 15th the prisoner said that we had better have a place to put the presses in—he left me then to look after a place—at my suggestion he went to Long Lane, Smithfield, in answer to an advertisement in. the Clerkenwtll News—he did not take a place there, but he told me next day that he had taken a place at 76, Gray's Inn Road, and that was where we took the presses—an arrangement was made that I should go to Birmingham again about the paper—I did not go—the prisoner thought that I went—I posted a letter to a person in Birmingham to be returned to me on 22nd July—I did that under the direction of. Inspector Foulger—this is the letter, it is not my writing—I don't know whose it is, it was given to me by Mr. Foulger—I enclosed it in an envelope directed to myself, inside another envelope, to a person in Birmingham, for the purpose of putting it through the Birmingham post. (Read: "Handsworth, Birmingham. Sir,—Please come and see me as soon as you possibly can, as the goods I am making for you are a deal of trouble, and I want your advice about them; there would have been part of them ready but for this difficulty. Yours truly, N.") I showed that letter to the prisoner; he said the delay was very inconvenient, and I had better write again immediately and try and ascertain what the difficulty was—I afterwards wrote another letter to the same person in Birmingham, under Inspector Foulger's direction, to be put through the post in the same way; it was returned to me in the same way, and it was shown to the prisoner. (Bead: "23rd July, 1867. Dear Sir,—I think a personal interview would-be better, as I can hardly explain by letter what the difficulty is. Hoping to see you soon, I remain, yours truly, N.") I afterwards saw the prisoner at 76, Gray's Inn Road, where the presses had been taken, several times, nearly every day—I saw him take some impressions off the copper plate—I got the engraving of the front plate done—I engraved neither of the plates myself, I got them both done—I last saw the prisoner on 3rd August at 76, Gray's Inn Road, where the presses were—the plates were there then—he was taking some proofs from the plates when I left the room.
Cross-examined. Q. Have you stated any one occasion upon which any person was present besides yourself and Zelrnan at any interview, or any act done by the prisoner? A. No, with the exception of the purchase of the presses—if any person had been present it would have been objected to by the prisoner, because the subject was proposed to be kept secret—it was on 16th June that I first became acquainted with the prisoner—I had never seen him before he was introduced to me by Zelman—I had not been intimate with Zelman—I knew him as an acquaintance simply by meeting him out of doors—I was never at his house, nor he at mine—I never knew what his business was—I understood from what I heard him say that he was a commission agent, or something of the kind—this is not the first time I have been in Court; this is the first matter in which I have been a witness—I have been a witness in a county court—I have been a prisoner about eight years ago; it was for felony, I believe, or the illegal possession of goods—I pleaded guilty at the Middlesex Sessions and got nine months; since then I have been living for about twelve months near the Eagle Tavern, City Road—I kept a coffee-house there—I did not let out beds, I had none to let—I was not proceeded against there by the parish authorities—I was summoned once for keeping the house open after one o'clock for the supply of
refreshments, and fined 5s—I was a licensed refreshment-house keeper—I think that is about two and a half years ago—I was not then living with a woman named Bella, I was living with my wife, she died in that house after that—a woman named Kate was living with me, I was keeping her to manage my place—I forget whether it was then or before that I was summoned before the Magistrate; no, it was not while she was with me—I was not summoned for gambling, for playing at blind hookey, or any other game—Kate is not living with me now—I have been living in Smith Street about twelve months—I knew Zelman when I kept the coffee-house near the Eagle, more by sight than anything else—I very seldom spoke to him—I think he only came there once the whole time I was there—Zelman and I have not been engaged in playing cards in the house in which I live within the last three months—I don't think I have ever played a game of cards with Zelman in my life—I last saw him about a fortnight or three weeks ago—I never saw him at the Mansion House—he went with me to Mr. Foulger, and he was acting with me throughout in this matter—he has never been examined as a witness to my knowledge—it was in the City Road that I last saw him, not at the Eagle—I have not been in the habit of frequenting the Eagle with him—I have met him there occasionally—I have had about 30l. from the prisoner altogether—the printing press was an ordinary one, adapted for lithography—I have not had any money for the purpose of giving evidence—I had some to pay the engraver, not for my services in this matter—I am doing itentirelyfor the love of justice; whether I expect to receive what expenses I may be put to is another thing—I have not made any terms or been promised anything—I shall expect to have my expenses paid, most decidedly—I don't know about anything beyond that—I never knew Zelman to be in any trouble, according to his own account he has not—I don't know what he is doing for a living—I know that he is a bankrupt—I don't know that that is trouble—I believe that is a matter of business very frequently—I do not know that he is now an uncertificated bankrupt, and that he is refused protection by the Court of Bankruptcy—he has only been a bankrupt once to my knowledge—I was not at the Bankruptcy Court—I don't know what he was described as—I was never in custody on any charge except the one for which I got nine months—I was never charged with cheating a person out of 12s. by playing or betting.
MR. MURRAY. Q. What was it that you were really charged with eight years ago? A. I was engaged as a die-sinker to a large army accoutrement maker—I told one of the men there I should report him for neglectiug his work, and he informed the master that I was robbing him of his metal—they were merely three or four patterns, which the men were all in the habit of taking, worth a mere trifle, and which I had put in my pocket to take home.
MR. SLEIGH. Q. Have you got a diamond ring belonging to the prisoner? A. He gave it me for the purpose of expediting this work—I have it now—it is not worth 20l., only about 7l. or 8l.
WILLIAM GREEN (City Policeman). On 29th June last I was instructed to watch the prisoner, Zelman, aud Smith, and from that time until the prisoner was apprehended I was constantly watching them and following them about—on Saturday, 6th July, I was at the Euston Station, and saw them there—Smith went to the box aud got a ticket—he then went on to the platform and got into a carriage of the Birmingham and Liverpool train—I saw him go away in that train—I had previously seen the prisoner
and Smith on several occasions—I have watched Smith's house and seen the prisoner go in and come out of it—on 8th July I saw the prisoner come out of 19, Shaftesbury Street, where he was lodging—from thence he went to Cross Street, City Road, to a coffee-shop—he remained there gome time, and then came out with another man—I saw him in Lombard Street speak to constable Clearing, and then go to a telegraph office in Founder's Court—he stayed there some time and came out—Smith was not there—he joined the other man, who was with him, and they both went to Old Swan Pier, and from there to Chelsea—on 11th July I saw the prisoner go to the Clerkenwell News office, in Myddelton Street, with Zelman—as he came out he was reading a letter, which he tore in pieces and threw away—I picked up the pieces and have put them together—this is it—it is addressed A. Z., Myddelton Street, Clerkenwell—on 17th July I saw the prisoner go to Mr. La Riviere's Bliop, in Clifton Street, Finsbury—he was alone—he then went to Mr. Bailey's, in Hill Street, Finsbury, a carman's—I saw him talk to a man in the yard there, and I afterwards saw a cart driven by that man to Mr. La Riviere's door—I saw the prisoner and Smith take out the two presses and load them in the cart—I followed the cart to 76, Gray's Inn Road, and there saw the prisoner take them out and take them into the house—I have seen the prisoner several times since then going in and coming out of that house—I was present when he was apprehended.
JOHN MOSS (City Police Sergeant). I have been watching the prisoner for the last mopth or two, under directions—on 3rd August I apprehended him at Finch's public-house, Middle Row, Holborn—when I went in I saw him sitting on a seat there—I said, "What is your name?"—he said, "Johnson; why do you ask?"—at that time Inspector Foulger and Green came in—I told the prisoner we were police officers of the City of London, and we should charge him with being concerned in forging 5l. notes of the Union Bank of Scotland—he at once took from his pocket a parcel and said, "Here are two things I had left with me forhalf-an-hour"—I handed that parcel to Inspector Foulger, and said, "Have you anything else relating to this matter?"—he said, "Yes, I have a piece of paper," taking from his pocket this piece of tracing paper and a specimen taken from the plate—at this time Inspector Foulger opened the parcel—he first asked him if he know what the parcel contained—he said, "Yes"—he then produced these plates from it and asked if he had ever seen them before—he said, "Once or twice, in Smith's possession"—we then conveyed him to the station—I searched him—among other things, I found twenty keys—one of those keys was shown to him, and he was asked what it belonged to, and he said either to his portmanteau or his box, he supposed—I afterwards went with Foulger and Green to 76, Gray's Inn Road, and with that key I opened a padlock on the door of the kitchen or place where the presses were—we found in that room the two presses for printing, and some pieces of paper, the same as this, damped ready for striking off—the prisoner gave his address 19, Shaftesbury Street—we went there and found in a leather case 50l. in Scotch notes, some loose clay, and a piece of newspaper—some of the notes were on the Union Bank of Scotland, and I think 25l. was of the City of Glasgow Bank—they have since been given up to him—on searching him I found a left-luggage ticket of the North-Western Railway, Euston Square, dated 21st June—I ascertained that three packages had been left there for which this ticket was given.
Cross-examined. Q. Did not the prisoner say, "I have got two things
left with me for half-an-hour by a man who promised to come back to me?" A. I believe he did—he was asked who the man was, and he said his name was Smith—I believe the plates were in a piece of tissue paper first, and then in a piece of brown paper—the other papers I believe he took from his inside pocket, I believe not from the same pocket that he took the plates, but I will not be positive of that—I found on him a pocket-book, and there might have been a letter or two—this paper was folded up as it is now, the impression was inside the tissue paper—the prisoner said, "I know nothing about them except that they were left with me by Smith"—I did not receive any particular information to take him into custody that day—it was between four and five in the afternoon—I had seen Smith about two o'clock, and Zelman about half-past four with the prisoner, not with Smith—I did not see Zelman at the public-house—I did not see the prisoner go in—I received information from Green, who was watching him more closely than I was—he was not in communication with Smith or Zelman—they had no knowledge that Green was watching them until perhaps two or three days previously—I was not in the public-house by accident.
JOHN FOULGER (City Police Inspector). On 20th June the witness Smith came with Zelman to me at the Bow Lane Station—Smith made a statement to me, and I gave him instructions how to act—I afterwards saw him and Zelman on the 26th June, and frequently since, and have communicated throughout with Mr. Mullens, the solicitor—I was present when the prisoner was apprehended—he was searched—he had these two copper plates in his breast pocket—I heard Moss examined at the Mansion House—he then gave a correct account of what passed.
Cross-examined. Q. Did not the prisoner tell you that the key which, opened the workshop in Gray's Inn Road was Smith's? A. No; he said he thought it belonged to his portmanteau, or to one of his boxes—it was a new key and lock—I have the keys here; a number of them were on a ring, except these two; one of them fits the latch of the door where he lives, and the other a cupboard—this key was not on the ring, but detached.
JAMES MEARING (City Policeman 608). On the 8th July I saw the prisoner near Birchin Lane—he came up and asked me the nearest telegraph office to send a message into the country—I directed him to 27, Cornhill—he asked me whether Gresham House, Broad Street, was not nearer; I told him no—the constable Green came up and spoke to me immediately afterwards.
CHARLES ROBERT BROOK . I am a coffee-house keeper at the corner of Cross Street, Westmoreland Place, City Road—I have known the prisoner three or four months, as a customer merely—I did not know him by any name in particular; we called him "Scotch Charley," because we did not know his name—on the 8th July he came there and I went with him to the New North Road, and took a bus to the Bank—he spoke to a constable, and then went to a telegraph office in Cornhill—we then went to a telegraph office in Founder's Court, Lothbury—he went in and I waited outside—when he came out he told me he had remitted some money to Birminghnm, and if I saw Sam (that was Zelman) I was to tell him he bud remitted the money—it was either 10l. or 15l.
Cross-examined. Q. You seem to have the advantage of Mr. Zelman's
acquaintance? A. I have known him about twelve months—he is a dealer in jewellery—he is passing the bankruptcy as a dealer in jewellery—he has had his protection renewed several times—I suppose it is eight or nine months ago that he became bankrupt—he comes from Poland—I know two or three gentlemen who have known him all his lifetime, and they knew him in Poland—the last time he went to have his protection renewed was on the 8th July, at the time we were at the telegraph office—I knew nothing of him except as a dealer in jewellery—that is the only mode he has of getting his living that I know of—he had no shop or counting-house—I believe he was entrusted with jewellery to sell—he used to get it anywhere he could—he had a lodging in Herbert Street; I never visited him there—I don't know that he had a sky parlour, for which he paid 3s. a week—the only way I knew his address was by his belonging to a building society that I am trustee to, and he gave his address Herbert Street when I took his name down as a member—I can hardly say that I know Smith—he has not been in my place more than three or four times, and I never knew him out of it—he did not pass himself off as a lithographer by trade—I did not know till lately that he was in that way—I was never at his place—Smith has been three or four times to my place during the last three or four months, Zelman frequently, and the prisoner with them—I did not learn from the prisoner that he was going into business with Smith as a printer and lithographer, and that he was to find the capital—I last saw Zelman about three weeks ago I think—I believe it was in Guy's Hospital—he is a young man, about twenty-five or twentysix, and a very sharp young man.
SAMUEL HENRY BROCKELHURST . I am a clerk in the office of the Electric Telegraph Office, Lothbury—I have a transcript of a message given for transmission on 8th July, not to me, but to another clerk—by the rules of our company we are bound to have the Judge's order before we produce it. (The COURT having ordered its production, the witness handed it in.)
JAMES EDWARD POWNALL . I am a clerk in the same office—this telegram was brought to me on 8th July to be sent to Birmingham, to the best of my belief by the prisoner—he also gave me 10l. to be remitted, and it was remitted to the National Provincial Bank there.
JANE HAWKER . I live at 76, Gray's Inn Road—in July there was a bill in my window for a kitchen to let—on 15th July the prisoner called alone and hired the kitchen, at 3s. a week—he paid a week's rent in advance—he afterwards paid more rent, three weeks altogether—he wrote a receipt for the first week's rent, and I signed it—this is it (produced).
Cross-examined. Q. Did he tell you when he was hiring the room that he was hiring it for a friend of his, and that they were going into business together as printers? A. Yes; not together—he said it was for a friend—the witness Smith and another person used to be there frequently—I remember the presses being brought.
JAMES REID . I am cashier of the Union Bank of Scotland—we are in the habit of issuing 5l. notes payable to bearer—I have seen these two plates; they represent portions of the 5l. notes issued by the bank—one plate represents the front part, and the other the scroll on the back—this impression (the one found on the prisoner) represents a portion of a note issued by us—it is not complete—some part is wanting—one signature is wanting, and the ornamental part is not filled up, but the wording is there—the bank is registered—I have the certificate of incorporation.
Cross-examined. Q. Is the bank constituted under a royal charter? A. No, by Act of Parliament—there is a board of directors—they order the manufacture of notes; I superintend and see their orders carried out—I give the orders to the printers for all engraving of notes; the order is given in writing—I may do it or the secretary; but it comes through me—if the secretary writes, it is through my instructions; the secretary is not here—Messrs. Bacon, Perkins, and Co., of London, are the persons employed to engrave our plates.
GUILTY .— Ten Years' Penal Servitude.
MESSRS. DALY, and HOUSTON conducted the Prosecution.
HUGH CLEARY . I am a shoe-maker, of 9, Gee's Court, Oxford Street—on Saturday night, 11th August, after twelve o'clock, I saw the prisoner in Gee's Court, Oxford Street—he said to my mother-in-law that he would kill all the lot, and he came down to my door and made use of the same words, lhat he would kill all the b----lot—I said, "I am a poor weak man, I don't want no fighting; I have nothing to do with you, but you won't kill me," and I struck him—we fought, and he knocked me down three times—my wife came down out of bed and took me away, and shoved me into my landlord's—I was in there between a quarter and half an hour—when I came out I was told that my wife's head was cut open, and I saw her in Oxford Street, standing with her hands up to her head, and the blood running down her back—I said, "Who has done that?"—she said, "George, the man you were fighting with"—the prisoner was not there then—I took her to the hospital—we had not been drinking; all the drink I and my wife had was one half-pint of beer at our supper—we went to bed, but my breath was so bad that I was obliged to go down to the door—I have been ill for three years with diseased heart and consumption, and my wife has been my chief support—the prisoner was sober—I had never spoken to him before.
Prisoner. I was perfectly sober—I never spoke to the man till he attacked me as I was passing his door with a female; he came up to me and said, "Do you want to fight?"—I said, "Fight? you ought to think of something else," and he hit me in the mouth and made it bleed.
Witness. I did not say I would fight him—I did strike him first, because he said he would kill all the b----lot—there was a woman with him—she went away—my wife did nothing but take me away.
JAMES FRESHWATER . I am a waiter, of 25, James Street, Oxford Street—on a Saturday evening, six weeks ago, I saw the last witness fighting with a man in Gee's Court; I did not see his face; I could not say it was the prisoner—I saw the deceased come and fetch her husband away, and push him inside a door—she came out again to prevent the man from going in after her husband—the man mumbled something, caught hold of her by the shoulders, and pushed her down, and while she was on the ground he kicked her with his foot, at the back of the head I believe; I did not see the wound, but I saw blood come out of the head—he might have done it a second time, but I only saw him do it once—I might have been two or three yards away from him.
Prisoner. Q. Did not the husband and wife come out again together? A. No; she came out and held the door—she had only got her gown on—
I was knocked down and had my ribs kicked in, not by you, but through your affair—there was not half a dozen people in the court when I passed, only those who were looking out of windows—I was attacked because I said what a shame it was to hit the old man—they were all sober, by what I could see.
MARGARET SMITH . I am a widow, and live at 13, Gray's Buildings—on Saturday, 11th August, I was passing through Gee's Court from Oxford Street, and saw the prisoner and a woman having a squabble, jangling together—I saw him push her down, using a bad word—she fell backwards, and He made a kick at her—where he kicked her I can't say; I saw blood—I called him a brute, and said he ought to be locked up.
JAMES RANDALL . I live at 7, Gee's Court, and am a tin-plate worker—I was in the barber's shop on this night; I heard a row in the court, and saw five of them pitching on to the prisoner, fighting him; there were two females, the deceased's father, her husband, and son—I picked up his cap when the row was over, and said, "George, come away; it is no good fighting with them"—I saw the deceased go ia doors with her husband and shut the door, and the prisoner went up the court with his mouth bleeding, and I saw no more.
EDWARD DIBBIN (Police Sergeant 5 D). I took the prisoner into custody on the 10th—I told him it was for causing the death of Jane Cleary four weeks ago—he said, "Very well; there was a fearful row at the time, fighting all round; I was dreadfully pitched into, and I may have kicked her."
MONTAGUE THOMAS . I am a surgeon, in High Street, Marylebone—on 30th August I was called to 9, Gee's Court, to attend the deceased, as medical officer of the parish—my assistant saw her first, the day previous—she was suffering from inflammation of the brain—she had a curved scalp-wound extending from the vertex to the left temple—I could form no notion of what had produced it; a kick might do it—I attended her till 9th September, when she died of inflammation of the brain, caused by the wound.
COURT. Q. Was the wound recent? A. The cut was four and a half inches long, and about two-thirds of it had healed when I saw her; I should imagine it had been done about a fortnight; it was not contused—it had healed by the first indention; it must have been a pretty clean cut—falling against the sharp edge of a door might produce it.
Prisoner. Q. Do you think my boots, which were very bad, would cause such a wound. A. A boot very much worn of course would not—(examining the prisoner's boot)—I think this might cause it—the deceased had been in the Middlesex Hospital before I saw her—she was in bed the whole time she was under my care.
The prisoner received a good character.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW CQURT.—Wednesday, September 25th, and Thursday, 26th, 1867.
Before Mr. Justice Lush.
MESSRS. POLAND and COLLINS conducted the Prosecution, and MESSRS. RIBTON and STRAIGHT the Defence.
about two years—we had no relations or friends in London; we came up as strangers—her age was twenty-two—I know the prisoner; he lived at 1, Temperance Cottages, North Street, Limehouse—my sister has lived with him as his wife about six months—I saw her on the Sunday week before I saw her dead—she was then at home, up stairs with the prisoner; they were quarrelling—I think it was about some money—I did not see him do anything to her, nor threaten to do anything to her—my sister said she would leave him in the week; she would not live with him any longer, she would go to a situation—she had been a domestic servant—I did not see her again till she was in her coffin, on the day of the inquest.
COURT. Q. When she said she would leave him in the week, and would not be with him any longer, did he say anything? A. No—I am sure she said so in his presence.
MARY ANN WILTSHIRE . I am the wife of John Wiltshire, labourer, and live at present at Brunswick Road, Gravesend—I formerly lived next door to the prisoner, at 2, Temperance Cottages—I knew the deceased quite well—I went to Gravesend on Tuesday morning, 23rd July—I had seen the deceased every day—I saw her on the previous Saturday up to quite late in the evening—I saw her as late as eleven o'clock—the prisoner was not with her then—I saw him with her in his room when it was getting dark—I went there because they were having a few words—I had not been very well, and was lying down—my window was open; and theirs also—I heard him say a bad word, and heard a shriek—he used some very bad words—I do not think I can repeat them, if you will please to excuse me—I heard her scream, and went in—the prisoner had her by her hair, and had kicked her twice.
MR. RIBTON. You did not see him do that? A. I was at the door, and before I could get to her he kicked her on the back of the head and under the blade-bone.
COURT. Q. When you went in what did you see him doing? A. He held her by the hair at the foot of the bedstead, near the window; and I said "Oh! John, John, what are you doing?"—she was in a stooping position—I saw him kick her twice—I did not see him kick her before I got in but I did see him kick her; he had her by the hair and kicked her—I could not come to her assistance before he kicked her; and I said, "Oh! John, John, what are you doing of? You will be sorry for what you have done presently,"
MR. POLAND You shoved him off her? A. Yes; on to the foot of the bed—I had seen what she had been doing to him: she had thrown the tea-things at him, and the teapot also—I saw them all about, and the sugar also—the disturbance was became she had been too long gone on an errand to get a chop—I heard that said when the prisoner was there—the deceased said to me that she was to leave to go to service—she said he had promised her money to get more clothes to go to service—that was a week previous to this occurrence—the prisoner was not present when she told me.
Cross-examined by MR. RIBTON. Q. Am I to understand that you saw him kick her? A. Yes—at the back of her head—that was on the Saturday evening before the Wednesday—I ran hastily into the room, and cannot say that it was a violent kick—she must have been very violent to have thrown the teapot at him—the teapot and all went together—I was examined by the Coroner, and not by the Magistrate—I was only called before the Magistrate once, and then my evidence was not heard—I was sworn once, but is is impossible for me to say why I did not give my evidence—
Mr. Paget said the evidence was too far gone for him to take my evidence—I have seen Elizabeth Hampton—I did not hear her examined before the Coroner—I have seen her—I do not know she was examined before the Coroner—I saw her come into the room, but did not hear her examined—the deceased was of a very happy disposition at times—I did not see her in a distressed state; if she was she must have passed it over—she said she would not lead such a life, if her mother was living she would not allow her to live such an unhappy life; and that they had been asked in church—she said she wished things were settled, that he would do one thing or the other, as she could not live so unhappily as she was—I might probably have said before the Coroner, "I never heard Wiggins threaten to take her life—she has said she could not live such an unhappy life, he did not seem as if he would do right by her"—she has said so frequently—that was said in connection with would fehe go to service or would he make her his wife—I never heard him say that he would not forgive her—I never heard her say, "I feel I could make away with myself"—she said she would go to service, and see happy days yet—I mean to say that I never heard her say, "I feel I could make away with myself"—I do not know whether Elizabeth Hampton is here—I have known her since a little after Christmas—she came there to live—the deceased has been frequently to my house—my door was never closed—I have been there these eight years, and have been in the habit of going to the prisoner's house much—I know the old people well; as well as I do my father and mother, almost—the deceased had been living with him since a little after Christmas—I saw her every day—the two houses are close together, and I have to pass their door to get every drop of water for my teakettle or to wash my place—I spoke to her as if she was my own child—I have been in the habit of speaking to her daily almost from Christmas to July—this occurred on the Saturday previous to the affair of Wednesday—I am quite sure of that—I saw her on the Tuesday before, in the morning—she came into my house—that was the morning I went to Gravesend—I was in Gravesentl by two o'clock—we had very little conversation, she only remained a few minutes, and then I left home for Grravesend—I came back next morning, Wednesday.
MR. POLAND. Q. When you saw her on Tuesday, in what state was she? A. Very comfortable, but the old lady, Mrs. Wiggins, was sadly, and she was doing all she could for the whole of them—her age is sixtynine or seventy—she was ill at that time—she is subject to illness at times—I attended the police-court regularly, and was sworn—I have seen Mr. Youug, he is the prisoner's solicitor—he objected to my evidence, and I was not examined.
MARTHA TRUSS . I am landlady of the Golden Lion, St. George's Road, St. George's-in-the-East—I saw the prisoner on Tuesday night, 23rd July—he was in my public-house—I said, "Well, Wiggins, how are you getting on?"—he said, "Very badly"—I said, "I am sorry to hear that; how is that?"—he said, "It is on account of the young woman I have been living with not turning out what I expected"—I said, "I am very sorry to hear that; if you cannot be happy and comfortable together you had better part; you are not compelled to live with her if you are not married"—he said, "No, I am determined to get rid of her"—he did not say in what way she had not turned out what he expected—my gas was lighted; it was, I think, between nine and ten o'clock.
Cross-examined by MR. RIBTON. Q. You have never been examined
before, either before the Coroner or the Magistrate? A. No—when I heard of the murder it brought it so fresh to my memory that the young man was in front of the bar—I read this in the newspapers, and mentioned it in front of my bar in the hearing of some persons, and then the inspector came and asked me—I have known Wiggins seven or eight years by using my house when I lived at Stepney, but I had not seen him for some time—he never did me any harm, and I should be sorry to say anything against him—I thought he meant parting with her—I entertained a good opinion of him at that time, having seen him some years, and observed his conduct and demeanour—he was not in the habit of coming there very frequently, but he used to come to my other house—I do not know a great deal about him, only by coming in front of the bar—I cannot say exactly what time it was—I know my gas was alight—it might be between eight or nine, or a little earlier—I never saw the deceased, and I did not know that he was living with a woman till he told me—I did not know exactly where he lived; it was not near my house—now that I have heard, I should think that it was two miles off, or not quite so far—I did not see him on the 23rd—it was the Tuesday before the murder was committed—other persons saw him in the public-house—I could not tell you the time exactly—I have so many customers come in that I did not notice—I know it was between nine and ten—I cannot tell within half an hour.
JAMES BURLEY . I am a pawnbroker's assistant, living at 1, Waterloo Terrace, Commercial Road East—I know the prisoner—on 20th May, 1867, I advanced him a sovereign on a gold watch, and gave him a duplicate—on 20th July that same ticket was brought to me by a woman—I produce the ticket to-day—from something she said, I lent her another sovereign on the same gold watch—I do not know who she was—she said she wanted a pound on her husband's watch—the name on the ticket is "John Wiggins."
SARAH MARTIGNA . I am the wife of Alfred Martigna, of 3, Rhodeswell Road, Limehouse—that is on the other side of the canal from the prisoner's cottage, right opposite to it—this is my house, as shown in the model, and this is the prisoner's—on Wednesday morning, 24th July, I was awoke at ten minutes to two by screams of "Murder!" proceeding across the canal from the direction of Temperance Cottages, the prisoner's house, but I do not speak of any particular house—there are only two Temperance Cottages—I looked at my watch, and it was exactly ten minutes to two—I looked through the window across the canal—the window was shut—I did not open it—I heard the cry from three to four times—the first words I heard were, "You b----old bitch, you are murdering of me"—it was a strong female voice—I heard repeated cries of "Murder!"—I next heard, "They are murdering me!"—I got into bed and heard the church clock distinctly go two—my husband was sleeping with me—he was asleep, and I did not wake him—the clock struck, it may have been a minute or two after I returned to bed—it was a very short time—I heard the cries of "Murder!" perhaps two or three times—I cannot say positively—I heard the words, "You b----old bitch," more than the words of "Murder!"—I mean I heard them oftener—the window was shut and I did not open it—it lifts up and down—I did not hear next morning what had taken place at the cottages, not till five o'clock in the evening—I am sure those cries were on the morning of that day.
Cross-examined by MR. RIBTON. Q. The canal in between your house and the prisoner's house? A. Yes—the cries came from tshe direction of
the prisoner's house—there are a great many houses round there—in Little North Street there are some—there is no thoroughfare through the street, is there is the canal—I do not know if there are streets leading from North Street, as I do not go round to that side—there is a towing-path by the canal at the back of my house—there is not a towing-path on the other side—the back of my house is to the canal—I thought these were merely words between man and wife—I do not often hear disturbances in that neighbourhood—I have heard them, but never took notice of them—I have heard rows in that district between men and women—I cannot say whether they were between men and their wives—on this night I heard only a female voice, and when there have been disturbances in the street I have heard both male and female voices—the reason I noticed it is because I heard the cry of "Murder!"—if it had been anything else I should not have got out of bed to look, and I got up and looked and saw nothing—I thought it was a man illusing his wife—I heard the words, "Old bitch," and I thought it was very strange for a wife to address those words to her husband—I cannot say when I had heard disturbances before, or how often I have heard them—I did not take notice—I have never been disturbed at night by noises or disturbances from the same quarter—it must be very close to the bottom of the street, or I should not hear it across the canal—I have been lying in bed and heard noises, but have not been asleep—I have never been awoke by them—I cannot say whether I have heard them about the same time, because I have not looked at my watch, and I have no clock in the room—I might not be awake, and I have never had disturbances to awake me—I never noticed the time—I have heard noises, and cannot say whether it was about the same time—the disturbances I have heard were men and women quarrelling—I have not heard the words—I have heard voices without hearing words—I have heard voices and did not know what it was, being unable to hear what they said—I never was awoke by them—I have heard the noises going up to bed.
