CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
THIRD SESSION, HELD JANUARY 8TH, 1872.
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.
STEVENS & SONS, 119, CHANCERY LANE.
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, January 8th, 1872, and following days,
BEFORE THE RIGHT HON. SILLS JOHN GIBBONS, LORD MAYOR of the City of London; Sir SAMUEL MARTIN , Knt., one of the Barons of Her Majesty's Court of Exchequer; Sir JOHN BARNARD BYLES , Knt., one of the Justices of Her Majesty's Court of Common Pleas; Sir ROBERT LUSH , Knt., one of the Justices of Her Majesty's Court of Queen's Bench; Sir ROBERT WALTER CARDEN , Knt., THOMAS QUESTED FINNIS, Esq., WILLIAM LAWRENCE , Esq., Sir SIDNEY HEDLEY WATERLOW , Knt., ANDREW LUSK , Esq., CHARLES WHETHAM, Esq., and THOMAS WHITE , Esq., Aldermen of the said City; THOMAS CHAMBERS , Esq., Q.C., M.P., Common Serjeant of the said City (acting as Deputy-Recorder); 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.
FRANCIS WYATT TRUSCOTT, Esq., Alderman.
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT.
GIBBONS, MAYOR. THIRD 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.
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, Thursday and Friday, January 10th, 11th and 12th,1872.
GEORGE GREENHAM . I am in the Metropolitan Police Force—I understand the making of plans—I have prepared and produce a plan showing the position of the rooms at No. 28, St. Martin's Road, Stockwell—on the ground floor, as you enter, the drawing-room is on the left, and the dining-room on the right, with a small school-room at the back—on the first floor, there is a front bedroom and a dressing-room behind; also a library in front, and a smaller bedroom behind it.
ELEANOR MARY PYNE . I am now living at New Cross—I am twenty years of age—I was in the service of the prisoner and his wife not quite three years—while I was there a sister of mine was in the service as well—she left last Christmas twelve months, 1870—from that time I was the only servant there—no one lived in the house but I and my master and mistress—he was formerly head-master of the Stockwell Grammar School; he ceased to be so some where about the time my sister left—my master and mistress used at first to occupy the same bedroom; that was the front bed-room on the first floor—they ceased to occupy the same bedroom at the commencement of the hot weather in last year—my mistress then slept in the room behind the library, on the first floor—she dressed in the room that Mr. Watson slept in, the front bedroom—at the back of that bedroom there is a dressing-room; there is also a room called the library on that same floor—I used to attend to all the rooms on that floor, excepting the one that Mrs. Watson slept in—She attended to that herself—I only went
into it once or twice during the two or three months she slept there—I don't remember how recently before Sunday, 8th October, I had been in it—on Sunday morning, 8th October, my master and mistress went out together rather earlier than the usual church time—they came back rather later than usual—I should think it was about 1.45 o'clock—that was their dinner hour at that time—I had prepared dinner in the dining-room on the ground floor; that is the room on the right, as you come into the house—Mrs. Watson took off her bonnet and things, and they sat down to dinner—I attended to them—they had no wine for dinner, they had some after dinner—I am not certain what wine it was—after dinner they went up stairs into the library; the wine was up there, and they had some dessert—I do not remember seeing them again—it was between 2 and 3 o'clock when I left them in the library—up to that time I had not noticed anything in their manner or demeanour to attract my attention—they usually lived on very friendly terms, they were generally very quiet—I went out that afternoon, about 4 o'clock—I let myself out—before I went out I had prepared the tea in the dining-room—5.45 was their usual time for taking tea—when I returned, at 9 o'clock, I knocked at the door, and Mr. Watson let me in, and he said my mistress had gone out of town and would not be home till to-morrow—I don't remember his saying anything more then—I went into the dining-room, and he came in with me—I noticed that the tea things had not been touched; I looked at them, and he said "We have not taken tea"—he said nothing more—I passed some remark, a word or two—I forget now what it was—I asked him if he would take some supper, and he said yes, he would take a little bread and cheese—it was usual for him to take supper—he then went up stairs into the library—I went down to the kitchen and took off my things, and took some bread and cheese up into the dining-room—I then went up stairs to settle the bedrooms as usual—I went into Mr. Watson's bedroom—I don't remember going into the library that night—I did not notice anything about the bedroom different to what I had left it—that was the front bed-room—I did not sec Mr. Watson then, he was taking his bread and cheese in the dining-room—I had told him it was ready, and he went down stairs and had his supper in the dining-room—I saw him again at 10 o'clock that night, he came out of the library as I was going up to bed, he opened the door and said "This stain on the floor is port wine your mistress has spilt, in case you might wonder what it was I have told you"—I could not see any. stain then, it was under the carpet as you are walking into the library, at the side of the door, under the door—he also pointed to the next room door, the small bedroom at the back of the library, and said "Do not go to that door, your mistress has locked it"—I said "No," and went up to bed—that was all I saw that night—I looked at the door as he spoke, and I did see no key in the door; there was usually a key in that door, outside, I think—I did not expect my mistress was going out of town—on the following morning, Monday, I got my master's breakfast in the dining-room—I am not certain if it was that day or on the Tuesday that he said my mistress would not be home for a day or two—I don't know how he came to say that—I did not ask him any question—I wanted some candles, and I said to him, if she would not be home till dark I should want some candles out, and it was upon that he said that she would not be home for two or three days—he did not say where she had gone—my master went out on the Monday, and he had his meals as usual—he went out on
the Tuesday—I almost forget, now, the times at which he went out—he said on the Tuesday that he was going out, and would not be home all night—it was after dinner that he said that—he had been out before dinner—he went out after he had said that—he went out about three times after that—I went out in the afternoon to try to find somebody to sleep there; but I was not able to get anyone—I told him at night that I was unable to get anybody, and he said that I should have to remain by myself—I went down stairs, and waited to see if he would go out, but he did not go; I remained up till about 11 o'clock, when he called me over the stairs—he was standing on the staircase, the first flight from the hall—he said "If you should find anything wrong with me in the morning, step for Dr. Rugg"—I said "Are you ill, sir?"—he said "I may require medicine in the morning;" nothing further took place—I went down stairs, and he went up stairs, to bed, as I supposed; I did not see him after he went from the stairs; it must have been after 11 o'clock when he went to bed—on the Wednesday morning I came down about 6.45—near 8 o'clock I went to the door of his room; I knocked at the door, and Mr. Watson answered me; he was dressing himself, I could hear—it was not quite 8.30 when he came down stairs—he went out, before breakfast, for about ten minutes; he breakfasted as soon as he came in—after breakfast he went out again, between 10 and 11 o'clock—he came back about 11 o'clock; I think he went up to the library; I don't remember his passing any remark at that time—between 11 and 12 o'clock he called me, I saw him in the hall; he said "If I should be ill before dinner, go for the dinner"—I said "Yes"—he said nothing more; he went up stairs—some time after, I heard a groaning—I should not think it was an hour after, about half an hour, or more, I should think—I was in the drawing-room and the groaning came from overhead, in the front bed room—I went up to my master's bedroom, he was lying in bed, undressed—I spoke to him, but he was unconscious, he did not know me—I went for the doctor at once—I left him in the house by himself—before I went for the doctor, I noticed three papers in the chair, and a small phial on the drawers, and there was a glass on the chair by the side of the bed—I took up one of the papers, this is it; I took it up, thinking it might be some message for the doctor, and read it—it is in my master's writing (Read: " For the servant, Ellen Pyne, exclusive of her wages. Let no suspicion fall on the servant, whom I believe to be a good girl.") That was sealed; a 5l. note was enclosed in it—I don't think the "No. 3" was on it when I opened it; I don't remember seeing it, it might have been there—I went out and fetched Dr. Rugg—I had known him before, he had been to the house before to attend my sister, who was ill—he went into my master's bedroom, and he afterwards went out and fetched the police—I went into the room afterwards, and spoke to my master; I spoke to him once or twice before he answered me; then I asked him if he was cold—he said "Yes," and I put something more on the bed—when the police came I went into the library with them—I showed them some marks there; there were some splashes about the window, which I supposed to be wine that had been splashed about, I mean on the library window—I think I first noticed those marks on the Tuesday, I had cleaned the window—the marks were by the side of the skirting; I did not touch them; I don't remember any being on the glass—I did not see any other marks in that room—I did not notice the furniture; I did not notice the chair—I had not done anything to the carpet before that, I
had only done the fire-place—I did not see the body of my mistress that day, I did afterwards—one quarter's wages was nearly due to me at this time; it would be due that day month that my mistress died, that would be 8th November—I did not know that my master had any pistols; the pistol in the possession of the police I had never seen in my master's possession, I did not know where it was kept—this paper, headed "For the surgeon," is in my master's writing—this letter in Latin was left on the library table, I saw it found—I remember seeing that paper on Tuesday, on the table; I saw it on the Wednesday as well—it is my master's writing—the police afterwards showed me some clothes, and a shirt—they were my master's; they looked like the clothes he used to wear.
Cross-examined by MR. SERJEANT PARRY. I asked my master whether he was cold, and he answered me, he said "Yes," and J put something on the bed; that was some time after I had seen him in a state of unconsciousness, when he could not answer me—the doctor had then been and seen Mr. Watson; it was about an hour after—I never saw any pistols in my master's possession, I never saw them till they were found by the police—I was the first that went to the drawer and saw them there—I think somebody told me they had been found in the drawer, and I went and saw them; I am not certain, but I think I was the first person that found them—I called the attention of one of the policemen to the fact that I bad seen some pistols in that drawer—it was in Mr. Watson's dressing-room, the drawer of a chest of drawers—it was shut; it was unlocked, I could open it easily and look—there was nothing to prevent anyone opening the drawer and looking into it—I had been in the habit of attending to my master's dressing-room, putting it to rights in the morning; that was a part of my duty—I had access to it constantly; if I had been curious I might at any time have seen these pistols, but I never opened the drawer till that day—this Latin paper was left on the library table, the corner of it was put under a book, I think, or something was across it—it was placed so that you could read the writing; it was open—I noticed it, and looked at it, but I could not read it—that was on the Tuesday morning—I had never noticed it there before—this is a large house—the school-room is a good-sized room, not very large—I was in Mr. Watson's service when they had boarders, two young gentlemen, two years ago—I think they left just before he left the grammar school, that must have been as far back as Christmas, 1870—I knew that he had then ceased to be master of the grammar school; before that he used to go to the school every day—up to that time they had kept two servants—my sister left on account of illness, and they had only one servant afterwards, that was myself, I was the only servant—I was in the habit of attending upon my master and mistress at their meals, breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper—latterly I did all the work of the house, except my mistress's bedroom—it was in the hot weather that they first ceased to sleep together, about July—the reason of their ceasing to sleep together was the hot weather, and then my mistress attended to her own bedroom; she said I had enough to do, and she would help me—sometimes she would behave to me with great kindness, sometimes she was hasty—my master always behaved to me with great kindness; I considered him to be a kind-hearted gentleman—I never noticed any quarrelling, or any angry feeling between them, while I was attending upon them—they always appeared to me to live happily and comfortably together—Mrs. Watson always seemed to have her own way, that is all I know—they
always appeared to live happily and comfortably together—my master was a very reserved man; I may have noticed it more by their being so quiet, by their not having much company; there was no company at all—after their meals they used to sit together in the library; that was their common practice—when I went up there Mr. Watson was always either reading or writing—I did not observe that more latterly, after he left the school; his habits were always of a studious character—I always thought him very industrious in his writing and reading—he used to sit up till 11o'clook—there was a good deal of method in the house, everything was very punctual—I think he was generally in the habit of writing or reading up to the time that he went to bed—they went to church on Sunday, 8th October; they went earlier than they used to go—I did not hear them say where they went to church—I know Emmanuel Church—that is not their usual church—I think it is rather further from the house than their usual church; that might account for their going a little earlier—Mr. Watson was sometimes absent on a Sunday, doing duty—when he was at home on Sunday he was always in the habit of going to church with his wife; they used to go together, once a day.
Re-examined. It was about an hour after I first noticed him in an unconscious state that he said he was cold—he had on the same bed-clothes as usual—at that time of year they would not be very many—I made the bed; there was an under blanket, a pair of sheets, and a top blanket, I think, and a counterpane—when I saw the pistols in the drawer I did not move them—I went down to Sergeant Giddings, and told him—the pupils my master had went to the school every day, and boarded at his house.
Q. Did you notice anything at all different in his demeanour and behaviour, during these days that you Have spoken of, from what you generally saw? A. I have tried to think, but I do not think there was any difference that I can think of.
DR. GEORGE PHILIP RUGG . I am a doctor of medicine, living and practising at Stockwell Villas, Clapham Road—I know Mr. Watson—I have known him for years as the head master of the Grammar School, at Stockwell—I have not attended him professionally, but on one occasion I attended the sister of the last witness, who was a servant with her, and who left at Christmas—I have an impression that the last time I saw Mr. Watson was the day before the transaction in question—I did not speak to him—I was on the opposite side of the way—whether it was that day or two days before, I don't know, but I saw him that week—on Wednesday, 11th October, I was called to Mr. Watson's house, about 11.30—I was fetched by the servant Payne—when I got there I found the prisoner in bed; he was unconscious, breathing heavily, with difficulty—his eyes were turned up, there was a cold clammy perspiration on him, and he had a weak, soft, compressible pulse, an intermittent pulse—I thought he was labouring under an attack of epilepsy first—he was probably a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes in that unconscious state—Pyne put three letters into my hand—one was addressed "For the surgeon"—it was sealed with an adhesive envelope, this is it. (Read:" I have killed my wife in a fit of rage to which she provoked me; often, often has she provoked me before, but I never lost restraint over myself with her till the present occasion, when I allowed fury to carry me a way Her body will be found in the room adjoining the library, the key of which I leave with the paper. I trust she will be buried with the attention due to a lady of good birth. She was an Irish-woman.
Her name was Anne"). The key was enclosed in that paper—there was something scratched out, and I asked Mr. Watson what it was; but he did not enter into it at all, in fact I had my doubts at the time whether he was married or not, from that being scratched out, and I asked him the question afterwards, and he said he was married, certainly; but he did not tell me what it was that he had scratched out—I have the envelope, it is addressed "For the surgeon"—this was also one of the papers handed to me, it is marked "Statement for such as may care to read it" on the envelope—that was not sealed—(read: "Statement for such as may care to read it. I know not whose business it will be to look to my property, or my little possessions will be, my books and furniture. My only brother was living, when I heard of him, five or six years ago, in America, at 82, Grand Street, Williamsburgh, and a niece with him. He is my heir, if still alive. I know not if I have any other surviving relatives. One quarter's wages will soon be due to my servant, and I should wish the sum to be more than doubled for her, on account of the trouble which she will have at the present time, and the patience with which she has borne other troubles. In my purse will be found 5l. 10s. I leave a number of letters, many of them very old, with which I hope those who handle them will deal tenderly. The books are a very useful collection for a literary man. The two thick quarto MS. books, marked P and Q, might be sent to the British Museum, or might possibly find some purchaser among literary men, for whom they contain many valuable notes and hints. Among the other MS. is a complete translation of "Valerius Flaccus" in verse, which I think deserves to be published. Messrs. Longman and Co. also have in their hands for inspection 4 vols. of manuscript, containing a complete history of the Popes from the foundation of the Papal power to the Reformation. There is also ready for the press a tale entitled "Hercules." I leave, too, in the bookcase, several books of extracts and observations marked with the letters of the alphabet, the oldest being that I believe marked M, and the most recent that marked There is an annotated copy of the "Life of Porson," with a book of addenda and a copy of the "Life of Warburton," with a few annotations and a book of addenda. There will be found, in loose sheets, in the press at the side of the fireplace in the library, a complete translation of Beranger's songs, with the exception of "Mes Derniers Chansons." Some of these have been printed. The house is to be vacated at the half-quarter. For the rent to Michaelmas I have sent a cheque to-day. There will be some small bills, but when all claims are satisfied there will be a considerable sum left, besides what will arise from the sale of books and furniture. I have made my way, in the world so far as it has been made, by my own efforts. My great fault has been too much self-dependence, and too little regard for others. Whatever I have done I have endeavoured to do to the best of my ability, and have been fortunate, I may say, generally, but with one great exception. In the paper-cases lying about and elsewhere will be found some MSS. which have been used, and others intended for literary purposes.") I found out Mrs. Watson's room from the servant—I opened the door with the key and went in—it was the bedroom at the back of the library—I found Mrs. Watson dead, huddled up in one corner of the room—she was covered over with a blanket—I examined her, to see what was the cause of death, and I found several wounds on the scalp, and a fracture of the bone—there was blood on the floor, and her gown was covered with blood, saturated with blood—there was a good deal on the floor—I can't
say how much, it was congealed, and the clothes all saturated—the body was stiff—she must have been dead a day or two at least, on account of the congealed blood and the stiffness of the body—death was no doubt caused by the fracture of the skull by some blunt kind of instrument—a horse-pistol was shown to me the next day at the station—the wounds I saw were most likely to have been produced by such an instrument as that—the body was dressed in the ordinary female dress, she had a gown on—I saw six wounds at that time—subsequently, at the post-mortem examination, we discovered eight on the scalp—there was one large fissure of the skull—I did not notice the hands, or the arms, or the legs at that time—I did not disturb her—I knew there would be a postmortem examination, therefore I deferred it till then—on the post-mortem examination we round eight wounds on the scalp, there was a fissure of the skull which extended from the top of the skull right to the base; the bones of the skull were all loosened, and there were several other abrasions and slighter wounds about the body, there was extravasation of blood at the base of the brain, and there was also an extravasation of blood into the peritoneum from a vessel there—there were no other marks that were likely to arise from the injury—there were several marks on the arms and hands, they were mostly abrasions—I could hardly think they could be caused by a struggle—I could hardly perceive that—there were no marks on the legs—there was a mark on the hip—there were slight marks about that portion of the body—the principal were on the scalp—I afterwards returned to Mr. Watson's room, where I found a glass of this description and a bottle, which were on a chair beside his bed—this phial was on the chest of drawers, it was half full—it holds two drachms; there was a slight drain in the glass, scarcely a drain, apparently the same kind of liquid that there was in the bottle—I did not examine it then—I could only tell by sense of smell at that time, and I had a very severe cold, therefore I went to the chemist's to discover whether he had purchased poison, and he smelt it for me—that was Mr. Lewis, another chemist—I found it to be prussic acid—I was away about five minutes when I went to Mr. Lewis—I then came back again, and went into Mr. Watson's room, he was recovering his consciousness, but he was talking in an incoherent way—I spoke to him—I told him that I knew he had taken poison, and I also knew it was prussic acid, and that he had been to the chemist's that morning to purchase some—he did not make any remark at that time, that I remember—I asked him where he had purchased the prussic acid, and he told me then privately, he said he did not wish anyone to know it, he said he did not wish to get the chemist into trouble, and he told me where he had purchased it—I sent for a policeman, and I told him what I had done—I told him there was a policeman in the next room, that he would be given into charge, that he must be aware what it was for—he did not make any reply to that, he simply put up his arms and made an exclamation of that sort, "Ah," but he did not make any remark—I left him then in charge of the police—I returned afterwards—I thought he was not in a fit state to be removed at that time, he had scarcely got over the dose of poison—I returned afterwards; at least I was sent for by the police—the police surgeon was there; he wished to see me, to know if he was in a fit state to be removed—we examined the flooring and the spots of blood, in company with the police, the chair in the library, and the woodwork about the window—the window frames were spattered with blood—the prisoner told
me he had taken prussic acid the night before, but he had not taken a sufficient dose, or he supposed so—it was at the time that I was speaking to him about prussic acid that he said that—that is all, that I remember, that took place between us in reference to prussic acid—Dr Pope and I agreed that he could be moved, and he then got up to dress himself; that was about 4 o'clock—the police were present while he was dressing—there was no very particular conversation—he called for a particular pair of boots, which he said fitted him, that he felt easier with them, and he directed my attention to an oyster-shell that was on the chest of drawers in his dressing-room, or on the wash hand-stand; he said "A curious thing"—he said very little, he was a man that never said very much—he said "A curious thing that, I picked it up"—I examined it, and said it was a curious thing; it was rather a remarkable shell, it was covered with cercules, a sort of calcareous matter made by a worm, a sort of coral—nothing more passed, except the observations he was making while he was dressing, with regard to brushing his hair and that—he seemed to be very particular about himself before he went away; he wished to be shaved—his manner seemed frivolous to me, considering the position in which he was placed—I don't remember any further conversation that took place at that time; by-the-bye, I did mention to him that he should have a solicitor, and I mentioned Mr. Eraser's name, as being an old pupil of his—he said he did not think it was any use, the deed was done—he consented to my calling on Mr. Fraser, which I did afterwards, and he is the gentleman who is now conducting the defence—he asked the police to deal gently with him, and to get the matter over as quickly as they could—he did not quite seem to understand that he was to be removed to the police-station; he asked why he could not remain where he was; that was when he was in bed—I don't recollect anything more—I next saw him at the police-station, in the evening, after that, and I told him I had called on Mr. Fraser, but he was out, the servant said he would be home about 10 o'clock, and he would be there in the evening—he said he did not suppose he would come.