COURT. Q. You looked at your watch; had you a light in the room? A. Yes; I lit a candle and looked at my watch, it was then ten minutes to two—I looked out both before and after I lit the candle—I saw no light in any of these houses—I saw no people about.
JOHN TUCKER (Policeman 458 K). On the morning of 24th July I was on duty in Henry Street, Limehouse, about thirty-five or forty yards up—I came into Henry Street about two in the morning, and stood here (pointing to a spot on a model)—I heard a cry of "Murder!" proceeding from the direction of the Regent's Canal—we call it the "Cut"—the prisoner's house is on the other side of the canal, but I did not know then where it was—the cry came from that direction—that would be fifty or sixty yards from the canal—I went to the towing-path and along it—it was very dark—I had to turn on my light—I did not cross the canal—I had not the means of doing so—I heard nothing else, it was all quiet, the sound had died away—I returned into the Rhodeswell Road, which is on the eastern side of the canal, and was trying the door of a beer-house when Limehouse Church struck two—it was a female's voice that I heard, and the cry was as of a person in great distress—I only heard one cry of "Murder!"—I heard nothing more at all.
Cross-examined by MR. RIBTON. Q. Have you seen this plan? A. Yes—this is the prisoner's house, and I know that this correctly represents it—I do not know the distance in yards—I corrected this scale—it was represented that I was at the corner, but I was where this pin is,
in Henry Street—I heard a distinct cry of "Murder!" I am upon my oath—the sound came from the direction of the water—I went straight to the canal—I got under the fence, and under the railway arch, which is a very dangerous place—I then went along the towing-path, and when I got there I paused and looked round, when I lost the sound—I listened some time, but did not hear it repeated—the sound became fainter as I went along—it was a lusty cry, a prolonged cry, as if a person was stopping their breath, it was one cry prolonged; it became faint—I was on the "Cut" side when I lost it, on the towing-path at the back of the house.
COURT. Q. Do you say that the sound continued from the spot where you were till you got to the towing-path? A. It was very faint then, and it died off the water as a person would shout on the water; whether it was the re-echo across the water I cannot tell.
MR. RIBTON. Q. Before the Magistrate you said, "I heard a cry of "Murder!" which came from the direction of the water; I went to the side of the towing-path; all was quiet; I returned to my beat, and went along the Rhodeswell Road:" is that quite correct? A. Yes—it was a lusty cry; when it was first made it was a loud voice, as if a person was being strangled, held by another person; the voice became fainter—I heard the echo on the water, and then I lost the sound, or else I should have gone further—I will not swear that I heard the echo on the water, but I traced it to the water—I heard it till I came to the towing-path, and then I lost it.; there was no more sound—the sound came in that direction, and I went in that direction—when I came to the towing-path I heard the sound, and I went along the towing-path to where I directed your pen, and then retraced my steps, and came to the public-house at the corner—I came round under the railway arch into that road, and then went under the arch again, and along this road to the beer-shop—I went a short distance the other side of the arch—I was trying the doors as I went along—I went to the third door, that is the beer-shop, 1 did not stop there two seconds, and then proceeded on my beat to the corner of Georgina Place—I paused a short time at this corner, and then continued on my beat down here at two o'clock—the cries came from the water—I did not know the prisoner's house then.
COURT. Q. You did not know it then, but you know it now? A. Yes—the cry came from the canal, in the direction of this thread; it came across the railway, from the direction of the prisoner's house, as I now know.
MR. RIBTON. Q. Did you know that at the time? A. No; I had never done duty there—I knew in what direction it came, I traced the sound—I did not know that the sound came from this direction, or else I should have gone there—I knew it came in the direction of the railway—I know in what particular direction off the water it came—I told you I did not know from what house it came to the water, if I recollect rightly—I swear that the sound came across the rail—I believe it came from that house, but did not know the house then.
COURT. Q. You say that it came from the water; that might be this side of the railway or the other; you are asked whether you could tell from what direction if came? A. Across the water, in the direction in which the line is drawn.
MR. RIBTON. Q. On that night did you know, or think, or believe that the sound you heard came from that direction where the house is? A. I believe it did come from that direction, from that side of the water—I believed
on that night that it came from about the spot where the house is—I did not go there because I could not trace the sound, and I had no means of crossing the canal unless I had gone some considerable distance to a bridge—if I had gone round I should have gone to another sub-division—I did not like to interfere with my brother constable unless I was certain, and I was not certain anything had occurred; it would not be enough excuse for me unless something had occurred—I have heard cries of distress in that neighbourhood, but not of murder—the Commercial Road is at the extreme corner of the left of the plan, it is not represented there—I am well acquainted with the neighbourhood, and know every street and turn of it—Rhodeswell Road does not lead into the Commercial Road—the sounds I hare heard were like drunken prostitutes—I have been in the force a little over two years, and I have been the keeper of a lunatic asylum—the sounds of distress I have heard were prostitutes crying, "You b----"that does not mean, "You bitch"—I never heard cries of, "You b----bitch, and you b----b—"—I have heard one prostitute calling another so—I never heard it on that side the water—I heard it about Christmas time, when I was in the Commercial Road, when one prostitute has been fighting with another, and I have taken them in custody—I have heard cries of "You b----b—"and "You b----a—," and such like expressions—I can recognise any of the prostitutes' voices who I know when I am on duty—I have never heard cries of "Murder!" in my life during the time I have been a policeman—I told nobody that night of the cries I heard; I made no report of it—I did not believe that anything had occurred, but I heard of a party being accused, and then I mentioned it at the station—I heard that a woman was killed, and I said that it must be about that time—that was the first time I mentioned it to anybody except to my wife.
COURT. Q. When did you hear of the murder? A. When I went on duty on the Thursday night—what I have been speaking of was On Wednesday morning, about ten minutes to two—I heard of the murder on the Wednesday night when I was going on duty—I have made a mistake in the day.
MR. POLAND. Q. You heard the cry first when you were in Henry Street, where this pin is, and you went in the direction of the water? A. Yes—I went along the towing-path to what is called the horse-pond, that is in the direction in which the cry came—I traced it as far as I could, but heard no further cry—I came back here and went to the beer-shop—I tried the door of the Rising Sun, and then the clock struck two—I am quite sure the cry was before the clock struck two—I go on duty at ten at night and remain till six in the morning—I was in bed all Wednesday after my night duty, and on the Wednesday night I heard what had taken place as I was going on duty, and then I stated what I had heard—there is the Victory bridge, but there is no bridge across the canal close here—it is a long distance, away, by the gas factory—the bridge is by the gas works, a considerable distance off—it was very dark and a very still night—it is a very low neighbourhood—I have had occasion to take a great many persons in custody from there—the forty thieves of Donkey Row live there, who we are so pestered with.
ELIZA LONG . I am the wife of Conrad Long, of 83, Lower North Street, quite close to the prisoner's cottage—on Wednesday morning, 24th July my husband was ill in bed, and I heard cries of" Murder!" opposite the prisoner's wall, I mean from the prisoner's wall—I cannot positively say whether it was a woman's voice or a man's, but it was a very cry of "Murder!"—it was
ten minutes to two by my clock—I was going to give my husband medicine—my window was shut—I did not open it, only the curtain—the curtain is always open; I never open the window—I went to bed again and took no further notice—I only heard the cry once—on the same morning, about ten minutes to five, I was disturbed by old Mr. Wiggins, the prisoner's father, coming into my passage crying "Murder!"—I know it was ten minutes to five, because my lodger went out to work, and as he opened the door and went out Mr. Wiggins came into my passage, but I did not see him—I was up stairs and heard his voice; I knew him by his voice—I looked out at my window and saw the prisoner standing opposite—they got him a chair, and he sat down right opposite—my window, on his side of the road, by the gate—I saw a mob of people assembling—he was dressed in bis guernsey, and had his hand up to his neck—Mr. Williams got him a chair to sit down—he is a next-door neighbour—I saw the prisoner sit down in it in the street—I got up, dressed myself, and went to the prisoner's house, and when I got in there I saw old Mrs. Wiggins, the prisoner's mother—that was the first time I had seen her that morning—she was sitting on a chair down stairs, dressed in a dark gown—her hands were full of blood, and Mrs. Dunn washed them, that is Mrs. Johnson—she goes by the name of Dunn—I did not see the prisoner's father at that time; I saw no more—I did not go up stairs—the prisoner had been taken away in a cab before I came out—my husband is still in bed—he is not able to get out—I do not know when I go back whether I shall see him alive—Dr. Fowler, who attends him, is here—I was present when the Magistrate came with the prisoner to our house to examine my husband—the prisoner was present, and his solicitor also, and the Magistrate's clerk—this is my husband's signature to this paper.
Cross-examined by MR. RIBTON. Q. What is the name of the street you live in? A. Little North Street—it is a very short street; there is a beer-house at the far corner, not near the prisoner's house, but at the other end—it is the Carpenters' Arms—there is Upper North Street and Lower North Street—there is the North Pole and another beer-shop there—Little North Street leads into Bignell Street—there is a public-house and two beer-houses a very little distance from each other—there is not more than one public-house—there are houses with their backs to Our house; they are in Carr Street—the only public-house there is the Victory—there is no public-house near the canal, only on the other side near the towing-path—I do not know how many there are—I told my husband that night what I heard—I did not think much about it, and did not want to have anything to do with it—what I heard did not make much impression on me at the time—I did not mention it till next morning—I first mentioned it next morning to Mrs. Patmore, at the bottom of the house, about eight o'clock—I said nothing to Turner the inspector—I saw Bannister—it is a noisy neighbourhood, particularly on Saturday nights, mostly so on Saturday about twelve o'clock—I have heard many disturbances—they have roused me out of my sleep often, particularly since last May, because I get no rest, with my husband being so wakeful less noise would rouse me up—I have heard quarrelling and fighting and very bad language, but never heard cries of "Murder!" till that night, and I have been seventeen years in that neighbourhood—I only knew the Wiggins's as neighbours—I have not heard noises on the other side of the canal—the disturbances are all in my district.
MR. POLAND. Q. I think you said that the prisoner was dressed? A. Yes—when I saw him from my window he had his boots on—I could distinguish that; it is a narrow little street.
The deposition of Conrad Long was here read as follows:—"I live at 83, Lower North Street, husband of Eliza Long—I remember the morning of 24th ult. (Wednesday) at two o'clock—I remember my wife giving me some medicine; I afterwards fell asleep—I heard a hallooing out of "Murder!" and that woke me; it was then between lights—I looked out of the window, which is close to my bed—I saw prisoner's mother, she was, hallooing out, "Murder!"—she came out of the door into the street—she called, "Murder!" two or three times, and then walked in again—she had a knife in her hand, it looked a longish knife; I am sure it was a knife—I observed nothing about her hands or the knife, as it was too dark—it was light enough to see it was a knife, but not to see if anything was on it—prisoner's father then came out, he clapped his hands and said, 'Well, this is a sight'—he then went in—after a little prisoner came out—I did not see him come out of the house, but I saw him sitting opposite my window on a chair—at first he was standing up, and then they fetched the chair, and I saw prisoner sit down—my wife was in bed with me at first, and then she got up and went out—prisoner's mother had her gown on when she came out, she was not in her night-clothes.
Cross-examined by MR. YOUNG. It might be ten or fifteen minutes from the time the old woman came out till prisoner came out—my wife was awake when prisoner came out—the clock was going, I did not look at it, I do not know why I did not look at it—prisoner's mother had a gown on, not a white nightdress—it was not light enough to see what colour the gown was—I remember Inspector Turner going to me on Thursday last—he asked me if I knew anything about this case—I said I knew very little about it—I did not say my attention was first attracted after five o'clock—I do not bow that I said so—I might have said that the time he was sitting over the way on a chair was about five o'clock—I cannot exactly say what I said to Inspector Turner, I told him there was a noise in the street, and that there was a noise in the street very often—I said I heard nothing unusual—I did not say anything to Mr. Turner about having seen prisoner's mother come out with a knife in her hand—I don't remember mentioning half-past five or six to Mr. Turner—I told him that I heard several persons cry out that a young woman's throat was cut—I did not say what time I heard this—I do not recollect saying so—I told him that when I heard the cry I looked out and saw Wiggins sitting in the street—I said William and several others were with prisoner—Mr. Turner asked me to tell him all I saw or heard—the reason why I did not tell him that I saw prisoner's mother with a knife is that I am on my sick bed, and did not want to have anything to do with it, CONRAD LONG."
WILLIAM DUNN . I live at 84, Lower North Street, by the side of the prisoner's cottage, and next door to Long's—I live with Elizabeth Johnson; she goes by my name—on Wednesday morning, 24th July, about ten minutes to five o'clock, cries of "Murder!" attracted my attention, proceeding from the opposite side of the road; I got out of bed, opened the window, and saw the prisoner's father in his shirt, with
a pair of trousers under his arm, and a red night cap on; he was hallooing out "Murder!" on the opposite side of the road, the same side as the cottage—I saw the prisoner going from the cottage next door towards his cottage; he had been to call the shipwright, and was in the middle of the road—he had a blue guernsey on and brown cloth trousers and boots or shoes, and his left hand was up to his neck—I did not notice whether his handkerchief was on—I said from my window, "Jack, what is the matter?"—he said, "She has been and cut her own throat, and cut mine too; for God's sake come down and see what is the matter"—I put my clothes on and went down stairs and went right up to the prisoner's cottage, the first of these two—I went up stairs and saw old Mrs. Wiggins, the mother, on the landing, dressed in her shimmy and stockings—I went into the first floor room, my wife came up stairs behind me—there is no back room, it is the right-hand oom—when I got in the prisoner was standing opposite the deceased, alongside the table, with a knife in his hand—one part of the deceased was on the hearthrug and another on the floor—her head was under a chair, towards the wall, and her feet were towards the door—part of her body covered the rug—I did not notice whether her feet were beyond the hearthrug—her head was about six or seven inches from the wall—this plan (produced) shows the position of the room; the window is here and the bedstead is against the window—this is the hearthrug—the head was within seven inches of this wall, resting on a pillow, which was at the back of her neck, and it hung so far back that I could not see her face at first—she was not quite on the back, but a little more on her left side—I noticed afterwards that there was a jacket with a handkerchief in it, under the pillow, but at that time I did not notice what was under the pillow—the underneath rail of the chair touched her chin—I noticed her throat, it was very much cut, and blood was running out of the windpipe, but not in much quantity—it was a bladder about as big as a pigeon's egg—she was dressed in her shimmy, nothing else; it was torn down in front to within a foot from the bottom, and there was some blood on it, but I did not notice how much—I cannot tell which is the front or the back of it now (looking at it)—I put my hand to her head and tried to ease her face from the chair, but I thought I was doing wrong and left off—I put my hand as near as I could to the beating of the heart, to see if there was life, and found there was none, and I touched her legs and found they were getting cold—when I felt her heart there was a kind of chill, she was loo warm—I felt only one leg, just on the shin part, and it was cold—I did not feel or touch any other part of the body—the prisoner was standing opposite the deceased, by her feet, with his back towards the door—he had this knife (produced) in his hand, he put it on the table—I said, "Jack, for God's sake, what have you been doing of?"—he said, "Bill, she done it herself, and this is what she done it with"—he then put the knife on the table and walked out—I took a sheet off the bed and covered her over—there was no blood on the bed—I went out, leaviug the knife on the table, and went for a constable—when I came out of the room the mother was still on the landing, and my mistress with her—before I left the room I noticed blood on the seat of the chair, and a black apron covered over the chair—I did not lift the apron, but only a portion of it was covered—the blood on the knife was wet—I saw blood about the room, but did not notice it much, whether it was wet or dry—I did not notice the state of the blood anywhere except on the knife—I said to the old lady, "I will go for a constable"—I did not see the
old man—there was no blood on the stairs—when I went out for a constable I was in my shirt-sleeves—I ran to the right and did not see one, and then to the left, and in about ten or eleven minutes I found a constable named Bannister between Catherine Street and Burney Street—I returned with him to the house, and found the prisoner sitting in a chair in the street, with his hand up to his neck—I did not notice whether he had a handkerchief on—I went into the house with the constable and up stairs—the doctor had not arrived—there was nobody in the room—the body was just as I had left it, with a sheet over it—I was there about a quarter of an hour before Mr. Horton, the doctor, came—I was in the room when he came, and remained there, and came down stairs with him after he had looked at the body—the prisoner was still sitting in the street—I helped him into a cab to go the hospital—I was four or five minutes with the doctor—I was not there when the deceased was moved on to the bed, but I afterwards went up stairs again—Mr. Wiggins, the father, was then there, and two or three people—Mrs. Stunt was not there—I did not see the body moved; it was then on the bed, and I saw the prisoner's jacket, which he wore the day previously, under the pillow on which the deceased had laid.
Cross-examined, by MR. RIBTON. Q. After you saw the body first you did not examine it very closely? A. No; I put my hand on the region of the heart, as far as I could imagine my own heart lies—I found the body in a kind of cold sweat, or warm sweat it might be—I am able to say positively that the heart was not beating, I kept my hand there about a minute—the front of the shift was covered with blood, where the tear was—I was examined before the Coroner—the shift was not divided in front by a natural division—it was torn, but not quite from the top—there was a kind of a hem round the neck—the hem was not torn, I think, but I cannot say Whether it was or not—I know the shimmy was torn in front—I cannot say whether it was divided about a foot down—I know what you mean by divided in the make and torn; it was torn down the whole way of the front to within a foot of the bottom—I have not heard any other statements by other witnesses about this chemise—I said before the Coroner, "I swear the chemise was torn in front, a little better than a foot"—that is what I swear now—it was not divided in front in the make—the body was lying crossways; none of the head was on the rug—I did not look at the body much—I took the sheet off—there was no blood on the bed or the bedclothes—there was blood on the rug in different places, not near her head, but by the side of her—her hand was on the rug—the blood was near where she was lying—her head was underneath the chair, in this way (placing the cross-rail of it on his upper lip)—I am sure it was not the other part of the chair.
COURT. Q. Did you see Mrs. Long there? A. She went up after I came down—I saw her down stairs when I was coming out, but not up.
ELIZABETH DUNN . I live with the last witness—my real name is Elizabeth Johnson—on the morning of 24th July I was awoke by cries of "Murder!" as near as I can guess, from five to ten minutes, to five o'clock—I looked out at the window and saw the prisoner and his father in the street—the prisoner had brown cloth trousers on, a blue guernsey, a red neck handkerchief, and a pair of boots—he was outside, crying out, "Murder!" with his hands up to his throat, and his father was standing outside in his night-clothes, crying out, "Murder!"—I came down and went into the prisoner's house after my husband—I saw the prisoner's mother on top of the stairs in her night-clothes, doing nothing—I looked into the room the
prisoner occupied, and saw the deceased lying there, with her head under a chair—the prisoner was then going down stairs—I did not notice what room he came out of—I went into the room—the deceased's throat was very much cut—she had only her shimmy on, and it was very much torn down the front, to within about this much from the bottom—I saw a pillow between her shoulders, more under her shoulders than her head—she was lying on it—the rail of the chair had caught underneath her chin—I felt her feet and legs; they were cold—I felt both feet and one knee—I mean that both the feet and the knee were cold—I dare say from five to ten minutes passed between the time I saw the prisoner crying, "Murder!" in the street and the time I felt the deceased's legs—there was considerable blood on a chair—I observed a knife on the side of the table—this appears like it—besides the blood, there was either a black apron or handkerchief in the chair—the blood in the chair was congealed—I did not notice whether there was blood on the knife—after I went into the room I saw Mrs. Wiggins, the old lady, and helped to dress her—I went into her bed-room, which was on the same floor as where the dead body was lying—there was blood on her hands, and more on one hand than the other—I helped to wash her hands and dress her.
COURT. Q. Where were you at that time? A. Down stairs, in the front parlour—that was after I had helped her to dress, and when down stairs I washed her hands.
MR. COLLINS. Q. Did you observe the old woman's stockings? A. Yes—she had no boots on, only stockings, and there was blood on the tops and bottoms of the feet—I did not notice blood on the other part of the stockings—the blood looked more like dry than wet—I laid of them to take them off—she was in her night-clothes—I did not notice any blood upon them—I saw blood marks on the stairs—I did not particularly notice them, but they looked like foot marks—the doctor, Mr. Horton, came in after I had washed her hands—I had been there nearly half an hour when he came—I did not go in with him to where the body was lying—I saw the body on the floor after I had been up stairs—I assisted in placing it on the bed—I did not see the chemise taken from it; it was still on when I left—I did not notice how the limbs were when I felt the body.
Cross-examined. Q. Do you know whether the chemise is made open in front a little way; look at it? A. Yes, it is—no, it is no, it is made with flaps—I am quite sure of that—the blood is more on the front of the shift than the back—this is the front—it is torn down the side here—I did not examine the blood on the chair very closely—I felt the feet and one knee—that is what I mean by the feet and legs.
JAMES WILLIAMS . I live at 84, Little North Street, the same house where the Dunns live—I am the landlord, and they live there—on the morning of this occurrence, about one o'clock, I saw the prisoner on the opposite side to my door, with a beer can in his hand, going towards his home—he did not appear sober, and at about a quarter to five in the morning, as near as I can guess, I heard cries of "Murder! murder!"—I looked out at the front window, and saw the prisoner's father standing in the street in his night-shirt, calling out "Murder!"—I did not see the prisoner then, but I went down directly, and saw the prisoner walking towards his own house, on the opposite side of the way—he was dressed—I do not know whether he had his boots on—I asked him what was the matter—he said, "Oh my throat! oh my throat?"—I said, "What is the matter?"—he said, "Oh the knife, the knife! my wife has cut my throat,
and her own too"—he appeared to be sinking from loss of blood, and I got another man to hold him up, while I got a chair and sat him in it till a doctor came, who pulled his neck handkerchief on one side, and I saw his neck bleeding—very nearly half an hour had elapsed from the time I heard the cries of murder till the doctor, Mr. Horton, came—he looked at the prisoner's neck and then went into the house—that is all I know about it—I did not go up stairs till after the doctor had been.
Cross-examined by MR. RIBTON. Q. Was he very faint? A. Yes, he was in a fainting state at least, so much that I got a chair for him to sit upon—there might have been much blood upon him, but I did not notice much about his dress—I did not notice whether he had anything on his feet—it was broad daylight.
THOMAS ALWOOD . I live at 1, Manning Street, Limehouse, the first house from the corner—I am a labourer—on Wednesday morning, 24th July, I had been to work at night and returned home—it was as near five o'clock as could be—when I passed the Edinburgh Castle, Limehouse clock was striking five—I went to my own street, went indoors, and came out again to have a pint of beer, after having been at work all night—when I came out I heard a cry of "Murder" as I was at the corner of the street, and saw a man running in his shirt sleeves from Little or Lower North Street into Henry Street—it was Dunn, but I did not know him before—I cannot say who it was calling "Murder!"—I heard the cry of "Murder!" before I saw him—when I heard the cry it was perhaps a quarter-past five; I cannot say to a minute or two—I saw the prisoner standing against the fence, supported by one of the witnesses, and said, "Good God! what is the matter with you?"—he said, "My wife has cut my throat, and she has cut hers, and she is dead; I put my hand up to my neck and found the blood running; I went into my father's room to have the blood stopped; I tied a handkerchief round my neck, and went back into my own room, and then I saw my wife sawing at her own neck"—I did not ask him anything further—I assisted him from where he was sitting in the chair to the closet in the garden, and from thence into a cab.
GEORGE BANNISTER (Policeman 138 K). On Wednesday, 24th July, I was on duty in Henry Street, Limehouse, which is on the west side of the canal, about half-way between Catherine Street and Burney Street—this is the place (pointing it out)—I saw a man running in his shirt sleeves, who I now know to be William Dunn—it was about 5.30 a.m.—I took my watch out, it might be two or three minutes before that by my watch—I returned with him to near where the prisoner's cottage is, and when we got there I saw the prisoner in the street, on the pavement, leaning against the railings, a few yards from the cottage—he was dressed and had his boots on—the witness Williams was with him, and several other people were standing about—I sent Ellaby, my brother officer, for a doctor—there was blood on the prisoner's neck, but not a great deal—he had his handkerchief on, and there was some on his hatfdkerchief and shirt—I left him and went to the cottage—I went up stairs to a bedroom, on the first floor, where the deceased was lying covered with a sheet—I turned the sheet off from her feet and then from her head, and I noticed that her chemise was torn—I felt her right hand, it was cold—I felt both feet, and they were chilled—I did not feel up her legs at all—by chilled I mean cold—I noticed blood on her shift, but did not notice whether it was wet or dry—I saw a knife On the table, and took possession of it at once—there was blood on it, but whether
wet or dry I cannot say positively; this is it—the handle in loose now—it is just in the same state as it was—I did not notice the state of the blood in the room, whether it was wet or dry—I was there when Mr. Horton came, he came ten minutes perhaps after I had gone into the room, a very short time—I had just got back into the street when he came—I noticed the stairs, there were foot-marks of blood on every step—I went up into the room with Mr. Horton when he examined the body, and afterwards came down stairs—the prisoner was in the garden, sitting in a chair, and by Mr. Horton's directions I took him to the London Hospital in a cab—his sister-in-law was with him, his brother's wife—she has not been called yet—he said, "It is she who has done this"—he put out his hand and I laid hold of it—he stretched out his hand, and said, "It is she who has done this, and she asked me to forgive her, and I would not forgive her because she had such nasty dirty ways with her; aud because I would not forgive her she has done this; I was lying on the hearthrug dozing, and she laid hold of me with her left hand, and was sawing away with the knife in her right hand; I put up my hand to save myself" (and he pointed to his left thumb); "I got away from her by some means and ran into the adjoining room, and called father and mother up, and when I returned she had cut her own throat, and had the point of the knife in her throat in the act of turning it round"—that was all he said—I took him to the London Hospital and left him in charge of the surgeon—he had a small cut on his left thumb.
Cross-examined by MR. RIBTON. Q. You know this place? A. Yes—I go on duty at ten at night, and I ought to leave at six—this was half an hour before my time for leaving—I was about that neighbourhood all night—I came down Catherine Street and down to the canal—I went into Catherine Place, but not down Little North Street, that is not in my beat—the deceased's head was under this cross-stock of the chair, like this: the head was resting on the rail, the forehead part—I mean under it more than against it.
COURT. Q. How far does your beat lead you from this house? A. I do not go nearer than Catherine Street, about 200 yards from the cottage—the extreme distance I go at night is 300 yards from the house, but my beat is a good deal longer working in and out—I never go further than 300 or 400 yards from the house—I heard nothing during the night.