Cross-examined. I have known Mr. Watson for many years as head master of the Grammar School at Stockwell—he bore the character of being a gentleman of great learning and classical attainments, and of being a kind and humane man—I always understood that he was very punctual in the performance of his duties as head master of the school—I had never attended him, or had much personal intercourse with him; he has not had much illness, I believe—I had often met him in the street, and three or four months previously I met him at a luncheon, at King's College distribution of prizes—he did not know me at first, he was very absent—he was a very reserved man, and very self-absorbed—when I was called in to see him in this unconscious state, I have no doubt that he had taken poison for the purpose of committing suicide—in my opinion he had taken a dose that might have proved fatal—his skin was clammy, he had the appearance of a man who was seriously suffering from the effects of prussic acid—he was unconscious quite a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes after I saw him—that would be an effect producible by prussic acid—it has not a narcotic effect; in such a case we arouse the patient, if possible—I did my utmost to call him back to life—he told me that he had taken prussic acid the evening before—he told me that he intended to commit suicide, but there was not enough of it, and he had purchased more that very
morning, in order to carry out his intention of suicide—if he had purchased prussic acid ten or twelve months before, it would lose its strength, it is highly volatile, the strength evaporates; if he had purchased Scheele's acid twelve months before, and then taken it, it would not have had its effect, it would lose its effect in that time—when I found him returning to consciousness I made inquiries, and found that he had taken prussic acid, when I found him able to understand what I said to him—I really can scarcely recollect what I first said to him, except that I asked him what he had taken—I told him I knew what he had taken—I did not, at that time, tell him that he would he arrested on this charge, not till the policemen came; I told him that they were there—I told him that I knew he had taken prussic acid, before he told me—I told him the police were there to take him, and he knew what the occasion of it was, and he threw up his arms and said "Ah!" or something to that effect—it was just about that time that I suggested to him about a solicitor—his answer was "The deed is done"—he seemed perfectly indifferent—I asked him whether there was any insanity in his family; that was afterwards, at the police—station, in the evening—he said no, he could not say much, for his father and brother were the only two members—he said "My brother was quite sane, but I can't say so much for my father"—at the time he called my attention to the oyster-shell he knew that he was charged with murder, and that the police were in his house; he was getting ready to go—he was particular about brushing his hair and putting on particular boots—at that time he seemed perfectly oblivious to the crime he had committed; he did not allude to it; he conducted himself as if nothing of the sort had occurred—he wanted to shave himself; he said, to the police—officer, why could not he shave—the officer did not allow him to do it—the policemen were in the room at the time—I don't know that I can recollect the exact language he used about the oyster, he simply drew my attention to it as a great curiosity, and I examined it—he did not tell me how he bad got it; I rather avoided speaking to him at that time—I asked him afterwards, at the police—station, in the evening, if he had had anything on his mind particularly, and if his means were bad or limited—he said he had sufficient, but that his means were getting exhausted—he said that losing the grammar school had affected him very much, that he had become very much depressed and despondent; that he had been promised another appointment, but it had fallen to the ground—I don't quite remember the expression that he was afraid, at his age, he should not be able to get any appointment—those remarks seemed perfectly genuine, as really exhibiting the state of his mind, owing to the loss of the school—his age is sixty—seven, I understand—most of the wounds on the scalp of the deceased were severe wounds; they indicated very great violence—the other marks on her person were recent—they might be the result of bloQ.; they were abrasions, or scratches, not the same character as those on the skull—the eight on the scalp were those that were important; they indicated extreme and unusual violence, almost the ferocity of violence—in the course of my experience the disease of insanity has come under my study, with other diseases—insanity is as much a disease as any other known to me as a professional man—it is always treated as a disease, to be cured if possible, and if not to be cured, the patient to be prevented from doing harm if he is liable to do so—there is a well-defined form of insanity called melancholia—I should say it was rocognised
by every medical man—a sudden shock or calamity falling upon a man would most certainly have a tendency to produce despondency and depression, which might ultimately result in melancholia—a person suffering under that disease is liable to sudden outbursts and paroxysms of madness—in such a condition he has not the reasoning power which would enable him to distinguish right from wrong, or to understand the nature and quality of the act that he commits, at the time that he commits it; that is my judgment—it is consistent with my experience that after the fit of madness is over they may resume almost their normal state—it is similar to a case of epilepsy; a person may be perfectly well after an attack of epilepsy—I thought Mr. Watson was suffering from epilepsy at the time I saw him—homicidal mania and suicidal mania are recognisable diseases, they very frequently go together; an insane desire to destroy either one's self or somebody else—I have not the slightest doubt that this gentleman attempted to commit suicide by poisoning himself—in forming a judgment as to whether a person was labouring under insanity or no, an attempt to commit suicide would be a fact that I should take into consideration, and in forming a judgment whether a patient were a homicidal maniac or no, the fact of attempting to commit suicide would be an element in my consideration—I have seen the prisoner since; I saw him in Horsemonger Lane Gaol—he then complained to me of having suffered from despondency since he had lost his school and could not obtain employment elsewhere—I don't recollect his saying that at his great age it was almost hopeless to expect that he could ever get any other appointment; he complained that he had been in a despondent state—he said "I wish I had consulted you before"—there are many cases on record of insane persons having sought a lunatic asylum themselves; from my reading I have known of several such instances—the prisoner did not make any allusion to suicide when I saw him at Horsemonger Lane Gaol, he did at the Police Court, previously; he told me that he had contemplated suicide twelve months ago, or rather, I asked him did he contemplate suicide when he purchased the prussic acid, twelve months ago—he did not give me a direct answer—he said he was always of a desponding temperament; he thought he might require it; that was the first that he had taken, the day preceding that on which I saw him, and which he had kept by him for twelve months—the ferocity and violence with which a murder is committed would be a very important element in considering the state of mind of the patient—from what I observed on the post-mortem, the wounds must have been committed with great ferocity—I have heard the whole of the evidence up to this point.
MR. SERJEANT PARRY proposed, upon this, to ask the witness his opinion of the prisoner's state of mind at the time he committed the act. The question was objected to by the learned Judge, and after being modified in its form, was ultimately put as follo Q.: "From what you have observed in this case, and from the intervie Q. and conversations you had with the prisoner, and from the facts that have come to your own knowledge in the case, are you or are you not of opinion that at the time he committed this act he was in a sound or unsound state of mind?" MR. DENMAN submitted that the question could not be put, it referred to the state of the prisoner's mind at a time when the witness was not present, and in order to ascertain what it was at that time, the witness must necessarily direct his mind, not only to the effect of the intervie Q. he himself had, but to other circumstances deposed to by other witnesses, and thus he would he asked to give his opinions upon the very point which it was the province of the Jury to decide. MR. JUSTICE BYLES decided that the question could not be put). In my judgment the prisoner was labouring under great mental depression before he committed this act—after my intervieQ. and conversations with the prisoner, my opinion was, at the time I saw him, that he was suffering from simple melancholia with maniacal excitement—at the time I saw him on the Wednesday, when he was arrested, I believe that he was suffering from the same complaint, simple melancholia with a tendency to maniacal excitement—from my intervieQ. with him, and my own observation, I believe now that he is not in a sound state of mind—I have no doubt that the loss of his appointment was the principal cause of the melancholy and depression, although I should imagine that he had always been of a melancholic temperament.
Re-examined. The last time I examined him, was at Horsemonger Lane Gaol, about six weeks ago, or it might be more, before he came to Newgate—I believe he was then under the medical care of Dr. Waterworth—I did not see him in the presence of Dr. Waterworth—I saw him on every occasion at the Police Court, three times, and once at Horsemonger Lane; except when I saw him at King's College, I had not spoken to him for a year, beyond meeting him in the street and saying "How do you do?"—when I saw him on 11th October, we had some conversation—there was no question that I asked him then to which he did not give a rational answer, he was rational then—he was very morose, he scarcely would answer a question—he said he had prepared a statement for me and he hesitated whether he should give it me or not—I had noticed on previous occasions that he was a person of a somewhat morose demeanour—there was nothing on any of the occasions to show that he did not appreciate and understand the nature of what was going on, in the way of questions put to him, or the business that was then going on.
Q. What are the facts upon which you rely at these intervieQ. thattook place, to induce you to suppose that he was labouring under any form of insanity? A. His manner altogether was peculiar, he would scarcely answer a question—he did not answer a question directly—he seemed desponding, and there was that sort of manner about him which is common in melancholia—I do not remember any question in particular that I asked him which he was unwilling to answer—there was a general unwillingness to answer questions—that applies to the occasion of 11th October as well as the subsequent intervieQ.—he did not volunteer the remarks about his means being gradually exhausted, and his loss of the grammar school, and so on, they were simply answers to my questions—it was not given as a continuous statement, but in answer to several questions put by me—he showed no difficulty in understanding the questions themselves, or in bringing his memory to remember the facts—I think that an attempt to commit suicide is of itself evidence of insanity—I do not mean that every person that attempts to commit suicide is insane, nor would I say that every despondency or depression is a token of unsoundness—many persons are despondent and depressed to a very considerable extent, without there being any insanity about them.
Q. Should you say that any murder committed with ferocity was an evidence of insanity on the part of the person who committed it? A. That would depend entirely on the extent of the ferocity; I should take that in connection with other things, not of itself, certainly not—it very often is an evidence of insanity, but I would not say it was in every case—I knew
on the 11th that he was charged with committing this murder—I had seen the body—in the opinion I give, as to his having been insane at the time I saw him, I do not take into account as the principal fact, the murder itself—if there had been no murder I should not have said there were indications from which I should pronounce clearly that he was insane on the 11th—it is a very difficult question to answer—I could not reply to that question quite, because his manner was certainly very peculiar, if he had not committed a murder I still should have thought his behaviour very strange indeed—my remark has nothing to do with the prussic acid—I speak without the prussic acid, because he was talking incoherently from the effects of the prussic acid before he recovered his senses—I attribute that incoherency to the prussic acid at that time, within half-an-hour after I saw him—I found my opinion of his insanity at that time upon his general manner—I really cannot recall any particular thing he said or did; it was his general manner altogether—I think his saying that he had done the deed showed that he was perfectly callous—hi did not wish to have anyone to defend him—I think that was a sign that he was not in his right senses—he seemed to be perfectly indifferent what would be the result of it to him—that of itself did not strike me as an indication of insanity, but that, with other things, I think, would show that he was not quite sound—from his general demeanour, the whole facts that I have mentioned, taken together, I did not consider him in his right mind at the time—I did not then consider him so—the prussic acid would be one fact—the simple statement that he had done the deed would not be one, but the manner in which it was said—he seemed to be perfectly indifferent—I should lay stress upon the fact of his calling attention to the oyster shell as proof of his indifference—I cannot recall anything else at present—in the evening, at the police-station, we had a conversation about his having lost the school—that conversation would not indicate insanity, but the fact of his having lost the school, and the circumstances in which he was placed, would form my opinion as to his state of mind—it would make it probable that he would have that state of depression which I believe existed—I had no reason to doubt that he was accurately stating the facts—I think he would be quite capable of doing any act of business down to the time when he committed the act—persons subject to melancholia are at other times quite intellectual—it does not interfere with the intellectual qualities.
GEORGE DAVIS (Police Inspector W). On Wednesday, 11th October, I went into the room where Mrs. Watson was lying dead—that was the first room I entered—Dr. Pope went in with me, Dr. Rugg came shortly afterwards—I saw the dead body in the corner—there were smears of blood about the room which appeared to have been done from her clothing, which was saturated with it—on the landing between that room and the library, I saw a stain which appeared to be blood, that was outside the library door, about three or four inches from it—I had to remove the carpet—I found blood in different parts of the library, on the sides of the window, the window—frame, the wood—work, also on the wire-blinds, several small spots, and also on the back part of a large arm-chair—I then went into the dressing-room—I there found a pair of trousers, which I produce, and a waistcoat was handed to me by Dr. Pope in that room—there were stains on them which appeared to me to be blood—I am now speaking of the trousers—I showed them to Dr. Pope—there were stains down the front of the waistcoat, which appeared to be blood—I showed
those also to Dr. Pope—I also found a pair of drawers in the dressing-room, they have marks of the same sort on the knee and inside the thigh—I also found there this sponge, it had a reddish stain on it, and also some long white hairs—it appeared to have been washed out—I then went into the room in which the prisoner was in bed; he was at that time able to understand—that was about 3.40—I told him that I should take him into custody for killing and slaying his wife on the previous Sunday—he made no reply then—he asked me where I should take him to—I said to the Brixton police—station—I then asked him for the shirt and coat that he was wearing on the previous Sunday—he said "What for, what do you want them for?"—he afterwards said the coat was hanging up in the next room—I found it, and produce it—there were a great quantity of marks on it which appeared to be blood, down the front and the sleeves, they appeared to have been wiped with something—I remained with him while he dressed, and then conveyed him in a cab to the police—station—I was present in the dressing-room while he was combing out his hair there—he dressed in his bedroom partly, and he went into the dressing-room to comb his hair—I took him to the police—station, where I charged him with the wilful murder of his wife—I asked him his wife's Christian name as I was unacquainted with it—he said Anne—the Charge was entered in the usual way—he made no reply, with the exception, when the sergeant was speaking to him, when I told him the name Anne, he only put down Ann, and I called the sergeant's attention to the fact, and said Anne, end the sergeant said "Annie," and the prisoner said "Anne," he corrected him—he wanted to know whether he could have anything brought him—I said yes, anything he required, if he put it down on paper, I would send for it—he gave me a list, I produce it—he wrote it himself. (Read: "Mattrass, two or three blankets, counterpane, pillow, clean cravat, clean collar, boot hooks, hair-brush, some slices of cold beef, b. k. f."—When I came to b. k. f. I could not understand it, and he said it was bread, knife and fork—I told him he could have anything with the exception of the knife and fork, and he had nearly all these things supplied to him—when I said he could not have the knife he said" What is the good of the bread and meat; what am I going to eat it with"—I told him his servant could make some sandwiches, and he said that would do very well—next day, the 12th, I was sent for to the house—I was shown a drawer in the dressing-room by Sergeant Giddings—I opened it, and saw in it five pistols, the one produced, and four others—I examined this one, and saw what appeared to be a stain on the wood work at the side of the trigger—that was one of the largest pistols—there were two others not quite so large as this, and two smaller ones—it was a stain of a reddish colour, similar to blood—it has been scraped off for the purpose of the analysis—I noticed a stain of a similar colour on the butt end, a portion of it is remaining now—the wood—work of the handle was split in three places, lengthways, and across in two places—Giddings had seen it before me—the other pistols were rusty and dusty, and apparently had not been handled for some years I should think, and there was dirt in the drawer—I afterwards brought away the piece of Latin that has been produced—that was on the Sunday following—I saw it the day I first entered there, but did not remove it—I also found a pair of boots and some rope, the rope was in the library—it is new rope, nearly twelve yards, wrapped in brown paper, also a new hammer, there was no appearance of the hammer having been used, it was perfectly new, wrapped in brown
paper, and the size marked on it; also an old hammer that had been in use for some time—there were no marks on that.
Cross-examined. The trousers, coat, and other things were hanging up on pegs in the dressing-room in the ordinary way, a light coat over the coat, and the trousers hanging by the side of it—I did not find the shirt—the drawers were in a clothes-basket in the same room, with other dirty clothes, a cravat, I think, and two handkerchiefs—the four pistols that were left were old rusty pistols—this is also an old one—it has a brass barrel (the others had steel barrels), and a flint lock, not in use now—it was in a drawer full of rubbish.
GEORGE HAZELL (Police Sergeant W 18). On Wednesday, 11th October, I was called to the prisoner's house by Dr. Rugg—I went up stairs, and saw the body of Mrs. Watson in the room on the first floor—I afterwards went into the prisoner's bedroom—it was about 12.45 when I got to the house—I saw the prisoner in bed, and told him he must consider himself in custody for the murder of his wife—he said "I suppose so, don't be violent"—I told him no violence would be used—he then turned on the other side, and said "I am ill"—Dr. Rugg was there at the time—I left Dr. Rugg to attend to him—I afterwards made a search at the house, on the following Sunday, the 15th, I examined a chest of drawers in the dressing-room, and in the bottom drawer I found this shirt; both the wristbands appear to have been cut off—there were marks on the sleeves that appeared to be blood—there was a quantity of shirts and clean linen in the drawers—this shirt was under some other clean linen—the drawer was not locked—there was a lock to it.
Cross-examined. There are stains now on the shirt, that I can easily see.
JOHN HUEY (Police Sergeant W 11). On Wednesday, 11th October, I went with Hazell to 28, St. Martin's Road—I found Dr. Rugg at the door; he beckoned me into the house, and I went in, and went up stairs into the room where the body of a woman was—Dr. Rugg went in first, Hazell next, and I last—I did not observe how the body was covered—it was dressed, no cap or bonnet on, shoes or slippers—the hair was very much disarranged,—after leaving the room I went into the library with Dr. Rugg, and there saw the servant Pyne—I then went into the prisoner's bedroom with Dr. Rugg and Hazell—he was in bed—Hazell told him he might consider himself in custody for the murder of his wife—I understood the prisoner to say "Don't be loud about it"—it was either "Don't be violent," or "Don't be loud," I could not be certain, but I understood him, to say "Don't be loud about it"—whilst I was in the room Inspector Davis came in, and Dr. Rugg—there were a few boys outside, I heard them talking—Mr. Watson asked me if there were many outside—I said there was not, a few boys had collected round—he raised himself up in the bed, and moved his body about, as it were, to catch a glimpse of them through the window—the Venetian blinds were down—I was left with him while Sergeant Hazell went and gave information at the station—I was there alone with him whilst he was dressing—he asked me if I had any objection to his shaving before he went to the police—station—I said "Yes, I have a very strong one"—when Dr. Rugg came in he told him that I had objected to his shaving, and Dr. Rugg said that was quite right—his dog was on the landing, barking, at the time, and he called him by name, "Snap," and kept snapping his fingers for the dog to come into the room, but the dog did not come in.
October, I was at the prisoner's house—in consequence of what the servant said I went to a drawer in the prisoner's dressing—room, and there found three pistols—I did not touch them—I sent for Inspector Davis, and showed them to him.
EDMUND POPE . I am surgeon to the W division of the police—on Wednesday, 11th October, I went to 28, St. Martin's Road, Stockwell—I found Inspector Davis there—I went up into the prisoner's bedroom—I found him there in bed—Dr. Rugg had been there before me—I asked the prisoner how he felt now—he said better than he hoped or expected to be—I sent for Dr. Rugg, and then went into the room in which the dead body was—I found it in the crouching, huddled up position which has been described—I have this morning had pointed out to me a deal box, which is in Court—I think, with a little compression, the body could have been stowed away in that box—Dr. Rugg and I went together into the room, and examined the glass that was there—I mean the glass that had been drunk from—I waited there until I formed an opinion that he was fit to be moved, and I then authorised Inspector Davis to remove him—Davis said he should apprehend him on a charge of murder, and after doing so I asked him if he would tell him where the coat was which he had worn on that day, as he wished to have it—Mr. Watson objected at first to say where the coat was—he said he did not wish an exhibition made of it—he said "What do you want it for?"—I can't say the exact words—that was the purport of what he said—I left the room almost immediately after that—I afterwards saw him at the station—I heard what passed about his wife's name, and so on, which has been spoken of by the witness—the charge was read over to him—he made no reply—during the whole of that time I saw nothing which led me to come to the conclusion that he was a person of unsound mind—I saw him in the cell that same evening—I then had a conversation with him—I asked him if he required anything, if he had been attended to—he said he had had a cup of tea, that he wanted something to eat—on that occasion I did not notice anything at all about him which indicated that he was of unsound mind—I afterwards made a post mortem examination with Dr. Rugg.
Cross-examined. Those were the only times I saw him—when he said "If you wish to make an exhibition of the coat I decline to tell you," I understood him to mean an exhibition before the public—I don't think he meant Madame Tussaud's, or anything of that kind—perhaps it was an odd phrase to use—it did not strike me as particularly odd—I consider he understood the reason the coat was required for, that it was required for the purpose—I have heard that the coat was found hanging up in the dressing-room—I was not aware of that fact when he said that—my opinion now and then would be different—it was a frivolous objection, a stupid sort of thing certainly.
Re-examined. He did not say it at all like a man who did not know what he was doing—he knew perfectly well what he was saying.
DR JOHN MUTER . I am director of the South London School of Chemistry and Pharmacy in Kennington Road—on 20th October I received from Dr. Rugg, in presence of Inspector Davis, two bottles and a glass—this is one of the bottles, and this is the glass—I examined them—the bottle was about half full, it contained a drachm of hydrocyanic acid or prussic acid—this other bottle also contained a small quantity—one bottle was about half full of prussic acid, its strength was 1.08, and a further
fraction, or 1.09 percent.—that is not Scheele's strength—Scheele's acid is variable, it spoils by keeping, it is generally supposed to be twice the strength, it has been known from 3 to 5 percent., it is an uncertain preparation—the bottle was marked "Hydrocyanic acid of Scheele's strength, minimum dose"—they were both alike in strength—there was no chemist's name on the label—in the glass I found no trace of anything; it was not tobe expected on the 20th, on account of the volatile nature of the poison—I received some clothes from Inspector Davis—I examined the coat, it had 132 stains of blood on the outside, chiefly on the left arm and left breast, and twelve stains on the inside—the arm appeared to have been wiped, but in some places there was a clot—there were ninety-five stains of blood on the trousers, and four stains on the drawers—the shirt had very few stains—the wristbands had been cut off—the sleeves had been washed, and when I applied a very delicate test to the place, I found a trace of blood—the waistcoat had about twenty—six stains—they were all round the buttons, and it seemed as if it had been wiped down; but in one direction the stains were just as they had fallen—I found on the sponge, human hair and colored matter, and woollen red and blue, which might have come from a carpet—the sponge was saturated with blood—the longest hair was 9 3/4 in long, light colored, some of it approaching grey.