JAMES HORTON , M.R.C.S. I practise at 12, High Street, Stepney—on the morning of 24th July I was fetched by a constable, and proceeded with him to the prisoner's cottage—when we got to the bottom of Lower North Street I saw the prisoner sitting on a chair—it was about half-past five o'clock—he had a red handkerchief round his neck—I pulled it away and looked at the wound, which was about two inches long, or it might be rather more—it was not very deep—on removing the handkerchief it bled rather freely—I did not take it right off; I merely pulled it away a little—there was blood on that portion of the handkerchief opposite the wound—when I first pulled it away I did not notice the cut on it—I placed the handkerchief against the wound; I saw it was not very dangerous, and left him sitting there and went into the house—I went up stairs into the room—from the time I saw the prisoner to the time I got into the room two or three minutes might have elapsed—I had waited to dress, and it was about half-past five when I arrived—this plan shows the state of the furniture, the bedstead, hearthrug, and the entrance—I went up stairs into a bedroom on the right-hand side, and found the deceased
lying on the floor on her back, with her head to the wall, her feet extending towards the door, and her arms outstretched—one arm was resting on the hearthrug—a sheet was thrown over the body, which was clothed in a shift—the head was lying on a pillow and some other things, and part of the head was resting against the rail of a chair, the back of the head—in the throat was an extensive wound, extending from about two inches below the left ear in a semi-lunar shape across the throat, about an inch behind the windpipe—it was between four and five inches long; it had a jagged appearance, and there were two slight incisions running into the main wound, one above and one below, on the left side of the throat, each about half an inch long—they were not deep: they were quite superficial—the chief wound was about two inches and a half deep, wounding the spine, dividing the carotid artery, the jugular vein, and the nerve enclosing the sheath—the external jugular vein was cut through; the other jugular vein and the nerve are enclosed in a sheath—the wound extended across the throat, dividing the windpipe—I felt that some of the vertebrae had been wounded—I introduced my finger, and felt distinctly that the bone of the vertebra had been wounded—a wound of that sort would produce death very quickly indeed, within a minute probably, but it might be longer—the windpipe being divided, a person could not call out—the knife was shown to me by the constable; the blood on it was then dry—I took out the blade and examined it—I will not swear whether there was any blood on the handle, as it was very dirty at that time; it has been cleaned since—I think a person inflicting such a wound upon themselves must be in a state amountingsto frenzy or madness—it is possible that such a wound could have been inflicted by the deceased upon herself in a state of extreme excitement amounting to frenzy—the blood in the throat was very dark and coagulated—there was a good deal of blood on the shift—it was dry—I did not turn the body over—I noticed blood towards the corner of the hearthrug, and blood had been spurted on to the lower part of the wall, near the fireplace; there were several large spots, some of them were larger than a shilling—they were dry—there was a considerable quantity of blood on the floor, which was dry; there was also a good deal of blood extending into the corner by the door, that was dry—there was no liquid on the floor—the blood was not dry on the hearthrug, but all on the boards was dry—it is difficult to judge of the quantity of dry blood on the floor; it was in a semi-circular shape—there was a good deal of blood on the seat of the chair; it was firmly congested, but not dry like that on the floor; it was covered over with a black handkerchief or apron—I examined the legs and feet, and felt them from the toes up beyond the knees—they were cold and becoming rigid—I turned back the sheet and the chemise, and examined the abdomen; it was warm—the arms were outstretched in the cold, and were becoming rigid—they were cold—the hands were covered with blood; there was a good deal of blood on them, smeared; that was dry—from the state of the body and the appearances I saw, I think death had taken place at least two hours; it might be more—the blood on the shift and in the room was very dark in colour, but I would not give any opinion from the colour; I speak merely from the dryness; you cannot depend upon the colour of the blood.
Cross-examined by MR. RIBTON. Q. You say that the deceased might have been dead about two hours; that was not always your opinion? A. I do not know that I have said that—I was examined before the Coroner
—I was the first medical man examined—I heard the evidence of some of the others before the Magistrate, but no one was examined before the Coroner except myself—I heard Dr. Taylor and Dr. Wilkes examined before the Magistrate—when I was giving my evidence before the Coroner, before I heard any of the other medical men, I said, "I think the deceased must have been dead one hour; it might be more"—I adhere to that, but I do not think death had taken place within the hour—I think what I said was in answer to a question; the Coroner asked me whether she might have been dead an hour, and I said, "Yes, an hour, it might be more"—I rather think I said that—she might have been dead an hour of course—the internal carotid artery was divided, all but a small portion of the back of it, which was not cut through.
Q. You say that a person in a state of frenzy might have inflicted such a wound upon themselves: supposing that to be so, I suppose anybody committing suicide would be in a state of frenzy? A. In a state bordering on it—I think a person inflicting such a wound upon herself might shift from the position in which she was when she inflicted it—I believe that is the received medical opinion now—some mistakes have formerly been made by medical men on that very point which recently have been corrected.
Q. Might a person having inflicted that sort of wound upon herself sitting on a chair, in her struggles have thrown herself on her back? A. She might fall on her back in her movements after the wound—the blood in the wound was coagulated—there was a little from the different vessels—I do not think one witness said that blood was blubbering from the wound, I think he said from the windpipe—blood issuing from the living body coagulates very quickly—I felt the abdomen warm—the feet were cold—that might be if a person had gone to sleep with their feet exposed—you might find the coldness in a living body, but not the rigor mortis; I mean rigidity—there is a difference of opinion as to the time it takes for rigidity to set in—I was down there about half-past five—it would take me two or three minutes to examine the prisoner, and to go up into the room—I know it was half-past five, because I left my house about twenty-five minutes past five—I looked at the clock in my own room, and also at the Church clock—I stopped to examine the prisoner, and sent him immediately to the hospital—he remained there I think till 9th August, more than a week, under the care of a medical man—I should say that his condition was not dangerous, but they would not have kept him there if he had not required medical treatment—I should say that he had not lost a great deal of blood; the external jugular vein was divided—blood might or might not flow from that—I had no difficulty in stopping it with a handkerchief, but if it was not stopped a good deal of blood would flow, and it would become dangerous—I was anxious to get him to the hospital to get him attended to—if he had been left alone and untended by a skilled medical man it is quite possible that he might have died from loss of blood—I cannot say that it is extremely probable—the external jugular vein might be divided without danger to life, because coagula would form, which would stop it—the internal jugular vein is below it, you must cut through another layer of muscle before you get to it.
MR. POLAND. Q. Except the examination you made of the prisoner's throat before you went into the house, you did not make any further examination? A. No—I am not in connection with the hospital—the appearances I saw on the body were not at all inconsistent with death
having taken place three or four hours—rigor mortis is a medical term, it is rigidity setting in—that was commencing on both legs and arms.
COURT. Q. Does a body, when the blood is gone, cool sooner than the body of a person dying naturally; would the absence of the blood cause it to cool earlier? A. My impression would be that it would, but I believe that is a disputed point; it would be my impression that the loss of blood would facilitate the cooling, but I may be wrong—when I say that it is possible a person could inflict such a wound in a state of frenzy or madness, I mean to express that it required a great degree of strength and force to do it; that point of force which frenzy would give—the wound on the prisoner would not require any great force as far as I observed.
MR. POLAND. Q. Was the deceased's body well nourished? A. Yes.
ELIZA STUNT . I am the wife of Joseph Stunt, of 99, Lower North Street, the second house from the gateway—on Wednesday morning, 24th July, I heard a cry of "Oh! oh! Murder! murder!"—I got out of bed, threw up the window, looked out, and saw old Mr. Wiggins in his shirt, with his trousers under his arm, standing outside the gateway in North Street—it was shortly after five o'clock, I know that because my husband had gone to his work, and my clock struck five after he went, but I cannot tell how many minutes—I went down stairs, and saw the prisoner on the opposite side, with his two hands to his throat, going up the street—I went down to the cottage, went into the down stairs room, and old Mrs. Wiggins was there, and Mrs. Dunn—Mrs. Wiggins had blood on her hands and on the feet of her stockings—I did not notice how she was dressed—I went upstairs and noticed foot marks of blood on the stairs—I went into the room where the deceased was; no one was there; a sheet was over her—I saw a pair of women's drawers lying in a corner of the room by the side of the fireplace, with a great quantity of blood on them—they were on the left-hand side going into the room, by this projection by the side of the fire-place—I also saw a new pair of women's boots inside the door going in; there was nothing on them—I saw the wound in the neck—there was a dreadful lot of blood on the shift, and it was torn down the front—I did not feel the body—there was some bread and meat on the table, and a can with part of a pint of beer in it, about half a pint—I did nothing to the drawers, nor did I interfere with the body—I went down stairs, and saw Mrs. Dunn wash old Mrs. Wiggins's hands, and I also noticed a great quantity of blood on the feet of her stockings—Mrs. Dunn took them off of her and put on her boots without her stockings—I did not notice whether the blood was wet or dry—there was more on her right stocking than on the left—it was on the sole of one, but mostly on the ankle of the right foot—I saw Mr. Horton come, I had then been down stairs a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes—I went up into the room again, and, after Mr. Horton gave his sanction for the body to be moved, I assisted in moving it into the bed—I moved one sleeve of the chemise from the left arm, but could not get the arm straight, as it was stiff and I could not straighten it; and I removed the sleeve and straightened the arm—the sleeve had got down as far as this on the arm.
COURT. Q. Then it was the sleeve that kept the arm so? A. Yes—it was not the stiffness of the arm itself; if we had removed the sleeve we could have straightened the arm—I took the sleeve off, and when it was gone, the arm was rather stiff, but I straightened it.
MR. POLAND. Q. Did you have to use any force at all? A. I had to draw the arm rather hard to get it straight—the arms and the feet were
quite cold, but between her shoulders, where the pillow was lying, she was warm—I did not feel any other part of the body, further than her arms, which were quite cold—I did not cut the sleeve; I pulled it off the arm and tucked it up—I did not get the shift off, I let it remain, and removed the body on to the mattress with the shift—this is the shift (produced).
Cross-examined by MR. RIBTON. Q. About what hour was it when you examined the body and did what you say? A. I dare say it was getting on towards seven, it was after Dr. Horton had been there, it was after six—the shift was torn in the front when I saw it, not at the side—she was exposed—the shift was made with a small bit opening in front, I believe, but I cannot say now which it is, it is torn too much—I cannot say whether it is made with an opening in front, because it is torn so—it is torn all down the front, and she was all exposed, her neck and stomach.
BATHURST DOVE , M.R.C.S. On the morning of 24th July I was on duty temporarily at the London Hospital, taking duty for a friend—I was there when the prisoner was brought in, between seven and eight o'clock, I should think nearer seven, but cannot say the exact time—he was dressed, and had this red handkerchief (produced) round his neck—I took it off—it had been worn with this portion where the large mass of blood is, towards the wound, which was on the left side of the throat, a little more than an inch and a half below the left ear and a little behind, and extending across the throat to about an inch or an inch and a quarter past the middle of the throat—the bloody part of the handkerchief covered the wound—it was deepest towards the left extremity; it was through the skin and the tissue immediately beneath the skin, and as it passed forward round the throat it became very superficial, so that when it reached below the middle of the throat it was not through the skin—external jugular vein was divided a little nearer the extremity than the middle of the wound—it was not dangerous under proper care—from its position, I believe he could have inflicted it upon himself—my opinion is that it was inflicted from the left towards the right—there were two slighter wounds on the throat, one was near the middle of the throat, scarcely extending through the skin, and between, the greater wound and the angle of the jaw—it was only supersficial—it was about an inch, or from an inch to a inch and a quarter long—the other was above the greater wound in the angle of the jaw, and was very superficial—it was about three-quarters of an inch long—there were also some slight scratches about the angle of the jaw on the left side—they were exceedingly superficial—on his left thumb was a superficial cut across the palm surface—it could be inflicted by this knife—the prisoner remained there five or six days to my knowledge, but I was only there temporarily—the wound was healing at the end of that time—this handkerchief was taken from his throat—it is in the same state now, with the exception of the blood being dry, but a portion of it has been removed—I noticed that it was cut through these folds when it was taken from him, or rather before I took it off, and that made me take it off carefully—sixteen folds of the handkerchief are cut through—there are one or two exceedingly small spots of blood on the edge of the cuts not penetrating more than one fold—there is a slight spot on the second, but it does not go deeper—all the rest are clean, as far as I can tell by examination—the instrument inflicting the wound must have been bloody, and I should have expected to find blood on the handkerchief—if the knife had commenced with making the wound, then the wound must have bled—it was a wound which would bleed immediately
mediately—if that part where the cut is was against that part of the throat where the wound is, I should expect to find a considerable quantity of blood on the handkerchief.
COURT. Q. As the handkerchief was about his neck, was the cut in the vicinity of the wound when you took it off? A. No, on the opposite side of his neck—he told me himself that he readjusted the handkerchief afterwards.
MR. POLAND. Q. What did he say? A. He said that he put it on tighter to stop the bleeding—he said that he returned home late the previous night, and asked his mother to call him in the morning, and had then gone into his room, and, as he had to go out early, he did not go to bed, but laid down on the hearthrug before the fireplace, and his mother called him in the morning; he got up, and, finding it too early to get out, laid down again, and the woman he was living with came and sat by him and asked him to forgive her; he refused to do so, and turned on his right side, with his face towards the fireplace, and went to sleep; that she was sitting behind him and promised to call him, and the next thing he became conscious of was some one at his throat, and he found it was the woman; that her left hand was on him, and she was using the knife with her right hand; that he struggled away from her and gave the alarm to his parents, and then went out into the street to find a neighbour, but, finding him too drunk to come, he returned to the house, went back into the room, and then the woman was dead or just dying—that was all he said—he made no other statement but that—he said that her left hand was on him, but did not say what part of him—this (produced) is the prisoner's shirt—here is a collar to it with a small cut on it on the button side of it, the right side as worn—there is no blood on that cut—the collar is in creases, parts were covered, and in some parts the handkerchief was against the throat—the creases are still here—if this cut was made by the knife going through the cut into the wound, I should expect to find blood upon it, or if it was against the place where the cut was made—there is blood round the button, but there appears to be none on the button, and there appears to be a good deal of blood round the collar and on the back of the shirt—besides that shirt, the prisoner was wearing a flannel shirt without a collar, and a jersey over it—the blood on this shirt was chiefly on the left collar—I have alluded before to some sprinkling on the sleeve, I do not know whether I shall allude to it now—it was a slight sprinkling on the sleeve—here is the blood at the front of this flannel waistcoat—this blue guernsey has a few spots of blood only on it—these (produced) are the trousers; they are marked with spots of blood on the legs, but they are not quite so distinct as they were—they might be accounted for by blood dripping from the neck—the soles of his stockings were saturated with blood, partially but not absolutely dry—I examined his boots; there was nothing to strike my attention in them.
COURT. Q. Was there any blood on the cuffs of either of the shirts? A. They are not absolutely free, but there is very little, and on the cuff of the guernsey there is very little.
Cross-examined by MR. RIBTON. Q. You say that the external jugular vein was cut through? A. Yes, it would bleed, and the blood I found was what I should expect from such a wound—I was examined before the Magistrate and the Coroner—I was asked if it was such a wound as might have been inflicted by himself—I said before the Magistrate that there was no circumstance connected with the wound which would lead me to
discover whether the wound was inflicted by the prisoner or by another person; that was in answer to a question—the question was asked me, whether there was anything in the wound which would enable me to say whether it was inflicted by himself or another person, and I said, No, the appearance would be the same—I heard Mr. Horton examined—I never saw the body of the deceased—I understood the questions you put to him—I think a minute is an extreme time for the power of locomotion to continue, supposing the wound to be self-inflicted; I think a minute is an extreme time; I think syncope would follow sooner than that from the loss of blood from the carotid artery.
Q. (Reading from Taylor's Medical Jurisprudence, p. 513.) "Wounds of the carotid arteries are often pronounced instantaneously mortal. A witness may deliberately state that the person could not possibly have survived an instant. This is a very hazardous opinion, for it occasionally comes out on inquiry, that if such a wound had been instantaneously mortal, then, in defiance of rational probability or of the strongest presumptive evidence to the contrary, the deceased must have been murdered. A medical opinion of this kind has not only been refuted by circumstances, but by the evidence of eye-witnesses. A medical witness is then compelled to admit that his rules for judging of the mortality of wounds are wrong, and that the person may have survived for a longer or shorter period. There are several cases on record which show that wounds involving the common carotid artery and its branches, as well as the internal jugular vein, do not prevent a person from exercising voluntary power, and even running a certain distance. Mr. Clegg, Coroner for Boston, informed me that in 1863 he held an inquest on the body of a man who committed suicide by cutting his throat; the common carotid artery and the jugular vein were cut through to the bone; and, in spited the loss of a large quantity of blood, the man lived half an hour. In a case of murder perpetrated at Kingston in March, 1831, it was proved by medical evidence that the deceased died from a wound in the throat which cut through the right carotid artery, jugular vein, and windpipe. The wound had been inflicted while deceased was lying in bed. Her body was found in an adjoining room, and the circumstances showed that after receiving the wound she had been able to rise from her bed and to stagger or run to the distance of about six feet. In the case of Reg. v. Danks, Warwick Lent Assizes, 1832, it was proved that the deceased had died from a wound in the throat inflicted by the prisoner which divided the trunk of the carotid artery, the principal branches of the external carotid, and the jugular veins. The evidence rendered it probable, if not certain, that after the infliction of this wound the deceased had been able to run twenty-three yards and to climb over a gate, the time required for the performance of such acts being at least from fifteen to twenty seconds. Most medical witnesses would have probably given an opinion that the deceased could not have moved from the spot where such a wound had been inflicted; but it was clear that she had gone this distance. There was no dragging of the body, and no motive for its being dragged by the prisoner and exposed in an open road where it was found. Such cases as these show the necessity of caution in giving an opinion respecting immediate death from wounds. When the internal jugular vein has been the principal vessel involved in a wound a similar question has presented itself. The power of moving has been exerted to a considerable extent." I suppose you agree with that? A. Yes; you asked me whether a person
might survive a minute, and then you read an extract which says that a person will not die in an instant. I have heard that there are cases on record where both the carotid arteries are cut, that the person has moved to the next room and climbed over a gate, one case says survived half an hour; that I am certain could not have been unless the blood had been stopped, you have read several instances, I cannot give a general answer to them. I agree that the case where a woman had her throat cut and climbed over a low fence and ran twenty-three yards is perfectly authentic; I also believe the case in Regent Street, which is quoted, that is authentic.
COURT to JAMES HORTON. Q. You say that the hands of the deceased were smeared; did you observe any blood on her arms? A. No, it was the back of both the hands smeared with blood, and the palms also—there was no blood whatever up the arm.
Thursday, September 26th.
COURT to ELIZA STUNT. Q. Did you take notice of the bed when you went up stairs into the room where the deceased was lying? A. The things were all thrown off the bed on to the ground—I cannot tell whether anybody had slept in it—it was a pillow without a case under her head—there was a pint can on the table about half full, a plate full of meat, and a half-quartern loaf—it appeared that somebody had eaten some—it looked like kidneys, it had been dressed.
COURT to JAMES HORTON. Q. Did you examine the body of the deceased with a view to see whether there were any bruises? A. Yes, I examined all the surface of the body, but not the back, I did not turn the body over—there was an old bruise on the left arm, probably of some days' standing—I did not examine the back of the head—I examined the body afterwards, there was no mark of violence on the head—there were no marks indicating whether she had fallen backwards—there were no marks of violence about the head—I examined her afterwards twice in the course of the same day—there was no indication of anything having come into violent contact with her head.
EDWARD DILLON (Police Sergeant 19 K). I was on duty at the station when the prisoner was brought there, on 2nd August, about ten a.m., charged on suspicion of having wilfully murdered Agnes Oaks, aged twenty-two years, at 1, Temperance Cottages, North Street, Limehouse—he made a long statement, which I took down in writing—he said, "I am innocent; I know nothing about it. I can swear before God and man that I never had the knife in my hand to cut her throat or mine. On the morning of the accident I was lying down asleep when this was done. I rose up at four o'clock and went down stairs to look at the clock; the exact time was five minutes past four. I went up stairs again and told Agnes Oaks the time; she said, 'You are in no hurry; lie down a little bit longer.' I laid down and went off to sleep, and while I was asleep she cut my throat with a knife. I got up and went into the next room, called up my father and mother, and told them that she cut my throat; my mother and father got up. I went down stairs; my mother went into the room, and called out to me, 'My boy, she has cut her throat.' I have nothing more to say. I went into the street, they stopped me, and sent for a doctor, and I was taken to the hospital. I make this statement voluntarily."
COURT. Q. Do you know whether the mother and father are living? A. Yes, they are here.
Cross-examined by MR. RIBTON. Q. Were they examined before the Coroner? A. I heard they were; I was not there—the mother appears yery old; I should think she is sixty or upwards, by her appearance—I gave that statement before the Magistrate the day that I took the prisoner, and while he was standing in the dock—it was before the Coroner's inquest, before the Jury had given their verdict in the Coroner's case—I think it was adjourned two or three times before the Coroner—this was on August 2nd—it was the first examination before the Coroner; but this was not before the Coroner, but before the Magistrate—I also made a statement before the Coroner; that which you hold in your hand was made first—it is usual in such cases to take a statement down—I was not in the dock with him, I was at a desk—the Magistrate was not present; it was at the police-station—he was taken from the hospital to the statioo, and I read the charge to him—I did not ask him to make a statement—I read the charge and said, "You are not bound to say anything unless you think proper"—he said that he wished to say something, and I took it down.
JAMES RICHARDS . I am Deputy-Coroner for the eastern division of the county of Middlesex—I held an inquest on the deceased Agnes Oaks—I first met the Jury on 26th July—the inquest was adjourned from time to time till 9th August, the witnesses being from time to time examined—on 9th August the prisoner came before me—he was represented by Mr. Young, a solicitor—Mr. Young had attended on previous occasion, but not on the first occasion—the prisoner represented to me, through his solicitor, that he wished to make a statement—Mr. Young stated so in the prisoner's presence, and then he said that he wished to make it on oath—I said, "I see no objection to that;" and I directed his solicitor fully to explain to him the effect of that—I then cautioned him in the usual way, that any statement he made I should take down in writing, and it would be used against him, and that if he made a statement on oath I should reserve to myself the power of questioning him, which I could not do if I took the statement simply—he was sworn, and made a statement—I took notes of it as he made it, and have them before me in these depositions, which I am going to read from now—this is the original.
MR. POLAND wished the witness to refresh his memory by the notes, but MR. RIBTON contended that they must be read as depositions, the first sheet stating "Depositions taken before the Coroner." The COURT admitted the document as paper taken down by the witness by way of refreshing his memory. (Read:—"JOHN WIGGINS. I went home at a quarter to one on Wednesday morning, 24th July. I knocked at the door with some beer. Deceased let me in, and I went up stairs. I spoke to mother to call me. I went into room; Agnes was in bed. I asked her if she would take the beer; she said, 'No.' I drank half the beer and eat some supper—kidney and bread. I pulled off my shoes, and laid down in front of the fireplace. I said, 'I shall not come to bed, as I want to get up in the morning.' I put a reefing jacket under my head and went to sleep. My mother called me about four o'clock. I went again to sleep. I awoke again and went down stairs and looked at the clock; it was twenty minutes past four by clock. She said, 'It's a quarter past;' she said, 'Lay down again.' She sat alongside of me as I lay on hearthrug. She said, 'Oh! Jack, do forgive me, and I will tell you all I've done and we done with the money.' I said, 'I can't forgive you, Agnes.' She said, 'Oh! do.' I turned with face to fireplace and
went to sleep. I was awoke by something tickling my throat; she had her hand fast hold of my throat. I tried to scream, but could not. I put my left hand up and got my thumb cut. After a bit she left go of me, and I got up and went into next room to my father and mother, and told them Agnes had cut my throat. I went down stairs, and mother went into the room. Mother had called out and said, 'Agnes has cut her own throat. I went up stairs and found her sitting in corner of my room, near my reefing jacket. The knife was by her side. I picked it up; it was the same as I used for my supper. Drawers on chair. She was dead, sitting against the wall. Chair was close to her. The deceased was not seduced by me. I never laid finger on her before the Saturday before occurrence."
Cross-examined by MR. RIBTON. Q. You did not take it down every word? A. No, it is not Usual—I generally take the sheet—this was in the presence of the Jury—they had been impanelled—a great many witnesses had been examined before that—that was the last day—we had had two meetings before, and in reality a third, but I adjourned one because the prisoner was not there—he was not present on the first or the second occasion—he was on the third, under an order from the Secretary of State—he was not in the dock—we hold our inquests in a room—it was an open inquiry—all the evidence that could be produced was laid before them—I did not call him as an ordinary witness, but I swore him in the usual way—the father had been examined the first day—the mother was examined—she is a very old woman, near seventy—Rose Ellen Bart win examined—George Wiggins, the father, gave evidence at length—Martha Wiggins, the mother, was examined, and gave evidence at length in the presence of the Jury—Elizabeth Johnson was called, and Thomas Alwood, but not all the witnesses who have been examined here—Mrs. Long was not examined—Elizabeth Hampton was examined, and Thomas Brown, and Susannah Thomas, Mary Grant, Catherine Russell, Fanny, wife of George Wiggins, Christopher Chislett, Eliza Locker, and Mary, wife of William Wiggins.
MR. RIBTON proposed to ask what Elizabeth Hampton had stated before the Coroner, on the ground that, the prisoners statement on oath before the Coronet being put in, it was open to him to lay before the Jury all the evidence given before the Coroner; the prosecution had read only that portion which suited their case, and he submitted that the prisoner was entitled to have the whole of it; Mr. Justice Blackburn had ruled that the whole deposition taken before a Magistrate might be put in, and the prisoner's Counsel might read what he thought proper, if that was so as to depositions taken before a Magistrate a fortiori it was so as to those taken before the Coroner: Mr. Justice Abbott, in the Queen's case, had decided that when a confession was given in evidence the whole of it must be laid before the Jury, and upon the like principle he contended that he was entitled to ask what was said by Elizabeth Hampton. MR. STRAIGHT, on the same side, urged that, the prisoner being called at the very conclusion of the inquiry, his statement was the answer to the evidence given by the previous witnesses, and was therefore important to be laid before the Jury. THE COURT (without calling on MR. POLAND to reply) was clearly of opinion that the statement which had been read did not let in the depositions of the other witnesses before the Coroner. It was true that if a part of a deposition was read, the other side would be entitled to give the rest in evidence, but the principle did not extend so far as to let in statements by other persons.
MR. RIBTON. Q. No committal took place? A. No, the verdict was
non proven—he was in custody when he was brought before me—it was on 9th August.
MR. POLAND. Q. You say that Mr. Young represented the prisoner at the inquest; was anybody there representing the Crown? A. No, no professional attendance—the prisoner was brought up by permission of the Secretary of State, in the custody of two policemen, and he was taken away in custody afterwards.
SARAH GUNSON . I am head-nurse at the London Hospital—on 24th July the prisoner was brought there, and I took charge of the whole of his clothes, including his boots—I afterwards gave the clothes to Inspector Brady and Venables.
JAMES BRADY (Police Inspector K). On 2nd August, about 9.30 a.m., I went to the London Hospital and took the prisoner—I charged him on suspicion of murdering Agnes Oaks on the morning of 12th July—he replied, "Just so"—I produce the prisoner's clothes, which I received from the nurse Gunson and Venables, they are the clothes which were produced yesterday, and here are the boots—all the clothes and the boots were shown to Dr. Taylor—I received them from him, and produce them here to-day.
Cross-examined. Q. Did you take him in custody after he had made some of the statements which have been read? A. He made no statement to the police till I took him on 2nd August—I was present when he made the statement which Dillon has read—he was in bed at the hospital, but he was dressed when he made that reply to me—the wound was partially healed—he was discharged from the hospital, so that it was safe for him to leave the hospital—I asked him to get up and dress, and he did so in my presence—when he was dressed I told him the charge, and he said, "Just so"—he seemed feeble, I am not able to say whether he seemed not quite to have recovered his strength.
MR. POLAND. Q. Had you any constable in attendance at the hospital before 2nd August? A. Yes; when I heard that he was well enough to leave I took him formally in custody.
DR. ALFRED SWAINE TAYLOR . I am a Fellow of the Royal College of Physicians, and have been Professor of Medical Jurisprudence at Guy's Hospital upwards of thirty years—I am the author of Taylor's Medical Jurisprudence, quoted yesterday by Mr. Ribton—I have been in Court during the whole of this trial—I heard Mr. Horton's description of the wound in the deceased's throat, and I agree with him that a person in a state of frenzy or delirium might inflict such a wound upon herself—I have seen the knife.
Q. In your judgment, assuming that the wound was inflicted by the deceased herself, must the vessels have been cut first, or the injury to the bone have been done first? A. I believe the injury to the bone was done first—I believe the injury to the bone could not have been done after the vessels of the windpipe had been cut through—after the windpipe and the blood vessels had been cut I do not believe there would have been power to produce that injury to the spine.
COURT. Q. Supposing an individual had cut his own throat, he would not have power to injure the vertebrae? A. He would not.
MR. POLAND. Q. In your judgment, after the wound which we have heard described in the deceased's throat had been inflicted, might she have
had the power of motion? A. She might have had to some slight extent—death would have followed such a wound as that, within a very few seconds in my judgment—I have heard Mr. Horton's description of the state of the body, and, considering the age of the woman, and the time of year, my opinion is that she could not have been dead less than two hours when he first saw her, and I should suppose a longer period, from three to five hours.
COURT. Q. Does that mean a person dying a natural death and retaining the blood? A. Dying in a state of health and retaining the blood; it makes a great difference where they die quickly: where they die suddenly they die with the full warmth of the blood, and it takes a long time to cool—in my opinion the loss of blood does not affect the cooling of the body—applying my judgment to this particular case, a woman in good bodily health of that age has died suddenly, and I give it as my opinion that her body would take from three to five hours cooling, the abdomen retaining its warmth and the arms and legs being cool.
MR. POLAND. Q. And the legs and arms being rigid? A. Yes—Dr. Wilkes, of Guy's Hospital, and myself have paid particular attention to the period when rigidity commences, and when the body commences to cool—I say that a person dying under such circumstances might have the power of motion to some extent, but she would not have sufficient power to move a chair, or to use any exertion, beyond running for a few yards and falling—Inspector Brady brought me the prisoner's clothes and his boots; I have examined them carefully—I have examined this red handkerchief, and at the place where the cut is, there is a stain of blood, on the outer fold, which has dried, and there is also a slight stain on the inner fold, but not as if it had been received through the other fold; they are quite separate—there are sixteen folds altogether, and on fourteen of them there are no marks of blood; I have examined it minutely by the microscope—supposing this handkerchief was worn in the ordinary way at the time it was cut through into the neck and the knife drawn out, I should expect to find marks of blood on the edges.
COURT. Q. Might it have been that the power of the knife, or of the person using it, being exhausted by so many folds, that when it reached th'e skin it only grazed it? A. Wearing it round the seek, I cannot see how any knife could have produced that cut without cutting the neck—I think he could not have cut through this handkerchief, and yet made a superficial wound; my opinion is that this was cut when it was off the neck, or low down from the neck—these others are cuts which I have made—the plunge of the knife strong enough to have severed these folds must, I think, have penetrated the throat deep enough to draw blood, because it is cut at the edge of the handkerchief, and there must have been great play of the knife.
MR. POLAND. Q. You heard the description of the position of the wound on the man, given by Mr. Dove, under the left ear and extending beyond the middle: in your judgment does this cut correspond in any way with the cut on the throat? A. No; if it had been in any way in contact I should certainly have expected to find a quantity of blood in the folds—I believe one of the stains of blood here was quite dry when the cut was made—I find a cut on the shirt, but no blood either inside or outside, and, supposing it to be worn next the skin, and the cut made by penetrating through to the neck, I should expect to find blood on it—I find the prisoner's stockings stained very much at the soles with clotted and dried blood—there are one or two spots on the instep, apparently
showing that the blood had fallen when there was no boot worn; I cut one of them out and examined it.
COURT. Q. Do I understand you the soles of each stocking? A. Yes, they are stiff with blood; there is a mark on the lower part of the instep, a rouud spot of coagulated blood, which has fallen on it when the boots were not on—the boots came up higher than that; they came above the ankles; here are one or two spots left oa the other stocking.
MR. POLAND. Q. Now look at the boots? A. I have examined them very closely, and only find some dirty matter on the sole; all the upper leather is free from stains—I have examined the interior of both boots, and can see, upon a general examination, no appearance of blood, but part of the interior has been scraped and removed with the dirt, and a very small quantity of blood was found in tho scrapings derived from both boots; there was only enough to enable me to say that there was blood there—I could only find that by scraping the inside and testing the residue, the greater part of which was dirt and leather, but there was nn indication of blood—I have looked at the inside of the boots as far as I can see, but have not cut them to pieces—as far as I can see, there is no appearance of blood—I did not destroy the boots—the large quantity of blood on the stockings was at the the end, but the heel part is quite stiff with blood—there is not any on the inner heel of the boots, or only a mere trace—I examined the knife, and found blood on both sides of the blade, partly coagulated, and the coogulum carried to the back part of the blade, showing that it had been very deep in the wound—the handle was loose, and there was blood on the iron pin which goes into, the handle, but I could find no blood on the handle.
Cross-examined by MR. RIBTON. Q. I suppose if a person walked where there was blood on the floor, their stockings must necessarily gather some of it? A. Yes, and in walking in that part of the house where there was no blood, the dust would get on and cause the blood nearly to approach a state of dryness; treading about on the floor would absorb a portion of the blood and dry it, and if the boot was put on after a good deal of walking about it might leave very little trace inside the boot—I never saw the body—I am forming an opinion from the statements which I have heard from the witnesses—the evidence given by Mr. Horton is very clear, but, as a general principle, I am better able to speak from what I see with my own eyes than from trusting to the observation and memory of other people—such cases do not occur very often, but I have some experience in cases of violent death—the last edition of my work was published in 1865.
Q. I read it yesterday, I will read it again: at page 518 you say, "Wounds of the carotid artery," &c. (Reading the former extract as far as "the person may have survived for a longer or a shorter period")—that was written by you in 1865? A. I adhere to it now.
MR. POLAND. Q. Jn the case you were referred to by my learned friend, Mr. Ribton, was the windpipe severed? A. It was not—the case was read yesterday—the power of motion a good deal depends upon whether the windpipe is severed, and I believe that every case must be judged by its own special conditions; in that case, too, a medical man was called id and there was no bleeding for a long time.
Q. With regard to the artery cut and the windpipe not severed, how long would motion last? A. Not motion, it is merely life; a person cannot live with the carotid artery cut, beyond a few seconds, and when the
windpipe is cut, the gush of blood generally gets into the open aperture and the person is suffocated, even if he does not die from loss of blood—I was not examined before the Coroner.
MR. RIBTON. Q. Do I understand you to say that if the windpipe is severed death is instantaneous? A. When the jugular vein and the carotid artery are cut at the same time, generally so; I know of no instance but one where there was a little surviving; one instance I have recorded here, which you read yesterday, where a person moved two yards, a sort of spasmodic motion.
Q. At page 513 you say, "There is one circumstance which requires notice in relation to severe wounds in the throat, namely, that although a person may have the power of locomotion he may not be able to use his voice so as to call for assistance. It sometimes excites surprise at an inquest how a murder may in this way be quietly committed without persons in an adjoining room hearing any noise, but the fact is well known medically, that when the windpipe is divided, as it generally is on these occasions, the voice is lost?" A. Yes, that is the undoubted distinction which exists, that where the windpipe is cut the voice is lost, provided the jugular vein and carotid arteries are not cut through; this applies to ordinary suicidal wounds, where the carotid artery and jugular vein generally escape.
Q. "Such cases as these show the necessity of caution," &c., at before, down to "considerable extent?" A. Yes, but in that case the windpipe was not wounded, nor the carotid artery cut—I think great caution ought to be used.
COURT. Q. You say that the injury to the bone was done first; might not the knife have been plunged into the neck with such violence as to reach the bone? A. The injury was in a different situation, as I gather, and there had been a stab down there first—the first plunge of the knife might have done it if done by another person—the knife might be plunged in with such force as to injure the bone, which, was injured—when I say that I agree with Mr. Horton that a person in frenzy or delirium might inflict such a wound, I refer to unnatural strength, and to mental infirmity also—such a degree of force was used that nothing but frenzy, delirium, or the act of an insane person would give; in fact delirium and frenzy are kinds of madness; they give spasmodic strength.
MR. RIBTON. Q. In cases of suicide, are not wounds often of a very fearful character? A. Yes, but not involving the spine and vessels.
SAMUEL WILKES , M.B.C.P. I am one of the physieians of Guy's Hospital, and professor of medicine at the London University—I, conjointly with Dr. Taylor, gave my special attention to the appearance of the human body after death—I was in Court all day yesterday, and heard Mr. Horton's description of the state in which the deceased was found, and the state of the body—assuming the facts to be correct, I believe she had been dead two or three hours at the time of his examination, and I ought to say that two or three hours is rather under the mark—in forming that opinion, I make allowance for the great loss of blood, and for all the circumstances described—I might add that I form that conclusion as to two or three hours because I cannot call to mind any case in which I have seen rigidity, rigor mortis, occur under three hours—I bear in mind the degree the witnesses have spoken to; I have never known the commencement of rigor mortis under three hours—I have heard Mr. Horfera's description of the wound in the throat; it is barely possible for the woman to have inflicted that wound on herself: my reason for saying that is that
I have seen an equally severe wound produced by suicide on a man, but I have never seen it on a woman.
JOHN SCOTT . I produce this model and plan; the model is on a scale of twenty feet to the inch, and the plan a quarter of an inch to a foot—this is an exact plan of the two rooms; I have shown the fixed furniture only—I call the bedstead fixed furniture, in the position as shown there—this is a correct plan of the neighbourhood—this is the prisoner's house; it is forty yards from the prisoner's house from this house, No. 2, across the canal in a straight line, and about twelve yards from tlie prisoner's house to No. 3, Dunn's house; fifteen yards to No. 4, Long's house; thirty-one yards to No. 5, Stunt's house; No. 6 is Alwood's house, that is about 125 yards by the road; No. 7 is Bannister's in Henry Street, that is 220 yards by the road; No. 8 is where Policeman Tucker stood in Upper Henry Street, that is about 200 yards in a straight line.
Cross-examined by MR. RIBTON. Q. Is this the room? A. Yes; this represents the bed, the head is here—this is the window, and this, the hearthrug—there is a small space, about two feet I should think, between the hearthrug and the wall—this is a small cupboard, and this is a vacant space—the houses are only one room deep; there is no window at the back or at the side.
COURT to WILLIAM DUNN. Q. When you first went up stairs, where the body of the deceased woman was, did you observe the state of the bed? A. Yes, it had been laid on, but I cannot tell whether by one person or two—the clothes were turned down—I saw a pair of stays and a pair of drawers in the room, but did not notice in what state they were.
COURT to ANN WILTSHIRE. Q. You went to Gravesend when? A. On Tuesday, and did not return till the Wednesday—I left nobody In the house.
This being the case for the prosecution, MR. RIBTON requested that Fanny Wiggins should be called, as her name was on the back of the indictment. MR. POLAND considered that as Counsel for the Crown, he had a discretion to call whom he pleased, but consented to place the witness in the box.
Cross-examined by MR. RIBTON. Q. Did you see the deceased about half-past seven on that morning? A. Yes; she had been moved on to the mattress—in laying her out on Thursday morning I tore her shift—this is the shift that is covered with blood—she remained in it till the next morning—I tore it to get it off her right arm—I rather think it was off the other arm—I was forced to tear it because I could not raise the weight of her body—it was made to open a little in front; there was a small place to open, but whether there was a flap to it I do not know—I tore it down the middle, nearly to the bottom; there was no other tear in it that I noticed.
MR. POLAND. Q. I suppose you can tell by looking at it whether it has a flap in front? A. I might—I did not tear it quite to the bottom, but I am not sure there was only a slit in the frout before I tore it further—I think it was torn in front, and I tore it more to get it off.
MR. RIBTON. Q. Did you know the deceased? A. Not much; I was not well acquainted with her—I have spoken to her—I was there the night previous—I never heard her use the expression, "I feel I could make away with myself"—I never spoke to her till the night previous—
I know Elizabeth Hampton; she is here—she was examined before the Coroner.
JURY. Q. Was the deceased a stout woman? A. Yes, and very tall and powerful—she was a very fine young womaa indeed.
MR. RIBTON, upon the authority of Reg. v. Holden, 8, Carrington, and Payne, wished the COURT to call a witness not called by the prosecution. The COURT refused to do so.
JURY to DR. TAYLOR. Q. In your judgment would the blood spirt out in such quantity as to produce what you have seen? A. That would depend on the position of the person making the blow—if the person was behind I should expect not, but if the person was in front it would; the moment the carotid artery was cut the blood would spirt out—there might be some in front of the clothes of the sufferer if standing up, or on each side of the neck if lying down.
Recommended to mercy by the Jury, on the ground that they thought the act was not premeditated.
Prisoner. I can say that I am entirely innocent. I never lifted my hand or finger to her till I found her cutting my throat; I shoved my hand up and got my thumb underneath the knife and got it cut. I tried to halloo, but could not. I took my handkerchief off and went out of the room, and I saw her drawers and put them to the wound. I went into my mother and father's room and gave the alarm. When I went into the room again she was sitting against the wall, with blood coming out of her windpipe as thick as my finger. I was in my stocking feet, which is the reason of their being saturated. I put my shoes on, which laid under the table, and went down stairs, went into the street, and Dillon was looking out at the window. The deceased was not laid out on the hearthrug; I will be on my oath before God and man she was lying with her back against the wall, and as the blood came from her so came her body down, and there I left her; her head was at the side of the chair. I went out of the room, and she was sitting on her bottom, her legs not stretched out at all. There was no pillow, only my jacket, which had been on tho hearthrug, with a lot of blood on it. When she got out of bed and asked me to forgive her her shift was not torn. She had pawned and sold everything she could make a penny of. I never accused her of anything, and never struck her till Saturday. When she asked me to forgive her I told her I could not, and she said, "I will tell you all I have done." I can be on my solemn oath I never had the knife in my hand from when I had my supper over night till my mother saw me pick the knife up. I said, "Oh! mother, here is the knife she has done it with," and put it on the table. I can be on my solemn oath, if I die to-morrow, I am not guilty of the death of Agnes Oaks.
Sentence.— DEATH .
THIRD COURT.—Wednesday, September 25th, 1867.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
THOMAS CRASWELL . I did live at Swan Lane, Upper Thames Street—about 11.30 a.m. on the 19th August I was on Fish Street Hill—I felt a tug at my pocket, turned round, and the prisoner's hand had just left—
he dropped my handkerchief and ran away—a gentleman stopped him, and I held him until a policeman came.
GUILTY .*— Twelve Months' Imprisonment.
MR. METCALFE conducted the Prosecution, and MR. BRINDLEY the Defence.
THOMAS KNIGHT . I am potman at the Duke of Wellington public-house, Brunswick Street, Hackney Road—about 7.30. p.m. on the 30th August I went to the privy door in the back yard—the prisoner was in the privy standing up, and he appeared to be adjusting his dress—I watched him from the stable, and saw him come out—he threw half of our clothes prop on the ground, and went to the bar and had half a pint of beer—I saw the prop was covered with soil, and I accused him of breaking our prop, and with putting it down the privy—he said he was not there, and that I must have made a mistake—I told him I had made no mistake, as I had seen him in there and had seen him come out—he went down the yard again and looked down the closet, and then went out at the back gate—after he had gone I got a candle and looked down the closet—I sew a number of letters, a good many of which were torn in two—I got up some of the letters, about thirty-nine, and put them in a pail—there were four torn in two and thirty-five whole ones—I gave information to the Post Office authorities—from the time I saw the prisoner in the closet to the time I found the letters no one else had been in it.
Cross-examined. Q. You could not see the letters without the aid of a candle? A. No; they were very wet, and I got them out with a pair of tongs—he appeared to be sober—he did not seem to be ill—he walked straight enough into our house and back again—I cannot say whether he was tipsy or not, but he did not appear like it to me—I would not undertake to say he was not in liquor.
RICHARD REEVES . I am inspector of letter-carriers at the Bethnsl Green Post-office—in consequence of what the last witness told me I went to the privy—I received some letters from him, and I saw some pieces of letters down the pan—the letters given to me by last witness were in the envelopes, and have that day's postmark—they ought to have been delivered that day—I afterwards saw the pieces brought up from the closet—they formed parts of one ter, and bore that day's postmark—the prisoner at that time was a letter-carrier in the serviletce of the Post Office—he went to that district from my office about a quarter-past four, and in the ordinary course of things he would finish his delivery about six or a quarter past—the Duke of Wellington is not in his district—it is about two or three minutes off his beat—there was a letter addressed to Mrs. Richards, Vincent Street, Boundary Square, Shoreditch—that was in the prisoner's district.
Cross-examined. Q. The prisoner has been in the service of the Post Office nine years, has he not? A. Yes—he has not given very great satisfaction for the last year or two—we have not heard anything particular about his delivery—we have thought sometimes he has been in liquor—we hardly knew what to make of him, he has been rather sleepy-headed—there was not much light in this closet.
HENRY RCMBOLD . I am an officer attached to the Post Office—in consequence of information I received, on the evening of the 30th August I went in search of the prisoner, but could not find him—I saw him about seven o'clock the next morning at the Bethnal Green Post Office—I asked him if he was not on duty the day before at four o'clock, he said he was—I asked him if he delivered all his letters for that delivery, he said yes, he delivered them all—I said, "Are you quite sure you delivered all your letters?"—he said, "Yes, I delivered all"—I said, "What letters were those you threw down the water-closet?"—he said, "I was taken ill, and had to go there, and they fell out of my hand, and I got a stick to get them up"—I said, "A great many of them were torn in pieces"—he replied that he got a stick to get them up—I then took him to the General Office, and afterwards to Bow Street—in the afternoon I went to the Duke of Wellington public-house, and in the privy I found the pieces of about thirty different letters, many torn across—I could read the addresses of only two, they were torn about so much—amongst them I found the ports of which formed a letter addressed to "Mrs. Richards, No. 2, Vincent Street, Boundary Street, Shoreditch," and also one to "Mrs. Willings, at Mrs. Abbott's, 46, Columbia Square, Charles Street, Hackney Road, London"—it bears the Staines postmark of the 30th August—those two letters are torn across the middle—the enclosures are there—there is also a letter to Mrs. Newman, of 95, Hackney Road, London, N.E.
Cross-examined. Q. You have only the two or three letters referred to there? A. Yes, four letters referred to here—I have the whole which were found—I went to the prisoner's house, but he was not at home, and I waited till nearly twelve o'clock for him—I took this lot (produced) out of the privy on the 31st.
MR. METCALE. Q. Besides those you have specified, the other letters that you received from Knight still bear the postmarks, and the addresses? A. Yes; all.
HENRY NOBLE . I am a commissionaire, of 6, Exchange Court—I wrote two letters on the 30th of August, one to Mr. Richards, and one to Mrs. Richards—I gave them to Thomas Lynch to post—this is the letter I wrote to Mrs. Richards (produced).
ELIZABETH RICHARDS . I live at 2, Vincent Street, Shoreditch—on the 30th August I received a letter addressed to my husband—I did not receive the one produced—the prisoner brought my husband's letter, but he did not say anything about this.
SARAH NEWMAN . I received a letter from Mr. Bedford on 31st August—it was given to me by my servant, and it was so soiled that I destroyed it—I did not see the envelope—my servant's name is Elizabeth Scale.
ELIZABETH SCALE . I am servant to the last witness—I received from the postman a letter for my mistress—I kept the envelope, it was soiled at the time I received it—I received it on Friday morning, the 31st.
COURT. Q. Was it in the envelope at the time? A. Yes, it was—the prisoner did not give it to me.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate:—"I had some drink given me on my delivery, and I felt very bad and very drunk. I went to the Duke of Wellington public-house, to the watercloset. I had these letters in a side pocket, tied with a string. They accidentally fell out of my pocket down the watercloset. I tried to get them up with a prop, which I broke, but never tore a letter. The letters were whole, with a string round them, when they went down there."
GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Imprisonment.
MR. HOUSTON conducted the Prosecution.
ALFRED SADD . I live at 38, Durham Road, Holloway, and am a bricklayer—about a quarter to one on the morning of the 8th September I waa in the Caledonian Road—I saw the two women and a boy there—the two women came up to me—Nash wanted to know where I was going, I pat my hand up to put her on one side, and she struck me on the breast—Peters then jumped over some railings, struck me on the mouth, and, knocked me down—the prisoners walked away and I followed them—I was carrying a pair of boots under my arm—I do not know what became of them; I lost them when I was down on the road—I followed Peters and gave him charge for knocking me down and robbing me.
Peters. Q. Did you not chuck Nash down and tear her shawl? A. No, she never fell at all—you never spoke to me—I did not say, "Mind your own business."
JOHN CLARKE (Policeman 61 Y). Between two and three on me morning of the 1st September I saw Peters and the prosecutor together in the Caledonian Road—the prosecutor said he had been knocked down by the prisoner and two females, who had gone another way, and he had been robbed of a pair of boots—Peters was given into custody, and he said he knew nothing about the boots—I took him to the station—he had no boots with him except what he had on—prosecutor had been drinking, but he knew pretty well what he was doing—the prisoner went quietly.
FREDERICK ABERLINE (Police Sergeant 24 Y). I took the two female prisoners into custody on the 2nd September—I was on duty at the Caledonian Road police-station when Peters was brought in—the prosecutor said he had been knocked down and robbed by Peters, in company with two women, whom he described, and the spot where he had been assaulted—I went to the spot shortly after, and I noticed blood in the road, and picked up a piece of shawl, which I produce—I attended the police-court next day, and from what the prosecutor said to me I went into the passage and there saw the two women—the prosecutor said they were the ones that had robbed him—Nash was wearing this shawl, which has had piece torn from it, and the piece picked up corresponds with it—I told them the charge—they said they were there, but they knew nothing about the boots.
NOT GUILTY .
WILLIAM FIELD . I am a greengrocer, living at 3, Endle Street, Hackney—on the 8th July I had a brown mare, which I saw safe in a field on Hackney Downs at eight o'clock that night—at five next morning it was gone—I next saw it on the 16th or 18th August in the New Cattle Market, in the possession of a man named Hedges, for sale—I claimed her—when I lost her she was worth 10l.—I communicated with the police, and had bills printed, offering a reward.
GEORGE KINGSHOT (Police Constable 117 D). I took, the prisoner into custody in Carlisle Street, Marylebone, on the 16th August—I charged him with stealing the horse; he said he had bought it outside Romford Market—he could not recollect when or from whom.
RICHARD MILLER . I am a general dealer, of 2, Manning's Place, Marylebone—on the 9th Jury, between four and five in the afternoon, I saw the prisoner opposite Ryan's public-house—he had a brown mare for sale—it was the same I saw outside the police-court—I was looking after one for Mr. Lonnor at the time, and I said I thought it would suit him—we went to Mr. Lonnor's, and the prisoner told him he had had it a month, drawing coals and coke—Mr. Lonnor gave 5l. for it.
JOHN LONNOR . I am a butcher, at 13, Grosvenor Road—on the 9th July the prisoner and last witness came to me with a brown mare—I asked him how long he had had it; he said, "Over a month"—I asked what he had been using it as; he said, "For drawing coals and coke"—I asked what he wanted to part with it for; he said because he could not afford to keep it, as trade was so bad—he said he bought it in the Romford Road—I kept it for a week, but it began to kick my cart, so that I "chopped" it away with Miller's brother for another, for which I gave 2l. 10s. and this mare.
WILLIAM HEDGES . I reside at Hendon—I gave last witness 3l. 10s. for the brown mare—on the 16th August I took it to Smithfield Market—the prosecutor came to me and said the mare was his, and I gave it up, to him.
Prisoner's Defences. Do you think if I had stolen the mare that I should have stopped about Marylebone and Paddington?
GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Imprisonment.
MR. LILLEY conducted the Prosecution.
WILLIAM BETTS (Policeman 186 T). About seven a.m. on the 16th August I was on duty in tho New Road, Hammersmith—I saw both prisoners coming in the direction from Brentford, each carrying a bundle; Robinson had the larger one—I stopped him and asked What he had got in the bundle; he threw it down in front of me and said, "You had better look"—he was about to run away, and I caught hold of him—Constable 141 I was with me; Goddard ran away, and he ran after him and caught him—we took them to the station—the bundles were examined, and these are the contents of them (produced)—amongst them are three skirts, some black silk, a dress, a jacket, and a coat—while they were in
custody at the station Goddard's sister came to see him; she asked him what way he got in, and he said the back way.
Goddard. Q. Did I not say to her, "You tell grandfather I never took the things at all?" A. No.
Robinson. Q. When you stopped me, did you not ask where they came from? A. No, I asked you what you had in the bundle—I did not say to the other constable, "Pull his handkerchief and choke him if he won't come."
WILLIAM ANSELL (Policeman 141 T). I was in company with last witness when we met the prisoners—what he has said is quite correct—I ran after Goddard about 300 or 400 yards—I said to him, "What made you run?"—he said, "Find out"—I said, "What have you in your possession?"—he said, "One pair of trousers and a coat"—I asked him where he got them from; he said, "Find out"—I took him to the station—these are the articles found in Goddard's possession (produced)—at the station he said, "I will tell you where I got them from; I got them from my father's house at Brentford"—I said, "Very well; there will be inquiries made"—I asked him what time, and he said, "About ten o'clock last night."
Goddard. Q. Did I not go very quiet with you? A. Yes—I did not say, "I should like to see you 'obstropolus;' we can tackle you."
JAMES GODDARD . I am a labourer, and live in Windmill Lane, Brentford—on the 15th August I was left in charge of my father's house in the market place—I know the New Road, Hammersmith—it is about three miles from Brentford—I fastened up the house about a quarter after nine—it was all safe—no one slept in the house that night—there was a blue pilot coat of my father's in the kitchen—this is it (produced)—I cannot answer for the other articles being in the house that night—I have seen them in the house—I think they were in a room.
Goddard. Q. Were those rooms locked up that night when you left? A. Both rooms up stairs were locked—I fastened the back door and bolted it—I did not state at Hammersmith that the back place was open, and thai I had nothing to do with the back place.
SAMUEL GODDARD . I have two rentals in the market-place, Brentford, one 19, and the other 20—I was away at this time, and my son had charge of them—these goods (produced) are all my property—they were safe in the house when I left on the 14th—they are worth 10l.
WILLIAM RICKETTS (Policeman 248 T). On the morning of the 16th I examined the premises in the market-place belonging to Mr. Goddard—I found a skylight at the back over the washhouse broken open, and the door leading from the washhouse into the shop had been apparently tried to be forced open—the window looking into the back yard was open, and one small square broken—the locks of the bedroom doors had been forced—this lantern (produced) was standing in the shop with some ashes of burnt paper in it, and some lucifer matches—I examined the lock of the front door and found the fastening had been forced—Goddard's brother went over the house with me.
Goddard's Defence. We were standing in the market-place 'about a quarter-past nine, and a man came up and asked us if we would do a job for him. He said, "If you will take some things to the Tottenham Court Road I will give you half-n-crown each. We were taking them when the policeman stopped us.
GUILTY .— Fifteen Months' Imprisonment each.
MR. LANGFORD conducted the Prosecution.
WILLIAM MILLETT . I am a fireman, and live at No. 9, Orange Street, Red Lion Square—the prisoner lodged with me in my room—on the morning of the 10th I got home about half-past seven, the prisoner was there—I told him I felt rather tired, and he persuaded me to go to bed, which I did—he had told me he was going to Brighton to receive some orders—about half-past nine I turned over in bed and saw the prisoner going out of the door—I said, "It is very near time you went to Brighton, the day will be gone before you get there"—he said, "Yes, I will; good morning," and went out—I thought there was something strange about him, and directly he bad gone I went to my box and missed my bank-book—this is it (produced)—the last time I saw it safe was when I made the last deposit, on the 30th July—I immediately went to the London Bridge station and saw the prisoner—I said, "I want you to come back with me to the lodgings"—he said, "All right"—we had got a little distance, and he said, "What is up?"—I said, "You know very well what is the matter, you need not ask such a question as that"—he said, "Oh, do not make a noise; let as go into a public-house and talk about it"—I said, "No, I do not want to go into any public-house at all; we will go back to the lodgings and talk about it"—he said, "My portmanteau is at the station, I will go and get that"—I accused him of stealing the bank-book, and said 18l. was too much for me to lose—18l. was what I had deposited—he said, "You mean to accuse me of it?"—I said, "Yes, certainly I do"—he opened his portmanteau and took from it a purse, and from the-purse he took some money and gave me 8l. 0s. 9d., and said that was all the money he had, but he would pledge all things he had, as it was time for him to be in Brighton doing hid master's business, aud that if I liked to go to the bank with him he would give me a cheque for 20l. as a security upon his honour—I have ascertained that the 18l. has been withdrawn—he went back with me to Orange Street, and I gave him in charge—when he opened his portmantean I saw a scarf inside that belonged to me—I never gave any one authority to take my bank-book—this toothpick, towel, and bottle are my property—previous to the 10th September I never knew or saw Mrs. Elizabeth Moore, of 52, Galway Street—I never gave anybody authority to use my name to be addressed there.
Prisoner. Q. Was there any other jewellery in your chest? A. Yes, a set of studs and a small box—they were not gone—I do not remember coming home drunk on the 31st July, nor yet the worse for liquor—you did not say it was a long way to go back to Red Lion Square—you did not say you had brought the bauk-book away by mistake in the hurry.
DAVID EDWARDS (Policeman 52 E). On the morning of the 10th September I was called to No. 9, Orange Street, Red Lion Square—the prosecutor charged the prisoner with stealing a bank-book and a scarf—the prisoner said the prosecutor at the station told him if he could not prove one charge he would not press the other, meaning the scarf—I took the prisoner into custody—he gave me a ticket and said, "That is the ticket of a portmanteau that I have got at the London Bridge Station"—I went to the station and got the portmanteau, and I found in it this shirt, towel toothpick, and bottle, all of which the prosecutor identified.
ROBBERT JAMES . I am clerk in the Savings Bank Department of the General Post Office—I produce this bank-book, which Millett says is his—the account was closed at the Holborn Receiver's office, and was sent up to
us the same nightz—that was the 5th September—the money was withdrawn on that day.
ELIZABETH MOORE . I live at 52, Galway Street, St. Luke's—the prisoner called at my place on the 2nd September to take some lodgings, but I was out—he came again on the 3rd to pay a deposit, and asked if there had been a letter sent there for him—he said his name was Mrs. William Millett—he wrote that name on a piece of paper—he paid 1s. deposit—on the 3rd a letter came addressed to Mr. William Millett, and on Thursday the prisoner came for it, and I gave it him—he said he was coming in the evening to pay the week's money, but he has never been since.
Prisoner. Q. You say the man that called had on a Scotch cap? A. Yes, put flatly on the head, so as to resemble a fireman's cap—you also had on a mackintosh coat, and you made use of the words, it was a soft morning—it was a showery morning—you said you were a fireman.
The prisoner in his defence read a long statement, which was simply a recapitulation of the evidence.