Cross-examined. Prussic acid is highly volatile; if opened for a short time the strength goes away to some extent, and if it is exposed to light even it goes away, even with a cork—I made the analysis two days after the 20th—I received it from Inspector Davis and Dr. Rugg; they were both together—the minimum dose of Scheele's acid, and which would produce death, would depend upon its strength, it is such an uncertain preparation—I never knew a sample bought at a druggist's shop to be of full strength—if this had been of full strength, I should not have liked to take a drachm of it—the bottle contained two drachms—supposing it to be of full quality, a drachm would be fatal, in my opinion.
Re-examined. A drachm of the proper strength would be fatal, but this is only one point, 9, which is less than the pharmacopoeia—it causes death by acting on the heart; it stops the action of the heart, and it is a poison acting both on brain and heart, but principally on the heart—I never saw a person suffering under it; I am an analytical chemist.
CHARLES TURNER . I am a trunk—maker, of 219, Clapham Road—on Monday, 9th October, about 12.45, the prisoner came and said he wished to see some trunks—I showed him some—he said they were not quite the thing, he wanted more of a packing—case—I said we could make him one—he was anxious to have it immediately, and asked me how long it would take—he wanted it made 2 ft. 9 in. long, 2 ft. 3 in. wide, and 1 ft. 9 in. deep—he did not, at that time, actually order it, but he was so anxious to have it directly that I thought he was going to try elsewhere, and I suggested that if he let me know by 2 o'clock, I would let him have it next day by that time—he went away, and came back the same day at 1.45, and said he had decided to have the case made—I took the size from him down on paper as he gave it to me, and said "This will be a very large size, Sir; have you any idea of the size it will be?"—he said "Yes, that must be the size"—I suggested whether it would not be better for him to put the matter together that he wished to put into it, and let me measure it, as it was possible I could get it into a lesser space; but he said "No, that must be the size"—I made the case, but did not send it home—this is it
(produced)—he came on Tuesday, about 2 o'clock, and said "Do not send me that case in, but I will pay for it"—he handed me a 10l. note, from which I took 25s., the value of the case, and handed him the change, or rather I laid it down on the counter and he picked it up, with very great indifference, as it struck me at the time—I said "Do I understand that I am to hold the case until I hear further from you?"—he said something in reply which I could not understand, but I inferred that he meant yes—the case was in my shop at the time the police inquiry took place.
Cross-examined. I noticed a great change in his appearance from Monday, he appeared as a person would who had suddenly fallen into some trouble—I have known him as a customer for several years past—I live very close to him—he had been a customer on several occasions—I did not notice his depression, except on the Tuesday when he came, about 2 o'clock—I knew of his character in the neighbourhood as head master of that school, that it stood very high indeed, and that he was a gentleman of very considerable intellectual attainments—I know that he was dismissed; I understood that the school was broken up—he bore a character generally such as a gentleman bears in the neighbourhood where he is living, not merely for talent, but for humanity and kindness—I had not a son at his school.
Re-examined. I am next door to the post-office, and he used to bring parcels of printed matter in to me because he would not trouble them to weigh them—that had happened a few weeks before—he then appeared to be in his usual state, and on the Monday also.
JOHN. FELLS . I am a chemist, carrying on business at 89, Clapham Park Road—I have known the prisoner twenty years—on Wednesday morning, 11th October, nearer 11 o'clock than 10, I think, the prisoner came in and said he required some prussic acid, and that he should prefer it strong, Scheele's kind—he said he wanted it for medicinal purposes—I advised him not to have Scheele's acid at all, because of its very variable strength, it was not to be depended on—he said he should prefer Scheele's, and I let him have two drachms in a phial like this (produced)—this is a two-drachm phial—this other is the original bottle from which it was taken—on 3rd September, 1870, I sold him the same quantity, two drachms.
Cross-examined. Scheele's acid has been very much prescribed by medical men, but there is a growing decrease; it is not so much prescribed as it used to be, on account of its varying strength—Scheele's prussic acid is supposed to be a strong acid; it should be five percent., but is seldom more than four, sometimes only two—I have known the prisoner twenty years—this purchase was made on Wednesday, 11th October, about 10.30 in the morning—he had not come to me before that morning when he went out before breakfast—I had sold him some on 3rd September, twelve months before—I have got the date in my pocket-book—the impression on my mind is that Mrs. Watson came with him, but I cannot speak positively on that point—I have never heard him spoken of but with the utmost deference and respect—I have always heard of his character as that of a humane and kindly—disposed man, and I always found him spoken of with great esteem as a scholar and a gentleman.
Re-examined. I have known him twenty years—there was no variation whatever in his manner on this morning, he was quiet and gentlemanly, as he had always been before.
Thursday, January 11th.
ANN TULLEY . I am now housekeeper to Messrs. Johnson & Son, of Cursitor Street, Holborn—my husband and I lived at the Grammar School, Stockwell, with the prisoner and his wife, he as drilling master, and I as housekeeper—my husband says we lived there five years—we left ten years ago, since when I have been in the habit, from time to time, of paying visits to Mr. and Mrs. Watson—I went there on Sunday, 8th October—I got there, as near as I can say, about 5 o'clock—I rang the door-bell—no one answered it, but I heard a traffic about inside; I thought it was Mrs. Watson, and that the servant was busy—I heard a sound of tramping about, and after a bit I heard Mrs. Watson's voice—I could not tell what she said just then—I rang the bell a second time, and then heard Mrs. Watson say "There is somebody at the door;" she said that three times continuously—no one came, and I rang a third time—Mr. Watson then opened the door, and said "Oh, it is only Mrs. Tulley"—he let me in, and went into the dining—room and told Mrs. Watson, in a slow tone, "Mrs. Tulley"—Mrs. Watson came out to me, and said "How do you do, Mrs. Tulley?"—I said "Quite well, thank you, Ma'am," and she asked me into the drawing—room, and when I got inside, Mr. Watson stood in the hall, at the drawing—room door, for a moment or so—after a bit he came into the drawing-room—Mrs. Watson said "The servant is out, Mrs. Tulley"—Mr. Watson said "Only every other Sunday," and Mrs. Watson repeated "Only every other Sunday"—she said "I am so frightened, Mrs. Tulley"—"Are you, Ma'am," I said—she said "I am afraid of somebody getting over the back"—" What, over the garden wall?" I said—she said "Yes"—Mr. Watson was at the door at that time—he came into the room, and sat on the same side of the drawing—room as I was, opposite Mrs. Watson, and he asked me how my husband was, and how we were getting on—I said we were quite well, and my husband was doing very well—he said "Have Johnson & Son got as many hands on as they generally have?" (they are my employers; it is a large firm, they have different branches)—I said "Yes, Sir, they are at work day and night, by times; they give a large salary to clever writers"—I told him that they had a part portion taken at the Exhibition, and a great many page boys and young women in the business, selling catalogues—he was very pleased about Johnson & Son's doing well—I forgot to mention the first words, that he was very cross; I thought, when I first came to the door, that he would not ask me in—after the conversation he seemed pleased—I could see a deal in his manner from what he had been towards me, but during the conversation his manner was what it had usually been—I thought he was very fidgetty, sitting—I heard nothing more of the slightest importance said by him while I was in the room—I got up to go, and made my obedience to Mr. and Mrs. Watson, and thanked them for past favours to me and my husband, and he got up and returned it in the most kind and polite manner, and said they would be always glad to hear of our welfare; that is, my husband and I, I believe—I went out into the hall, and Mr. Watson went out—I said "Pray don't come to the door, Sir," as I did not want to give him trouble; so he stood close to the dining-room and drawing-room, and as I turned on the step to close the door I made my obedience to him, and he returned it with a very cross face—he made a bow as I was on the step—as near as I can tell you, I
stopped in the house half an hour, or upon it; I got there about 5 o'clock, and left about 5.30, as near as I can recollect.
Cross-examined. I had been at the grammar school some years—I told the prisoner that Johnson's employed a great many clever writers in hopes that he should go and ask for some business there—I knew him to be clever and out of employment, and it occurred to me to say so—Johnson & Son printed the catalogue of the last International Exhibition—it occurred to me, as a matter of kindness, to mention it to him, he being out of employment, that they employed a great many clever writers—I suppose he had no idea that I meant the information for him—Mrs. Watson did not say anything about that, she was very silent—the prisoner did not shake hands with me, but he thanked me for my words, for what I said—I have been always in the habit of calling on the families I lived with, and seeing how they were getting on—I had not been there for a year and four months—they were not in the library, they were down stairs in the drawing-room—Mrs. Watson was not up stairs when I first went in, she was in the dining-room, and Mr. Watson went to the door and said in a solemn manner, "It is Mrs. Tulley"—she came out into the hall to me—there is a house next door on one side, but not on the other, and a garden behind, and I call it a garden in front too.
Re-examined. I mean that there is another house touching it.
CHARLOTTE JANE HALL . I live at 87, London Road—the house 28, St. Martin's Road, Stockwell, belongs to me—Mr. Watson has occupied it six years last Midsummer—the rent was sixty guineas—I did not know Mr. Watson personally—I never saw him till I saw him here—in October 1870, I received this letter, I know it to be his writing—I have corresponded with him, and received rent from him—(Read: "October 27th, 1870. Dear Madam—I have received Mr. Duett's note, and shall be prepared to receive him according to his notice, on Saturday next. It will be convenient if he calls before half-past twelve. Circumstances have occurred which render it necessary for me to give you notice that you must be prepared for my quitting this house at Midsummer next. It may be possible, if you should find a desirable tenant before that time, I may be able to leave it sooner, but I shall be able to speak more confidently on the subject in January next, and I shall be obliged if you will acknowledge this notice.")—Mr. Duett is my agent—I sent an answer, and on 19th May, 1871, I received this letter, which is in the prisoner's writing—" May 19th, 1871. Mrs. Hall. Madam. I did not say anything to your agent when he last called about the rent, my movements being uncertain, and expecting to remove at or about Midsummer next. Still, not being decided as to leaving at Midsummer, I should ask, if I could stay beyond that time, would you allow me to go on another quarter? Please understand that I may leave at Midsummer or not, but it will be a convenience to know that I can stay another quarter if I have occasion to."—I answered that letter, and gave my consent to his leaving at any time at a quarter's notice—on 23rd May, I received this letter—"May 23rd, 1871. Mr. Watson presents his compliments to Mrs. Hall, and begs to thank her for her note of yesterday, giving him permission either to leave at Midsummer or to remain until the following Michaelmas, as may suit his convenience."—On Monday morning, 25th September, I received this letter from him, the 23rd was on Saturday—" September 25th, 1871. Dear Madam. I called at your place, to-day to speak about our continuance in this house, but had not the
good fortune to find you at home. I had fully expected to leave it before this time, but uncertainty as to our movements has still detained us. I have been looking out for several weeks for a suitable place to which I may remove, but I have not been able to fix upon one. I have something in view in one or two directions, but, whatever we decide, I think it will be impossible we can clear the house before quarter-day. Under these circumstances I was going to ask of you to show us an indulgence for a time. It has occurred to me that, as the house must be unoccupied for a quarter to be done up, you would not be particular as to our staying a little beyond the stated time. Of course, I don't want to put you to inconvenience, or to be encroaching. An early answer will oblige."—I answered that letter, and afterwards received this—"September 28th, 1871. Dear Madam. I am obliged for your accommodation respecting your house. I hope to be away before the half-quarter. As to the board, I should not like you to put it up; but I will let you know about my intended movements as early as possible."—On Wednesday morning, 11th October, I received this letter by the first post—it is written by the prisoner—it enclosed his own cheque for 15l. 15s.—"October 10th. Mr. Watson has the pleasure of enclosing to Mrs. Hall the amount of the quarter's rent, ending at Michaelmas last."—I paid away the cheque to Mr. Duett, my agent, and afterwards gave the receipt to Mr. Fraser, the prisoner's solicitor—the day after I received that letter, I heard of this melancholy transaction.
Cross-examined. He was in the habit of paying his rent before to my agent, Mr. Duett, who lived near me, but he had property on the same estate, and when he called on Mr. Watson he used to call for mine—all the letters but the last have the year on them.—I never received a similar scrap of paper to that from him before—he was very methodical in his habits, and very particular—I thought it very strange that he should write in that way—he had always written in a more methodical way, with the address and "Dear madam"—I thought it very strange and very unlike his usual habits—he was always formal in his observance of the usages of society—I never saw him.
Re-examined. This contained a cheque—the other letters are all of some length, referring to a matter which was to be settled.
HENRY GRAY . I am secretary to the Stock well Grammar School, and have been so nearly sixteen years—on 30th September, 1870, I gave the prisoner notice as to the termination of his engagement—this is a copy of it. "Stockwell Grammar School. September 30th, 1870. Dear Sir. In conformity with the annexed resolution, which was unanimously adopted at a meeting of the committee held last evening, I hereby give notice that they will not require your services after the expiration of the present term.—I am, yours faithfully, Henry Gray, Secretary." (Copy of resolution). "That the secretary be instructed to inform each of the present masters that owing to the continuous falling off in the number of pupils, and the consequent insufficiency of the income to meet the current expenditure, the committee feel themselves most reluctantly compelled to give notice to each of them that their services will not be required after the expiration of the present term, with a view to such a revision of the general conduct of the school as may hereafter appear to the committee to be expedient." The prisoner remained head-master until the Christmas—the school had fallen off very much in the preceding two years, or rather the number of boys had fallen off—we got no new boys for two years nearly—the prisoner sent a written
answer to that in return, dated 17th October, which I handed to Mr. Fraser—it was written some time after the notice, because he knew that there would be a meeting of the committee immediately after the 17th, and he wrote accordingly—it is a representation on his part to be laid before the committee—(This was dated October 17th 1870, from the prisoner to the committee of the school, stating that their resolution had taken him greatly by surprise, as he thought that, considering the long time he had conducted the school, and the way in which he had endeavoured to maintain, its character and excellence, the committee would have allowed him some communication with them, after which he might, if necessary, have tendered his resignation; he complained that the notice was accompanied by no expressions of concern, or any single word to soften it, and stated that, so far from any accusation having been brought against him, the committee had in the previous July congratulated the proprietors on the "untiring exertions of the highly talented head master.". He enquired what he had done during the last few months to cause the committee to withhold all confidence from him, and requested to be allowed to tender his resignation,)—The parts of that letter which are underscored were so when it was written—he was in the habit of underscoring his letters—that is, the part about the untiring exertions of the highly-talented head-master—no accusation of misconduct had been brought against him in any way—during the time of his being headmaster of the school a few complaints have been made against him—a complaint is an accusation in one sense—there has been no accusation whatever made against him by the committee—as secretary, I had constant opportunities of observing the general manner and demeanour of the man—there was nothing to distinguish him from other people in regard to his general demeanour—he was rather more reserved than some people, but nothing remarkable. I have seen appearances of ebullition of temper, but I never saw an outbreak of temper. I saw him within about a fortnight of the time this event occurred, within a few days, more or less—I casually met him in an omnibus, and conversed with him for half-an-hour nearly; we rode together—I noticed then nothing in his demeanour from what I noticed when he was master of the grammar school, but it struck me that he had aged a great deal since he had left the school.
Cross-examined. This is a proprietary school managed by a committee of gentlemen, of which I am secretary—the prisoner received instructions from time to time—if anything arose, the committee would be consulted, and Mr. Watson would act according to those instructions—1844 was the time he was appointed head master—he had not been in the school before that—I was not secretary at that time, but I know, from the minutes, that there were several other candidates, and that he was selected—he is a gentleman of considerable attainments and learning—his habits were very methodical and regular; always formal—his general manner and way of doing everything was rather formal—he had a minimum salary of 300l., with a capitation of 4l. 4s. per annum for each boy above the seventieth—as a rule the average number, up to the last four years, has been between 90 and 100—that is for the five or six years preceding 1869, but in 1869 and 1870 the numbers fell off very much—there was an average of between 90 and 100 pupils, sometimes more and sometimes loss—that would give him 100l. a year extra, nearly; his income has often touched 400l.—he occupied a house of his own—at the time of the notice the numbers had fallen to fifty-one—they had fallen to sixty the previous year—none of the
masters were dismissed, they simply had notice that their services would not be required—they were dismissed with notice, but not in disgrace; I take dismissal to mean disgrace—the masters all had notice at the same time—the school is being carried on now, and has been ever since—I know that Mr. Watson married about a year after he became head master; I cannot say exactly how soon—his having aged a great deal appeared by his more stooping manner, and increased weakness in his voice, and less energy of manner—I did not notice that his hair was whiter—the appearance of age struck me gradually from the time he left the school—I did not notice that his leaving the school made a great impression on his mind, but I observed his ageing—he made a proposal to the proprietors to take the school of them—this is it. (This was dated November 30th, 1870, from the prisoner to the proprietors of the school, in which he very fully reviewed the state of its finances, and proposed that the proprietors might relieve themselves from all existing and future liabilities by allowing the school to pass into other hands, and offered to negociate for the lease of the premises, for the sum at which it was valued in the late "Report of the Committee to the Proprietors" and to relieve the proprietors from all liability from the next Christmas.) That negociation fell through, it was not responded to by the committee; they thought the amount he offered was not large enough—they did not absolutely repudiate it, but considered that the terms were not good enough for them to accept—the prisoner was permitted by the committee to take boarders, who were pupils at the school—in 1867 the pupils presented him with a silver salver, I think it was in July, after he left the school—this address (produced) was presented to him by the pupils, and a purse of guineas, to which I gave something, but I never saw the result of the collection—at that time the school was in a very flourishing condition indeed—these letters (produced) are in the prisoner's writing.
Re-examined. When the pupils came below seventy he got no capitation fee, but he still got a fixed sum of 300l., that was the minimum.
WILLIAM LONGMAN . I am a member of the firm of Messrs. Longman, publishers, of Paternoster Row—I have known the prisoner about sixteen or seventeen years—I received this letter from the prisoner, at least, my firm did, when I was out of town—I afterwards received it—it was answered by one of the firm—it is in Mr. Watson's writing—(This was dated 22nd August, 1871, and was a request to Messrs. Longman to look at a MS., entitled "A History of the Papacy," in two octavo volumes.)—I afterwards received this other letter dated August 24th, 1871—(This stated that the prisoner had forwarded his "History of the Papacy" to Messrs. Longman.)—The manuscript of that is in our possession still—there is no other work of that nature that I am aware of—this (produced) is the manuscript—unquestionably it is a work of very great labour—I have no exact means of knowing within what time that work was accomplished, but I rather think he had been engaged on it for some time—it was completed probably about the time he wrote to me—I entertained the idea of publishing it—we told him we had taken it into consideration, we had not come to any decision as to publishing it—no such decision was conveyed to him, either for or against it, it stood over—I think I have known Mr. Watson sixteen or seventeen years fully—we have published three works for him—one was the "Life of Porson," the other was the "Life of Warburton," and the other was a book called "The Sons of Strength," I think—he was undoubtedly a man of considerable learning and attainments—I am not aware of a publication
in 1844—I am only aware of those three—I am acquainted with other publications besides my own—I don't recollect that Mr. Pickering published for him—I don't know of a poem in seven books on the subject of geology—I am aware that he translated a great number of classical works for Mr. Bohn—I believe those books are in sale—they are a kind of school book, Sallust, Xenophon, and so on, Florius, three vols. of Xenophon, Cornelius Nepos, Cicero's "Brutus," Pope's "Iliad," with notes, and other rhetorical works—the "Life of Porson "and the "Life of Warburton "was in 1863—I don't know that he also published through Mr. Tegg—he was a very methodical man, rather one of the old school—I have no other manuscript works of his in my possession—he has not offered me any others recently, or spoken to me about any others—this (produced) is a "Biographical History of the Papacy" from the beginning—I forget how late he carried it, without referring—I am not aware that he also published the lives of Cobbett and Wilkes in Blackwood.
Re-examined. There is no statement made in that letter about the literature of the Popes that is not according to the fact—it is all quite correct—I think the last work we published for him was "Warburton's Life"—that was in 1863—they were speculations of ours—the "Life of Warburton "was a book which was read—it was tolerably successful—a book showing a great deal of research and learning, and showing knowledge of history and of the biography of times of which it speaks—I have not myself studied the manuscript of the Popes—I have not personally passed any judgment upon it—it would not have been a work, supposing we had undertaken to publish it, for which we should have given a considerable sum of money, on the ground that his other works had only had a moderate degree of success.
COURT. Q. Did he realise much by them? A. No, there was only one book upon which he realised anything, and that was quite a trifle—I think that was the "Life of Warburton"—I believe it was something under 5l. his share of the profits—the other books were not successful.
DR. THOMAS HENRY WATERWORTH . I am M.D. of Aberdeen University, and a member of the R.C.S. of London—I am also surgeon at the Horsemonger Lane Gaol—the prisoner was brought there on 12th October—I saw him on the 13th, and after that frequently, almost daily, up to about 14th November—I conversed with him from time to time, and endeavoured to form a judgment as to his condition of mind—I could find nothing indicating any amount of insanity about him—my judgment was that he was of perfectly sound mind—I have not seen him to converse with him since he left the gaol, nor been present when others have done so.
Cross-examined. I made myself acquainted with all the facts relating to the case—he was in Horsemonger Lane Gaol I believe from 13th October till about 14th November—he was under my care during that time—he was depressed and weak when he first came in—I gave him some slight stimulants—he was depressed in his mind, and weak in his body—he did not tell me that he had been depressed and despondent for some time; I asked him—he was rather averse to answering my questions—I can't say whether he took any dislike to me—I could not tell by his manner or demeanour that he did not wish for my company or conversation—I believe his manner was the same to me as to others in the gaol—I believe his manner was the same to all—somewhat reserved, very reserved—he recovered,
from my treatment, after a time—he was better when he went away than when he came into the gaol, but he was still weak and depressed; he had not actually recovered—he had sleepness nights; he said so, I had no reason to doubt him—I treated him for that—I gave him morphia—he was to take it in small doses.
Q. Did he, while in Horsemonger Lane Gaol, attempt suicide by taking a larger quantity of morphia than he ought? A. He secreted some draughts, he did not take it, because he was prevented—he secreted some with that intention, but I was vigilant, and it was abortive—that would not at all alter my judgment in this matter—the restlessness and sleeplessness at night were from the act that he had committed—they are symptoms of a disturbed brain—that continued some two or three weeks—he was not taking morphia during the whole of that time—he took it for about ten days, I think, I can't say positively—I did not treat him medically for anything else—I believe his sleeplessness had not entirely gone before he left—I thought it was the consequence of the deed he had committed; that was my judgment—I think the morphia did not bring him sleep—that was not extraordinary—if he had been an ordinary patient and under no undue irritation of the brain, the doses of morphia I gave him might not have been sufficient to procure sleep—morphia will not always produce sleep—it very often does, and very often does not—it is given for that purpose—I gave it him for no other purpose—I treated him for nothing else during the time he was there.
Re-examined. Taking into account all that has been put to me as to the facts that I observed, I still say that I saw nothing indicating insanity—the symptoms I observed and to which my attention has been called are symptoms that I observe in persons in gaol charged with crimes, who are perfectly sane—ammonia was the stimulant I gave him—that is a stimulant to the nerves and system generally—it is a medicine which I give to patients who are suffering from depression, without reference to their state of mind—I do not think there was anything peculiar in his manner besides being reserved—when I say that restlessness and sleeplessness are symptoms pf a disturbed brain, I mean that any one who has met with any serious event of any kind, may possibly have sleepless nights from disturbed brain, the brain would become disturbed from any extraordinary event which had occurred to them—I don't mean by a disturbed brain a diseased brain—I have been medical attendant of the prisoners at Horsemonger Lane Gaol about six or seven years.
DR. EDGAR SHEPHERD . I am a member of the Royal College of Physicians, and a fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons, and professor of trachelological medicine of King's College—I am medical superintendent of the Colney Hatch Lunatic Asylum, and have been so upwards of ten years—that is one of the lunatic asylums for the county of Middlesex—there are 2050 patients there, male and female—I have seen the prisoner since he has been in custody—I have had four intervieQ. with him in Newgate; I think the first was on 17th November, the second on 20th November, then I saw him again on the 29th, and again on 11th December—from those intervieQ., and the conversations which took place, I think he was of sound mind.
Cross-examined. I think he was of sound mind when I saw him—I was requested by the Government to examine him, with Dr. Begley, the resident physician at Hanwell—we examined him together, but I saw him on one
occasion myself, without Dr. Begley—I saw him three times with Dr. Begley, and once by myself—insanity is a disease of the brain—it is recognised by me as a disease, just as any other disease to which humanity is liable—I hope that the great object of my life is to cure it if I can—I know Dr. Blandford, by name, as a gentleman of reputation in the profession—I know Dr. Maudsley, by name, and personally also; he is also a gentleman well known in the profession, who has devoted a great deal of his life in studying the disease of insanity, and writing upon it—there is a recognised form of insanity called melancholia—it is a disease that has been brought about by some sudden calamity, such as loss of fortune or status—a person labouring under melancholia is liable to outbursts of madness, during which crimes are committed—in such an outburst of madness, under certain forms of intense melancholia, the reasoning powers are entirely gone—it would very much depend upon the intensity of the disease, whether such a person would be a fit subject for confinement; it is a disease that varies very much in intensity—an outburst of that kind is generally sudden, if it has been preceded by other Symptoms—I don't think an outburst of that intense kind is sudden, without some previous indications of insanity—I am not by any means prepared to say that persons labouring under melancholia are liable, upon provocation, however slight, to an outburst of maniacal fury; I am prepared to deny it as a positive fact—provocation would certainly act with more force on a person who might be liable to an outburst of this kind than upon an ordinary and rational man—a person labouring under melancholia might be liable to an outburst of madness, and after that outburst was over recover comparative sanity; that is very common—as to suicide being an indication of insanity, it would depend very much on the form of suicide—suicide is unquestionably a very common accompaniment of melancholia; homicide also, but less common—such a patient has homicidal and suicidal tendencies—the meaning of melancholia is extreme despondency and depression—repeated attempts at suicide would be an element that I should take into consideration in judging whether a person was insane or not; a certain form of committing suicide—I will explain what I mean by that: the forma of suicide committed by the insane are intensely Clever and crafty, and contain, as a rule, no element of clumsiness about them; for instance, no insane person attempting to commit suicide would, in my judgment, tell another that he might be ill at a certain time following—I am explaining under correction, of course; I was only anxious to make clear what I meant—madness by no means signifies an utter want of design—madmen sometimes, both before and after the commission of a great crime, have exhibited considerable craft and cunning—that has been within my observation; in fact, it is very often what we have to guard against in patients we are entrusted with—I don't think that absence of remorse for a crime is a sign of insanity at all—I am sure it is consistent with sanity; it is also consistent with insanity—it is common in the insane to exhibit an absolute indifference to a great crime, although it is consistent with sanity; it is consistent with both.
Re-examined. There is a recognised form of insanity called meloncholia—from what I saw of the prisoner, there were undoubtedly signs of depression, which are consistent with melancholia; they are also consistent with perfect sanity—I did not see anything else about him, unless it was depression, that I should consider a symptom of melancholia—in the case of a
person who had committed a crime under the influence of melancholia I should expect to find other symptoms than the act itself, as indications of insanity—I should expect to find some other indications of insanity besides the act of violence—I think it is possible that if a person suffering under the influence of melancholia were to commit a homicidal act, that two or three hours after the act he should be conversing rationally and show perfect possession of memory and faculties as though there were no melancholia on him at all—undoubtedly a person would be very much depressed after a great crime of this kind, or of any kind, whether sane or insane—in the case of a sudden outburst of violence under the influence of melancholia, I should expect to find indications of insanity before the act itself took place—I would go so far as to say this, I do not think there is any case on record of an impulsive act of insanity involving homicide, in a person who has never given any evidences of insanity before—there are always very striking premonitory symptoms—a person might be liable to such an outburst and afterwards recover sanity—it is a matter of great uncertainty what time ought to be allowed for that, depending very much on individual temperament—some persons would subside rapidly and very quickly, and other persons would take some time to recover—I think a person might commit a homicidal act under the influence of melancholia, and be conversing and conducting himself as a rational person, in all respects, as a sane person would do, within an hour or two after the act—indications before the act are more important than indications after the act—I don't think that an act of this kind could be committed without very manifest symptoms beforehand, but it might be committed without any manifested symptoms after—the acting and behaving rationally after the act would not form any indication to my mind as to whether it was an act of madness or of sanity—I can conceive nothing more improbable than that an insane person should give notice that a doctor would be required, shortly before intending to commit a suicidal act—it is entirely at variance with my experience and judgment of insane persons—there is nothing more improbable than that a patient would give previous notice of what he was going to do.
DR. WILLIAM CHAPLIN BEGLEY . I am M.D. of Dublin University—I am also a member of the Royal College of Physicians, and of the Royal College of Surgeons—I am the medical attendant at the Hanwell Lunatic Asylum—I have seen the prisoner on four occasions—I don't remember the dates—the first was in November last—I conversed with him freely—on the first and second intervieQ. he was very coherent, but very reticent and reserved, somewhat sullen—on the third he was much less so, and on the fourth he was actually garrulous, and wandering from subject to subject, and there was a degree of mirth about him, which I could not explain—he was talkative, and went on from subject to subject with a degree of levity that I thought inconsistent with his position, and could only be accounted for by some mental infirmity—I can't recollect the date of that interview—I don't recollect the dates of any of them—I think the first and second were in November, but I am not positive—I saw him in Newgate—he talked about a great number of subjects connected with classical literature, and about various other matters; but there was an inconsistency and incoherency—I can't remember an instance, but he went from one subject to another with great rapidity and great volubility—I encouraged him to talk—I wished him to talk—he generally spoke on the subject of classical literature—I don't think he talked about anything else—he mixed the subjects
up together—he began a new subject before he had finished an old one—sometimes he finished his sentences, and sometimes he left off in the middle of them—Dr. Shepherd and Mr. Gibson were present on that occasion, and they both went away, and I saw him by myself, and also with them—I think the incoherence and inconsistency I mention took place when Mr. Gibson was present—I think he had the same opportunities of observing it as myself, as far as I remember, and Dr. Shepherd also, I think—on the three first occasions on which I saw him there was a great amount of depression; great dejection—those are appearances which are consistent either with sanity or insanity, in a man who had suffered a severe loss, or who had committed a great crime, and the want of that at the fourth interview deeply impressed my mind—he had not been under my medical treatment—I never saw him till I saw him there, and knew nothing of him.
Cross-examined. I have been at the Hanwell asylum about thirty years altogether, ten of them as an assistant, and twenty as superintendent of the male department—I was there part of the time under the celebrated Dr. Conolly—I was an assistant to him—I have 703 patients under my care to-day—I have the male side—I did not form an opinion when I first saw the prisoner that he was of unsound mind, neither on the first or second occasion; at the third I wavered, and at the fourth I fully made up my mind that he was not right, that he was a person of unsound mind—I could not account for a departure from so long and blameless a life as his was said to have been, except on the ground of aberration—on the fourth occasion I made up mind, or nearly so, that he was not of sound mind—that was my final opinion.
Re-examined. I made my mind up from what I saw of him on that occasion, coupling the third and fourth intervieQ. together; on the third he was not so sullen, if I may say so, not so morose as before, and he was more cheerful, which was more incompatible in my mind with the position in which he stood, except on the ground of being of unsound mind.
COURT. Q. What do you mean when you say "of unsound mind? A. That is the usual term applied now to persons called lunatic or insane—I have no explanation to give of it, I don't wish to adhere to that word more than any other—I will adopt the word insane if it be preferred.
JOHN ROWLAND GIBSON . I have been surgeon of the gaol of Newgate sixteen or seventeen years—I am a Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons and a Licentiate of the Apothecaries' Company—the prisoner was brought there on 14th November last, I have had him under my charge, medically, from that time to this—from the time I first saw him I have paid particular attention to the state of his mind in order that I might be able to form a judgment of it—I have seen him every day, and sometimes more frequently, and conversed with him at every interview—I am not quite sure whether Dr. Begley did not see him for a short time alone; but I was present at all the intervieQ. spoken to, and heard the conversations—I was present long enough to hear a good deal of the conversation that passed between the prisoner and Dr. Begley, and I also conversed with him on that occasion—I saw him at each of the four intervieQ. with Dr. Begley, but he might have gone in alone for a short time when we were standing there; I think he did—I have always found him rational; and I should say remarkably self-possessed—I did not at any time observe any incoherence or inconsistency in the answers that he gave—sometimes he was more depressed than at others, and I may say at times his conversation has almost approached cheerfulness—there was nothing in
my treatment of him, or in the medicines that I gave him, that would have accounted for a greater amount of cheerfulness at one time than another—I did not medically treat him, except as occasion might require, a dose of opening medicine, I did not give him tonics—I saw nothing between one visit and another to indicate anything like insanity; I think the depression from which he suffered was nothing more than one would expect from a person placed in the position in which he was—it was a sort of depression which from my experience I have found in the case of sane persons as well as insane.
The following Witnesses were called for the Defence.
WILLIAM JOSEPH FRASER . I am solicitor to Mr. Watson—I produce a certificate of his baptism, showing that he was baptized in Crayford Church, in the year 1804—I produce also his marriage certificate, at St. Mark's Church, Dublin, on 2nd January, 1856, to Annie Armstrong—I also produce a gold medal—he was gold medallist of the Dublin University—I also produce certain letters written by Mr. Watson to Miss Armstrong before the marriage—the first letter is December 4th, 1844—there are five or six—I found these letters in Mrs. Watson's bedroom, tied up in her satin gown—(The letters were read as follo Q.:—" 12, New Park Road, Stockwell, Surrey, Wednesday, December 4th. Madam. I must entreat you to pardon the liberty which I take in addressing to you this note. You have known me only from having seen me some years ago at Mrs. Curran's, in Marlborough Street, when I was attending the College; you may, perhaps, have forgotten me, but I still recollect you. I am now in orders, and head master of the Proprietary Grammar School here. When I know that you have received this I should wish to say something more, if you will allow me to write to you a second time. I need not beg of you to favour me with an immediate reply, for I am sure you will have the kindness and politeness to do so. I have the honour to be, Madam, with the highest esteem and respect, your very obedient servant, J. S. Watson. To Miss Armstrong."—" December 9th. Madam, I have to thank you for your obliging letter, which I received this morning. I knew nothing of you when I saw you at Mrs. Curran's, but that you were a lady who had lost her fortune. That you have since been doing what you mention I was aware. You were always regarded by me as a lady of great excellence. Had I been able soon after leaving college to establish myself as I wished, I had it in my mind to make you a proposal of marriage. It may now be too late. Nor should I, however you may receive this intimation, wish you to consider that I have done so until we have again met. In the meantime, I may give you some little notion how I am situated here. Though I have the title of head master, I cannot say that I have all the emolument which J could desire attendant on it. My income is something more than 300l. a year, but without a house. I may perhaps in time find some means of increasing it a little. Boarders, by the condition of my appointment, I am not allowed at present to take; but that is a restriction which I may possibly get removed at length. The neighbourhood of London I like, and there are greater facilities for adding to income near town than in the country. I am of very humble birth, and have been obliged to make my way in the world by my own efforts. I have a few relatives living in an humble station, but none that would interfere with my domestic affairs. This is sufficient for me to say at present. I have to beg your indulgence for having said so much. Whatever you think of this, you will, I am sure, oblige me at once with the straight forward
answer of a woman of sense. Believe me to be, Madam, with the most perfect esteem, your very obedient servant, J. S. Watson.")—"December 13. Madam. I had the pleasure of receiving your very sensible letter just now. I have only time to write a few lines in reply. As you do not discourage me, I will say that I think it possible that I may cross over to Dublin about Christmas for a few days. I shall have but a fortnight at my disposal, and should not be able to leave this place before to-morrow week. Will you have the kindness to write on the receipt of this, and say whether, in the event of my coming, I might be allowed to see you where you are now residing? I am certain that I can have but little personal attraction in your eyes, and perhaps you will think that any alterations which may have taken place in my appearance since you saw me has not been for the better. You do not appear displeased with my prospects, but when I reflect that there is nothing—or very little—but prospect (for I have not been settled here long enough to lay by anything, having received my appointment only last July), I am almost afraid to venture. I am living in apartments, because I cannot afford to take a house; and yet I cannot but think that, with a person of your (as I judge) staid, quiet, and domestic habits, there would be no fear. Believe me to be, Madam, very faithfully and obediently yours, J. S. Watson." "Saturday. Madam I have just received your second (that is, third) letter. Pray write to me as often as you please, without entreating my pardon for doing so. To what I said yesterday I would just add that I write to you as if you were pretty much your own mistress, as at your age and with the travels which you have experienced through the world, it may be expected that you are. I believe that you are residing with a relation, but whether you have any relations in England, especially in London, with whom it would be to any purpose for me to communicate, I have not the least notion. I think it well to say that my mother is alive, and (with a sister) will probably for some time look to me for a little assistance. I have also two brothers in 'the valleys of life,' but, having been early separated from my parents, and brought up by a grandfather, and put into quite a different track in the world, I maintain but little connections with my relatives except by occasional letters. All that I should deduct from my own income would not be more than 50l. a year, which would still leave, if the school continues to flourish, more than 300l. for a consort and myself. My fixed salary is 300l., with 4 guineas a year on every boy above 71, and there have been 90 in the school this quarter. It is a very populous and increasing neighbourhood, and a school of the kind is much wanted in it, so that I trust all will go on well. They are all at present day boys. My hours of work are from nine till twelve, and from two till five, with one or two half-holidays in the week, and a month of freedom at Midsummer. This Christmas I hoped to get three weeks, but I can only get a fortnight. I do not know whether you have any conception what a proprietary grammar school is, but the management of the funds and so on is in the hands of a committee of proprietors, who have a control over me so far as to see that I do not break the rules. I should conceive that your parents are both dead, and that you have no brothers or sisters, or that, if you have any, they are at a distance from you. I have not forgotten the game at draughts, in which you did me the honour of beating me. Believe me to be, very faithfully and obediently yours, John Selby Watson." "Wednesday. Dear Madam. I have just had the pleasure of receiving your letter of Monday.
I have written so much in the last note which I sent, but which you had probably not received when you wrote, that I need only, I think, be brief at present. I do not know Dr. Connor, nor would it, perhaps, be of any use for me to say anything to him until we have met, after which I may be happy to make his acquaintance. Do not think that you need to say much about your family to me, who am of no family. I hope to be in Dublin by Sunday or Monday next, but a fortnight's absence from home is the utmost that I can command. What you say concerning your taking lodgings makes me believe that you must have much of that independence of spirit which I always supposed you to possess. You have told me that your hand shook, but not why. Trusting that I shall find you well when I have the pleasure of seeing you, yours, I remain, most sincerely, John Selby Watson." Friday. Dear Madam. As to being 'angry' with you, as your humour is to express it, that, I trust can never happen. I am very glad that you have written so often. I do not see what purpose it would serve to write to your aunt, as I said before, with respect to your cousins, until we have seen each other. You say that you have something to communicate to me, personally, more fully than you think proper to write, and it had struck me that in your last letter—to say nothing of what you have expressed before—you speak with much emphasis of having had much to annoy you, and of being of great anxiety of mind. Now I earnestly beg of you, that if you have had anything more particularly than mere labour for a subsistence to trouble you—if anything has happened to you to lie heavy upon your mind—if anything has been either done by yourself, or said or done by others, to cause you vexation and throw you into despondency, you will when we meet tell me honestly and fully what it is. It is long since I saw you, certainly more than seven years, and I know not, at least know but imperfectly, how, during that period, your time has been passed. It will be difficult to make me believe that it has been spent otherwise than honourably to yourself, and I should have hoped that the result would have been self-satisfaction and cheerfulness of mind. Forgive me, dear Miss Armstrong, that I write this; you have only to burn it, and give me an answer when I have the happiness of meeting you, for it will be a happiness to me, what-ever you say to me, to see once more that dear face which I once so much admired, and which I thought—and think now—far above anything to which I had or have any personal pretensions to aspire. I have no right, in the present stage of our acquaintance, to write thus freely to you, but you must pardon me. I know something of the world, and I know what unpleasant things you, as you have been living, may have been exposed to; but I again say to you that I entreat you not to conceal anything from me, but to tell me any which you have to tell as freely and as fully as you would tell the friend in whom you most trust either of your own sex or the opposite. Of anything which you may have to tell you will find me a most lenient judge, for I have too many faults of my own not to be an easy censor of those of others. I said that I admired you, yet I have been unfaithful to your image in my memory. I will tell you when we see each other. This will be another thing which you will have to forgive. 'From the sublime to the ridiculous there is but one step.' A fool of a hairdresser has cut my hair too short. You must guess why I care about this. Believe me that all the liberties which I have taken in writing thus to you have been taken with the warmest regard to yourself, a regard which, I hope, will never be diminished, but that I shall still be always yours sincerely,
J. S. W." "Will you accept my second offer, dearest? With love. This riband in exchange for the other. J."—I also produce a list of Mr. Watson's published works and manuscripts, made out by me from the manuscripts—this is the list of MSS. and published works in detail, they are of a very miscellaneous character.
Cross-examined. I was a pupil of Mr. Watson, at Stock well School, from 1856 to July 1861—I am his attorney, but have not been so in any business before this—I occasionally wrote to him, but only visited them at their house this time last year, when the school was under consideration—he did not consult me professionally—I was a proprietor of the school—among the MSS. I have found there is a translation of Valerius Flaccus—I found all the things mentioned in his letter addressed "To all whom it may concern"—I also found some letters written to Mrs. Watson, at different periods during their married life—I have not gone through them all.