ROBERT JAMES . I am clerk in the Savings Bank Department of the Post Office—I produce this bank-book, the warrant, and the notice—the name in this book is William Millett, of No. 9, Orange Street—each deposit is entered in the book—supposing he wanted to withdraw, he would first of all send us a notice of withdrawal, which he could get at any post-office; he would then fill up the amount required and give his name and address—this is the notice (produced) used for the withdrawal of this money—he has simply to fold it up and put it in the post-office, and it would be received in our office—when received it is compared with the signature of the depositor made at the time of opening the account, which is on the declaration, and if they agree we act upon them—we then issue a warrant—this is the one issued in this case (produced), and send it to the address given in the notice—this was sent to 52, Galway Street, Bath Street—the depositor would then take that notice to the post-office, and they would pay him, and if the account was closed they would take the book from him—it would not be paid without the book.
COURT. Q. Would the envelope show that it came from the Post Office? A. Yes, "On Her Majesty's Service," and "Post Office" in the corner.
ELIZABETH MOORE . [The evidence given by this witness in the previous case was read over]. The prisoner said he had been applying for a general situation in the Post Office—the outside of the letter had on it, "On Her Majesty's Service"—I could see it was a Post Office letter—I swear positively the prisoner is the man I handed the letter to.
SARAH ELIZA LUFF . I am assistant at the post-office, 9, High Holborn—this warrant was presented to me on the 5th—I should compare the signature with the book, which would be presented at the same time, and if they agree I should pay the money—I do not know to whom I paid it—I do not know whether I paid it to a male or female.
Prisoner's Defrnce. I did not offer him the money after he had accused
me of having stolen his bank-book, but before, and when he aceused me I wanted my money back, but he would not give it me.
GUILTY .— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment.
892. JAMES EVANS (61), JOHN ROBINSON (42), and JOHN DAVIS (25) , Unlawfully having in their possession house-breaking implements. ROBINSON PLEADED GUILTY .**— Five Years' Penal Servitude. MR. BESLEY conducted the Prosecution, and MR. M. WILLIAMS the Defence.
SAMUEL OBEE (Policeman 899). I have been in the force nineteen years—previous to the 9th September I had received instructions with reference to the prisoners, and in consequence of those instructions I have from time to time watched their movements for the last twelve months—About 10.30 p.m on the 9th September I was near the corner of Addle Street, Wood Street—I saw the three prisoners together—I followed them into Silvet Street, Falcon Square, and Noble Street, where Evans left Davis and Robinson, and went into a doorway on the left-hand side, and Davis and Robinson went into one on the right-hand side—the door that Evans went into I have since ascertained was No. 13, and that into which Davis and Robinson went, Nos. 28 and 29—they were there two or three minutes, and then left the doorways and joined each other, and went to the corner Of Falcon Square—a man came but of No. 13, stood on the edge of the Kerb, and looked after them—I also saw another man looking at Davis and Robinson from the court nearly opposite where they were standing—I followed them through different bye-streets until they came to Beech Street, where there was a fire—Davis and Evans went into the crowd, and Robinson went a little further on—after some little time Evans atid Davis joined Robinson, and they went together along Barbican into Crown Street—at the corner of Wilson Street Evans and Dttvis went into a public-house called the Plying Horse, and Robinson remained outside looking about—then he went into the public-house and joined Evans and Davis—I saw them sitting on a form and handing beer one to another—they were all three together, and were looking at something which appeared to me like a key—they remained there ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, and then went to the corner of Sun Street, Bishopsgate, where they stood talking for two or three minutes—they then went down Bishopsgate to the corner of Houndsditch—they went down Houndsditch talking and laughing till they came to Aldgate, where Evans and Robinson went down a court or passage—Davis remained at the end looking about—I saw Evans give something to Robinson down the court, which he put into his right-hand coat pocket—they then went into the Turk's Head public-house—a man came and spoke to them—they sat down on a form and had some beer, passing the pot from one to the other—I got the assistance of another constable, and Was about taking them into custody when Inspector White came up; I told him what had happened, and what I was going to do, and we all went in—I said to the other officer, "This one, this one, and that one"—the fourth man said, "Do you mean me?"—I said, "No, not you," calling him by his name—the others asked, "What for?"—I said, "For loitering in the steets for the purpose of breaking into warehouses"—Robinson said, "I don't know what you mean"—I took Robinson to Seething Lane—on the way to the station I had hold of his right arm, and with my left I hit against his pocket, where I saw him put his hand in—I put my hand in and took out three skeleton keys—at the station he put his band into his trousers pocket, and said, "You may as well have them all," and he gave me these
skeleton keys (produced)—I searched him and found another key in the same pocket—I asked him how he accounted for them, and he said he had had them given to him—I asked Evans where he lived, and he said No 21, Busby Street, Mile End New Town—Davis gave me an address, but said, "It is no use your going there, for I don't live there"—I have seen Envas and Robinson together night after night—I afterwards went with Sergeant Moss to No. 13, Noble Street, and found one of the keys given to me by Robinson would open that door—they would open all the door I saw tried.
Cross-examined. Q. How long were they under your observation this night? A. From 10.30 to 11.30—I kept in doorways—it was raining, and I had my umbrella up—sometimes I had to pass them—they did not know me—when they went into the Flyiug Horse I was at the entrance of Finsbury Square, about thirty or forty yards off—I went up to the door after they had gone in—I know there was a small piece of tobacco found on Evans—the keys would not open the door of No. 13—I said on a former occasion that they will open ordinary locks—I did not speak to any officers before, because I did not want them to see me—I was fifty or sixty yards from the prisoners.
MR. BESLEY. Q. How many City police did you see on your way? A. I think two—Davis had an umbrella, and Evans held it up—there was about half a pipe of tobacco found on Evans—they smoked in the Filing Horse.
JOHN MOSS . I am a detective sergeant of the City force—the keys taken from Robinson were given to me—they would open the doors of 27, 28, 29, and 30, Noble Street—there is a label on each key which states the doors it will open—the Nos. stated are all occupied by warehousemen and merchants.
WILLIAM LEIGH . I am private watchman to Messrs. Goldberg and Company, of 13, Noble Street—on the night of the 9th September, between ten and eleven o'clock, I was inside the premises—about a quarts-past ten I heard some one trying the door or rattling the bars; my key was in the door—I went to the door and saw a stoutish man, with dark coat and light trousers on, going towards Falcon Square—I saw two other men come from doorways on the opposite side, and they joined—I did not know Obee before—I saw a fourth man, and he resembled, Obee in stature.
Cross-examined. Q. I think you stated on another occasion that you were not prepared to say the prisoners are the men? A. I could not see their faces.
THOMAS CREED . I am a builder, and live at Fitcher's Court, Noble Street—I was going home between twenty minutes and half-past ten on the 9th September—I noticed a man between the hoarding and Fitcher's Court—he was going towards Falcon Square—I saw two other men on the other side of the street—they were standing still—I did not see Obee.
MARY ANN LOFTUS . I am in the employment of Mrs. Maxwell, of the Flying Horse, Wilson Street—on Monday evening, the 9th September, two of the prisoners came in and called for a pot of porter, and while I was drawing that the third man came in—they all partook of the beer.
Cross-examined. Q. You did not see anything pass, or see them show anything to each other? A. No.
MR. BESLEY. Q. Did you pay any attention to what the men were doing? A. No.
—Obee spoke to me near the Turk's Head on the night of the 9th September—we went in and found the three prisoners there; there was also a fourth man.
EVANS and DAVIS— GUILTY .**— Five years each in Penal Servitude. A previous conviction was proved against Evans in 1835.
FOURTH COURT.—Wednesday, September 25th, 1867.
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
MR. WOOD conducted the Prosecution, and MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS the Defence.
JOHN BRODERICK (Policeman 157 B). On Friday evening, 6th of September, I saw James Daubney and a man named Newman at the corner of Exhibition Road, Kensington—Newman was carrying this bulidle (produced) on his head—I asked him what it was—he said, "You know"—I asked if it was guts—he said, "Yes; and this is my master," pointing to James Daubney, and in his presence, he did not say anything—he said he had bought them of a man of the name of Porter, in Newgate Market—I asked him the number, and he said he did not know—he said be got 1s. 8d. a pound—I asked if he had bought them that day—he said, "No, last Tuesday, and left them with a friend in Hosier Lane, Wandsworth"—I did not feel satisfied, and took him to the station—when there he said, "I was only trying the policeman, I did not think he would bring us here; I bought them a few weeks ago, and left them with my brother"—I charged—him with unlawful possession—I then went to Wandsworth, and found there was no such place as Hosier Lane—when I came back he said it was Hosier Lane in the City—I afterwards went there—I went up stairs and asked if Charles Daubney was in—his wife came out and said he was—he came out and I asked him if his brother had been there—he said he had, but had taken nothing away—I could not make him understand what the nature of the inquiry was—I took him to the station and he saw the prosecutor there, and said he was the governor"—he said, "Did not my brother buy some skins of you?" and he said, "No," but that he had bought them some time ago.
Cross-examined. Q. Was it a fact that Charles Daubney was in the service of Mr. King? A. Yes—King said that he might have sold him some skins some time ago.
that his brother had been there, or if he had been there the day before—he said yes, and that he had taken some skins away.
JOHN KING . I am a meat salesman in Newgate Market—I missed about 301b. of sausage skins previous to the 6th September—there is about 201b. in the bundle—it is worth 1s. 6d. a pound—we dress them in a peculiar way—I know these to be mine—Charles Daubney—was my foreman—I have seen his brother once or twice—he bought some skins of me about six months ago—not since—if they were kept six or seven weeks they would shrivel up and be useless—after the officers had been to me about the skins Daubney called me aside and said, "I did not mean to rob you, but I took them through a board which was loose, and if you do not prosecute me I will pay you for it"—he said his brother was hard up.
Cross-examined. Q. Have you seen the skins? A. Yes—I know then by the colour—I use the very finest of the sort—I have never seen say others like them—that is the only way I identify them, by the colour and at the manufacture—my attorney is Mr. Neale—I employed him on Monday at the sessions here—I had never seen him before—some one told me that he would conduct the case—Charles asked me before the Magistrate if James had bought any skins of me, and I said he used to buy some—when the constables came he said, "Here are some skins," and if the board was broke they could not have gone from any other place—there was no out present when this conversation took place.
Cross-examined. Q. You are a batcher in the service of Mr. King! A. Yes—I cannot identify these skins—I prepare the skins, but do not finish.
COURT. Q. If you had sorted them how could you identify them? A. I could not identify them unless there was a mark on them—there are thousands of these skins in the market—they ore not all alike.
The prisoners received good characters.
MR. DALY conducted the Prosecution; MR. LILLEY defended Garland, and MR. MOIR defended Priestly.
JOHN FEEN . I am assistant to John Wootton, fancy manufacturer, a Houndsditch—the prisoners came together into our shop on the 22nd August—Priestley asked to see some plated chains; I showed them to him, and he did not like them—he then asked to gee some watches; I showed him some, and he asked the price—I said, "Three guineas"—he offered me 3l., and I would not take it—Garland was standing by his side—he put the watches back on the counter, and then asked to see the chains again; I showed them to him, and he chose one that he had seen before; the price was 4s.—he asked to see the watches again, and took one to the door to look at it—it was in this case (produced)—his back was towards me—he came away from the door and offered 3l., and I said, "No"—there was a gold hunting watch in the case—he bought one of the chains, and Garland paid me—Priestley put the case back on the counter again shut up, and then left—Garland stopped behind and asked me for half a pint of beer, and I gave him a penny, and he left too—after they had left I opened the case and found a metal watch in the place of the gold one—the value of the metal watch is 10s.
Cross-examined by MR. LILLEY. Q. Did this occur in the day? A. Yes, about one or two o'clock—I had seen Garland in my shop before and he had purchased things—there is plenty of light in the shop to examine goods without going to the door—we hare a quantity of goods in the window, but there is a glass at the back of the window—Garland was standing by the counter all the time—Priestley was in the habit of going to the door to look at his goods.
Cross-examined by MR. MOIR. Q. Had he gone to the door to look before? A. Yes—I have known him about a year—he has dealt with us during that time—there was nothing unusual in his going to the door—I have never seen him have keys of his own—I showed him four watches, all in cases like this—I cannot tell one case from the other—he has bought metal watches of us; we sell them, but they are not so small as this—this is not the same as the ones we keep—I examine each of the boxes before I put them down—I saw the watches in them—the metal watches very much resemble gold and silver ones—we deal largely in these goods; it is one of the principal parts of the trade—I will swear they left this watch—I did not examine the cases till after they had left the shop—I did not examine them before beyond laying them down.
MR. DALY. Q. When you opened the case did you see it was changed directly? A. Yes—it was opened before he touched it—that was not one of the watches in the cases before he took it.
JOSEPH WILKINSON . I am errand-boy to Mr. Wootton, nnd was in the shop on the 22nd August, about one o'clock—I saw the two men come in—Priestley asked to see some plated chaine—he afterwards asked to see some watches, which he had seen previously—he went to the door, and put his hand to his waistcoat, and came back and asked Fenn for a key—he then went to the door again, and put his finger in his waistcoat pocket—he then turned his back in the doorway, and then brought the case back to the counter, shut—he asked to Bee the chains again; Fenn showed them to him—he picked one out and told Garland to pay for ft, and went out of the shop as quick as he could—Garland asked Fenn for half a pint of beer, and then he left also—I know the difference between the gold and metal watches—I had seen them before Priestley took them up—they were all gold—I saw them when the cases were opened, and one of them was this metal watch—I had not seen it in any of the cases before.
Cross-examined by MR. LILLEY. Q. Where were you standing at the, time the men came in? A. By Fenn'B side—I did not go away for any-thing—they were in the shop about half an hour—I am quite sure I never went out.
Cross-examined by MR. MOIR. Q. You say you saw tha watches lying open? A. Yes—I did not touch any of them—the back of the metal watch is a little different from the others—the metal watch has got six points—I noticed them—I will swear that I noticed that the hunters had not six points—I always look at the points—I did not examine them—the hunters have three pointes.
COURT. Q. Do you mean to say you saw the three points? A. Yes—we have sold all the metal watches out—we can get one.
MR. MOIR. Q. You have seen Priestley in your shop before? A. Yes—I have never seen him put his hand in his pocket before—I have never seen these keys before—he took the watch to the door, and put his hand to his pocket—I did not see him take anything out—he was half turned round—I was in a position to see it he took anything out—I did
not see anything in his hand—he put his hand in his pocket before he asked for the key—he took the key to the door with him—he said, "It is wound up," and brought the case back—I was examined before the Magistrate—I said he ran out of the door—some little time before Priestley bought a watch, and brought it back and had it changed—that was about a month before—we do not keep the metal watches in cases; we keep them in a safe—we put half a dozen in a box—I will swear we never keep them singly—I never saw a metal watch in a case like that—I will swear that.
GUILTY . They further PLEADED GUILTY to having been before convicted.— Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. COOPER conducted the Prosecution, and MR. METCALFE the Defence.
SARAH BENTLEY . I live at 21, Princess Street, and am the wife of Robert Bentley—on the 4th September I was standing at my own door, and the prisoner came up to me—she had a knife in her hand—I said, "Mrs. Hull, you have got a great deal to laugh at; you had better go in and mind your own business;" she took up the knife and struck me on the nose, which cut it—I bled a great deal.
Cross-examined. Q. You have got the plaster on still? A. Yes—I have had it off—I put it on last Monday again when I went before the Grand Jury—I do not feel inclined to take it off—I was quarrelling with my husband because he was a long time on an errand—I had been to a public-house—I only had a glass of stout—my husband came to the door of the public-house, but he did not fetch me away—he asked me to come—I went directly he asked me—we quarrelled indoors—the prisoner came while we were quarrelling—my husband has a saw—I did take it up—I never touched it—we have not got a four-pound weight—I did not hit the prisoner at all, she struck me first with a knife—I am quite sure I did not hit her with a saw—my husband never struck me in his life—we have a lot of lodgers in our house—I have been up before the Magistrate—I never robbed any one in my life—a man owed me a little money—I had three months—that was the only time.
MR. COOPER conducted the Prosecution.
No evidence was offered against WARREN.
WILLIAM CHARLES POWELL . I live at 14, President Street, King Square, Goswell Road, and am a trimming manufacturer—on Friday night, the 8th August, I locked my store-room up and put the key in my pocket—next morning, about half-past eight, I was called up, and I went to the factory and found the door had been forced, and the place broken into—I missed about twenty-eight pieces of sarcenet, 9l., and some loose silver and copper from the cash box—my daughter and foreman sleep on the premises.
WILLIAM WARREN . I remember the night on which the factory was broken open—I was with a man named Sands—I had been out of work about six weeks, when 1 met a man named Arthur Scwell—he asked me to go to the factory with him—he said he would lend me some money—I
called at his house and he had gone—that was about half-past five—his sister said that Sands was in the shop—I went out with Sands—he went home and washed himself, and we went for a walk—he said he had got to go to his father's shop to get some work—I went with him into President Street and waited for him about half an hour, when he came with a brown bundle under his arm, and asked me to carry it—it was a clock—we afterwards went to a public-house and had some ale—he gave me 11s. 5d. as a loan, and said I could pay him back a little at a time—he asked me to call him early in the morning, as he had to take the bundle somewhere—I went and called him, but there was no answer—I went home—coming back again about half-past ten, I met John Horne, Fred Horne, and Sands at the door—we all went to a public-house in Finsbury and had some lemonade—the two prisoners went out, and came back in about half an hour, and we all went to Goswell Street—John Horne went up Sutton Street, and come back in a short time with a bag and some silk in it—I did not see the silk—we went to King Square, and waited in a public-house while they went to sell the silk, as they afterwards told me—they came back about one o'clock, and said they had got 30s. for it, and gave me 6s., and said if I did not take it they would make me—on Tuesday morning Sands told me he had stolen a watch and some clothes—I left him, and have not seen him since—one night my sister told me I was to go with her to Mr. Nole's—I went and told him all I knew—I afterwards went to Bagnigge Wells, and was taken into custody—I saw Frederick Home at Mr. Bearfield's door, in Sutton Street—I did not see anything taken from the shop—they carried the timepiece from Sutton Street—I did not see it taken at all—I was standing two areas off—Sands came from the factory—there was no one with him—I did not know it was a robbery till the morning following.
BENJAMIN BRYANT (Police Inspector G). I saw the prisoners at the Coach and Horses public-house—I called them out and gave them into the custody of constables Miller and Short—I told them they were wanted for breaking and entering 14, President Street, and stealing a quantity of silk—John Home said, "I am very sorry I was in it, but it can't be helped now; I was dragged into it by young Sands; I know what you want, you want the silk; let us go to-night, and I will tell you the place where it is"—I said, "No, to-morrow will not do, I must know to-night—he said, "Well, I can't tell you now; I am not sure where it has got to by this time, but I can know if you will let me go; don't keep my brother, he knows nothing about it, except carrying out a timepiece after I left"—his brother said, "I know nothing about the robbery, let us go, and you shall know where the stuff is; I only had the timepiece and one piece of silk; I saw the goods in Barfield's shop, there were four or five parcels heaped up in brown paper"—I said, "How did you know what the goods were?"—he replied, "I knew it was silk, because the ends were not covered"—turning to his brother, he said, "I think you might tell them where it is"—John said, "Hold your tongue; be counselled by me, if they don't like to let us go we will not get it."
JAMES JOHN WHITEHORNE . I live in Bath Street, City Road, and am in Mr. Powell's service—on the morning of the 9th September I went to the factory and found the door had been forced open—I opened the door and found all the things lying about—I showed the inspector the place—I had left it safe the night before.
went to 14, President Street, and found the door in the area broken open—I found two pieces of a file, which I produce—they correspond with a broken file found in the place—on the 15th I went to the Coach and Horses, and saw the prisoners there—Frederick Home was given into my custody by the inspector—he said, "Well, I had the silk, and I had the clock"—I asked him where the silk was, and he said, "I do not know where it is gone to; let me speak to Jack, and he can tell you where it is"—his brother did not hear that—when they got to the station he was speaking about the silk, and the other turned round and said, "Keep your own counsel."
ARTHUR JAMES SEWELL . I live at 49, Great Sutton Street, and am a painter—I know the two prisoners—on the night of the 8th August I was in a public-house—I came out about twenty minutes past eight, and saw two men, named Warren and Sands; they spoke to me—I went into the public-house again, and came out about twenty minutes past ten—I then went home, Frederick Home opened the door for me—I bid him good night, and went to bed—I got up about twenty minutes past seven to go to my work—I saw Sands pass through the workshop—I saw Fred Homo with something under his coat—we went into the workshop, and he showed me a parcel, and said, "Here you are, this is all I have got—I thought it was bread and butter—I do not know what it was now.
CHARLES BEARFIELD . I am a goldsmith—I know the two prisoners—I went to the workshop, and saw Sands sleeping on the boards—after some time John Home came in—I woke them up to let me in—I went to breakfast and returned to the shop—I saw John again, and he said he had been out late, and had got drunk—I afterwards saw them talking together while I was sitting at my board, and John went out to speak to some one outside, and then came back and filled a bag—they said it was paper—I do not know what it was—they took it out after they had filled it—Sands and the Hornes went out—I did not see the bag after that.
MR. STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution.
JUDAH GEORGE SOMERS . I carry on business at 67, Houndsditch, as a wholesale stationer—on the 31st July the prisoner came to my warehouse and said he was going to open a shop, and wished us to supply him with goods—I sent Messer to take the orders from him—I afterwards supplied him with goods amounting to 50l. odd, and sent an invoice with them—I went to see him myself two days previously, and he then told me that he would purchase the goods for ready money—he held some situation besides keeping the shop—I recommended him to some of my neighbours—he said he would pay cash—I did not have any reference—when I sent the goods he did not pay for them directly, and I sent a man down to fetch them, and he came back with a cheque—this is it (produced)—it is payable to Messrs. Somers and Co., signed M. Seckel—I looked at that cheque, and in consequence of looking at it I went to Portland Place, Clapton, the same evening, to the address he had given me—it was after dark and the shop was shut—he was out when I got there and I waited his return—when I saw him I said that I did not believe the cheque was good for anything, and I required cash or my goods back—he said the cheque would be paid at Tavistock, or at Robarts's—he said he had a good account there—I saw five cases in the shop, I had supplied him with eight—he said he had sold three
—the goods had only been left about two hours—I called a constable and gave him in charge—he wanted to see me in private, but I would not.
GEORGE MARTIN MESSER . I am in the employment of Mr. Somens—I was sent to Portland Place, North Clapton, with some parcels—I did not find any one there, so did not leave the parcels—I went again on 3rd of Angnst—it was a shop newly fitted up—I was there in the day, but it was not opened—I left the goods with the prisoner and he gave me this cheque—I did not see him write it—he did not make any observation to me, but I said, "You have forgotten to take the discount off"—he said he would take it off some other bill—this is the bill that I took with me—I went back to my master and showed him the cheque, and went back to the prisoner's place in the evening, but he was not there—he came up shortly after on a cab—I believed the cheque to be a good one—I delivered eight cases in all—when I went back I only saw five—three were gone.
HENRY GIBSON . I am manager of the Tavistock Bank—we have no customer of the name of Sechel—no person had a right to draw a cheque in that name on the bank—cheques are not stamped with adhesive stamps new, they are impressed—this cheque was issued to a person named Wetberall years ago—we have used stamped cheques since they first came into use.
The prisoner in his defence stated that he was employed by a man to go and buy the goods, and that he gave him the cheque to pay for them.
GUILTY .— Two years' Imprisonment.
OLD COURT.—Thursday, September 26th, and Friday, 27th, 1867.
For cases tried on these days, before Mr. Justice Smith, see Surrey Cases.
THIRD CQURT.—Thursday, September 26th, 1867.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
Eighteen Months' Imprisonment.
FOURTH COURT.—Thursday, September 26th, 1867.
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
MR. DALT, for the Prosecution, offered no evidence.
MR. DALY conducted the Prosecution.
ELLEN BASTER . I live at 95, Wentworth Street, Whitechapel, with my husband—on the 2nd August the prisoner came to my door about half-past twelve at night—my husband was sitting in the kitchen having some supper—I was sitting on the steps—the prisoner said she had a waistcoat to sell—she went inside to show it to my husband—just then a man came in
for a lodging, and as I was going up stairs with him I heard my husband cry out, "Oh! she is murdering me"—a lodger went and fetched Doctor Stirling—she was not taken into custody for a fortnight.
GEORGE BASTER . On the 2nd August I was in my room having some supper, and the prisoner came in with a waistcoat to sell; she asked me to buy it—I looked at it and said it was no good—a person came in for a lodging, and my wife went to show him a bed—the prisoner ran at me and stabbed me in the chest—I have not been able to breathe freely since—I was taken to the hospital, and have been there since—I had never seen her before to my knowledge.
COURT. Q. Had she been drinking? A. I do not think she had.
WILLIAM BENTON STIRLING . I am a surgeon at Whitechapel—early in August I was called to 95, Wentworth Street, and saw the prosecutor—he was in a fainting condition from loss of blood—he had a wound in his chest, passing over the front of the rib—the rib was not quite bare—it might have been a dangerous wound—I attended him for a week, and then he went to the hospital—I have not examined him since.
Prisoner's Defence. I was very drunk.
GUILTY .— Two Years' Imprisonment.
MR. DALY conducted the Prosecution, and MR. PATER the Defence.
ELIZABETH HIGGINS . I live at 7, King Street, Drury Lane, and am the wife of William Higgins—about five minutes to twelve on the 14th September I went to look for my husband—I found him in the taproom at the King's Arms public-house—there were a lot of young men there—I began to blow my husband up—the prisoner was in the bar—my husband came into the bar and had a quarrel with the prisoner about some dominoes—we came outside afterwards and went up Long Acre, and the prisoner and the other young men followed—my husband ran away, and as I turned round to look for him I was struck in the neck with a knife—I was just in front of the prisoner.
Cross-examined. Q. Had you left your husband? A. No—he ran away—it was when he ran away that I was stabbed—I did not see who struck me—I often quarrel with my husband—I know a Mr. Dillon—he is a card maker—I have not said anything to him that I know of—I did not accuse any one but the prisoner—I tried to keep the prisoner from striking my husband.
MR. DALY. Q. Have you been examined before the Magistrate? A. Yes—I said the prisoner followed and stabbed me in the neck—that is true.
WILLIAM HIGGINS . I live at 7, King Street, Drury Lane, and am a general dealer—on the night in question I was at a public-house, and had a quarrel with the prisoner—there were eight or nine persons there—my wife had to stop the row—we went out up Long Acre—the prisoner and the other men followed us—I heard the prisoner ask another man for a chin, meaning a knife, as he was going along, and I ran away—when I had gone about thirty yards I heard my wife scream—I ran away in consequence of hearing the prisoner ask for a knife—I am sure it was the prisoner who asked for it.
Cross-examined. Q. Do you know a man of the name of Dillon? A. No—no one was pointed out to me the next day as the person who had stabbed my wife—I swear that no one received a thrashing for it—the prisoner has
not received a thrashing from me, or anybody that I know of—no one was kicked or struck by me or my friends—I do not know a Mr. Moore, nor a Mr. Traf—my wife asked the prisoner to leave off quarrelling—I carry a pocket-knife—I had it in my hand, it had dropped out of my pocket—they had not said anything then—the knife fell when we came out of the public-house—I and my wife do not often quarrel—I did not strike my wife at all.
JEREMIAH CRAWLEY . I live at 34, King Street, Drury Lane, and am a general dealer—I was in the public-house the night this happened—I came out with Mrs. and Mr. Higgins, we were having a game at dominoes for a drop of beer, the prisoner and Higgins had a quarrel—he, prisoner, said, "Stake your money," and shoved him, and Higgins shoved the prisoner—the prisoner went out of the taproom and brought in nine or ten more men—he struck Higgins twice—the landlord came in and turned them out—they waited at the door till we came out, and then followed up—the prisoner asked one of his mates for a chiv—one of them gave him a knife, it was open in his hand—when he got close to Higgins he ran away, and he stabbed Mrs. Higgins in the neck.
Cross-examined. Q. Did you hear Higgins say anything to the prisoner when he came out? A. No—I saw him with a knife in his hand—I did not see Higgins with a knife in his hand—I did not hear him say to the prisoner, "I will shove this into your eye," nothing of the kind—I did not hear the prisoner say in answer to that, "Put your knife down and I will fight you fair"—I did not see the prosecutor do anything with a boot, or threaten the prisoner.
LEWIS WILCOX . I am house-surgeon at King's College—on Saturday night, 14th September, I saw the prisoner—she had an incised wound on the left side of the neck, about half an inch long and an inch deep—it was in a very dangerous part of the body, near the main artery of the neck.