REV. COLLETT BAUGH . I am a clergyman of the Church of England, and rector of Chatsfield, Kent—in September last my curate was absent temporarily, and I communicated with Mr. Ingram, who keeps a register of clergymen to do temporary duty, to get a clergyman to take my curate's place—I was not in very good health then, and not equal to duty at all; certainly not to doing whole duty, two full services—Mr. Watson was recommended to me, and I communicated with him, and received a letter from him, stating that he would come and take part of my duty—the letter is lost—it was in September, 1871, just one month before the murder was committed—I had not known or heard of Mr. Watson before—the duty I intended him to perform was very likely none at all; it would depend upon how I felt on Sunday morning—he came down on Sunday morning, and I had not then made up my mind what part of the service I would ask him to take—he was rather nervous when I met him in the vestry, but nothing to remark particularly—nothing occurred in church which would throw any light upon his state of mind—he said one prayer in the morning-service, which is not generally used; a prayer for all sorts and conditions of men, but it was a mistake, which might occur to any man—he was very weak and weary, and listless—I should have asked him to take part in the Communion service, but his voice was so dreary and listless that I preferred taking the whole myself, though it was Sacrament Sunday—at the conclusion of the service I walked home with him—my house is about a quarter of a mile from the church—I soon found that he was labouring from extreme depression of mind or body, or both, which showed itself in a gloomy silence, which continued throughout the day, and a total want of interest in any subject whatever, or in anything which was going on about him—I endeavoured during lunch to interest him in conversation; both I and my wife endeavoured to try to get him to talk, but I do not think he originated a single observation himself, and in answer to any remark or question of mine he replied wholly in monosyllables, "Yes," or "No"—this depression of manner continued during the day—it seemed to me that it was an effort for him to speak—there was no afternoon service; an evening service at 6.30, I think, or 6 o'clock—in consequence of what I observed in Mr. Watson, his depression and listlessness, I told him, after luncheon, that I thought that I was quite as equal as he was to preaching, and therefore I would take the sermon myself, and I did—he read the prayers—I observed the same weakness of voice—after the evening service, he returned to the rectory and dined with us—there was no change at all
in his manner during dinner—I endeavoured to try and enliven him by asking him to-drink a glass or two more wine than I might generally do; it did not have the least effect upon him, his manner still continued dejected and depressed to the greatest degree—he seemed very feeble, and in consequence I ordered my carriage to take him down to the station, which, on Sunday, I should not generally have done—it is a mile from my house to the station—I did not remark any access of cheerfulness at any time during the day—the only time at which I saw the slightest approach to a smile was when I paid him his fee, I think—I don't know that I paid him a little more, I might—from what I observed in him during the whole day, I formed an opinion as to the state of his mind, but I don't, know that the opinion I formed was a correct one—not knowing anything of Mr. Watson's antecedents, I believed him to be much older than I believe he is, and I attributed the extreme depression, and vacuity of mind and manner, to natural decay—I thought he was worn out with old age—that was the opinion that I formed at that time, and I expressed it at that time.
Cross-examined. I thought he might be eight or ten years older than he really was; I should have guessed him about seventy-eight—I did not know what his age was—he simply behaved as an old man—I thought he was an old man suffering from the infirmities of old age—that is the only occasion on which I ever saw him—there was nothing whatever irrational in the little conversation we had; what he said was perfectly rational—his answers were rational, although very short—this is a country district—we did not discuss anything—he declined anything like conversation.
ANN WALL BAUGH . I am the wife of the last witness—I remember Mr. Watson coming to my husband's rectory on 3rd September—he read prayers at the morning service—his manner was exceedingly feeble and weak—there was no particular difficulty in getting through them; it seemed extreme weakness—I was at luncheon with him and my husband—his manner was perfectly quiet; he scarcely uttered anything during the whole time—I tried in every way to induce him to talk, quite without success—I remember taking him up stairs before lunch—I remarked that he was exceedingly feeble, so feeble that I feared he would fall—he scarcely raised his head during luncheon, and his eyes were closed nearly the whole day also—there was a discussion about how the evening service should be conducted; it was doubtful how it should be performed, what part my husband should take—Mr. Watson suggested that I should read the lessons—I said I was sorry there was no one who could read the lessons for him, and he said that I could read them myself—he seemed in earnest—he seemed to have great difficulty in getting to church in the evening; that was the 6 o'clock service; it was before dinner—he read in the same feeble manner at the evening service—he read the prayers and the lessons—from the opportunities I had of observing him that day, I thought he was very much older than he appears to be; he appeared to be crushed, completely crushed, as if he had had some great sorrow—his conduct and manner made a considerable impression on my mind, and my husband and I communicated with Mr. Fraser, Mr. Watson's solicitor.
Cross-examined. That was after we heard of this event—I had never seen Mr. Watson before, or since—I remarked to my husband that he was very feeble, and to my friends; not to Mr. Watson—I heard my husband say that he thought he was quite as equal to preach as Mr. Watson was—that was before the discussion took place as to who should read the lessons
in the evening—he did not appear to be sulky or morose; he seemed completely crushed, simply unable to take interest in anything—he was very reserved, generally answering "Yes," and "No," to every question that was asked—I tried all I could to get him to converse—I was going to have a school treat, and I endeavoured to interest him in that school treat, not to get him to come, but to get him to talk, and about the country generally—I found that he knew several places that I knew very well, and I endeavoured to make him talk upon those subjects—I asked him whether he knew this or that place, and I could not get him to talk about it—my husband does, part of the duty each Sunday, but he is a great invalid—he has a very powerful voice, and his curate has also, so that I noticed the difference, very decidedly, between Mr. Watson's voice and that of my husband and the curate—I believe he had a sermon all ready to preach, if necessary.
Re-examined. The curate generally does the whole of the service when my husband is ill.
HENRY ROGERS . I reside at Beulah House, South Stockwell Road—I am proprietor of the Beaulah Laundry—I have resided there twenty years—for about ten years of that time, Mr. Watson lived next door but one to me, but our grounds adjoined at the bottom—I knew Mr. Watson by general reputation and by sight—he bore the reputation of being a very great classical scholar, and being a very excellent master of the Proprietary Grammar School, and a great writer—his ordinary walk and manner were quite familiar to me for twenty years—on Saturday, 7th October, last year, I was walking in the Clapham Road—I met Mr. Watson, he was walking towards Kennington, and I was walking the contrary way—it was about 11 o'clock, or a little before—when I was about seven or eight yards distant from him, I happened to cast my eye upon him, and his eyes were staring—they appeared fixed on me in a very staring manner—I kept my eye on him, and when he came within about a yard or a yard and a half from me, I was walking on the side I ought to walk, and he met me, he came in front of me, his eyes still fixed on me, and when about that distance, from a yard to two yards, he threw his umbrella under his arm, and made a noise in his throat, like groaning, or growling rather; a deep heavy noise in his throat; at the same time he made a gesture with his arm three or four times (he must have known me, because we lived very near together for years—he was not in the habit of speaking when he met me—I never spoke to him but once, about seventeen years ago) after he passed me, I turned round, he repeated it again after he passed me—as he passed me his eyes did not follow me, he did not keep his eyes on me, he looked straight forward, so it was evident to me that he was not looking at me—I remarked his manner for the first time about three months before the unfortunate occurrence; that would be about July—I met him twice in one day in Stockwell, and his eyes were then cast upwards, and his lips were moved rapidly; of course I thought at the time that he was making devout ejaculations to the Almighty, when I saw him cast his eyes upwards and his lips moving I naturally thought that, but a week or two after that I met him again, and his eyes were very different, stared so, stared very much, he had a vacant look in his eyes—I noticed it for about eight or nine weeks before the occurrence, and as many times, eight or nine times; I met him eight or nine times before the murder, in about as many weeks, and I noticed the same staring manner in his eyes—I had never seen anything like that before 1871—I have seen him about every week for twenty years—when I
saw those expressions which I have spoken of, I thought that his mind was going.
Cross-examined by MR. DENMAN. I think I saw him the week before the 7th October—I should say that I have noticed these appearances of staring seven or eight times, or more than that—I first noticed it about two or three months before the unhappy occurrence—on the 7th October, as he came towards me, he looked hard at me, his umbrella was put under his arm—he made three motions with his clenched hand, like the act of striking with it—I had not noticed anything of that kind on the former occasions—it was about 11 o'clock on Saturday, the 7th—I first saw an account of his being taken into custody, on the Thursday following—I was in the country at the time, near Staplehurst, and in going on the railway, I read it in the paper, and I wrote home to my wife the same evening, and made reference to the circumstances—I communicated to Mr. Fraser the following day—on the following Saturday, Mr. Fraser heard that I had written to my wife about it, and he called on me and asked me what I had observed, and I told him exactly—that was in October last—I think Mr. Fraser took down that statement for the purposes of the case about a fortnight after—the transaction made a very great impression in the neighbourhood—I formed the judgment when I saw him, that his mind was going.
COURT. Q. Have you in your possession the letter you wrote to your wife? A. No—I am sorry my wife lost it, we have looked for it, and I deeply regret that she has lost it.
Friday, January 12th.
REV. JOSEPH WALLACE . I am vicar of St. Andrew's, Stockwell—the prisoner and his wife have had sittings at my church for about the three last years—I have known the prisoner more than ten years, and saw him very frequently to speak to—no man could have a higher character for kindness and humanity—on 3rd November I visited him in Horsemonger Gaol—he asked me to go—I had been before—I did not communicate with his advisers—I was with him about three-quarters of an hour—I first of all observed that he had quite forgotten that he had sent for me, and when he did begin to talk it seemed to me that his conversation was in intelligence very unlike what I had heard from him before; as, for instance, at the beginning he said that he thought if he had opened his mind to me before, perhaps he might have taken a different course—I observed also that he did not continue long talking on one subject, which was very unlike what had been usual with him; he passed rapidly from one subject to another without much connection—that was not his habit at all, formerly—as an illustration, he spoke about the inquest, "that horrible inquest," and in the middle of the conversation about it he said "They won't let me shave here"—I observed also what struck me as a singular absence of remorse for his fault, for his crime, which was strange in a man of religious habits; he was full of anxiety and trouble, but it was all about the dismantling of his house, so that he should have no place to go back to, and the sale of his library—he said that he was very hardly dealt with—I mentioned that the Bishop had highly commended a Latin letter which he had written to him, and he said "Here is a man who the Bishop of Winchester can highly commend, and they have shut him up in a place like this"—he was laying out a plan for writing an essay on the union of Church and State, and he did not know how he should do it without his books, and he hoped the authorities of the gaol would help him in the matter—it was
for a competition prize essay which somebody proposed—he did not seem conscious of any peril that he was in; he always spoke of it as a thing which would soon pass away, as in that case when he said he was sorry he should not have a house to go back to—I wrote a letter to Mr. Fraser immediately after that interview.
Cross-examined. I have known him ten years—I have assisted at the examination of his school and he came to my house—we did not discuss matters of business, but ordinary conversation—I examined his school, that was a matter of business—since he ceased to be master of the Grammar School, he came to me on two or three occasions to ask me to help him to obtain an appointment—he came last at the end of July, I was absent from home in August and part of September—I cannot recollect how lately, before July, I had seen him, but, I should say, more or less once a fortnight—at that time he appeared to be depressed from the loss of the school—he had not exactly spoken of it as a loss, but as leaving him open for other employment; I should hardly say that he has been depressed on those occasions, but disappointed and uneasy—I do not think I noticed that he was low spirited—I went three times to Horsemonger Lane Goal—I have been telling you what occurred only on one occasion—the first time I only saw him through a grating in the door, and we had not an opportunity of conversing—I do not know that I lay more stress on the second time but it was after that I communicated with the lawyer—all the facts I have spoken of took place on the second occasion—on the third occasion I had a conversation with him but nothing occurred to throw any additional light on the state of his mind, he still repeated his complaints as to the sale of his library and his house, but it was a shorter interview—I am not sure whether he talked about his trial, but he used language and expressions which led me to know that he contemplated being tried for the offence—he did not speak to me of the probability of his being acquitted, beyond what I have said, that he seemed to assume it—he did not say that he expected to be acquitted—he spoke about Mr. Fraser and about the case being in his hands—I went to him voluntarily the first time, and the second time in consequence of a letter—I do not know what I have done with that letter, it was two lines—I put it in the waste paper basket, most likely—he spoke of his letter which the Bishop of Winchester had praised as one written before, about six months before his being there, not since—he was in a large cell, with plain walls—there was a bed and a chair—two other prisoners were there—after a while I asked him what he asked me to come for—I said "Why did you send for me, Mr. Watson?"—each of his sentences was complete—besides the horrible inquest and the Latin letter, and about taking a different course, and not letting him shave, and the essay—he conversed about his library—there were also detached sentences, there must have been, to fill up the time—he asked where Broadmoor was, that is the asylum where criminal lunatics are confined—he did not tell me why they had not permitted him to shave—I understood that the prize-essay had been advertised before this offence, but I do not think he had been at work on it before.
Re-examined. I forget who began the conversation about Broadmoor, but it was in reference, of course, to his prospects—that was on 3rd November, at Horsemonger Lane—I did not write or give any further information to Mr. Fraser after the third interview—I did not observe anything on the third occasion beyond what I did on the second.
ROBERT COLMAN HALL . I am a tea-dealer, and live at Pembroke Lodge, Brixton—I had a boy in the school at Brixton, under Mr. Watson, and in the beginning of 1871 I had occasion to call on him respecting my son—I had known him seven years, and I noticed a very great difference in his demeanour and manner on that occasion, to what I had noticed before—he seemed depressed and lost, and said he was about leaving the school, after so many years—I noticed at the time to my wife that he seemed depressed at the time—the interview lasted perhaps ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, and I had ample opportunity of forming a judgment as to whether he was depressed or not.
Cross-examined. I went to him because the gentleman who my son was going to, in Mark Lane, said that he should like to have a letter from the clergyman.
COURT. Q. What do you mean by "lost?" A. He seemed low, and he hardly knew what he was speaking about at times—he seemed to me as if he was worried at leaving the school, and he said he had been treated badly—that is all the explanation I give of the word "lost"—he seemed remarkably low.
HENRY MAUDSLEY . I am M.D. of the University of London—I have paid great attention to the disease of insanity, and have written a work on the physiology and pathology of mind—I was lecturer at St. Mary's Hospital, on the subject of insanity—I was at one time resident physician of a lunatic asylum at Manchester, where there were usually 100 patients of the middle classes—I visited the prisoner first on 27th November, for the purpose of ascertaining, if I could, the state of his mind—I was with him for an hour, and conversed with him during that time, and at the end of the interview formed the opinion that he was not of sound mind—that was the conclusion I came to—I believe he is suffering from melancholia, the symptoms I observed in him were such as in my opinion would follow an attack of melancholia—I found that his age was sixty-seven or sixty-eight, and in a person of that age melancholia would have greater effect and force than in a younger person—I heard Dr. Shepherd examined, and I agree with him in the main in the description he gives of melancholia, but there were certain other points—a person suffering from melancholia is liable to outbursts of mad violence, and while those outbursts prevail his mind is diseased; gone; his reason is in abeyance, and he is nearly unconscious of what he is doing; his mind decidedly deranged—after such an attack of disease the mind sometimes regains comparatively its tone; that is a matter in which I agree with Dr. Shepherd entirely—the mind may be restored within an hour after such an attack, decidedly in some cases, and before the very act itself he might appear calm and comparatively rational—I mean by comparatively, that his conversation would be coherent and rational—in the course of my experience I have known patients suffering from this disease, and who have exhibited violence under it—it is a disease accompanied by dangerous propensities; it is not so much homicidal as suicidal—I concur with Dr. Shepherd; if I was called to a patient who had exhibited both homicidal and suicidal propensities, that would form a very strong element, in my judgment, that he was of unsound mind—supposing a person is labouring under melancholia, a slight provocation, or a provocation of any kind, will have a powerful effect in exciting the disease within him—I know that, as a cause of melancholia, a violent shock to the mind, owing to a sudden calamity, has occurred, no doubt; melancholia makes a
progress to its height, and then it may decline—it is months lurking in the brain—it usually comes on gradually—supposing a patient exhibits great depression immediately after sustaining some loss, and the depression continued, that would be an element in my judgment that his mind was gradually getting unsound—the length of time would vary very much in different cases and different temperaments—old age would decidedly be less likely to combat such depression—one of the symptoms of melancholia is self-absorption—a patient may be in his right mind both before and after an attack of madness—after the paroxysm of violence was over he might appear sane, and he might be so—melancholia is a disease which yields to curable treatment; it depends very much on the age of the patient; I take the element of great age into account—callousness, and apparent indifference to the nature of the crime committed by a patient labouring under melancholia is a thing upon which I should form a judgment; it is very common after an act of violence done in a state of insanity—the prisoner exhibited callousness and indifference in the interview I had with him—it frequently happens that an act of violence committed by a person of unsound mind is much more extreme than it would be if he were a sane person—in judging whether a person is of sound mind or not, I should take into consideration the nature of the act committed, and the circumstances under which it was committed—I should form a regular diagnosis of the disease, as I should in any other, and inquire into the history of the patient, the circumstances under which he had lived, and so on—if he had never exhibited any symptoms of violence, unkindness, and inhumanity before, that would be an element of consideration—I remember the questions you put to Dr. Shepherd with reference to suicidal acts on the part of patients labouring under melancholia—I don't agree with him in the answers which he gave—suicide by an insane person may be entirely impulsive, as well as crafty—I understood Dr. Shepherd to say it was not so in such cases—persons suffering from melancholia are sometimes aware that they are liable to homicidal and suicidal propensities—I have had experience of it in some cases—I had a patient of my own who told me that he would do it unless we took care of him, and it ended by his doing it—he was under certificate as an insane person, and under the charge of attendants—the instance of Charles Lamb and his sister is a well-known instance—that was homicidal madness, Miss Lamb killed her father—method and design is very commonly exhibited by the insane, and the concealment of an act is very frequent; I mean of an act committed whilst in a state of insanity—he employs means of concealment which he imagines will have the effect—I was very much impressed, at my interview with the prisoner, at the entire indifference which he displayed with regard to the crime, and the position in which he was placed.
Cross-examined by MR. DENMAN. I am sorry to say there are a great many omissions in my work which has been referred to—melancholia is a form of madness distinct from melancholy in the ordinary sense of the word—it is a morbid, that is to say, a diseased state of mind, which is a morbid aggravation of ordinary melancholy—I should not call simple depression of itself a diseased state of mind; to a great extent, it certainly might be melancholia—the characteristic of melancholia, by which I mean the disease melancholia, is in its early stage profound depression, without anything more, as far as the mental symptoms are concerned—in judging whether depression amounted to melancholia, the fact of whether it was
founded on reasonable grounds or not should be taken into consideration—a person who had suffered great disappointment or loss might be very greatly depressed, and that might be a cause of melancholia—my experience is in all the cases that have come under my personal observation, I have always found some evidences of insanity before the crime or the violence, but I wish to qualify that observation by saying that there are cases recorded by the highest authorities in which no such symptoms are to have been observed—the homicidal impulse must have preceded the homicidal act—I object to adopting the term homicidal impulse as a disease by itself—I hold it to be but a symptom of the disease, like other symptoms—I adopt the expression "impulsive insanity" as a subdivision of the general term of what we call "affective insanity," affecting the passions, feelings, and propensities—a sudden offence of a homicidal character committed under the influence of melancholia would not fall under the head of impulsive insanity—I believe you are examining me from my book, so, perhaps, I may be allowed to explain that it would fall under the division in that book of "melancholia simplex"—that is one of the varieties of affective insanity—" melancholia simplex "might exist without any act of homicidal violence, but it is exactly in that form of mental disease which we call melancholia simplex that homicidal and suicidal acts are especially apt to occur—I have already said that in my experience I have never known a case without premonitory symptoms, but that cases have been recorded—the case of Miss Lamb, I think, was an exceedingly sudden case—it was after the murder that she desired to be restrained—the murder was done suddenly, at the first outbreak of her insanity—she had several subsequent attacks during the rest of her life, and it was during those subsequent attacks that that occurred to which Mr. Sergeant Parry has alluded—I would not undertake to say that there was no evidence of insanity in her case before—I am not sufficiently familiar with the case to know whether there were premonitory symptoms or not—I think at the time I saw Mr. Watson in Newgate, if I had put the question to him whether the act which he had committed was wrong, he would have said it was a wrong act—I believe that he was perfectly conscious that he had done a wrong act—that was the only occasion on which I saw him, on 27th November—the interview lasted about an hour—I have not said that the homicidal tendency from melancholia usually comes on gradually—the melancholia comes on gradually, the homicidal impulse is a sudden act, very much like a convulsion—the depression leading to melancholia, I think, does come on gradually generally, and it increases gradually, if the disease is increasing—it goes on in intensity until some outburst—it varies very much—a melancholic patient may be one day comparatively well, and next day he may be deeply depressed, and so week by week there are variations—it may vary according to the bodily state of health—when I say the prisoner appeared indifferent, I mean that he really did not seem to realise the quality of the act, and the terrible nature of the position in which he was placed in consequence—I pointed out to him the nature of the act, and what it really implied, and its possible consequence; he knew that perfectly well, but his tone and manner was one of such indifference that a man might have had if he had been speaking of an act that really did not seriously concern him—he did not say anything to me about wishing he had sent for a medical man before—he spoke about his wife—I asked him about the events that had immediately preceded the crime, and he said very much as
he said in that letter that was read yesterday, that she was rather of a hasty temper, she said something angrily to him, and he was provoked—he did not tell me what she had said to him—he said that he had struck her on the head with a pistol—I asked him about it, and he said it was one that he had inherited from his grandfather, that he had always had by him—he did not say whether it was in his hand at the time, or whether he fetched it—he said that he had had in the course of his life quarrels of that kind.
Re-examined. I am still of opinion that he was of unsound mind when I saw him—it was impossible for me to judge from that interview as to how long he had been labouring under insanity—it must have been some time—I mean it must have been a question of two or three months—I should think not a question of days, or of weeks, or hours, or minutes, but of months.
COURT. Q. Melancholia, as I understand you, is not always a hopeless thing, it yields to curable treatment, depending very much on the age of the patient. What is the curable treatment you allude to? A. Placing the patient under proper care, and giving him the necessary medicines, employing his mind, and diverting him—supposing there had been an absence of the usual employment of the mind, that would, no doubt, be an unfavourable condition.
DR. GEORGE FIELDING BLANDFORD . I am a Fellow of the Royal College of Physicians—I have, for about sixteen or seventeen years, entirely devoted my time and attention to the study of insanity—I have written a book upon "insanity and its treatment"—I am lecturer on psychological medicine at the school of St. George's Hospital, I am also visiting physician at Blackland's and Otto House lunatic asylums, private asylums of the late Dr. Sutherland, one is for ladies the other for gentlemen—I have, in company with Dr. Maudsley, examined Mr. Watson—I agree with Dr. Maudsley that there is a well known form of insanity called melancholia—when a person of advanced age becomes insane, that is, very often, the form of insanity which attacks him, more often perhaps than any other form—when a very self-absorbed and reserved man becomes insane, that may be the form of madness which it takes—a sudden shock, such as loss of fortune, or position, may bring it on; it has a particular tendency towards suicide, and also in a certain number of cases combines homicide, suicide in the majority of cases—persistent attempts at suicide would be an element in considering whether a patient was insane or not—the first symptom of melancholia is an alteration in the general demeanour and character, and appearance very often, of the individual, that alteration being, generally speaking, accompanied with marks of depression, both mental and bodily—an alteration to any extent after a considerable shock, the person ageing considerably, would arouse suspicions and cause consideration of the person's condition, in the mind of a medical man; I mean an alteration, not only in appearance, but in the general bearing and mental condition—there is very often a stage of alteration before there is anything which one could call absolute insanity—sleeplessness is one of the symptoms of disturbed brain in almost all forms of insanity—if I found that sleeplessness did not yield to treatment by morphia, and continued for weeks, I should think it a very serious symptom—in such a disease I think one ought to gain every possible information that one can concerning a patient, the antecedents of his own, life, and the antecedents of his family—if he developed homicidal tendencies, the mode in which the act was committed, and the amount of violence
used, might also be an element in considering his state of mind—after a homicidal act is committed, indifference, or the absence of remorse, is very frequent in insane patients—I saw Mr. Watson on 27th November, I was with him about an hour in the gaol of Newgate—I came to the conclusion that he was of unsound mind then—I should say it was certainly not an affair of a few days or even weeks, but I could not state any limited time—I was in Court yesterday—I heard the evidence of Mr. and Mrs. Baugh and Mr. Henry Rogers—the symptoms desorbed by them were such as in my experience I have observed in some patients suffering under melancholia.
COURT. Q. Assuming those statements to be true, are they indicative of insanity? A. They are; they tend to show a certain form of insanity, melancholia.
Cross-examined by DBKMAK. I would not give a man a certificate of insanity upon the mere statement of such facts as Mr. and Mrs. Baugh and Mr. Rogers deposed to—I only saw the prisoner on one occasion, on 27th November, in company with Dr. Maudsley, Mr. Gibson and Dr. Rogers—Dr. Rogers was engaged by Mr. Fraser to see him with me, he had seen him previously—Mr. Gibson asked a question occasionally, be did not take a lending part in the conversation; he was present at the whole time of my examination, and saw all that passed on the part of the prisoner.
Q. You have said that suicide is an indication of insanity; would an attempt at suicide after a homicide be as strong an indication of insanity as an attempt at suicide without any attempt at homicide? A. I think one must look at the whole of the facts of the case before one could give an opinion upon it; so far as I can give a medical opinion upon it, I don't think it would make any difference, it is really a question I can hardly answer—in the case of an ordinary individual who had committed a murder there might of course be a motive for suicide, which would not exist in the case of a person who had not committed a murder; I did not know whether you were putting the question to me in connexion with insanity, that was my difficulty in answering—in the case of an ordinary individual committing suicide, it would depend to a considerable extent upon whether there had or had not been a homicide previously committed—when I gave the original answer as to suicide, I was thinking of insane patients—I said that suicide would be an element in forming a judgment whether a person was insane or not—I don't know whether I spoke of the absence of remorse for a crime especially in connexion with melancholia, it is a sign in insanity generally, they very often seem perfectly indifferent to having committed it—there was a good deal said in the conversation with the prisoner with reference to the crime—his whole manner indicated anything but sorrow for it—the impression that he gave me was that he regretted that the whole circumstance had occurred, but he did not appear to exhibit anything like remorse for it—I am not sure whether I asked the question—I think something was said about the act, whether the exact expression was, whether he was sorry for it or not, I am not quite certain; I think something was said to that effect, I can't recollect the exact words of his answer, but the impression he gave me was, as I have said, that he regretted that the whole occurrence had happened, but he seemed indifferent to it as regards any special feeling of remorse; he did not burst into tears or anything of that sort, very far from it; there was a degree of one might almost say cheerfulness about the way in which he talked of it, which struck me particularly—I should imagine that he knew the object of our visit—I am not certain whether he
knew that I came at Mr. Fraser's instigation—Mr. Fraser was not present—I won't be positive whether I told him so or not, or whether Dr. Maudsley did—I don't think I did—Dr. Maudsley and I are well acquainted—I assisted him in the book that has been referred to, I looked over some of the sheets—I have written a book on the same subject—I have expressed dissatisfaction with the law as laid down by the Judges on the question of the knowledge of right and wrong—I have said "Such questions are totally irrelevant and beside the issue, which is, was he of unsound mind when he committed it?"—I agree that in cases of homicidal impulse under melancholia, or any form of madness, there is almost always, if not quite always, evidence of general mental derangement before the act, but I would add "supposing there are opportunities for observing it," because it very often happens that insanity may have existed, but there may have been no opportunities of recognising it by those who are capable of recognising it—I think I state that also in my book—it would be true to say that of fifty-two cases referred to by an emminent authority, Dr. Gray, there was manifest insanity in all.
COURT. Q. By manifest insanity you mean evidence of insanity, independent of the act and prior to the act? A. No, I don't know whether Dr. Gray says: "prior to the act," I don't think he does—he had them under his observation in the asylum.
MR. DENMAN. Q. I will read the passage, in case you may wish to qualify it: "On examining the recorded examples of homicidal impulse with all the cases to which the theories of impulsive insanity are cheifly applied, we shall find that in almost all that are reported in such detail as to be worthy of notice; and many are not, there was or had been general mental derangement; of the fifty-two cases reported by Dr. Gray, there was manifest insanity in all. I quote from Caspar. Marc has collected eight cases of socalled homicidal mania; there is however not one among them in which general mental disease did not indubitably exist"—There is a good deal more to the same effect, and you end by saying: "In many cases there would be no need to have recourse to the theory of impulsive insanity, many cases so called are cases of patients suffering from melancholia." Do you wish to qualify that passage in any way? I have read it in order that you may see I am not quoting it against yourself. A. I don't think I have anything to qualify in it—I do not consider this is a case of impulsive, insanity.
Re-examined. There is nothing there that shakes the opinion that I have given to-day in this case—The following passage was read to the witness:—" But in a Crown case you are asked if the prisoner knew what he was doing when he committed the crime, and if he knew right from wrong, and such questions, which are totally irrelevant and beside the issue, which is, was he of sound mind when he committed it; I shall have to refer to this again, but I mention it here in as much as the proof of insanity in criminal cases must be stronger than in others, and this must be borne in mind by all of us who may be called upon to give evidence." I have borne that in mind in giving my evidence to-day.
COURT. Q. You have described how melancholia comes on; what is the cure for it, besides medicine? A. I should say that treatment in a quiet place and seclusion, from anything worrying or disturbing, good food and regularity of living and hours, regular employment which may distract the mind from the morbid thoughts upon which it rests—the sudden cessation
of employment which had existed before would undoubtedly have an effect in aggravating the disease; a sudden change in the habits of a man's life.
DR. JOSEPH ROGERS . I am a physician, of Scotland, a member of the College of Surgeons, and of the Apothecaries' Company—I have been in the profession nearly thirty years—I was for twelve years in charge of the infirmary of the Strand Union—in the course of my practice I have made insanity a study, and made myself acquainted with it—I have seen a great many cases, and certified to a great many insane persons before the Magistrate—that was a part of my duty; they have been persons who came into the hands of the police for some criminal offence—I have had the opportunity of seeing the prisoner five times; once in Horsemonger Lane Gaol, and four times in Newgate—I agree with what Dr. Maudsley and Dr. Blandford have stated—from my observation of the prisoner at those five visits I believe him to be of unsound mind.
Cross-examined by MR. POLAND. The form of insanity he is suffering under is melancholia—I first saw him on 11th November—Mr. Fraser, the prisoner's solicitor, requested me to go and see him—I have known Mr. Fraser since he was a child—I practice in Dean Street, Soho, and Mr. Fraser lives opposite to me—he asked me to go and see Mr. Watson, knowing from my previous position that I had seen a great deal of insanity—he was suffering from melancholia—that is very different to low spirits—a person may be low-spirited and yet in sound health—a person who has melancholia has something the matter with his brain, in addition—the prisoner had not any delusions that I noticed—it would be a difficult thing to describe the difference between extreme low spirits and melancholia, because in melancholia you have an exaggeration of extreme low spirits—a man who is low-spirited may pass on into melancholia, and he may pass out of it—the difference between melancholia and low spirits is as I tell you; low spirits may arise from a transient affection of the mind, perhaps arising from a disordered state of body, or a transient trouble, which the mind is strong enough to resist; but melancholia is a disease where the mind has given way; there is some defect of the brain structure, or something of that kind—the first thing that I noticed about the prisoner was this, I put him in a good light, in the cell at Horsemonger Lane Gaol, and I watched his countenance while talking to him, and I noticed that he had a dazed appearance of the eye when his countenance was at rest—he was lost—there was an expressionless appearance about his countenance, a lost look about the face when the countenance was at rest—he showed, as the other witnesses have said, great indifference to the condition of things, a singular indifference—I don't mean that he was hopeless as to the result of the trial—I will give you an instance of what I mean—I was talking to him about the affair generally, with a view of leading him on to make some remarks, and in the midst of it he saw a piece of flue on his trousers, or something, and he put his hand and picked it off, and jumped up and gave himself a shake down in a manner that struck me as very singular in a man I was talking to—I should have looked at it as a piece of rudeness in an ordinary individual, but in his particular case I looked at it as really evidence of a want of mind—he was guilty of what I considered irrational conduct in that one act that I have spoken of—then there was another thing, he told me he thought he was entitled to consideration for what he had done in the past, which certainly appeared to me to be a very irrational thing, seeing that he had only kept a school—my treatment for melancholia would be to
send the patient away from the place where he had become the subject of it; to make a radical change in his habits; to give him an opportunity of amusement, if it were a lady I should encourage her to dance, if a gentleman I should try to give him some musical amusement.
Q. If a man were suffering from low spirits or melancholia, from loss of employment, in consequence of the badness of trade, for instance, would not the best treatment be to find him a situation? A. That would depend on the condition into which he had merged—if he had become a decided melancholic, you must get him well before you put him into a situation, or he would bring you into discredit—I referred to the crime itself—he said that something was said to him and he became angry, and did what he did—he did not say what it was that was said to him; something was said to him by his wife which made him angry, and then he did the deed, I think it was he said—I subsequently heard what he did it with—I can't tell whether he told me before—I was present at three examinations, where it came out, and therefore, whether it came to me direct or not I can't say—it was not at that examination, certainly—I did not ask him where he got the pistol from, but it was asked in my presence, and the remark was made that it had belonged to his grandfather—he did not say where he had fetched it from, or how he had got it—I saw him four times in Newgate—Mr. Gibson, the surgeon, was present each time, and the third time I saw him Dr. Shepherd drew my particular attention to the difficulty he had in collecting his thoughts—he did not tell me anything of the circumstances that occurred after he had committed the deed—in a light and frivolous manner he told me, at Newgate, how he attempted to commit suicide in Horsemonger Lane Gaol; and it so struck me, the light and frivolous way in which he told me the story, as if it in no way referred to himself, that I put to him what appeared to me this crucial question: "How could you, as a Christian minister, dare to rush into the presence of your God, unprepared," and he said, "There is no prohibition against suicide, the law only applies to murder"—I thought that, coming from a clergyman, was not an evidence of sanity, quite the reverse—I did not auk him what it was his wife had done or said that made him angry; it was asked in my presence, and he made no answer—I believe he shook his head; I am not certain—he may have said "I can't say"—I think he said something of this kind, that she had provoked him on previous occasions, and that they had had quarrels—he stated that in his paper—I am in a difficulty about whether he said it then or not, because I saw him so many times; whether he said it to me, or in my hearing, I can't say—I heard a remark of the kind, certainly—I forget the exact words—it was something to the effect that she had irritated him at various times, and he had restrained himself; he said he had lost control over himself on this occasion—he may have said he was in a passion; I don't recollect that he made use of that word—he did not say that at first, after the committal of the deed, he did not know what to do—I did not refer to his attempting to commit suicide on the Tuesday night—I never once referred to it, that I am aware of; there was no conversation about it—I was leading on to that, to ask him about it—I don't remember a separate conversation with reference to the suicidal attempt on the Tuesday night—yes, by-the-bye, now I do remember that some questions were put by Mr. Gibson with reference to the prussic acid he had taken, and he said that he thought that prussic acid was so strong that any dose of it would kill him—I don't remember that anything was said in my
presence by him as to his attempt at suicide on the Tuesday night—I did ask him a question about the box—I think I said "What did you want the box for?" or "How did you come to order the box?" and he shrugged his shoulders and said something to the effect that it was not for the purpose that was assumed—I did not speak to him about his trial—I said nothing to him individually as to whether he was to be defended on the ground of insanity—the two Crown physicians, when they attended at Newgate, intimated to him the purpose for which they had come—he made an observation to me about Broadmoor, at Newington—I asked him what put that idea into his head—I forget the exact purport of the observation, but he made some observation about Broadmoor—he told me voluntarily, I believe, that the chaplain over there had mentioned something to him about being sent to Broadmoor—the idea never crossed my mind—nothing further was said about it—I dropped the question—I thought it was not a proper one—the prisoner did not say anything about his being confined in the asylum at Broadmoor, if he was acquitted on the ground of insanity—I tell you I dropped the conversation, I thought it was improper—he never said a word to me about his trial, that I am aware of.
Re-examined. There was not the slightest evidence that he was not answering the questions put to him as well as he could—there was not the slightest indication of any desire to withhold anything that he was capable of answering—it was undoubtedly well-known at Horsemonger Gaol and at Newgate, that the medical men were there for the purpose of examining as to the state of his mind—when we were all there examining he was made aware of that fact—I don't generally inform the patient of my object in examining him—I do sometimes—in this instance the Crown physicians told him distinctly what they had come about—my opinion is not at all altered by any of the questions that have been put to me as to the condition of the prisoner's mind—I still believe him to be of unsound mind.
Strongly recommended by the Jury to the mercy and clemency of the Crown on account of his advanced age and previous good character.
Prisoner. I only wish to say that the defence which has been maintained in my favour was a just and honest one.
LONDON AND MIDDLESEX CASES.
OLD COURT.—Monday, January 8th, 1872.
Before Mr. Deputy Recorder.
MR. METCALFE conducted the Prosecution.
GEORGE EVANS . I am a carman, in the employ of the Great Eastern Railway Company—I was in charge of a van, on Friday, 24th November, in Cutler Street, Houndsditch—I had occasion to leave the van for a few minutes, to make a delivery—when I came back to the van I saw that my goods were all right, and I jumped up and drove off—when I had got about half way down Cutler Street, I missed a truss—in consequence of what was said to me I saw Butler carrying the truss in a bag on his back—I pursued him—
when I got within a few yards of him, I heard a whistle, and three or four men came up—I went and caught hold of Butler and asked him what he had got there—he said "Oh let me go, let me go, you are not going to buckle me with that"—Sherringham came up and said "You have got your truss, let the man go," and he up with his foot and kicked me in the side—I believe him to be the man—when he kicked me, I let go of Butler, but I stuck to the truss and took it back to the van.
Sherringham. Q. Are you positive I am the man? A. Well, I never saw you before, and I was not so cool as I am now, and it was all the work of a moment; still your features answer the description, and I picked you out of the prison on. 5th December, I went round to about a dozen before I came to you—there were several persons in the crowd, but no one was kind enough to assist me, so you may judge what sort of men they were—to the best of my belief you are the man.
NATHAN ISAACS . I am a clothier, and live at 7, Scarboro-Street, Goodman's Fields—on 24th November, I saw the Great Eastern van, in charge of Evans, who was holding the horse's head—I saw the two prisoners and another one come away from the tail of the van—Sherringham had a truss on his shoulders, they leant it up against the Clothes Exchange, put it in a bag that Butler had, and he put it across his shoulder and went up Devonshire Square with it—I went up to Evans and asked him what he had lost, and he went up to Butler—I am sure that the prisoners are the men.
Sherringham. Q. Are you positive you saw me there? A. Yes, you took the truss out of the van, and the three of you were together.
BARNET ISAACS . I live at 8, King Street, Aldgate—I am a clothier, no relation to the last witness—on 24th November, I saw the Great Eastern van in Cutler Street—I saw three persons come by the "'Change," following behind the van; Sherringham took out a truss, put it into a small bag, and Butler, I think, went up Devonshire Square with it—he looks very much like the man—I told the carman and he went after the man.
Butler. Q. Did you see me go up to the van? A. No, you were standing by the Exchange, you were all three together.
WALTER FISHER . I am a police-sergeant, in the employ of the Great Eastern Railway Company—I apprehended Butler on 30th November, in High Street, Whitechapel—he and Sherringham were together—Evans was with me—they went along Whitechapel together—Sherringham turned and saw Evans, and made off—he was pursued, but got away—I took Butler—I told him the charge—he said "I did not take it; I was only carrying it; it was another man that took it"—I found this sack on him, at the station; it is large enough to hold a truss—this other sack was left with the property—this hat was dropped from Sherringham's head when he escaped.
They also PLEADED GUILTY to having been before convicted.
BUTLER*— Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
SHERRINGHAM**— Twelve Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. COLLINS conducted the Prosecution; and M MR. THORNE COLH the Defence.
HENRY STEBBINGS . I am a commercial traveller, in the employ of Adolph Frankien and others, of 72, Wood Street, Cheapside, foreign importers—on the afternoon of 21st December, my trap was standing in Fenchurch Street, and also in Cannon Street—I left a boy in charge of the horse and trap—there was a box in front of the trap, under the driving-box, containing about twenty-seven dozen brier pipes, worth about 14l. or 16l.—when I returned to my employers, about 5 o'clock, the box was gone—these (produced) are a portion of the pipes I lost.
Cross-examined. They are not all alike, they have our trade mark, and a private mark inside the bowl—these sort of pipes are not commonly sold at 1s. a piece, they are worth 2s. 6d., without the case—these are sample pipes—I have not the slightest doubt they are our property.
JAMES PEARSON . I was with last witness when I left Fenchurch Street—I saw the box containing the pipes under the driving-seat—we stopped again in Cannon Street twice—I saw a man, very like the prisoner, walking up and down in Cannon Street, with a cigar in his mouth—I could not swear to him—the box was not missed till the trap was unloaded.
Cross-examined. I was there to watch the trap, and I did so; but I walled up and down, and stood by the horse's head a portion of the time—I did not see anything taken from the trap.
ANTHONY WILSON MONGER (City Detective). On 22nd December, in consequence of information, I went to Mr. Alton's, a pawnbroker's, in Bishopsgate, and saw the prisoner there—the manager gave me three pipes, and said that the prisoner had offered them in pledge—I told the prisoner I was a police officer, and asked him how he came possessed of the pipes—he said "A man outside gave them to me; he did not know who he was"—I asked if he could point out the man—he said "Yes"—I went outside with him, and asked if he could see the man—he said "No"—he was carrying this box on his arm—I told him he must go to the station—in crossing the road he threw down the box, and ran away—I gave an alarm, and he was stopped and brought back—I searched him at the station, and found fifteen pipes, in cases, and one without a case, and 2l. odd in small money, and this duplicate of Mr. Roberts'—he refused his name and address.
MR. STEBBINGS (re-examined). These three pipes are my property, and part of those I lost on that day—I know nothing of this box.