The following Witnesses were called for the Defence:—
THOMAS MOORE . I live at 11, Dudley Street, Seven Dials, and am a coach-painter—I was in the tap of this public-house with Higgins and the prisoner—they had a quarrel and the landlord parted them—no woman interfered—afterwards a woman came in and had a conversation with Higgins concerning the prisoner—at twelve o'clock we were told to go out and all went out together—the woman began to abuse the prisoner and called her husband—he came out with a knife in his hand, and said to the prisoner, "I will rip your inside out," or something like that—the prisoner said, "Put down the knife and I will fight you fair"—I was close by Mrs. Higgins when she called out that she was stabbed—the prisoner was about two, yards from her—I do not think he could have stabbed her without my seeing it—I know Dillon and Traf—I did not see a knife at any time in the prisoner's hand.
Cross-examined. Q. How long have you known the prisoner? A. About four years—I lived in the same street with him tworyears ago—I can't say who stabbed the woman—I was standing there at the time—I can't say that the prisoner did not stab her—I don't think he could have stabbed her without my seeing him—I will not swear that he did not.
GEORGE TRAF . I live at 3, Chapel Street, and am a gold and silver flattcner—I was outside the public-house with the prisoner when Mrs. Higgins was stabbed—I was on the other side of the road when she called out she was stabbed—the prisoner was close by her—I did not see him
stab her—I do not think he could have stabbed her without my seeing it, he had no knife in his hand—there were four or five people there—I saw Higgins with a knife, it was open in his hand—he said he would put it into the prisoner—a crowd gathered round when Mrs. Higgins called out she was stabbed.
COURT. Q. Where did the stabbing take place? A. In Long Acre, about two minutes' walk from the public-house—we had been to the public-house with one or two friends—there was no row in the public-house that I know of—I did not see Higgins and the prisoner drinking in the public-house—when we came outside a woman came up and abused the prisoner—she said to Higgins, "You can do for him here"—he said, "If he comes here I will do for him"—I was on the other side of the road—Higgins was with them all when the woman was stabbed—I did not see him run—he was there when the woman screamed.
CHARLES DILLON . I live at 8, Langley Court, Long Acre, and am a painter—I was not present when Mrs. Higgins was stabbed—I was pointed out to Higgins as the young man who stabbed his wife—he came up to me and knocked me down—he loosened my teeth, and hurt me a good deal.
COURT. Q. Who pointed you out to Higgins? A. I don't know—when he knocked me down he said, "Now I will give you the knife"—this was Sunday, the 15th September—I can't exactly say who was there; I think Crawley was.
MR. DALY. Q. Were you at the public-house the night the stabbing took place? A. No—I believe it was Higgins struck me—Crawley did not—I can't swear that Higgins knocked me down—he stood in front of me when I was on the ground—I was told afterwards I was taken for Wallace.
WILLIAM NORTH . I live at 7, George Street, and am a printer—I saw Higgins with a knife threatening the prisoner—I did not see the prisoner with a knife—I heard the woman call out that she was stabbed—I was in the crowd—I am sure the prisoner did not stab her—he was about five yards from her—he could not have done it without my seeing it—he was not near enough to her.
Cross-examined. Q. Do you know the prisoner? A. Yes—I was in the public-house—I was about six yards from the woman when she was stabbed, and the prisoner was close to me.
COURT. Q. Did you see Moore there? A. Yes, he was in the crowd—he was standing about two yards from me—I can't say whether it would be true if Moore said he was close by.
MR. DALY. Q. Who was it that stabbed the woman? A. The husband was closest to her when she cried out that she was stabbed—there was no one else near her—I should think he was the most likely person.
GUILTY .— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. PATER conducted the Prosecution.
JOHN KELLEY . I live at 6, Abbott Place, Coram Street, and am a labourer—about twelve o'clock on 24th August I saw a man named Brown lying in the road, and the prisoner standing over him—he was bleeding—I did not sec the prisoner do anything to Brown—I can't say whether the prisoner had no stick in his hand—while I was picking Brown up the prisoner
hit me on the head, and said, "Oh! Mr. Kelley, is that you?" and he hit me again with a stick—I can't say whether he was sober or not—he said, "Oh! Kelley, is that you? I gave your brother a good hiding, and I mean to do the same to you," and then hit me—I am not strong now—it was only a few days ago I ceased to receive medical attention.
Prisoner. Q. Do you recollect going into the Lord John public-house? A. Yes, between eight and nine—I don't know that you said you went to the public-house with the man you were fighting with—I was standing up straight when I was struck—I was going to pick Brown up when I was knocked down—I did not say you struck me with a stick—I have been in prison three times for rows and assaults on the police; that was four months ago.
HENRY BROWN . I am a horsekeeper, and live at 2, Abbott Place—on the night of the 24th I went into a public-house to have a pint of beer—I saw the prisoner there, I did not strike him—he struck me with a stick and I was thrown on the ground and rendered insensible—that was after we came out of the public-house—I don't remember Kelley coming up—I was afterwards hit on the head with a stone, the prisoner did not do that—I was taken to Gray's Inn Hospital.
Prisoner. Q. You knew me well, did you not? A. Yes—I did not have any beer at the public-house—we have always been good friends—I did not see your mother there—I did not stand out to fight you—we did not have any rounds, you knocked me down with a stick—it was a woman who hit me with a stone—I know her—I did not give her into custody, because I could not find her—I saw her in the police-court when I was giving my evidence, but I could-not find her afterwards—I have got a brother—he got a black eye from you—I had no animosity towards you—I am sure I did not say that I should give you a black eye—I have been convicted for assaulting the police.
JAMES THOMAS PAUL . I am a surgeon, and live at 26, Burton Crescent—on the 24th August I was called to the police-station, and saw Kelly there and examined him—he was bleeding from two severe'wounds, one on the top of the head and the other on the forehead—the bone was exposed on the top of the head; they were jagged wounds—they could be done by that stick (produced)—the one on the forehead could be caused by a fail, but not the other one.
Prisoner. Q. Might not any of the cuts be done by a fall? A. The one on the forehead could, but not the one on the top of the head; to inflict that, he must have fallen from a height.
JOHN POTTER (Policeman 192 E). On the 24th August I was on duty aud heard a cry of "Murder!"—I saw the prisoner running—I ran after him and stopped him—he made no answer to the charge at the station—a little boy picked up the stick and brought it to the station, and the prisoner said it was his—about a fortnight previous he had entered into conversation with me, and said he meant to pay out the first man he got—I said, "Who do you mean?"—he said Kelley and Brown.
Prisoner. Q. Did I tell you what I meant by saying that I would pay them out? A. No, you went away—I did not see the stick in your hand—I was at the corner of Tavistock Street when I saw you running—you ran into Little Coram Street, and I caught you—there was a mob following me—I did not see them attack you—I do not recollect seeing 163 E in the station-house—he did not say you had been there half an hour before.
SAMUEL DUCK . I live at 33, Marchmont Street—on 24th August I heard a row in the street—I went across the road, and saw the prisoner and Brown; Brown was on the ground—I saw Kelley push through the crowd and pick Brown up—while he was leading him away the prisoner took a stick from a person walking behind, and knocked first one down, and then the other—he hit one one way, and the other the other—he hit Kelley more than once—he then ran away—I followed and saw him stopped by the constable.
JAMES BELTON . I live at 25, Lee Street, Burton Cresceut, and am a painter—I saw the prisoner walking up Marchmont Street on the 24th August—I afterwards saw him knock Brown down—Kelley went to pick him up, and he knocked them both down—I saw him running up Little Coram Street and fling the stick away—I went and picked it up—this is it (produced)—he knocked them down with this.
Prisoner. Q. Where were you when you saw me strike Brown? A. Just against you—I did not see the commencement of the row—I saw you knock him down—when you ran away I ran by your side into Little Coram Street; that is about fifty yards—I saw you swing the stick away, and I went and fetched it.
The prisoner in his defence called
MARGARET KELLEY . I was in the King John on the 24th August at a quarter to twelve—I saw Kelley and Brown there—I know them by sight—Brown said, "Oh! Pat, you gave my brother a black eye three weeb ago; how would you like it if I was to give you one now?"—he was going to hit the prisoner, and the barman jumped over the bar and said he would not have any fighting—we went outside and they had a fight—I saw them both on the ground—Kelley said, "Give it to him, he gave my brother two months," and struck him with his fist—I saw the stick in Keiley's hands—the prisoner took it away and used it in self-defence.
Cross-examined. Q. How long have you known the prisoner? A. About twelve months—we live in Little Coram Street—I do not live with him—he lives in Brook Street with his mother—Kelley struck the prisoner more than once with his fist—they were fighting about twenty minutes-after he had knocked Kelley down the prisoner ran away for protection—the mob were excited with him for defending himself.
ELIZA WALLACE . I was with the prisoner and the last witness on Saturday night, the 24th August; we went to have something to drink—while we were at the public-house Brown came in and said, "You gave my brother a black eye; what do you think if I give you one?"—we went out and met Kelley outside—Brown and the prisoner fought, and Brown fell—Kelley said, "Give it him, he gave my brother two months"—I ran away, and have; not seen them again till to-day.
Cross-examined. Q. Did you see the stick? A. "So; I have never seen the prisoner with a stick—I do not know who owns this stick—I never saw the prisoner with it before that day.
Prisoner's Defence. I did it in self-defence.
GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Imprisonment.
904. GEORGE GLOVER (32), GEORGE COMPTON (33), JAMES HARDING (20), WILLIAM SAVAGE (26), GEORGE TWAITES (22), and JOHN SMITH (26) , Robbery with violence on Edmund Mahoney, and stealing a watch and hat.
MR. DALY, for the prosecution offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. LEIGH conducted the Prosecution, and MR. M. WILLIAMS the Defence.
ROBERT MARSHALL . I live at 7, Little Gray's Inn Lane—on the 16th August I went into a public-house for refreshment—I stayed there about half an hour—I saw the prisoner there; he was drinking with some other men—he offered me something to drink—about half an hour after, as I was returning home, I saw the prisoner lying on the ground, half on the pavement and half in the road—I said, "Get up, old friend"—I went to lift him up and felt something go into my leg—I pulled up my trousers and saw blood—I saw something in his hand, and took it away; it was this knife—I was then taken to the hospital—I lost a great deal of blood—I had done nothing to provoke him—he was very drunk.
Cross-examined. Q. Did you see him give a man 2s. 6d.? A. Yes, for playing—there was a quantity of gin drunk, which he paid for—I did not see any beer—I did not know that he was robbed.
GEORGE ROBERTS . I am a costermonger, and live in Liquorpond Street—about ten o'clock I was going along; I saw the prisoner on the ground—the prosecutor went to pick him up—he tried to pull him up, and the prisoner took out a dagger from his pocket and stabbed him in the leg—a policeman came past, and he gave it to him—the prosecutor did not provoke him in any way.
JOSEPH WILKS (Policeman 234 G). I took the prisoner into custody—I saw the prosecutor bleeding, sitting on the kerb—he gave me the dagger, and gave the prisoner in charge—he was the worse for drink, but he could walk—I think he knew what he was about.
Cross-examined. Q. Did he say he had been robbed? A. Yes.
RICHARD HEWETSON . I was house surgeon to the Royal Free Hospital—the prosecutor was brought there on 16th August—I examined him—there was a wound on the side of the right leg about half an inch in depth—his trousers were cut—it was not a severe wound—it was done with an instrument like this dagger.
Before Robert Malcolm Kerry Esq.
MR. PATER conducted the Prosecution, and MR. WARNER SLEIGH the Defence.
RICHARD SMITH . I am a baker, and live at 1, Queen's Place, Greenwich—the prisoner was in my service about three months—his duty was to carry the bread out to customers, and do anything I required of him besides—it was his duty to receive money from customers and deliver it to me in the evening—I have missed money which he had not accounted for to me—he left my service on the 22nd July—he had not given me any notice—I heard nothing of him till the 30th August, when I saw him and gave him in charge.
Cross-examined. Q. Did you have a character with him? A. No—he referred me to two places for a character, but I did not go for it—the character was for a period of some years—he was engaged to take out
bread—we both went together sometimes—perhaps that would bo once a week—I have always received money when I was with him—I don't know what day the 6s. was received—it was always paid weekly—I have a book—I was not with him when this was received, or I should have taken it myself—I have no book in which I enter the moneys paid to him—he left me on Saturday, 22nd—I knew where he lived—I took a constable there, but could not find him—that was about the 28th July—I did not lend him 14s. to buy a pair of boots; but there was a shoemaker that I knew, and I told him to get a pair of boots there, and he went to another shop—that is not the embezzlement I wish to bring against him—I used to owe him some money, and he owed me some—we had a cross account.
NOT GUILTY .
907. ELIZABETH BROOKMAN (40) and ALICE BROOKMAN (13), Stealing a brooch and other articles of Ann Emma Morse, the mistress of Alice Brookman. ELIZABETH BROOKMAN PLEADED GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Imprisonment.
MR. DALY offered no evidence against ALICE.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. PATER conducted the Prosecution.
ANN COEN . I am a widow, and live at High Street, Deptford—the prisoner previous to this time has been a lodger in my house—on the 1st September, about a quarter to twelve, we had our supper; the prisoner sat down to the same table—my child Alice Coen was present—after the supper things were cleared away the prisoner put a question to me and I was not willing to consent to it—I believe he was sober at the time—when I told him I would not comply he said, "I will take your life before you leave the room"—I did not see at that time whether he had a knife in his hand—he put the question to me again, and when I said I would not he said, "I will murder you before you leave tht room"—he then went into the kitchen—I took advantage of his absence to leave the house—we got into the passage—my child was with me—when we got into the passage the prisoner called out, "Is that you, you b----s?"—I ran as fast as I could with the child, and the prisoner followed—when I got into the street I fell down with her—the prisoner stood over us—my child called out, "Murder!"—the prisoner left—after he had gone I observed blood flowing from my child's head—when I got indoors she was covered with blood—the police were sent for and she was taken to a doctor's—the prisoner was afterwards given into custody—it was dark when it occurred.
Prisoner. Q. Did you not fall on the child yourself? A. No—I had my shawl on—we have not been cohabiting together—I did not fall on the child; she fell at my side—you were behind me when I fell down—I had not been drinking.
MR. PATER. Q. How old is your child? A. Eight years.
JOSEPH HENDERSON . I am a surgeon at Deptford—I examined the little girl, she was bleeding veiy much, there was a wound at the back of her head—it was a clean-cut wound down to the skull—she is now doing well—it was a dangerous wound at the time—it must have been done with a knife.
Prisoner. Q. Will you swear it was cut with a knife? A. Some sharp
instrument—the stones could not have cut it, the wound was too deep, and on the back of the head.
JOHN GREEN (Policeman 69 R). About one o'clock on 2nd September I went to the prisoner's house and found him lying on a couch—he was sober—he asked what was the matter—I told him he was charged with cutting and wounding Alice Coen, and he said that Mrs. Coen was a false woman, that he had not touched the woman or the child—on the following Wednesday I found another knife in a basket underneath a board—I did not observe any blood on it—the other knife has the point broken off.
Prisoner. The basket is what I carry my food in, and the board is with it—I carry that knife to cut my food with.
COURT to JOSEPH HENDERSON. Q. Would this knife produce the wound? A. The larger one would—I do not think the wound could have been inflicted by a brooch, or a fall—it required a hard blow.
MRS. COEN (re-examined). I was not wearing a brooch that night.
GUILTY .— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment.
MR. GRIFFITHS, for the Prosecution, offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. WOOD conducted the Prosecution.
THOMAS RUSSELL . I am a coffee-house keeper, of 7, Greenwich Road—on 10th September I saw the prisoner in the coffee-room, sitting under the picture of a black and white spaniel dog which I had had many years—she had come there to breakfast regularly for two months every morning—I turned my back and she appeared fast asleep—I left the room for two minutes and noticed the picture at that particular time, because I was sitting opposite it—when I came back the prisoner was gone, and the picture too—I have not seen it since.
Prisoner. The servant girl came and woke me up, and said, "Well, have you had your Bleep all right?" I said, "Scarcely, I feel so heavy after being ill last Friday." Witness. It is false, the servant was up stairs.
EDWARD GEORGE PEARSON . I am assistant to Thomas Mason, pawnbroker, of Greenwich—on 10th September I saw the prisoner in the shop with a picture of a black and white King Charles's spaniel in a gilt frame—she offered it in pledge for 3s.—I told her we did not take them in—she put it under her clothes and went out—I have no doubt she is the person.
Prisoner. Q. When the sergeant called me from the cell was I alone? A. No, several others came out besides you—I said that I thought you, were the woman at first, and I looked again and said that you were the woman—he said, "Thinking will not do for us."
COORT. Q. When your attention was called you were quite sure? A. Yes, I was not sure before that.
ROBERT GWALIOR (Policeman 305 R.). On I lth September the prisoner was given in my custody on suspicion of stealing a picture—Pearson saw her on the 13th—she was called to the cell-door with several other prisoners—he said that he thought it was her, and afterwards he said that he was sure.
COURT. Q. How did you call her to the cell-door, by name? A. The sergeant called her by name; there were several others in the cell, fhe door
was open, the prisoner came out first, and the others with her—the sergeant said, "Is this the woman?"—he said that he thought she was—the sergeant said that it was no use his thinking, he must be sure, and then he said that it was her.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. WOOD conducted the Prosecution.
GEORGE WALLING (Policeman 298 R). On the morning of 27th August I was on duty in High Street, Lee, and saw the prisoner with a mat concealed under her dress, which seemed large, and I asked her what she had—she kept silent—I walked a quarter of a mile with her, and then she dropped it, and said she had picked it up in the road—I afterwards found that a mat had been lost from the Rev. Thomas West's.
EDWARD HEATH . I live with the Rev. John Thomas West, at Lee—on 27th August I went to the Greenwich Police-court and identified this mat (produced)—I know it well by shaking it so often, and here is a little bit of green on the back of it—it was safe the night previous outside the door.
Prisoner's Defence. I was going up the lane and saw the mat and took it.
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Justice Smith.
MESSRS. POLAND and COLLINS conducted the Prosecution, and MESSRS. SLEIGH and STRAIGHT the Defence.
CAROLINE SNOW . I am a widow, living at 3, Milstead Terrace, Church Row, Camberwell—I occupy the house—the deceased Mary Ann Snow was my niece—she and the prisoner and three children occupied the parlours—she was thirty-three years of age—she had lived with tin prisoner thirteen years—the eldest child is aged twelve, the second niae, and the youngest nineteen months—they had lived in my house thirteen mouths, they lived together as man and wife—they quarrelled at times, I do not know what about; I heard them quarrelling, but I did not know what it was about—the deceased had given me a week's notice to leave; she was to have left on the morning that this was done, the week expired that morning—I did not know where she was going—I know a person named Wood by sight; he is an engine-driver, I believe—he never came to my house—I never saw him with the deceased—I never heard her say anything about him in the prisoner's presence—I have heard them have words about Wood, it might possibly be more than once, I could not say—I could not say what the words were; I heard them have words through him—on the night of 2nd September I went to bed about half-past ten—I slept in the back room, first floor, at the top of the hoase, there are under kitchens, parlours, and bedrooms—I slept in the floor over the parlours—I do not know at what time the prisoner and deceased went to bed—the children slept in the back parlour that night, and the
prisoner and deceased in the front parlour—about a quarter to six in the morning of 3rd September my niece came upstairs to my room with her throat cut; she was only in her night things; her hands were up to her neck—when she came into the room I jumped up in bed, and she said, "Look what Bordier has done," that was all she said—I laid her on my bed—I then saw her throat, and I sent my daughter for the doctor, Mr. Simpson—a few minutes after I had sent for the doctor the prisoner came up stairs, he was dressed in his shirt, drawers, and slippers—I asked him what made him do it—he said he could not help it, he could not think of parting from her—he said nothing else till the policeman came; the deceased was then on the bed iu the room—the prisoner is a currier, and worked in the Bermondsey New Road—he went to his work on the Saturday previous; he did not go to work on the Monday, he was at home all day on the Monday.
Cross-examined. Q. You saw them on the previous evening, did you not? A. I saw my niece on the previous evening, before she went out—I did not see the prisoner with her—I did not see him go out that evening—I saw her go out, she came down and spoke to me before she went oat—I did not see them go out together—I know they did go out, but I did not see them—the prisoner had been confined for some weeks in the hospital, suffering from a very severe disease of the bowels—I don't know the name of the hospital—I believe it is in the City Road—I don't know whether Dr. Gowland is the surgeon of it—I did not visit the prisoner there—I can't tell in what month it was that he went there—I should think he was there about six weeks.
COURT. Q. How long had he been back from the hospital? A. I can't say; it might have been two or three months, I did not notice.
MR. SLEIGH. Q. After leaving the hospital, and up to the very time this terrible event took place, he was a dreadful sufferer, was he not? A. Yes, he was, from fistula.
MR. POLAND. Q. Had he been attending regularly to his work since he came back from the hospital? A. Yes, I conld not say whether he went regularly day by day, I did not notice.
MR. SLEIGH. Q. Was he an out-patient of the hospital after the operation? A. I think he was; I could not say whether he was an outpatient; he did go there, I know—I believe he went there once.
EMMA SNOW . I am the daughter of last witness, and live at 3, Milstead Terrace—I knew the deceased and the prisoner—I did not see them together the night before this, but I saw him go along by the fence when she came down the steps to our door; they were going out together—the week previous they seemed to live on very good terms, but before that they had quarrelled very much—I have heard the quarrelling, but I never noticed anything they said—on the morning this took place I heard nothing; my mother said, "Get up for God's sake, and go for a docter"—I went for the doctor, and saw the policeman on my way—I got a policeman in about ten minutes time.
Cross-examined. Q. Did you live in the same house? A. Yes, with my mother; the prisoner and deceased have only lived there"fifteen months—I knew that the prisoner had been at the hospital for fistula about six weeks—I don't know that he has been in the habit of going there constantly since as an out-patient, only for about a week or a fortnight after the operation was performed—I don't exactly know how long, I know he went once or twice—I don't know that he left the hospital against the express
wish of the doctor, to go home and earn his bread—they appeared on very good terms the night before, and all the day.
FREDERICK BARRETT (Policeman 138 P). About half-past six on Tuesday morning, 3rd September, I was called by the last witness—I accompanied her to 3, Milstead Terrace, and went to the first-floor back bed-room, where I saw the deceased lying on the bed—the prisoner was standing over her, his right hand was placed on her forehead, and his left hand on her breast—at that time she was living—I saw that her throat was cut—there was no one else in the room besides the prisoner and the woman—I said, "Who did this?"—the prisoner said, "I did it"—I said, "You will consider yourself in my custody"—he said, "Shall I have to put on my clothes?" I said, "Yes"—he had on a pair of slippers and a pair of light kind of drawers—I then went with him down stairs into the front parlour—I there asked him what he did it with—he said, "I will give it you"—he went to a cupboard at the side of the fireplace, and, taking the knife I now produce from off the top of the cupboard, he said, M That is it," at the same time handing it to me—there was wet blood on the blade at the time—I believe it is a knife used by curriers—I remained with the prisoner in the front parlour until the doctor came—while the doctor wm up stairs the prisoner said he hoped she would die—some one then came down stairs and said that she was dead—the prisoner asked me if I would allow him to go and see her—I allowed him to do so—I went into the room before him—he asked me to stand on one side, so as he could get to the bed, and he leant over the head of the bed and kissed the deceased—I then took him down stairs again into the front parlour—he went to the mantelpiece, took this letter marked A, and handed it to me—there are two letters in one envelope; the envelope was, as it is now, not fastened—when he handed it to me he asked me if I would post it to his brother—he said, "I have not sealed it up, as I thought it might want to be read"—he afterwards said he wrote the letters himself, and they were written in French—I remained there with him ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, and then took him to the station and charged him with the willful murder of Emma Snow; that was a mistake in the name—he made some answer, which I did not understand.
Cross-examined. Q. Were you present when the doctor was there? A. Yes—the prisoner appeared quite cool and collected—he took out his pipe, put some tobacco into it, and began to smoke; that was after he had come down stairs from seeing the deceased, after she was dead, after he had kissed her—there was no blood upon her face, there was on the throat—I believe he asked to be allowed to kiss his child, but I was half-way down the stairs then, and did not hear it—there was not the least attempt to evade any of my questions.
MR. POLAND. Q. Were you with him the whole time after you got there? A. Yes, I never lost sight of him the whole time.
GEORGE SIMPSON . I am a surgeon, of 759, Old Kent Road—I am a member of the Royal College of Surgeons—on the morning in question, about a quarter-past six, I was called to No. 3, Milstead Terrace—I went into the room up stairs where the deceased was living—she was lying on the bed—she was still alive, but insensible—she had an incised wound on the throat, commencing under the angle of the right jaw, and extending downwards in a slanting direction to the left side, partly across and dividing the windpipe and several of the blood-vessels—it was about six inches in length, and from one to two inches in depth—she survived about a minute;
in fact, she was hardly living when I went in—she died from that wound—the knife produced would be likely to produce the wound—I left the room immediately after the deceased died, and upon proceeding down stairs I met the prisoner on the stairs with the constable—the stairs were rather dark, and I said to the constable, "Who is this you have with you?"—he said, "This is the man who did it, sir"—the prisoner from behind the constable said, "Yes, I am the man"—I allowed him to pass me on the staircase—he proceeded up stairs, and I followed him—he went into the room, and said to some one on his way, "Allow me to pass"—he went forward to the bed where the deceased was lying, leant over her, and kissed her—he then went out of the room, and said to some one on the landing, "I have written a letter to my brother, telling him what to do, after I have carried out my plan, with any of the children that may be left; some one (mentioning a name which I forget; indeed, I did not hear it precisely at the time) will translate the answer"—he then kissed one o£ the children that was brought to him, and walked down stairs—I followed him—he sat down on a chair and took out his pipe—the constable was there all the time—immediately I got into the room I asked the constable where the instrument was with which the crime was committed—the constable took it out of his pocket—it was wrapped in a piece of paper—it was then covered with blood, coagulated, not dry, moist blood—the prisoner immediately got up from his seat, came over to where the policeman and I were standing, the policeman having the knife in his hand, and I was looking at it—the prisoner immediately said, "Yes, that is the knife, you know, that I brought home on Saturday on purpose to do it with"—after looking at the knife a little time I went to the bed where the crime was committed, and, as the wound in the throat had rather a peculiar direction, I said, speaking more to myself than anybody else, "I wonder how the body was lying when the crime was committed"—the prisoner immediately got up from the chair, where he had sat down again, came over to me, and said, "I will show you all about it, sir"—he then proceeded to tell me how the crime was committed—he said, "I got up about four, it must have been four, but my wife awoke and requested me to come to bed again, as it was too early, she thought; I did so, and waited a little time until she fell asleep again. I then arose cautiously, stood in front of her, kissed her, shook her hand, and drew the knife in this manner," imitating the movement with his hand, from left to right of himself, but from right to left of the body—he drew his hand across a supposititious throat, across the bed, where the neck had been lying—"Then," he said, "the blood came, which I did not expect"—I said to him, "Did not you know that there was blood in a human body?"—he said "Oh yes, I knew that"—I said, "Then did not you expect it from your wife?—he said, "No, I can't say that I did"—he then said, "She looked, towards the door of the room in which the children were lying" (he pointed to the room with his hand as he said this), "as if intending to go there, but of course my plan was that she should die, so I went over to the door," and he proceeded then from the bedside to the door to show me how he preventing her from getting into room, as if Tie were acting it over again—he said, "Then she went up stairs, left the room; I now intended to cut my own throat, but the blood prevented me"—I said, "How? the sight of it?"—he said, "No, it stood up," at the same time putting his hand to his throat, he brought it forward and then took it back again immediately, as if it had come against a supposititious barrier, as if he had come against a pillar of blood that stood up—he then said, "Of course I
cannot do it now; some one will have to come and cut my throat now because I cannot do it; I ought to have done it in another way, but had no material"—I said, "Fire-arms?"—he said, "Yes, I suppose so," or something to that effect—I think he said, "Yes, it must have been"—after that he sat down again—I think he said, when drawing the knife, that it was very hard to do—I said, "Whatever made you think of doing such a thing?"—he said, "It was necessity, sir; it was necessary to do it; in fact," he said, and then stopped and hesitated a moment—I said, "You look upon it as a duty, I suppose?"—he said, "Decidedly, it was right, wasn't it?"—I said, "No, I don't think so; how did you consider it a necessity for you to do it?"—he said, "I will not tell you now"—the constable then handed me this letter (produced)—the prisoner at that time had sat down—some little time had elapsed—I was speaking to the constable about when the other constables would arrive, the prisoner was smoking, and when he heard the letter mentioned he got up again and said, "Yes, I wrote that letter on Sunday night," and he again repeated what he had said up stairs about what his brother was to do with the children, in fact repeated the contents of the letter shortly—he said, "I only wrote it on Sunday night, although I had made up my mind to kill myself for a fortnight before that, but I could not part from my wife, therefore I determined that she should die too and go along with me, as also the children"—I think that was all that he said—I asked him a little about his health—I made him sit down in a chair, and asked him how he had been for some time—he said, "Bad; very bad"—he did not mention the disease—he said he had been operated upon—I then asked him how he felt his head at the present time—he immediately said, "Oh! You know I am not insane"—I looked at his tongue, and felt his pulse, and asked how lie had been for some months, such questions as a medical man would put—I asked him if he had sweated at night lately—he said, "Well, I think I have"—I asked him how his mouth was in the morning when he got out of bed—he said, "Very dry"—I said, "Parched?"—he said, "Yes, exceedingly so"—I asked him as to the state of his appetite, which he said was bad—I asked if he had any singing noises in his ears—he said he thought he had; he was not very sure about that—I asked how long it was since the operation was performed—he could not tell me the precise time—he told me what the operation was—I mentioned the name of the disease—he did not know the name of it—I said, "It must have been fistula in ano"—he said, "I think that was it"—I think that was almost all that he said; perhaps he said some other things—several of the deceased's arteries were severed—in a wound of that kind I should think the blood would not spurt, I should say not in the direction of the prisoner, it might spurt out against the chin—I should say it would not spurt out; the veins were separated as well, but the veins do not spurt—the arteries that were severed were the external carotid artery, the lingual artery, the facial artery, and the superior thyroid artery; the edges of the wound might stop the blood from spurting—I examined the body; there was no evidence of spurting—I did not find a spot of blood on the prisoner—there was a little on the sleeve, as if it had been rubbed off on another body with blood on it.
Cross-examined. Q. Did the prisoner describe with his own hand how he had inflicted the wound upon the woman? A. Yes—I have not had much experience in my practice in regard of diseases of the mind, but I once intended to follow out insanity as a specialty, and studied it for several
years as a science—I am a surgeon and physician likewise—I did not ascertain at that time that the prisoner had been under the care of Dr. Rowland for fistula—I knew that he had been under the care of some one, but not of Dr. Gowland—I have had no communication with Dr. Gowland, or with any medical person—I do not even know him by sight—I do not know that the gentleman sitting near you is Dr. Gowland—fistula is a disease of a very distressing and depressing nature; the state of system upon which it depends is of a very distressing nature; it is connected with the tubercular or consumptive state of system, which is of a very depressing nature—the disease is the result of a state of system; of disorganisation of the general system—some diseases have a more depressing effect upon the mental energies than others—it depends upon the time they continue—fistula adds to the already existing depression by being a source of irritation—I trace the disease back to the general system, and this, superadded to the existing irritation, makes it worse: taking the facts of this case as they came within my knowledge, I have formed an opinion as to whether or no they indicate insanity—I have formed the opinion that the prisoner was insane at the time the act was committed; that he was insane at the time I was speaking to him and conversing with him, and I should say insane at the time that he committed the act.
MR. POLAND. Q. You say you have taken the facts of the case into your consideration in forming that opinion? A. Yes, I have read the letters—I should say that the man had not the power to do right; that he did not know he was doing wrong; from the letters, I should expect an insane man to be particularly coherent and connected upon the subject of his delusion: the letters are the offspring of a delusion, a delusion that it was necessary he should die.
COURT. Q. What do you say was his delusion? A. That it was necessary he should die—there is a recognised form of insanity of that kind, and he was distinctly labouring under that at the time.
MR. POLAND. Q. Then is his stating that, the fact which leads you to believe that this man was insane? A. Not his merely stating that; I take a variety of symptoms into consideration, his manner, his appearance—I believe there was in him a complete absence or deficiency of volition of control over that perverted form of thought; in fact, his will was in abeyance, and his reason had become the advocate of his delusion—there was a complete absence of volition of control over that perverted train of thought, and over the acts which were expressions of that perverted form of thought; over those acts, of which this crime was one.
Q. Tell me a single fact in the case which you say indicates insanity, with the exception of the one you have mentioned, that it was necessary he should die? A. The illusion of the blood standing up as a barrier; that constituted another delusion; it was first a delusion of the senses, and then became a delusion of the mind, because he believed in it—I have met with sane persons who have been dreadfully frightened at the sight of blood, and that have almost fainted at the sight of it; I have done it myself when first brought in contact with it—his appearance also indicated insanity—he did not appear then as he does now; he appeared pretty much the same, but very different in one respect; he had an abstracted appearance, a vacant look, without any moroseness or anything of that kind; I judged from his appearance and manner—his tone of voice was that of a man who was thoroughly satisfied with what he had done,
and expected to be appreciated for it—his manner was that of a cool man—I could not imagine a sane man smoking a pipe and behaving with the coolness that he did—there was also his previous history—I inquired into that—I inquired into his previous state of health and his then existing state of health; it was that of a man in extremely bad health, a man who was undoubtedly labouring under consumption, and consumptive at the present time—he told me he had written the letters on the Sunday night—the 1st September, the date of the letter, was Sunday. (The letter was read to the witness by MR. POLAND.) The letter is apparently inconsistent with insanity, but it is thoroughly consistent with insane persons, because in insanity, even in mania itself, where delusions are many and manifold, the memory is never lost.
COURT. Q. You say the letter is inconsistent with insanity? A. Apparently so, with persons' ideas of insanity, but not inconsistent with the insane themselves; it is apparently inconsistent, to those who do not know insane persons, to the geueral belief of what insanity is, but the memory is not lost in insanity; in fact, insane persons have written books and described their own insanity; there are plenty of books that have been written by persons who have beeu thirteen years insane; they remember everything, but the will is in abeyance, that is insanity.
MR. POLAND. Q. You say one of your grounds is that he spoke of doing this act as a necessity? A. Yes—the passage in the letter where he says, "It is with the greatest regret that I am about to commit the crime," is not inconsistent with insanity, because in my own personal experience insane persons have regretted the act—it is within my experience that a man who does a thing from necessity would call it a crime; I could perhaps explain it better by example, cases where it has happened, than by answering the question—the passage where he alludes to his children being taunted as the children of a murderer I believe to be thoroughly consistent with insanity; I have had examples of it; it is not only consistent, but it has occurred before, in maniacs with many delusions—it shows that his memory of the language is correct; that he knew what he was going to do—it does not show a clear knowledge that he knew right from wrong, not from my experience of the insane; it only proves to me that his memory was in active operation; that he remembered when he wrote that letter that persons considered it a crime—it is consistent with and always occurs in delusion that the persons probably do know they are about to commit a crime, because, as I have said, the memory is not lost; the reason is only perverted, and it advocates the delusion—I should, say from the letters that he did know he was about to commit a crime, the crime of murder—I have been in practice eight years—I have had practice among lunatics—I am now a general practitioner—I have had experience in the treatment of lunatics—I am treating two now in my general practice—I have heard as one of the facts in this case that the prisoner went to his work up to the Saturday.
MR. SLEIGH. Q. Are you a member both of the College of Surgeons and Physicians? A. I am—in the course of my experience I should think several hundreds of cases of iusane persons have come under my cognisauce—when I said the prisoner knew he was about to commit the crime of murder, I meant the act that would deprive a human being of life; an imbecile knows that it is a crime, a person who is non coapot mentis from his birth would know that; I should expect an idiot to know it was a crime, and still do it—he did the act for the purpose of causing
death—judging from the letter, one would suppose that he knew he was committing a crime against the law of God and man, but I don't believe he thought so—judging from the letter, one would naturally conclude so, and I should conclude so primd facie, but my knowledge of insanity tells me that he did not; from my experience of the insane, and what I have seen them write, and do after writing, I should say that he did not think it was a crime, although he used the word—from his expression in the letter, "If in any case one can so call it," and from his saying he thought it his duty to do it, it is decidedly my belief that he had not the power to appreciate the legal quality of the act which he was about to do—as to the expression in the letter, "Let the gentlemen of the Jury, who will make inquiry over me, not return a verdict that this man was insane," I should have been disappointed if he had not written it; insane men invariably say they are not insane—his answer to me when I asked him about the state of his head, "I am not insane; don't think that," was an additional proof to me that he was insane; it was not so much the sentence itself, as the way in which he said it, the sharp way, the manner altogether, the suddenness of it—his general appearance even when sitting or speaking was that of an insane man—it is very difficult to describe the appearance of an insane man, it requires to be seen, but I say from my experience of perhaps four or five hundred cases, he had the appearance of all the insane persons that I have seen—from my observations and experience, I am decidedly of opinion that he was in an unsound state of mind at the time I was speaking to him, and also wheu he committed the act.
MR. POLAND. Q. How many minutes altogether were you with him? A. About thirty-five minutes; I was not two minutes examining the body—I had never seen the man before, nor since, except at the police-court and here—with respect to the passage in the letter about the Jury not finding him insane, I said I should have been disappointed if that had not been there; I should not say "disappointed," but it is an additional proof to my mind that he was insane; primd facie, it certainly conveys the idea that he knew self-destruction was a crime which had to be excused by the verdict of a Jury, but from the conversation I had with him I do not consider so—it is not inconsistent with insanity; in fact, it is an additional proof of it.
SAMULE TURNER (Policeman 35 P). On 3rd September, just before seven o'clock, I was called to the deceased's house, and found the prisoner and 138 P in the front parlour—I found this paper (marked B) on the mantelshelf—I accompanied the constable and the prisoner to the station, and returned to the house about eight o'clock, and searched and examined the room where the crime had been committed—there was a quantity of blood on the sheets of the bed—I have got them here and the pillow-case—on the way to the station the prisoner said, "The last time I shall come along this road, at all events like this"—I then cautioned him, and he said that he did not wish to save himself from anything, and that he felt very unwell, and said, "In fact, I have been in the hospital since Christmas; I have been very unwell some tinre with fistula, and I have been cut, and have the wound now"—that is all he said on the road.
JOHAN FLOER (Policeman L 11). I am well acquainted with the French language—I have made a translation of this letter (producedy)—I have not the envelope here—it was addressed to M. Alfred Bordier—this translation I wrote myself for the Coroner—this is the most correct one—(Read:—
"My dear Brother Alfred,—Excuse me the writing to trouble you for the last time, after being for nearly four years without giving you any news of me. I have submitted during the last eight months to the greatest miseries, and I cannot withstand them any more. I have taken the resolution during the last fortnight to take away my life, as well as that of my wife, with whom I have been living thirteen years, as also that of my children. I have nothing to reproach her whom I have made to pass as my wife for thirteen years. During the time we have lived together not two women out of a hundred would have done as she has done. We have often had many quarrels together about things that were of no consequence, but always takes care of the children as well as the household as well as I could desire. It is with the greatest regret that I anl about to commit the crime, if in every case I have strength enough for the end, for I have a daughter nearly twelve, another nine, and the last nineteen months old. I am going to try, at all events, to accomplish it, and if there is a God (as many of those Jesuits who live by the sweat of our labours wish us to believe) I believe I shall have an interview with Him, although in spite of my not having confessed myself to them. And I believe He will pardon me for the fault I am about to commit, if in any case one can call it so, to save me from misery as well as my family. I cannot say more, for I should have to go through the whole transactions of the last twelve years, and it would take me the whole night. Forget me for ever; and if my poor mother lives, do not strike her such a blow, for the poor woman has always done all one could to bring us up in the right way. It is now eleven o'clock in the evening. My wife and children are sleeping peaceably. They have no thought of what is going to happen to them. I am writing at the address which you will find below, and you will see how it has all passed; and if there remain one of my children do what you can to have it near you, for I have the conviction 'Thy brother is no more.'") The following was also read:—"London, September 1,1867. After having tried every means, I have at last decided to take away my life, which my poor mother had so much trouble to preserve. That the gentlemen of the Jury, who will have to make inquiries over me may not return a verdict that this man was insane, as it is said I believe always, I have all my faculties at the moment I write these few lines. As to the past," I have endured the greatest misery for eight months, and I have resigned myself to the fate to which I have condemned myself for the last fortnight. I desire to have time and thought to accomplish my object, for I desire to leave no one behind whom people may some day reproach that their father was a murderer. If these few lines fall under your eyes' let my comrade at the workshop, Dostel, know that he will gather the few articles which are at the workshop and keep them for himself, as well as a carpet bag, which he can go and get at the Leopard coffee-shop, which I left there last Saturday. LOUIS BORDIER." Memorandum found on the mantelshelf:—"Having always been in good fellowship with those with whom I have worked, I think it my duty before quitting this world to address to them one last word."
THOMAS HENRY WATERWORTH . I am a general practitioner, and surgeon to Horsemonger Lane Gaol—the prisoner was admitted there on 4th September, in the evening, and I saw him on the following day, and for about a fortnight—he left about the 17th—I saw him daily during that period, and conversed with him, but saw no indication whatever of insanity—he appeared to me to be sane during that period.
COURT. Q. Did you speak to him to test the state of his mind? A. I had conversations with him almost daily; common remarks—I think I adverted to the subject of his crime once or twice—I did not go deeply into it, but I had other conversations with him as to his health—I had no conversation with him on the question of the murder—I had on other points.
JOHN KEENE . I am governor of Horsemonger Lane Gaol—I saw the prisoner on the Tuesday, the day the offence was committed, and daily until he left the gaol, on 17th September—I had a few words with him when I visited him—during that period he showed no indication whatever of insanity—he attended strictly to the prison rules.
JOHN ROWLAND GIBSON . I am surgeon to the gaol of Newgate—since the prisoner was brought from Horsemonger Lane to Newgate I have seen him daily, from the 17th up to the present time—I have conversed with him, and have seen no indications of insanity whatever—I have had my attention often drawn to insane prisoners, and have had considerable experience.
EDMUND JAMES JONAS . I am governor of the gaol of Newgate, and have been an officer there about thirty-five years—I have seen the prisoner daily since he has been brought from Horsemonger Lane Gaol, sometimes twice and thrice a day—I have conversed with him, and have seen no indications whatever of insanity—he has attended to the prison rules.
CELESTINE BORDIER . I shall be twelve years old in November—I live at 3, Milstead Terrace—on this Monday night I slept in the back room on the ground floor with the baby—on the Tuesday morning I heard my mother go up stairs, and after that my father—the prisoner came into my room—he held my bead back and told me to lie still—one hand was behind him, and I saw the handle of something—I did not do or say anthing—the baby was there—he did not hold my head a minute hardly, and then he left the room—the other little girl was there, she is younger than me.
Cross-examined. Q. You saw your poor mother and your father the evening before? A. Yes, I saw them go out; they were on very good terms.
GUILTY .— DEATH
MESSRS. POLAND and STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution, and
MR. RIBTON the Defence.
CHARLES ROGERS . I am barman at the Thomas a Beckett public-house, Old Kent Road—on Saturday night, 17th August, about a quarter to twelve, the prisoner came and asked for half a pint of sixpenny ale, which came to 1 1/2 d.—he gave me a bad sixpence—I bent it, threw it to him, and told him it was bad—he then gave me a good one; I gave him 4 1/2 d. change—he remained standing at the bar, and a woman came in and called for half a quartern of gin; I served her and she paid with me a bad sixpence—she stood by the prisoner—they were speaking together—I bent it with my teeth, and threw it back to her—she gave me 2d. for the gin—I spoke to Mr. Chance, and he went out—the prisoner went out after him, and the woman followed the prisoner—they were afterwards brought back and given into custody.
JOSEPH NOTT (Policeman 141 P). On the night of the 17th August I saw the prisoner outside the Thomas a Beckett, in company with a woman—I told the prisoner he was charged with uttering a counterfeit sixpence, and also being concerned with the woman in uttering the same—he said, "I know nothing about it"—I took him into custodv, and this sixpence fell
from the woman at the time—I picked it up and showed it to the last witness—I found 4s. in money on the prisoner and 4 1/2 d. in copper, but no bad money; they were remanded till the 21st, and then discharged.
HENRY HOBBS . My father keeps the Feathers public-house, in Commercial Road, and I assist him—on 22nd August, about half-past nine at night, the prisoner came with another man and asked for a pint of four half—I served him, and he gave me a bad shilling—I broke it with my teeth, and told him it was bad—I sent for a constable—the other man ran away as soon as he saw me break it, and the prisoner walked to the door, but I got over the counter and brought him back—he then paid me with a good shilling, and I gave him change—I gave the bad shilling to the constable.
Cross-examined. Q. I suppose if the prisoner had gone as quick as the other man he might have got away also? A. Yes, he did walk to the door, but I stopped him.
BENJAMIN RICHARDSON (Policeman 185 L). The prisoner was given into my custody by Mr. Hobbs, who handed me this counterfeit shilling—I searched the prisoner, and found on him two good shillings and a duplicate—he said he did not know the shilling was bab.
GUILTY . He further PLEADED GUILTY to having been before convicted of a like offence.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
MESSRS. POLAND and STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution.
EMMA CRUMP . I am housekeeper at the London Bridge Tavern, London Bridge Station—on 24th August, about twenty minutes to eight at night, I saw the prisoner at my bar, and served him with half a quarters of rum, which came to 3d.—he paid with a bad half-crown, and I gave him change—I put the half-crown into the till, in a compartment by itself, where there was no other money—the prisoner went away—I afterwards saw that half-crown taken from the till by Mr. Lakin and set aside as bad—no one else had been to the till in the meantime—about ten minutes afterwards I saw the prisoner again—he came and called for half a quartern of rum, and paid me with a bad two-shilling piece—I knew him again immediately—I sent for Mr. Lakin, and he was given in charge—I gave the coins to the constable.
Prisoner. I was drunk. Witness. He was not sober; he had senae enough to pick the bad money from the good.
WILLIAM ELDRID (Policeman 160). The prisoner was given into my custody on this charge—he made no answer to it—I produce the florin aud half-crown—I searched the prisoner on the spot—I found on him 6s. to the in silver in good money, and 10d. in copper—on conveying him to the station, when we had got about 300 yards he made a desperate attempt to escape, and split off the wrist of his coat in order to get away—I found the coat was tearing and clutched him by the throat—we both fell, and when on the ground he kicked me—a police sergeant came to my assistance, and we took him towards the station—when we had got 300 or 400 yards further he threw us both and kicked me twice in the leg, and slipped himself out of his neckerchief that he had round his neck, and his shirt, and had nearly all the things off his shoulders, making a desperate
attempt to escape; with great difficulty we got him to the station—he appeared to have been drinking, but knew what he was about.
Prisoner's Defence. I was very tipsy. A man came and asked me to have something to drink, and he gave me the money to pay. I did not know it was bad.
GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Imprisonment.
MESSRS. POLAND and STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution.
ELIZABETH BAKER . I am twelve years old next birthday, and live with my mother, who keeps a beer-shop in Prince's Street, Lambeth—the two prisoners came in on the 11th September, and Wallis asked for a pint of beer—he gave me a shilling—I put it in the detector and it would not go through—I touched it with my finger and it went through—I then gave him 10d. change—my mother gave me the change—they went out and came back about eight o'clock—Wallis called for a pint of half-andhalf and gave me a shilling—I put it to the detector and pushed it in the same way—I gave them the change—after that my mother went to the till—I had not put any other shilling in—the prisoners afterwards came in about nine o'clock, and my mother spoke to them.
Garland. Q. I only went in once with Wallis? A. No—I am sure You came in three times.
JAKE BAKER . I was at the Three Horseshoes on 11th September—I saw the prisoners there about eleven o'clock, and saw my daughter serve them—Wallis paid her with a shilling—she put it to the detector, and gave 6d. and 4d. change—I saw them come in again and pay with a shilling, and she gave them 6d. and 4d. in coppers change—I afterwards went to the till and found two bad shillings there—I rolled them up in paper and put them in my pocket—about nine o'clock the prisoners came again; Wallis called for a pint of beer—he paid me with a shilling—I looked at it and told him it was bad—I told them they had been in twice before, and I should lock them up—they were going out of the door and I called to a man to stop them—I sent for a constable and gave the three shillings to him—I had seen them the Saturday before, and am quite sure that they are the men who came in on each occasion.
JOSEPH FLAXMAN (Policeman 25 L). I was sent for to the beer-shop on the 11th September, and found the prisoners standing in front of the bar—they were given into custody by Mrs. Baker—she also gave me these three shillings (produced)—Wallis said he had not been in the house before; he afterwards said he had been in once—Garland said nothing—when I was going to search Wallis he gave me a good shilling—Garland also gave me a good shilling, and said, "That is all I have got—I searched him and found two new combs—I had seen them together the same day in Lambeth Walk.
Wallis's Defence. I did not know the money was bad. One of the shillings was given to me by a man that came out of the house. I only went in once.
Garland's Defence. I went in with Wallis to have a drink of beer. I did not know the money was bad.
WALLIS— GUILTY .**— Twelve Months' Imprisonment. GARLAND— GUILTY .**— Nine Months' Imprisonment.
MESSRS. LILLEY and DOUGLAS conducted the Prosecution.
JAMES WELLS . I am an ironmonger's assistant, and live at 166, High Street, Southwark—about a quarter or half-past twelve on Monday, the 6th August, I was in Blackman Street, with a young lady—the prisoner McDonald rushed out of a court and tore my watch and chain from my waistcoat—I was close by the court—he just came a few steps out—I saw three of them, and they all made up the court—he was the last one, and I followed—at the end of the court I caught McDonald and threw him down—in the struggle I saw the guard in his hand, and heard it rattle—I called for the police, and McDonald for his friends to come and pull me off—I was on the top of him—he held me by the throat with one hand and held the watch away with the other—Jones and the other man came up and the watch and guard changed hands—he handed it to one of them—I did not see who—they both punched me and hit me on the head and all over the body—they then, the two, made off, and got away, just as the witness Ann Hickey, the young lady I was walking with, came up with a policeman—I held McDonald till the policeman came up—I gave him into his hands and went after the others, but could not find them—I then returned to the policeman, and as I was standing talking to him McDonald struck me a violent blow in the mouth, which made my nose bleed and swelled my mouth up very much—he was then taken to the station—I was very much knocked about; my knee was injured—I walk with a stick in consequence—I have been in bed ever since—I was attended by Dr. Hart for some time, and then I went to the hospital—I next saw Jones on the morning when the charge against McDonald came on—I saw him among the people standing in the Court—I called the attention of a policeman to him, and had him taken there and then—I have never seen my watch and chain since—there was a gaslight on the pavement at the entrance to the court where this happened, and there was a light up the court at the corner, that shone on the spot where I was pulled down, but very dimly—I did not see Jones's face—I saw him as he was running up the court—he ran first—I can swear to his back—the light was sufficient to enable me to see the figures.
McDonald. Q. Were not you quite well and able to walk a week afterwards? A. I was able to walk at first, but I had a relapse.
Jones. Q. How long did you stay by the side of me in the police-court before you called the attention of the constable to me? A. About a quarter of an hour—the constable did not speak to me first—I did not tell him directly, because I could not get a good view of your back for a quarter of an hour—I did not go into the inspector's office—I went in a aide place, and told the policeman to the best of my belief you were one of them—the inspector said when you were taken and charged, "Is this the man?" and I said, "To the best of my belief"—I do not swear to your face, only your features.
prisoners—McDonald I can swear to, but Jones I can't—McDonald was standing at the court as we were passing, and he stepped out from the court and snatched the prosecutor's watch and chain from his side, and ran down Dobson's Court—the prosecutor ran after them, and I went across the road and fetched a constable, and went with him up the court, where the prosecutor was struggling with McDonald—I saw McDonald strike the prosecutor—there were two other men there; they anaway—I cannot swear to them.
McDonald. Q. Do you recognise me? A. Yes; I saw you distinctly.
WILLIAM GOSTLING . (Policeman 65 M). I was on duty in Blackmail Street when Miss Hickey came and gave me information—I went with her up the court, and saw McDonald and Mr. Wells struggling together on the ground—I said, "What's amiss?"—Mr. Wells said, "He has robbed me of my watch and chain"—I took him into custody—I saw no other person at that time—McDonald resisted my taking him, and struck Mr. Wells in the mouth once or twice.
JOHN MARSH . (Policeman 92 M). I was at the police-court, South-wark, on Tuesday morning about eleven o'clock; in consequence of what Mr. Wells told me I took Jones into custody—he was standing among the crowd in the Court—I told him it was for being concerned with another in robbing Mr. Wells last night or this morning—he said, "I know nothing at all about it"—I took him to the station—the inspector asked Mr. Wells if that was the man, and he said, "To the best of my belief he was the man that robbed me."
JONES— NOT GUILTY . McDONALD— GUILTY .** He further PLEADED GUILTY to a previous conviction, in March, 1866.— Twenty Lashes, and Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
Before Mr. Justice Smith.
MR. PATER conducted the Prosecution.
ELLEN DAVIS . I am a widow, and live at 38, Upper Marsh, lambeth—I have known the prisoner by sight—she lives somewhere in the Borough—on the 31st August, before ten in the morning, she came to my house; my window was open—she threw some stones and gravel into the room, and called me very rough names—I took no notice—I went out about half-past seven in the evening to market, and as I returned, about five minutes to twelve at night, the prisoner rushed on me like a tigress and struck me four or five times in the face—I had not said anything to her; I had not time—after the blows I felt something sharp at my head, and became insensible, and fell—I was picked up by the crowd—when I came to my senses I found I was wounded—I was taken in a cab to the hospital and had my head dressed there—I then came home, and was confined to my bed for a week—I am not fit to be out now—I feel bewildered, a if I should lose my senses—there is no pretence for saying that I have been lying with the prisoner's husband—he has lodged with me and my son, but not since last April—the prisoner is a very base bad woman—I will be on my oath there is no pretence for saying I have encouraged her husband away from her.
Prisoner. What she says is false; my husband has been living with her these four years till last Good Friday; he then came home, but she
enticed him away again ten weeks ago, and he and she and her son, twenty years of age, have been living in one room—when I found out where he was I went to the house. She was out, and I waited there; they wanted to turn me out, and threatened to give me in charge for going to set fire to the house. They locked me up, and I was let out on Saturday. I went to look for my husband. I did not see her till she struck me in the face, and then I picked up a stone and struck her. She has gone to my daughter to her situation, and passed herself off as her mother.
Witness. Her husband has been lodging in my house on and off for the last four years, but not since April. My son is in his twentieth year. He and I have slept in the same room because he has been ill, but never with her husband; there is no connection between me and her husband. I went to see her daughter while she was in the reformatory, but I never passed myself off as her mother. I am positive if this woman comes out again she will have my life; she swears she will be hung at Newgate for me.
MARY ANN GREEN . I live in George Place, Upper Marsh—I am single—about five minutes to twelve on this night I saw the prosecutrix coming across the road—the prisoner rushed on her, and struck her violently once or twice—I did not know she had anything in her hand—I screamed out, "Oh! my God, she will murder the woman"—some parties came to her assistance.
Prisoner. Q. Has Mrs. Davis more than one room? A. No; I live in the same house—I did not know your husband till this night—you have been annoying the place for a month.
CHARLOTTE DREW . I am the wife of James Drew, a greengrocer, of Upper Marsh—on the night of the 31st August I heard a cry of "Murder!" and as I came out of my door I saw the prisoner with her hands uplifted, and saw her strike the prosecutrix—as I got close to her I saw another blow—I knocked off the prisoner with my left hand, and picked up Mrs. Davis from the ground—she was insensible, and blood was flowing all down her face and neck—I pointed out the prisoner to a policeman, who took her into custody.
CHARLES HENRY FURNIVAL . I am house surgeon at Westminster Hospital—Mrs. Davis was brought there on the night of the 31st August—her face was smeared with blood, and there was a quantity of blood on a handkerchief that she had round her neck—I found three or four wounds about the left side of the head and on the left ear—they appeared to haie been made with a sharp instrument, but a blunt instrument on the skull would very often cause that appearance—the wounds were not in themselves dangerous, but there might have been danger resulting afterwards—she was weak from loss of blood—two of the wounds went to the bone—they could not have been caused by a fist—some instrument must have been used—a piece of granite might have caused them.
HENRY MORTON . (Policeman 63 L). On the night of the 31st August, a few minutes before twelve, I heard cries of "Murder!" and found Mrs. Davis bleeding and insensible—I took the prisoner into custody—she said, "What are you taking me for?"—I said, "You will be charged with assaulting that woman"—she said, "I will do for the wretch"—I told her to keep her temper and walk with me quietly—she was perfectly sober—I found no instrument—I thought the wounds had been done with an oyster shell.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate was read follows:—"I can't say more than that she has injured me for years. She has been living
with my husband for four years last Good Friday. He came back to live with me, and stayed with me till seven weeks ago, when he left me in great distress. On Saturday month I saw them together; I went to the house, and the landlady locked me up for a month. She laughs at me whenever she sees me; she struck me on the Saturday week, but I would not hither again.
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding. — Six Months' Imprisonment.
MESSRS. HOUSTON and STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution, and MR. WARNER SLEIGH the Defence.