GUILTY of receiving. He also PLEADED GUILTY** to having been before convicted— Ten Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution,
EDWARD SPILLER . I am clerk at Trinity Church, Marylebone—I produce the register—there is an entry on 22nd July, 1860, of a marriage between Charles William Burgess Norman, of full age, bachelor, and Mary Pettit, spinster.
Prisoner. Q. How many were there married on the same day? A. Four on that occasion—I have got all the witnesses' names.
CHARLES HUTCHINS . I am a brass finisher, and live at 5 and 6, Redcross Street, now Southwark Street—I know the prisoner—I was at Trinity Church, Marylebone, on 22nd July, 1860, and saw him marry Mary Pettit—I gave her away—I am quite sure he is the man—my brother was married on the same occasion—I have seen Mary Pettit, and she it still alive—she is here to-day—I knew them living together as man and wife after the marriage.
Prisoner. Q. At Hammersmith you said I was married by register? A. No, after bands—I knew nothing about it till I entered the church on the day.
MART ANN LEIGH . I live at 16, Buckingham Street, Fitzroy Square—I have known the prisoner five or six years—he lived with his wife in my house up to 10th June—he left that day, and said he was going to America—seeing him getting his box ready, I asked him where he was going, and he said he was going to New York, and from there to San Francisco—he said he should write to his wife as soon as he got into something—they had three children.
REBECCA BAKER . I live at 136, Portobello Road, Notting Hill—I have known the prisoner four or five years—he has been keeping company with me during that time—he said he was single—I never knew he was married—I was married to him on 11th June, 1871, at St. Paul's Church, Hammer-smith—I produce the certificate of the marriage—(This was a marriage between Charles William Norman Burgess, bachelor, and Rebecca Baker, spinster, both of full age, on 11th June, 1871, at St. Paul's Church, Hammersmith.) I lived with him till 2nd December—some communication was made to me—I went to the police-station, and saw him with his wife—he told me he thought of going to America before Christmas, and then he thought he would not go till January, and he said he would send for me—I have one child by him.
FRANCIS BEEDLESTONB (Detective Officer X), On the afternoon of Saturday, 2nd December, the prisoner was given into my custody by the first wife—she said "I know you as a police-officer of the E division, I wish' to give my husband in charge for deserting me and my three children, and committing bigamy with another woman"—I said "Do you know me as being a police-officer?"—she said "I do"—I took him then—he said "I am very sorry I have married another woman, I was compelled to do so "—I have examined the copy of the certificate of the second marriage; it is a correct copy.
Prisoner's Defence. She was so bad I could not live with her, we always used to be quarrelling; she would not keep herself clean, or decent, or the children as well. I told her several times I could not live with her. She said "Go, I don't care where you go, I don't want to have anything to do with you." I have been with this other party, and she swore she would do away with herself. If she hung herself I thought I should be on some wilful charge, and I thought I might as well be charged with one thing as the other.
GUILTY — Two Years Imprisonment.
The following prisoners PLEADED GUILTY:—
121. CHARLES McGRATH (24) , to burglary in the dwelling-house of Walter Whybrow, and stealing a cigar case, three coats, and other goods, having been before convicted in April, 1870— [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
122. ISAAC COHEN (19), RICHARD BRYANT (24), GEORGE WILLIAMS (21), to stealing 1291 yards of linen of Charles Crawford Lathbury, Bryant and Williams having been before convicted. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.]Williams also PLEADED GUILTY to breaking and entering the shop of Frederick Francis Fox, and stealing 21 yards of cloth.
WILLIAMS and BRYANT Seven Years' Penal Servitude each. COHEN Nine Months' Imprisonment.
123. JAMES SHARPE (20) , to burglariously breaking and entering the dwelling-house of Richard Carpenter, and stealing 30s., his moneys— [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Twelve Months' Imprisonment. And
124. THOMAS MARYON (24) , to stealing 28 lbs. of tobacco, 2 lbs. of snuff, and one bag, of David Palmer, having been before convicted in March, 1867— [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Two Years' Imprisonment.
NEW COURT.Monday, January 8th, 1872.
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
MESSRS. CRAUFURD and DE MICHELE conducted the Prosecution; and
MR. WOOD the Defence.
JOHN MORRIS. I am a draper, of 136, Great College Street, Camden Town—about five weeks ago, just after the gas was lighted, I served the prisoner, I do not remember what with, but he tendered a crown piece—I found it was bad, threw it down, and told him so—he said he had had it some time—he gave me a half-sovereign—I gave him the change—I cut a notch in the crown, and he took it and left.
Cross-examined. Other people were in the shop that evening, but not at that time, and there have been hundreds since—I had never seen the prisoner before.
ROBERT FRANCIS JAY . I am assistant to Mr. Edwards, of 110, Ossulston Street, Somers Town, draper—on 18th December I sold the prisoner a handkerchief for 5 3/4 d.—he gave me a half-crown—I took it up to the desk, and gave it to Mr. Edwards, who found it was bad, and the prisoner was given in charge.
WILLIAM EDWARD EDWARDS . I am a draper—the last witness is my assistant—on 18th December he brought me a bad half-crown—I went out of my desk, and told the prisoner it was bad—he said that he was not aware of it, and would pay for the handkerchief—he pulled out a half-sovereign—I said that I should not take it until he convinced me that he was not aware that the half-crown was bad, and gave him in charge with the half-crown.
WILLIAM WOODBRIDGE (Police Sergeant Y 43). I took the prisoner at Mr. Edwards' shop, and he gave me this half-crown—I searched him at the station, and found a good half-sovereign and two halfpence on him.
Cross-examined. It is a very bad imitation.
GUILTY . He was further charged with having been convicted of a like offence in April, 1871, to which he
PLEADED GUILTY— Two Years' Imprisonment.
MESSRS. CRAUFORD and DE MICHELE conducted the Prosecution.
GEORGE VAUGHAN . I am a butcher, of 12, Lamb Street—on 9th December, between 8 and 9 o'clock in the evening, the prisoner bought a piece of meat, which came to something under 3s.—she gave me two florins—I put them on a sideboard just inside the parlour window, where my wife was—I gave the prisoner the change, and she left—I then found that one of the florins was bad—I ran out to stop her, but went in the wrong direction, and missed her—I put the florin in my pocket, where there was no other coin, and afterwards handed it to the police—on the following Saturday, about the same time, the prisoner came again—I recognised her directly—I served her with the same amount of meat, and she gave me a florin and a shilling—I examined them, and found the florin was bad—I told her so, and that she had given me a bad florin the previous Saturday, and I should give her in charge—she said that if it was a bad one she gave me the previous Saturday, she would give me a good one for it—I declined, and gave her in charge, with the two coins.
Prisoner. On the first occasion you put the florins with other money which was lying on one side. Witness. I did not—there was no other money on the board.
ELIZA VAUGHAN . I am the wife of the last witness—on 9th December I saw the prisoner tender some money to my husband—he put it down on a sideboard, which is used as a desk—there was no other money there—I drew his attention to them, and found one was bad.
WILLIAM MUSGROVE (Policeman H 25). I was called and took the prisoner—I told her the charge—she made no reply—I received these two coins from the inspector—I saw Mr. Vaughan give them to him—on the way to the station the prisoner said that I could let her go, and say that she had run away, and she would give me what her purse contained—I had her purse at that time—it contained two good florins and a halfpenny.
Prisoner's Defence. I did not know the money was bad. The young man I live with gave me a half-sovereign. I got some bread and butter, and sugar, and got it changed. I then went to this man's shop, and bought some meat. He said that the florin was bad, and I was locked up.
JAMES BRANNAN stated that the prisoner was an orphan, and was earning from 12s. to 18s. a week, when a man who was tried and acquitted here last November got hold of her, and that the coin was given to her by Hall, who had just pleaded guilty (see Surrey Cases). Judgment respited.
MESSRS. CRAWFURD and DE MICHELE conducted the Prosecution; and
MR. MEAD the Defence.
JANE SOPHIA MORGAN . I am barmaid at the Prince Albert, St. Martin's Lane—on 14th December, between six and seven in the evening, the prisoner was there, with some other men, one of whom called for some sherry—Mr. Mahon, the manager, also served some of them—Mrs. Carthew emptied the tills while they were there, but I did not notice anything wrong—on Friday, the 15th, the prisoner came again, with one of the same men—I recognised them—I served the prisoner with half-a-quartern
of sherry, which came to 4d.—I do not know whether the prisoner or the other man but the money down, but I saw a florin on the counter—I tried it, found it was bad, bent it, and took it to Mrs. Carthew in the bar parlour—she then came into the bar, and the prisoner's companion went away quickly, and the prisoner was following, but the manager stopped him, and he was given in charge.
Cross-examined. I do not recollect whether either of the men gave me a florin on Thursday.
JOHN WM. SIMMS MAHON . I am manager of the Prince Albert—On 14th December, about 9 p.m., the prisoner came with some companions—two stood together, and the others stood back—I served them, and his companion paid me three times for sherry—they were drinking and speaking together—I cannot say what they tendered first, but a florin was tendered by the companion, which I put in the till—Mrs. Carthew came in and cleared the till while the prisoner was there—she clears it every half or three-quarters of an hour, sometimes less—it is never more than half an hour—I did not serve them after the till was cleared—the companion paid the fourth time for the sherry, which I put into the empty till, the one nearest St. Martin's Lane—the prisoner and his companion left, and then I saw Mrs. Carthew clear the till a second time—no other money had been put in except by me, and that was small money—Mrs. Carthew subsequently showed me two bad florins, one of which was broken—I took them and gave them to C 236—next day, between 10 and 11, the prisoner came in with his companion of the night before—I recognised them, and served them with half-a-quartern of sherry, for which I was paid 6d.—they both drank of it, and had some more, and the companion gave me another 6d. from a handful of shillings and half-crowns which he took from his pocket—I went into the bar parlour, and saw the last witness give Mrs. Carthew a shilling, who pretended to get change for it, as I had sent for a policeman—the companion then went out fast, but I stopped the prisoner, and charged him with passing a bad florin—he said "I was not aware it was bad," and asked me to show it to him—I took him back to the bar, and gave him in charge with the florin—he was close enough to see the coin tendered on both occasions.
Cross-examined. I only took one, and that was from the prisoner's companion.
HARRIET CARTHEW . I am the wife of James Henry Carthew, landlord of the Prince Albert—on the night of 14th December, between 10 and 11 o'clock, I saw the prisoner in the bar with his companion—there were several others sitting in the bar—I clear the till every hour, or perhaps oftener—the first time I cleared it, I put the money into a little bowl—I did not stay to count it, but after I had found the first bad florin, I looked among it, and found another bad florin—they were all going away together, when I went in to clear the till again, and I found a bad florin in the last till near St. Martin's Lane—an hour or a little more had elapsed between the first clearing and the second, but I could see the till during that time—I then looked in the bowl which I had taken into the parlour, and found another bad florin—I gave the broken one to the manager—on the Friday I was in the bar about 10.45, and saw the prisoner come in with his companion of the night before—Jane Newton brought me a bad florin into the parlour—Mr. Mahon sent for a constable, and I went round to the till under pretence of getting change, and when the prisoner saw that I was a long
while getting it he went out, saying "I want my change"—the other man got away—I gave the bad florin to Mr. Mahon.
THOMAS JONES (Policeman). I was two doors off, and saw Mahon holding the prisoner—I told him the charge—he said that he acknowledged passing it, but did not know it was bad—I searched him, and found two shillings, two sixpences, and one shilling and ninepence in bronze, all good—he gave a correct address.
Cross-examined. I said at the Police Court that the prisoner acknowledged passing it, but said that he did not know it was bad.
The prisoner received a good character.
NOT GUILTY .
MESSRS. CRAUFURD and DE MICHELE conducted the Prosecution.
FRANCIS JOHN MOSS . I keep the Duke of Gloucester public-house, New Road, Whitechapel—on 10th November, between 7 and 8 o'clock in the morning, the prisoner, who had been there a month before, came in for 2d. Worth of rum—he gave me a shilling, which I found was bad before he left—I did not tell him so, but I followed him some distance, but was forced to let him go, having no one there but myself—I had given him the change—on the former occasion he paid with a shilling, which I found to be bad after he left, and gave it to my mistress, who put it in a drawer—this is it (produced)—on 10th December he came again, and was served with 2d. worth of rum—he gave me a bad shilling—I sent for a policeman, and then showed it to the prisoner, who took another shilling out of his pocket, and said that he could not see any difference in them; he gave it to me, and I gave him 10d. change—I threw the bad one on the counter, and he took it up and gave me the good one—as he was taken to the station, I saw him throw some money in the street—Button picked up three penny pieces, two halfpence and a sixpence—I gave the two shillings to the policeman.
Prisoner. Q. Why did not you mention to the Magistrate that I gave you one before 10th November? A. I did, and I likewise mentioned it at the station.
GEORGE BUTTON . I live at 75, Whitechapel, on 26th December, I was in the Duke of Gloucester public-house—Mr. Moss showed me a shilling, I would almost swear it was bad—I left before the prisoner, and pointed him out to the constable and he was taken—on the way to the station he said "If you want it, you can take the lot," and threw some money away—at the station the inspector asked him what he had done with the shilling given him by Mr. Moss—he said that he threw it away coming out of the house—he spoke to a stout female without bonnet or shawl, just after he left the public-house—I picked up the 10d.; it was three pence, two halfpence and a sixpence.
Prisoner. Q. Could you see me on 26th December? A. yes, through the giass of the compartment—I was about the same distance from the prosecutor as you were, and could see that it was bad—it was light round the edge
ALFRED WOODCOCK (Policeman H 60). I took the prisoner half a mile from the prosecutor's shop—I told him the charge, he said "It is very hard if it's a bad shilling, I gave him a good one and he gave me the change"
—on the way to the station he said "Take the lot," and threw away some coin which was picked up and given to me, sixpence, two halfpence, and three pence—I searched him but found nothing.
Prisoner's Defence. I gave the prosecutor one shilling on 26th December; it was the only one I had; he said it was bad; I said "I don't think it," and threw it back to him and he give me the change. I was in a temper when I threw the money away, because I was going to be locked up on Boxing-day, when I was going to have some beer with my friends. I have had money returned to me as bad, which has afterwards turned out to be good; matches will change it.
NOT GUILTY .
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, January 9th, 1872.
Before Mr. Deputy Recorder.
131. GEORGE SHAW (42) , to feloniously forging and uttering a request for the delivery of six quilts, with intent to defraud, and also to obtaining the same by means of false pretences— [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Nine Months' Imprisonment.
132. EDWARD DAVIS (18) , to three indictments, for stealing two boots from the person of Harriet Brewer, one jacket from Dennis Crawley, one jacket and one handkerchief from Clara Connor — [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Twelve Months Imprisonment. And
133. ASHUR BARNARD (47) , to unlawfully concealing within four months of his bankruptcy, part of his property to the amount of 10l. and upwards, with intent to defraud his creditors, and unlawfully obtaining, by means of false pretences, forty-nine rings and other articles of jewellery from various persons— [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Twelve Months' Imprisonment.
MR. PLATT conducted the Prosecution.
MARY ANN CARTER . I live at 58, Minories—I am single—on 8th December, 1870, I was present at Aldgate Church, and saw the prisoner married to Albert Pierlo—they afterwards lived at my house as man and wife, for a week or two.
Prisoner: You know I maintained him. A. Yes—I know that he struck you and ill-treated you.
Prisoner. Q. When I came to your house, in March, had I a black eye? A. Yes—I have never seen you intoxicated—you were always kind to all of us.
FREDERICK MOORHOUSE (Policeman H 10). On 10th December the prisoner was given into my custody for bigamy—I charged her and she said it was quite true, that the first husband had treated her unkindly and the second husband had prevailed on her to marry him, and that he had treated her very kindly—I produce a certificate of marriage between Albert Pierlo and the prisoner, dated 8th December, 1870—I have compared it with the register
and it is a true copy—I also produce a certificate of marriage between the prisoner and William Frederick White, dated July 30th, 1871—I have compared it with the register, it is a true copy—the first husband gave her into custody.
Prisoner's Defence. When I gave the prosecutor 20l. he wrote for more money. I established a business for him in Hamburg, which cost me 80l. He cursed and swore at me, and I left him. William White married me out of pity, to save me from ruin.
The Jury stated that they entertained very great sympathy for the prisoner.
Three Days Imprisonment.
MR. HORRY conducted the Prosecution.
HENRY BRYANT . I am a labourer, and live at Ruislip—I have known the prisoner for some years—on the night of 18th December, about 10 o'clock, I was in the parlour of the White Bear, kept by Mrs. Weedon—there was some conversation about taking her cart to Uxbridge—the prisoner was too tipsy to go with it—he was chaffed about it afterwards—I began joking him about it; he got angry and went into the tap-room and sat down—I went into the tap-room, and he said "You b—, you want to black my face"—many of us have blacked his face sometimes when he has been tipsy; I have not—he said he would fetch a stick, and dash my brains out—he went out directly—I followed him, and came up to him about ten or twelve yards off, and I pretended to black his face—I had got no black—I just rubbed my hand over his face—he objected to that—we had a little scuffle, and in the scuffle my hat fell off—I then went back to the house without my hat—I came back again in about ten minutes or quarter of an hour—the prisoner had then got my hat on his head, and a stick in his right hand—I went up to him as quickly as I could, and got hold of him by the collar, and caught hold of his right hand to prevent his hitting me with the stick—he had not made any gesture to strike me—as I took my hat off his head, and put it on my own I felt some sharp instrument come down the collar, and my waistcoat, and right down my arm—it did not cut my neck, it caught me on my arm and on my wrist-bone, just as I was drawing my hand away—both my arm and wrist bled a good deal—I got very faint, and Mrs. Weedon let me in—it was about 11.50.
Prisoner. I am very sorry, I was the worse for drink. Witness. He had had too much to drink—he did not say anything when I felt this, no words passed—there were two distinct bloQ.—it was not done at once.
EMMA WEEDON . I keep the White Bear, at Ruislip—on the evening of 18th December the prosecutor and prisoner were at my house—I did not send the prisoner to Uxbridge—I did not see anything of him till 12 o'clock—at that time Bryant came to the door—I admitted him—he was bleeding very much from the right arm, and was very faint—I caught hold of him, and led him in, or he would have fallen—I went out to call a neighbour, and I heard the prisoner say "I will stab any b—that comes near me.
FRANCIS MCEVOY . I am surgeon to the police—about 1 or 2 o'clock in the morning of 19th December I was called to Mrs. Weedon's, and saw Bryant—he was very faint, his coat was removed from his arm, and I sleeve patched up—I took off a towel that was saturated with blood his found two wounds, one in the centre of the right arm, and one on the wrist,
of a superficial nature—such a knife as this (produced) would produce such wounds—he is not quite well now—there was not the least danger from the wounds.
CHRISTOPHER BROOMFIELD (Police Serjeant, X 31). I went to Mrs. Weedon's about 1 o'clock in the morning—I found Bryant lying on a couch very weak and faint, and there was a good deal of blood about the place—I sent for Mr. McEvoy—I went after the prisoner—I found him in a shed adjoining the White Bear, covered over with some straw, asleep—I awoke him, and asked whether he had a knife—he said he had one in his pocket, I searched but did not find one there—I said he would be charged with feloniously cutting and wounding Henry Bryant, with intent to do him grievous bodily harm—he said "Bryant blacked my face, and you can see it is black now"—I turned on my lamp, but saw no black—he then said that Bryant had got him by the throat, and he told him if he did not leave go he would cut his hand, and he did so—he also said something about a stick, but I could not exactly hear what it was—I took him to the station, and on further search, I found this knife down the leg of his trousers; it was prevented falling out by a strap that encircled the leg—there was a ole in the pocket through which it, might have slipped—on the way to the station, I was carrying this stick in my hand, which I had found ten or twelve yards from the White Boar, and the prisoner said "Oh, that is the stick I got to Bryant last night."
The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I own myself guilty."
Prisoner's Defence. He got me tight hold by the throat.
WILLIAM STILLING . I am a farmer, at Ruislip—I have known the prisoner twenty years—on the night this happened, I was at my bedroom window, and I heard the prisoner distinctly cry out as if in distress—he seemed as if he was firmly fixed by the prosecutor, and he said "If you don't leave go I will cut you"—he seemed as if he was obliged to do so to make him release his hold; he was acting in self-defence—he is a very inoffensive, harmless man, a labourer about the place—I never knew anything bad in his character—they have played practical jokes on him till he could not stand it any longer—he has been the butt for all the lads, and Bryant has been the leader, and Mrs. Weedon has acted very badly towards the man—he is rather weak in his intellect and he has been used dreadfully—I don't wonder at anything he has done—I have a memorial in his behalf signed by the inhabitants of the parish.
NOT GUILTY .
SUSAN GOSLING . My husband is a provision merchant, of 9, Warren Street, Fitzroy Square—on the evening of 18th December, the prisoner came to our shop and asked for a few coppers—I said I had none—he said could I spare some silver for Mr. Gordon, of the Feathers, next door—I said "How much?"—he said 3l., 5l., or 10l. worth, as much as I could pare—he said "I will go and ask how much"—he went out, returned in
a few moments, and said "3l. will do"—I went into my private room, and counted out 3l., and gave it him into his hand, a shilling at a time—he said "Send your boy in, and the governor will give him the gold," and he went out—I saw him go into the Feathers—I sent my boy in for the gold—he brought back a message, but no money.