SOPHIA GROVES . I live at 6, Hands Court, Dorset Street, Clapham Road—the deceased, Benjamin Groves, was my husband—on Saturday night, the 8th September, he came home to have his supper, and he heard Morgan and Mrs. Riley quarrelling—we went out to our gate to listen—we heard Morgan make use of some threats—my husband went down to speak to him—he said he would rip up the first one that came near him—Mrs. Morgan brought out a light, and he told her to take it away, and knocked it out of her hand—my husband went towards him and said, "Morgan, what are you at? go in and go to bed; you are going mad"—I could not hear what he said in reply—my husband pushed the gate open and went in to him, and said, "You won't hurt me, it's only old Ben Groves"—Mrs. Riley was then going up the court into Dorset Street after her brother—I went up the court after my husband, and just as I pushed the gate open he said to Morgan, "Don't hit me again, you have stabbed me"—the prisoner made no reply—I pushed my husband out of the gate before me, and took him up the court into our own house—Morgan had something in his hand—by the shadow of it it looked like a knife—his hand was raised to give him a second blow—I put my husband on the bed—he said, "Let me lie down and die, for my belly is all coming out"—he undid his trousers and I saw all his entrals were protruding from a wound in the stomach—information was given to the police and a surgeon, and he was ultimately taken to St. Thomas's Hospital—I left him there at ten o'clock at night to come home, and when I went next morning he was dead—I did not see any blow given by my husband to the prisoner.
Cross-examined. Q. Until this occurrence had your husband and the prisoner been good friends? A. Always; they never had a word—I was not astonished at my husband seeming to think that he had some influence over him—I had not seen the prisoner before that night—I had only heard him—he seemed dreadfully out of temper—Mrs. Riley was having words with him—her brother, a man named Brady, was there—I had heard words between the prisoner Brady and Mrs. Riley, and I heard the prisoner trying to lock his gate—I did not see Mrs. Riley hit the prisoner in the face, or see Brady with a brick in his hand—I heard a noise and scuffle in Riley's house before they came out—I had not previously noticed the prisoner being annoyed by persons in the court—I have several times seen him intoxicated on a Saturday night—never at any other time—when not intoxicated he was a very quiet peaceable man, but when intoxicated very quarrelsome and noisy.
JURY. Q. When you took your husband home, did the prisoner attempt to follow him to iujure him still further? A. No—I never saw him outside his own gate afterwards.
5, Hands Court—on the morning of the 8th September, about half-past twelve, I saw the prisoner in his own garden—he was having words with Mrs. Riley—he called to her and said, "Mary, come here"—she said, "No, I am not that fool"—he again called her "Mary," and she said, "Have not I got a name? why don't you call me Mrs. Riley? put the knife away, you fool, and come out and fight with your fists like a man"—she was in the court, and he was inside his own gate with the gate shut—his wife came out to endeavour to get him to bed—she had a candle in her hand—he told her to take that light away, or he would serve her the same—he again called Mrs. Riley, and said, "Come here, dear, and I will stab you like that," plunging the knife into the gate—she up with her hand and gave him a clout in the eye, saying, "Take that, you fool, and go in and go to bed"—it was a backhander across the eyes—with that the deceased man got vexed and walked down the court, saying, "I will quiet him," and he said, "Morgan, are you mad? do you know what you are doing?"—the prisoner said, "I will stab the first b----that comes in here"—the deceased said, "You won't stab me, will you, poor Ben Groves?"—he said, "I will rip the guts of the first that comes in here"—Groves opened the gate and went in—I turned to my husband to go and help, and while I was doing so Mrs. Groves ran down to bring her husband back—I said, "Is he stabbed?" and she said, "Yes," and she took him into his own house.
Cross-examined. Q. When did you first hear a quarrelling? A. I heard words in Riley's house—I heard Mrs. Riley's voice and Morgan's voice, and when I went to my gate Mrs. Riley was in the court and Morgan inside his own gate, nailing it up—I believe it had no proper bolt on it, and he was knocking in a nail with a hammer—Mrs. Riley and Brady were in the court, speaking and quarrelling with him—I don't know what about—I should say they were aggravating the prisoner—I did not see Brady go and kick the gate open—I don't think it was a very sharp blow that Mrs. Riley struck the prisoner—I did not hear him say, "You have struck lightning into my eyes"—he said something, but I could not catch what it was—this lasted about twenty minutes, Mrs. Riley and Brady hooting and badgering him—I did not see any blood on the prisoner's cheek after the blow—I was not near enough—she went up to the gate and struck him—I did not see Brady throw a brick from the wall—I heard something said about it afterwards—I did not hear Brady say, "I will kick in your gate and smash you into sausage meat"—there is no light in the court—it is a small court—I can't see very well—when the prisoner fastened his gate he warned any one against coming near it—I should say he wished to be left alone and to go into his house—I did not hear him offer any provocation to anybody—there were three persons close to him, Brady, Mrs. Riley, and Mary Charman—I was at my own place—I believe there had been some disturbance between Brady and the prisoner before, but I do not know about that—after Groves was stabbed the prisoner went indoors.
MR. HOUSTON. Q. Did the deceased take any part in the quarrel? A. No—the prisioner said that any one that came near him he would stab, but it was Mrs. Riley he wanted.
MARY RILEY . I am the wife of Andrew Riley, and live at 3, Hands Court, next door to the prisoner—on this morning he and I had a word between ourselves, and on going out of my apartment he walked into his own premises and bolted his gate—he then called out to me, "Mary,
Mary," as loud as he could—I said, "What do you want, Mr. Morgan? I shall not answer you unless you call me by my proper name; I am a married woman, the same as your wife"—he said, "I have got the knife and I will stab you"—I was about two yards or two yards and a half from him at the time—there was no one near him but myself when he said he would stab me—I up with the back of my hand and gave him a slap in the face, and said, "Go in, you fool; you won't hurt me, for I shan't come as far as your gate"—Brady, my brother, stood behind me—I did not know he was there, but as I turned round I saw him standing there—I pushed him up the court, and as I did so I saw the deceased standing by my shoulder—I said to him, "Mr. Groves, your assistance is not wanted, because he will not hurt me; go back to your apartment," but he shoved me out of his road and went inside Morgan's gate—I came away and did not see anything more.
Cross-examined. Q. When you went out into the yard from your house did Brady go out with you? A. No—he and I and the prisoner had been drinking together just before the prisoner left my place—it was not in my house that he got intoxicated—he was intoxicated, as far as I could see; he had had quite enough—I did not see Brady kick open the gate; he was not talking to the prisoner when I went out—I did not see him—the gate was shut when I hit him in the face—Brady and I had not been irritating him for a quarter of an hour—I don't know how long it might be we were quarrelling—it was only he and I—I did not see my brother till I turned round, and then I put him out of the way—I did not hear my brother say he would smash him into sausage meat—I say I did not see my brother in the court till after I hit the prisoner—I did not see my brother take a brick from the wall, but I took it out of his hand—I did not see him pick it up—that was at the time I was turning out of the court—I hit the prisoner with the back of my hand on the cheek—I did not see whether I hit him in the eye—I don't remember his saying that I had struck lightning in his eyes—he might say so, but I did not hear him.
MARY CHARMAN . I am single, and live with my parents at 4, Hands Court—about half-past twelve on Sunday morning, the 8th September, I was in the court, and saw the prisoner nailing his gate up—Mrs. Riley was pushing her brother up the court at the time—the prisoner went indoors, and Brady came down the court and kicked the gate in—Mrs. Riley then came and pulled him away.
Cross-examined. Q. Did you hear Brady make use of any threats to the prisoner? A. Yes; he said he would smash him into sausage meat—after that Mrs. Riley came and took him away—she and her brother were talking to the prisoner, irritating him—I saw Brady take a brick from the wall, and he was going to hit Morgan with it—I saw Mrs. Riley strike Morgan over the gate; it was an open-handed blow, and Morgan said, "You have struck lightning into my eyes"—I saw the knife before Brady took up the brick.
HENRY SMITH I live at 1, Henry Street, Dorset Street, and am a gasfitter—on Sunday morning, 8th September, I heard a noise in Hands Court—I went there, and took the constable Blackburn with me—I saw the prisoner leaning on his gate—he had something in his hand that looked like a knife—he spoke to me, and said, "Hello, Harry," and shook hands with me—I should say he was drunk—he was very much agitated.
Cross-examined. Q. Did you see him at the police-station? A. I did—he then had a wound on his left cheek, from which blood was flowing—
it looked as if it had been done with a stone or brick, not with a fist—the blood was trickling down his cheek.
WILLIAM BLACKBURN (Policeman 80 N). In consequence of information I went to the prisoner's house on the 8th September about a quarter to one with another constable—we broke open the door and found him standing in his shirt in his bedroom—I told him I should take him into custody for stabbing a man named Groves in the abdomen—he said, "You will have to prove it; it's a b----good job if he, died"—his hand was bloody, and his face, as if from a wound on the forefinger of his left hand—I did not see any cut on his face.
CHARLES SYRED (Policeman 88 N). I went to the deceased's house on this morning, and took him to the hospital—I then went with Blackburn to the prisoner's house, and told him to open the door—he said he should not—we ultimately went in and found him in his shirt—there was some blood on the floor of the first room—he was charged with stabbing Groves—he said, "You must prove it, and a b----good job if he was dead"—there was a small pocket-knife on the table, which I pointed out to my brother constable—in doing so the prisoner said, "That's not—," and then stopped suddenly—in the table drawer I found this knife (produced)—it had something on it of a kind of reddish hue, and rather sticky, as if it had been wiped, about three-quarters of an inch from the point—I thought it was blood—I found this apron upon the table, all wet—that was about two hours after the occurrence.
SAMUEL EDWIN SOLLY . I am house surgeon to St. Thomas's Hospital—early on the morning of the 8th September I saw the deceased there—I found a large portion of the intestines protruding from his abdomen, from a wound about two inches from the navel—the wound was about two and a half inches in length—it was an incised wound, and must have been inflicted by a sharp instrument—this knife would produce such a wound—it is stained a good deal—I can't say what with—I examined the intestines that were protruding, and found a small wound in one of them—he continued under my care till after four the following morning, and then died from the inflammation set up by the wound.
Cross-examined. Q. Might a penknife have inflicted a wound which would be enlarged by the bowels protruding? A. I think not.
The prisoner receibed a good character.
GUILTY of Manslaughter.— Six Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. COLLINS, for the Prosecution, offered no evidence upon the inquisition, the Grand Jury having ignored the bill.
PLEADED GUILTY Four months' Imprisonment.
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
923. WILLIAM TAYLOR (24) FREDERICK GEAR (20), CHARLES TILL (19), and JOHN MARTIN (19) , Feloniously assaulting George Stone, a Metropolitan police constable, with intent to resist the lawful apprehension of a certain man.
MR. BESLEY conducted the Prosecution, and MR. LILLEY defended Taylor and Till
GEORGE STONE (Policeman 112 W). On the night of the 1st September I was on duty in Brummeirs Buildings, High Street, Clapham, and in consequence of a communication made to me I went into the High Street—I saw the four prisoners there, with a lot more—it was a quarter-past eleven—they were singing and making a noise—Reasy, another police constable, was there—I told them we wanted them to go away quietly, and not have any disturbance at that time of night—we followed them down the street; Taylor said something I could not understand—when we got to Nelson's Row they all stopped; I again said, "I want you to go away quietly"—Gear turned round and said, "What the b----h—is the matter?"—Reasy then took a man into custody, and I went into the road to assist in taking him to the station; as soon as I had got to the prisoner Till rushed upon me and knocked me down with his fist—Gear and Taylor then rushed upon me, and I was up and down five or six times; I drew my truncheon, and we had a tussle—an omnibus came up from London, and several gentlemen came to our assistance—the prisoners all went towards White's Square—Reasy still had the man in custody, and we were taking him towards the station; we had got about 200 yards, and when near Manor Street I turned round and saw fifteen or twenty people coming after us, and among them were the prisoners—some of them were picking up stones—Gear was in his shirt-sleeves—I went to Taylor and said, "Soldier, you are a man different from the rest, you ought to assist us, and not act in the way you are doing"—at that time some one knocked my helmet off—I turned round and Taylor said, "Yes, you b—, I will;" and he struck me on the side of the head with the buckle end of his belt—that staggered me—I stepped back to avoid another blow, and slipped down on the pavement—when on my back Taylor, Gear, and Till rushed upon me—Taylor said, "Kill the b----now he is down"—I was turned over on my belly, and I became insensible—I received several kicks on my back—Taylor had the belt twisted round his hand, it was about three feet long—I distinctly saw it in bis hand—when I recovered from my insensibility I was at the station; Mr. Parrott, the surgeon, was sent for—I have known Till and Martin for years—the whole affair lasted about a quarter of an hour—I had an opportunity of seeing Taylor as this occurred under a lamp—there was only one soldier there, and he had a cap on when in the High Street, but in Manor Street he had no cap.
Cross-examined. Q. When the disturbance first commenced, or immediately after, did not a crowd of persons assemble? A. Not until when the omnibus came up—there were eight or nine there before the omnibus came—on the second occasion, when the fifteen to twenty persons came up, there was confusion and excitement—I have known Till by sight for six or seven years—he lives in White's Square, and is a costermonger—I did not know prior to this occasion where he lived—I have seen him about with fruit—there were two more soldiers besides Taylor, one of them was taken before the Magistrate—the belt of the Artillery is a white one—I believe they are not permitted to wear any belt when on furlough—Taylor was taken into custody the next morning at his mother's house.
Gear. Q. When you saw me first was I in my shirt-sleeves? A. No, but you were the second time—I can swear to that.
MR. BESLEY. Q. Was the Artilleryman that was taken before the Magistrate identified? A. I did not see him—the belt that I was struck with was black, with a brass buckle.
WILLIAM REASY (Policeman 223 W). On Sunday night, the 1st September, I was on duty in Clapham—I saw Taylor, Gear, and John Martin standing on the pavement, using very abusive language—they went towards the Plough, where they commenced hallooing, shouting, and singing—I cautioned them not to make such a noise at that hour of the night—Gear and Taylor said they should do as they liked for all me, they were not insulting any one, and they should not make any difference for me—they again commenced shouting, singing, and using very abusive language—I again cautioned them not to make such a noise, and if they continued I must certainly take one or two into custody; the sailor (Gear) turned round and said, "Put your hand on me; touch me if you dare, and I will soon let you know who you are putting your hand on"—as there was not another constable near then, I did not interfere with them—they went to the top of Park Road, where they stopped several minutes, using very abusive language, loud enough to disturb the people in the street—they then went on towards White's Square, where I saw Stone on the other side of the street—I called him and then I took one man into custody—we went about twenty yards to opposite Nelson's Row, where three of the prisoners were standing; the man I had in custody called out, "Come and help me"—Taylor and Gear came at me—a man with a white slop crossed the road and struck Stone, and they fell together in the road—I cannot say whether that man is here—I was struggling with the man I had in custody—at that time an omnibus came up and several passengers came to our assistance—I was going to the station, and had got about 200 yards down the Manor Road, nearly opposite the Manor Arms, where from fifteen to twenty men came after us—Gear, Taylor, and Martin were there—I can positively swear to them—I heard Stone say to Taylor, "Soldier, you are a different man from any of the rest, you ought to assist us rather than fight against us"—Taylor made use of a very foul expression, and said, "Yes, I will"—he had something in his hand which appeared to me like a belt, with which he struck Stone over the head, and staggered him—Martin was near me with his arm up, and appeared to be throwing stones—some one seized me by the hair of my head, dragged me from one side of the road to the other, struck me violently in my face several times, and I received a kick which rendered me quite insensible, and my prisoner escaped—Martin I have known three or four years, and Taylor I saw iu Brummets Passage on Sunday morning, between four and five, with a female—I haw seen him several times—I had seen Gear several times—I did not see any other soldier there but Taylor.
Gear. Q. When you first saw me had I a sergeon, or was I in my shirtsleeves? A. The same as you are now—I could not positively swear to you in Manor Street.
Cross-examined. Q. I understand you to say that throughout this matter you did not see Till at all? A. I could not positively swear to him—I had seen two other Artillery soldiers—they had no belts on—I did not see a second soldier in Manor Street—I have not said before, "There were do other soldiers except Taylor and Spring"—I never said anything about Spring—I said I could identify Taylor and Gear, but I did not know Spring.
work at an oil-shop—on Sunday night, 1st September, I was in High Street, Clapham—I saw Reasy there—Stone came up when Reaay had a man in custody—when in Manor Street fourteen or fifteen people rushed upon them—Taylor and Martin I can speak to—Taylor struck Stone in the face with his fist—Stone went to him and said he was a man, and ought to be able to assist him—I saw Taylor swing something about in his hand, but I could not swear what it was—he struck Stone on the head with it, aod he fell to the ground, and some of the people jumped on him, and some one said, "Kill the b----, kill him"—Taylor was there at that time in uniform—Martin was also there—I saw a sailor in High Street, but I could not swear to him—I had seen Taylor once or twice before—I had also seen Martin for some time about Clapham.
Cross-examined. Q. Did you see Till from the beginning to the end of the matter? A. No, I was looking on the whole of the time, and followed them down to Manor Street—I saw another Artillery soldier, but I did not see him in the row.
Gear. Q. You say you saw me in the High Street? A. I did not, I said I saw a sailor in the High Street—he was in uniform—I did not see a sailor in Manor Street.
Martin. Q. Did you see me in Manor Street? A. Yes; I saw you go up to Reasy, and hold up your hand as if you were going to strike him—I did not see you strike him.
MR. BESLEY. Q. Was he present when Stone was knocked down with the belt? A. Yes; Taylor is the man that knocked him down.
EDWARD JAMES LITTLE . I live at 32, Park Road, Clapham—I was in Manor Street on the night of the 1st September—there was a great disturbance there—I saw the two constables, Reasy and Stone—Stone was at the Manor Arms, just picked off the ground, and Reasy was lower down Manor Street, in a garden—I saw some people running away towards Clapham Road; among them were Taylor, Gear, and Martin—I can speak positively that they are three of the men—I assisted to take Reasy to the station, both officers were bleeding very much—Taylor was not in uniform—there was not more than one soldier running away.
Gear. Q. Did you see me in High Street? A. No; I saw you in Manor Street, with your jacket open.
Martin. Q. Where did you see me? A. In Manor Street, running away—I did not see you strike the police.
Cross-examined. Q. Is there more than one way of leaving Manor Street? A. Yes, three ways—Taylor used to go to the same school that I did—I could not say for certain how long he has been away on service—I have missed him for four or five years—since his return I have seen him, but have not renewed my acquaintance with him—I had seen one other soldier—they were both Artillerymen—it was about 11.30 when I saw the people running.
MR. BESLEY. Q. Are you quite sure there was only one Artilleryman? A. Only one—I know all Taylor's family—up to the time of his going into the army I had seen him about constantly—I know the man Spring that has been spoken of—I can swear it was Taylor that ran past me.
ARTHUR SMITHERS . I am a pawnbroker's assistant, and live at 70, High Street, Clapham—on Sunday night, the 1st September, I was in High Street—I saw Reasy and Stone going towards White's Square—Reasy had a man in custody—there was a crowd, and amongst them I could recognise the soldier (Taylor)—there was also a sailor there, but I
could not swear to him—they went down Manor Street, where I gaw Reasy knocked down, but I do not know who did it—Taylor was there and I saw him strike Reasy—there was one man in shirt-sleeves—Taylor had something in his hand, but I was not close enough to see what it was—he was in uniform—I did not see any other soldier there.
Cross-examined. Q. What time was it when you saw this? A. Eleven or a little after—I cannot swear that I saw Till there—I had seen Taylor about the streets before—I have seen plenty of soldiers about the streets—I have had no acquaintance with Taylor.
Gear. Q. You say you gaw a sailor in High Street; was he in uniform? A. Yes—I saw him in Manor Street in uniform, and there was a man in shirt-sleeves besides.
JOHN CHARLES PARROTT . I am a member of the Royal College of Surgeons—I was called to the station-house on the night of the 1st September—I found Reasy and Stone there, very much injured—I examined Stone first; he had a very severe incised wound on the back of the head, from which had been excessive bleeding; he was also bruised about the face, and complained of some pain in the arm—the wound at the back of the head might have been inflicted with a buckle attached to a strap—the blow must have been given with great violence—he has been about three weeks under my care, but is now tolerably convalescent—I examined Reasy, and found on the right side of the head a contused wound of the scalp; the right eye was completely closed, and the eyelid incised transversely—those wounds were not so serious as Stone's—he is not yet strong enough to resume duty.
JOHN GARLAND (Policeman 20 W). I took Gear into custody about half-past five on Monday morning—he was in bed at his father's house, No. 1, White's Square—that is about a quarter of a mile from where this occurred—I told him he was charged on suspicion with assaulting two police constables; he said, "What stuff! I know nothing about it."
CHARLES SIREY (Policeman 88 W). I took Taylor into custody about five o'clock on Monday morning—he was in bed at his brother's house, No. 15, Nelson Road—I told him I should take him into custody for assaulting two police constables last night in Manor Street; he said, "Very well; if I had my boots on I would serve six more the same"—I said, "No, you won't, Billy; you are going along with me"—he said, "Yes, I will go with you."
Cross-examined. Q. Did you make a memorandum of that extraordinary statement? A. No—I had not known him before.
MR. BESLEY. Q. How long have you known Martin? A. Five years—he frequently wears a white slop or jacket, with a belt and buckle round his waist—it was a black strap with a large buckle—I know that, because I have had him in custody twice before.
MICHAL BOVINGER (Policeman 162 W). I saw Till about three o'clock on Monday afternoon on Clapham Cbmmon, and requested him to go with me to the station, which he did—I took him into Stone's room, and he directly said, "That is the man that knocked me down in the High Street"—Till said, "I was not there; I was in bed at eleven o'clock."
Cross-examined. Q. Did you seek for Till? A. I did not—I saw him in High Street on Monday afternoon in company with another—I said, "Both of you are suspected of being in this affray last night; you had better go to the station and see the constables, and if you are innocent
there will be no more about it, if not you will very likely be apprehended by the first man that sees you"—half an hour after I saw another constable, and in consequence of what he said we went on to Clapham Common and found Till and the other man lying on the grass; the other constable said, "I apprehend you, Till and Westbrook, for being in this affray last night"—I requested Till to go, and he did—I have been stationed at Clapham six years, and I have seen Till there.
WILLIAM KEMPSTER (Policeman 279 W). I have known Martin seven years—I was looking for him from the 1st to the 18th September—I searched about Clapham, and I also went to Croydon—on the 18th I saw him in front of the Prince of Wales public-house in the Brixton Road—I was about 150 yards off—he saw me and walked away—I lost sight of him for about an hour—I then went to Mr. Balls's stables in Water Lane, and found him concealed in a chaff-bin—I told him I ehould take him into custody for being concerned with others in assaulting two constables on the lst September—he said, "Not me, you have mode a mistake."
MR. LILLEY to JOHN CHARLES PARROTT. Q. Might not the wound on Stone's head have been caused by a fall on the pavement? A. It might have been, but I should expect to find the presence of dirt or grit in the hair.
MR. BESLEY. Q. Upon the smooth surface of a road you would not expect an incised wound of that character. A. Not upon a gravel part—the place where this occurred is gravel—I have seen a very clean-cut wound indeed caused by a person falling on the pavement.
Witnesses for the Defence.
GEORGE WILLIAM SMITH . I am a stone-mason, residing at Love Lane, Wandsworth—I was on the omnibus in High Street, Clapham, on Sunday night, the 1st September—I saw a number of persons ill-using two policemen—amonst them was a soldier—I am not able to say who that soldier was—I saw two soldiers at the police-court, but I could not identify either of them; but my belief is that of the two the shortest man was the one—he was discharged.
Cross-examined. Q. Were you passing on the omnibus? A. Yes—I got down to render assistance to the policemen—I did not see anything of what occurred in Manor Street—the other soldier was considerably shorter than Taylor.
WILLIAM DAVIS . I am a joiner, and live at 70, Manor Street—I was in High Street at about twenty minutes past eleven on the night of the 1st September—there was a great disturbance, the police were attacked—they had a man in custody, whom they took down Manor Street—several persons ran after them—I did not see Taylor there—the man that struck Stone was in his shirt-sleeves—I did not see any soldier.
Cross-examined. Q. Did not you hear Stone say, "You are a soldier, and ought to assist us?" A. I did not—I saw no belt—a man in shirtsleeves struck with something sharp, and Stone fell on the ground—I did not hear any one say, "Kill him now he is down"—I did not say before the Magistrate, "I saw a soldier in the street, but he struck no blow"—I did not sign my depositions—I was not there the second time.
furlough on the 1st September, and had been for a fortnight—I have seen him in uniform—his belt is a white one—I am a journeyman baker, and work in Manor Street—on Sunday night, the 1st September, my wife called me at ten minutes to eleven to go to my work—I got up and went down stairs—my son, William Taylor, was in the little kitchen, having his supper—he had his jacket, boots, and braces off—I went to my work about ten minutes after and left him there.
Cross-examined. Q. Do you know either of the other men? A. I do by sight—I know they are neighbours—I have known Gear's father and mother for some years—I have known the prisoner Gear from a child—Martin I have known from a little boy, and I know no harm of him—my wife generally calls me at ten minutes to eleven to go to work—she calls me by the clock—I always have my clock at the right time, if I can—I knew my son was examined and remanded in consequence of the constable being too ill to attend—he was remanded twice—I did not go to the police-court to give evidence, because they would not let me.
SUSANNAH TAYLOR . I am the mother of the prisoner William Taylor—on Sunday evening, the 1st September, I was at home—I called my husband at ten minutes to eleven, and while I was up stairs my son came home with a young woman—I let him in, and he took off his jacket, boots, and braces, and sat down in the kitchen—I have three clocks, one in each room—after my husband went away my son had a pipe of tobacco, which he finished in bed—he went up stairs about five minutes after—I fastened the door directly after, and went to bed myself—it was then, as near as I can guess, ten minutes after eleven—I heard the prisoner and his brother talking together for a little while—they could not have gone down stairs without my hearing them—it is about a quarter of an hour's walk from where I live to Manor Street, and to the High Street is about ten minutes' walk—he did not wear a belt—he is not allowed one when on furlough—I never saw him with a black belt.
Cross-examined. Q. Do you know either of the other men? A. No, not particularly, only by seeing them since they have been taken—I had never seen Gear before—I have been married seventeen years, and have lived with my husband the whole of the time—I did not know of Gear's existence until after this—I have seen Martin, but not to know much of him—I looked at the clock down stairs when I called my husband—I have nine children at home—his brothers are not here—I am sure I locked the door—I was present when he was taken into custody, but I never heard him say when he was told the charge, "Well, if I had my boots on now I would serve half a dozen of them the same"—I went to sleep when I went to bed, but I can swear the prisoner Taylor did not go out again, as I am not a sound sleeper, and should hear him if he did—he went out about ten o'clock on Sunday morning—I did not know of his being out at five o'clock that morning—I was not examined before the Magistrate—I could not walk to the High Street in three or four minutes.
MR. LILLEY. Q. Have you walked the distance frequently? A. I have—the name of the young woman my son came home with was Emmas Baker—my son's age is twenty-five.
COURT. Q. Born before you were married? A. Born in wedlock.
Q. You said you had been married seventeen years? A. Yes—I do not know—I have not any more to say.
MR. LILLEY. Q. Are you right in your recollection as to the umber of years you have been married? A. Yes.
EMMA BAKER . I live at Merston Cottages, Larkhall Lane, Clapham—on Sunday evening, the 1st September, I met William Taylor at eight o'clock, and I was with him until eleven—I left him at his home—he was sober—I know it was eleven, because I heard the clock strike.
Cross-examined. Q. Are you living with your mother? A. Yes—I was not in Taylor's company at five o'clock on Sunday morning—I was at home in bed at that time—I know nothing of the other prisoners—we walked round Clapham between eight and eleven—we did not go to the Cock public-house—I was told of him being in custody the next morning, and I knew of his being remanded from time to time—I went to the police-court once, but I did not go up stairs—we went into two public-houses between eight and eleven, and had two pints of beer.
COURT. Q. Did you hear anything of this row? A. No; I was quite surprised the next morning.
The prisoner Taylor received a good character from Sergeant-Major John Henry Murdoch. MR. BESLEY called
INSPECTOR AYBROOK (W). On Sunday evening, the 1st September, I was on duty in Clapham—I was at the corner of Manor Street when the church clock struck eleven—at ten minutes after I saw Taylor, Martin, Gear, and four or five others opposite the Plough public-house—in consequence of the noise they made I sent Reasy after them—I knew Taylor when a boy, but I have not seen him of late years—Martin I have known a number of years—the distance from Taylor's house to High Street is about 150 yards, and from Taylor's house to Manor Street 400 yards.
Cross-examined. Q. Were you present at the disturbance in Manor Street? A. No; I have walked from Nelson Street to High Street many hundreds of times—I have seen Spring in Clapham—he is shorter than Taylor.
Witness for Martin.
—HANCOCK. I never knew Martin to wear a white jacket, nor a white frock—he always wore a brown waistcoat—I discharged him six months ago—he has since worked for my brother-in-law—I am a carman—I never saw him in a white slop—I can give him a good character for honesty.
Cross-examined. Q. Can you give him a good character for being a peaceable man? A. Yes; I have known him to be in two or three little rows.
TILL— NOT GUILTY . TAYLOR— GUILTY .— Eighteen Months Imprisonment. GEAR and MARTIN— GUILTY .— Fifteen Months' Imprisonment.
ADJOURNED TO MONDAY, OCTOBER 28TH.