Prisoner. I never saw the woman before. Witness. I am sure he is the person—I saw him twice that same evening—I next saw him at Marlborough Street, on a Wednesday, the beginning of January—I knew him in a moment.
WILLIAM GORDON . I keep the Feathers—I never saw the prisoner till I saw him at Marlborough Street—I did not send him to Mrs. Gosling's, on 18th December, or on any other days, for money—I did not see him in my house—nobody brought me 3l. worth of silver.
Prisoner. I know nothing about it.
NOT GUILTY .
MART HILL . I am the wife of Thomas Hill, who is in Australia—I live at 57, London Road, and manage a confectionary business for Mrs. Clifford—on 23rd December the prisoner came into the shop, and said "Have you any coppers to spare?"—I asked him how many he wanted—he said "As many as you can spare"—I unlocked my cash-drawer, and placed four or five shilling packets on the counter, one was a little burst, and I remarked that that packet was burst—he said "Never mind, we have had a worse break than that this morning"—I said "What is that?"—he said "One of our large windoQ. broken"—I said "Where?"—he said "The Alfred's Head"—that is a large public-house, on the opposite side—I said "How was that; some drunken felloQ.?"—he said "Yes"—he took two packets of coppers, I was getting a third, and he said "This will be sufficient for us to go on with, and I will run across with the change"—he left the shop—he did not return—I never saw him again until he was in custody—I sent my shop girl, Jane Walker, across to the Alfred's Head—she came back without any change.
Prisoner. I know nothing about it Witness. He was dressed as a barman, and looked very clean and nice—I am in the habit of giving coppers in change, as we take so many.
JANE WALKER . I assist Mrs. Hill—I saw the prisoner come in on 23rd December—I went and asked what he wanted—he said "Some coppers" I went to Mrs. Hill and she came and asked him how many he wanted—he said "As many as you can spare," he, said he came from the Alfred's Head—he said he would bring the money over, but he did not—he was dressed in a brown worsted jacket, like a barman.
Prisoner's Defence. I know nothing about this, only the first charge of ten shillings, which I returned.
He further PLEADED GUILTY to a previous conviction in October, 1870, at this Court. Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, January 9th, 1872.
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
(He had been nine times in Holloway Gaol). Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. LANGPORD conducted the Prosecution; and MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS the Defence.
STANLEY AUGUSTUS GILL . I am one of the house surgeons at the London Hospital—on 10th December, between 12 and 1 a.m., Frederick Errington was brought there, suffering from a lacerated wound of the scalp, at the back of his head—it was not dangerous, but he had lost blood, and was rather faint—he also had a black eye—I do not think he had been drinking.
Cross-examined. It was about 12.20.
FREDERICK ERRINGTON . I am a turner, of 14, Elizabeth Street, Hackney—on 9th December, after 11 o'clock, I was in Victoria Park Road—the prisoners came up and asked me to treat them—I at first refused—I afterwards went into the John Cass and had a pint of ale—the prisoners had a glass each and they were put out, I do not know who by—I was not put out—when I went out the prisoners followed me—Low knocked me down—I got up, and then a man came and gave me a blow on the back of my head with a preserver—I fell, and Low put her hand in my pocket and took my purse containing 1s. 9d.—Rogers knelt on my neck—I am sure these are the two women.
Cross-examined. I was perfectly sober—they were strangers to me—I did not treat them or drink with them, nor did they talk to me—one of them asked me to give her a drop—I was in the public-house about ten minutes—I had not been in any other public-house—I had been taking a walk from 7 o'clock to 11.30 and was going home—the public-house is only two or three doors from Victoria Park—I was not so drunk that I did not know where I went.
GEORGE CHAPMAM (Policeman). I took Low on the night of the 16th, and told her that I should take her for being concerned with two others in an assault and robbery, on Saturday night, in Victoria Park Road—she said "You are wrong"—I took, her to the London Hospital, and before we got to the bed the prosecutor said "That is the woman who assisted in robbing me in Victoria Park Road"—she said nothing—on the way to the station, I met Rogers and took her in custody.
CHARLES CRISP (Policeman). I was with Chapman when he took Low—I then took Rogers and said that it was for being concerned, with a man in custody, in violently assaulting Errington—she said "I know nothing about the b—purse"—I took her to the station and a man asked her what was the matter; she said "A b—purse on Saturday night, you take your Daniel and step it" and he went away.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. A. B. KELLEY conducted the Prosecution; and MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS
appeared for Buckley, and MR. LANGFORD for Ryan.
ELIZABETH DELL . I am the wife of Edward Dell, a wardrobe dealer, of Baldwin's Gardens—on Wednesday evening, 13th December, I employed Ryan at Houndsditch to carry a bundle of clothes to Moorgate railwaystation—I did not know him before—on arriving there I paid his fare and my own, the clothes were put into the break, he got in, and before I could get in the train went off—as it was starting, I said to him "You wait at Farringdon station for me"—I went to Farringdon station by the next train, which started two minutes afterwards, but on getting there did not find Ryan or the clothes—he was brought to me on the Friday by a friend of mine, and said that he had been looking for me, and had placed the goods in the station-house—I only found part of them there, and have not seen the rest.
Cross-examined by MR. LANGFORD. I met him at the Clothes Exchange—I engaged him first to carry them on his head; but the night was so bad that I thought I would pay his fare by train as well as my own—he rode in the third class.
CLARA HART . I am the wife of Michael Hart, a general dealer, of Widegate Street—on Wednesday night, about 9.45, Buckley came to our house and asked to see Mr. Hart—I said "He is having his supper; what do you want?"—he said "I have got some old clothes to sell, I have just come up in the train with them, and I will change them for china and glass; would you like to see them?"—I said "Yes, where are they?"—he said "At Mr. Ryan's, in Windsor Street"—I went there—Ryan was there, but Buckley showed me the bundle, it consisted of muslin skirts and things of that kind; he asked 12s. for them; I bid him 10s., and he would not take it, but he afterwards sent to me at my house by a young man, and I gave him the 10s.—on the Thursday morning, I sent for Buckley—he came, and was asked in my presence "Where did you come by them clothes?"—he said" I got them in exchange from another young man for some china and glass"—he was told "You have taken 10s. for them, and I don't think I could get them for 1l."—I wanted them taken to the station, and he said "It is nothing of the kind, I will give you my word that they shall be taken to the station"—I said "What am I to do for the 10s.?"—he said "Here is 7s., and my mother has 3s."
Cross-examined by MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS. They were given to a relation of Buckley, who took them to the station.
Cross-examined by MR. LANGFORD. I went to see the goods at Mr. Ryan's, 6, Windsor Street—I saw the father there, and two or three work-people, and the two prisoners—Ryan was in the room, but, he did not interfere—I know it is his father's, because I knew him coming in and out of our place.
MARY ANN GOLDING . I live at 3, Parliament Court, with Buckley's mother—on Tuesday or Wednesday week, Ryan came there between 9 and 10 o'clock, with a bundle of clothes—I work there as a tailoress, and he asked me if I would go and fetch Buckley—I went to him, he was going to bed, but came with me—I did not hear Ryan say anything to him—I did not see Mrs. Hart there.
Cross-examined by MR. M. WILLIAMS. I have known Buckley since I was eight years old; he has no father, he lives with his mother.
Cross-examined by MR. LANGPORD. Mrs. Hart did not come to Buckley's house, she came to Ryan's house between 9 and 10 o'clock at night—I did
not see her, but I believe she was there—I was not in the room, but I know she was up there.
MICHAEL HART . I am the husband of Clara Hart—on this Thursday morning, Buckley came, and I asked him where he had got the things—he said that he had made an exchange of china and glass coming from the railway station—I told him if he did not take them to the station-house directly, I would take them myself—he promised me faithfully that he would take them.
JAMES CHARLES KENISTON (City Policeman 334). I took Buckley, about 1.30 on the morning of 7th December, in Parliament Street—he was on the third floor landing, in his shirt, with his clothes under his arm—he said "What have you come about, a bundle of clothes?" and I said "Yes"—he said "Have you got Ryan?"—I said "Yes"—going to the station he said "I sold Mrs. Hart the things, and had 2s. 3d. of the money."
GHORGE NETTLEFIELD . I took Ryan—I knew that he had been to the station with a bundle, and I said "I want you for that bundle of clothes, you stole something out of"—he said "I took them all to the station-house."
Cross-examined by MR. LANGFORD. I was not there when he brought the bundle to the station—I do not know that he went round to the buyers of the clothes to know who Mrs. Dell was—I do not know that he went to Buckley for that purpose—Ryan's father is a tailor, and he works in the market—I heard him say that he took he clothes to the station.
MR. LANGFORD to ELIZABETH DELL. Q. When Ryan came down to the station, did not he tell you that he had been trying to find you out? A. Yes, he did not find me—a friend of mine, Mrs. Ed wards, brought him—I know from her that he went to her to ascertain where I lived, and she brought him to me, but that was after he had sold them.
RYAN— GUILTY— recommended to mercy by the Jury.—Judgment respited.
BUCKLEY— GUILTY — Eight Months' Imprisonment.
MR. BOTTOMLEY conducted the Prosecution.
JAMES TILLEY . I keep the Mulberry public-house, Twickenham—the prisoner lodged with me five or six months, off and on—on 16th December, about 2 o'clock, he gave me this cheque, and wrote his name, Mayle, on the back of it—that is the name in which he lived at my house—he asked me to cash it—I gave him 3l., and left him at the tap-room door, and sent my son up to Mr. Childs to see if they could cash it, and when he came back the prisoner was gone—I did not see him go, I was in the bar—he only got 3l.—I presented it at Scott's bank personally, and they wrote on it "No effects"—I did not see the prisoner again till I saw him at the Police Court.
Prisoner. Q. It was not unusual for me to be absent a week at a time? A. No.
EDWARD PERKINS ILIFFE . I am a clerk in Scott's bank, Cavendish Square—this cheque is drawn on that bank—it was not presented to me—I am pass-book clerk, and know all the accounts at the bank—there is no such name as Henry Martineaux, the drawer.
WILLIAM FARLEY (Policeman T 68). On 25th December, I met the prisoner in the Orleans Road, and told him I wanted him on a warrant for obtaining 3l. from Mr. Tilley on the 16th; he said "Good God"—I brought
him out of the beer-shop ho said "For God's sake don't take me round the town, and let anyone see me; the cheque is all right, if I can only find Wilson."
Prisoner's Defence. I took the cheque of a man named Wilson. I had no intention to defraud. I was away for a week on business. My mother lived only 200 yards from his house, and I knew that he would go there if there was anything wrong. I did not know but what the cheque was perfectly correct.
COURT to J. TILLEY. Q. Does he live in the neighbourhood? A. Yes, and has done so for years—he came to lodge at my house five or six months ago, and was lodging there on this Saturday—he slept there on Saturday night, and on the Sunday night, but I did not see him, as I went to bed early—he went away on the Monday—he was in the habit of going away—he calls himself a traveller—I have not cashed a cheque for him before, but he has asked me to do so—he declared that it was all right before my wife and son, and was quite vexed with me because I doubted it—it was crossed when I got it—he owed me 14s. or 18s. at the time for lodgings.
THE COURT pointed out to the Jury that the endorsement which was seen to be written by the prisoner was in a very different hand from the body of the cheque.
NOT GUILTY .
THIRD COURT.—Wednesday, January 10th, 1872.
Before Mr. Deputy Recorder.
LANGFORD—Three Days' Imprisonment. The Rev. Albert Richard Vardy stated that he would take Langford under his care.
MESSRS. METCALFE and TENNANT conducted the Prosecution; MR. SERJEANT SLNIGH and MR. STRAIGHT appeared for Watkins; MR. F. H. LEWIS for Hewlett; MR. BESLEY for Finden; and MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS for Lovell.
No evidence was offered against FINDEN and LOWELL.
NOT GUILTY .
ALEXANDER TURLIN (Interpreted). I live at 34, Rue Travis, Paris—I am a packer—I packed some coats at Versailles, which were sent to London—this (produced) is one of the coats—there were 7360 new ones and 400 old ones—there were sixty new ones in each bale, and five old ones put in so as to cover the new ones, as far as they would go—this is a piece of the wrapper they were packed in—all the bales were marked by me in a similar manner to that.
JEAN BAPTISTE MAILLET (Interpreted). I live at Boulogne, and am employed by Messrs. Lebeau, the carriers—I have seen this piece of sacking before—I opened all the bales for verification at the Custom House—on 8th November thirty-seven bales came through my hands, which I put on board the Cologne—on the 15th, sixty-seven which I put on board the Rhine and I also sent twenty by the Triton—they were put on board in fair condition—I marked those that were a little torn before putting them
on board—the Rhine left in the night, between 15th and 16th November, the Triton and Cologne about the same time—there was about one hour's difference.
ALFRED HOUGH . I am a lighterman, and live at 3, Queen Street, Horselydown—on 17th November, I took sixty-seven bales from the steamer Rhine, with my craft Amy, and took them to Thames Sufferance Wharf, which is occupied by Mr. Watkins—I saw him there, but I can't say that I saw Hewlett, so many persons were there—it was evening when I took them—they were not unloaded then, they were unloaded the next day—I saw Mr. Watkins on the wharf then—whether he was present all the time I could not say—the bales were in good condition when I took them, and likewise when I delivered them.
SOLOMON HART . I live at Montague Place, Russell Square—I am a wholesale warehouseman, at Bury Street, St. Mary Axe—in October I purchased of the French Government, at Versailles, a quantity of coats, which were sold at the disbandment of the police—there were about 7300 new ones, and several old ones—I made arrangements with Messrs. Lebeau & Co. to bring them from Versailles and deliver them in Bury Street—I received a bill of lading, which I returned to Messrs. Lebeau & Co., as they had entire charge of the coats—ultimately a number of bales, containing the coats, were delivered at my establishment—there were ninety-two bales delivered previous to my visit to Sufferance Wharf-my attention had been called to the bales, and I went over and inspected—I found there was something wrong, in consequence of which I went to Sufferance Wharf, on 23rd November, and again on the 24th—I went with Mr. Hooper, but he left, and was not there during the examination—I found thirty-two bales of coats at the wharf—I had each bale examined, weighed, and counted, in my presence, and I found a very large deficiency, both in weight and quantity, according to my advices from France—the paper which Messrs. Lebeau received from Hewlett was not made out at that time—I found a number marked on each bale, with the exception of four bales, where the marks had been torn off—the number of coats in each bale were marked outside.
ALEXANDER TURLIN (re-called). I marked the number of coats put into each bale on the outside—I put "sixty" in a diamond, and a little "n "for new ones, and a "5 "and a "v "for old ones—I did that on the first eighty bales, after the eightieth bale I marked them "sixty n" for new ones.
SOLOMAN HART (continued). The thirty-two bales I inspected, were marked in the way he has stated—I found a deficiency on thirty-one bales, and one I found correct—the largest number deficient in any one bale was fourteen coats, and the smallest two—there was a deficiency of 177 coats in the thirty-one bales—I have lost 473 coats, including the deficiency of the thirty-two bales on that consignment—the first person I saw on my arrival at the wharf was Hewlett—Hooper introduced me to him, and told him I had come down to examine the coats, and asked him to act for Messrs. Lebeau as he had some engagement, and could not stay—Hewlett said "Very well, all right"—he called a lad, who came with a book, and attended the scale, counted the coats, and took an account of them—after some four or five bales had been weighed and examined, I observed to Hewlett that it was a most extraordinary robbery, that the whole of my
bales, to all appearances, had been plundered and repacked; and I remarked that I had never heard of such a thing as 124 bales being plundered and repacked, and I imagined it had occurred on the other Bide, as Messrs. Lebeau had not carried out the contract with me, and had entered my goods as rags when they were paid for as merchandize—Hewlett said "You are quite correct, we have had a great deal of difficulty about these coats, they were entered here as rags, and we have had some bother with the Customs, and we have also had the Insurance Company down here about them"—as we went on, I said it was a most disgraceful affair, and I was sure it could not have occurred in London—I did not think there could be facility enough to open and repack 124 bales of goods-Hewett said if they were carried as rags Lebeau would have to pay me—Mr. Watkins came down to the scale on the first or second day, and I told him I was convinced that the bales had been opened and plundered—I spoke to them both about it more than once—I don't recollect Watkins making any remark at all—neither Hewlett or Watkins said anything about an extra bale or any loose coats, or about selling coats and receiving the money, or anything of the kind—I have seen the coats that were found at Meyer's establishment—they were some of the coats I bought—there were several sorts, mixed French uniforms—I told both Hewlett and Watkins that I thought there would be something like 500 or 600 short.
Cross-examined by MR. SERJEANT SLEIGH. Sufferance Wharf is on the banks of the Thames—I only went into one of the warehouses on the wharf—I don't know whether there are two, one distinct from the other—I don't know sufficient of the premises to say one way or the other—I noticed there was a very small quantity of goods there, for a wharf down there—I mean on the floors, I did not go on the wharf—Mr. Watkins did not say that he did not attend much to the management of the business himself—he did not say that he was for the most part in the City all day—I noticed he was particularly silent—the boy who was at the scale was present while I was there—I don't know his name—he has not been examined yet—there were three or four persons present; I don't know their names, they were men at the wharf—I don't think Hewlett was present when I was speaking to Mr. Watkins.
Cross-examined by MR. LEWIS. I bought the goods at the Palace of Versailles—I bought 7300, more or less—I expected 124 bales, 122 with sixty coats in each, and one bale of forty coats and old clothing, and one of old clothing—I am not speaking of the old coats at all—I only bought them for wrappers—I am speaking of the new ones, and I gave instructions that five old coats should be used as wrappers as far as they would go—I never looked for any deficiency in the old coats—I have been told that a portion of the bales went to the Gun and Shot Wharf—Messrs. Lebeau & Co. had disclosed to me that the first thirty-two bales were landed at the Gun and Shot Wharf, but I know of no wharf except through them—I have not received what I purchased, by 473 coats.
Cross-examined by MR. SERJEANT SLEIGH. There were four or five of the bales a little torn when I took them out of the steam boat—they were torn very slightly. Re-examined. They seemed quite full at that time.
BENNETT HOOPER . I am shipping clerk to Messrs. Lebeau & Co.—I received instructions about the delivery of 124 bales of coats, to Mr. Hart, and I gave instructions to Mr. Watkins about the delivery at Thames Sufferance Wharf, on 18th November—I arranged for the landing of the bales there, and from the wharf they were to be delivered to Mr. Hart—I told Watkins that no bales were to be delivered unless they were perfectly sound—those which were sound were to be delivered to Mr. Hart, by vans, and he was to retain the remainder for examination—thirty-seven bales were delivered at the Gun and Shot Wharf, and eighty-seven at Sufferance Wharf—I first knew of their being landed when I was there on 18th November, and saw them there—I afterwards received a report, from Hewlett, of fifty-two bales—it is signed by him—it states that they were marked "SH L," and the numbers and the weight in cwts. and quarters, varying a little, and the quantities of coats, fifty, fifty-six, sixty-one, and so on—there was a slight difference at that time, according to his report—I went to the wharf, after receiving that report, with Mr. Hart, to introduce him, for the purpose of making his examination—I examined some bales, which had been delivered at Mr. Hart's, and found them deficient, more or less.
Cross-examined by Mr. LEWIS. That document purports to show the number of coats in each bale—I saw a boy on the wharf, but I did not know his name was Duke—I have no knowledge whether that document is made from his tally—I saw a boy there, booking them as they were counted—Hewlett was there at the time—I believe Duke was examined before the Magistrate.
Cross-examined by MR. SERJEANT SLEIGH. I have formerly been in Mr. Watkins' employment—I left about two years ago—there are two separate warehouses at Sufferance Wharf—quite distinct—while I was there, Mr. Watkins was not there a great deal—he was in the City a good deal—during the whole of the time I knew Mr. Watkins, as far as my knowledge went, he bore an irreproachable character for honesty and integrity—I have heard that before he embarked in business he was an officer in the army—I was manager when I was in his service, and a man named Norris was under me—Hewlett came after I left—Norris took my place as manager when I left.
GEORGE READ (Thames Police Inspector). From information I received I went to Lovell's house on 27th November—I had a conversation with him, and I afterwards saw Finden—I had a conversation with him, and I then went to Hewlett's house, 2, St. Paul's Villas, Park Lane, Tottenham—I got there about 2.30 on the morning of the 28th—Mr. Robinson and a constable were with me—Mr. Robinson is superintendent to Lebeau & Co.—I rang the bell, and Hewlett looked out of the window, and said "Who's there?"—Robinson said "Mr. Robinson"—he said "What do you want?"—Mr. Robinson said "I want to speak to you"—he said "You must come in the morning"—I said "I am an Inspector of Police, and I wish to speak to you"—he said "You must come in the morning"—I said "No, I have come a long way; I can't come in the morning; you must come down tonight, or I shall have to come in"—when he came down I said "Your name is Mr. Hewlett, you are manager at the Thames Sufferance Wharf"—he said "Yes"—I said "You employed a man named Finden to sell some coats last week"—he said "Yes, I did"—I said "Who authorised you to sell those coats?"—he said "I decline to answer that"—I said "I believe you received the money from Mr. Finden for the coats"—ho said "I decline to answer that question"—I said "Those coats have been stolen, and I shall JOHN ROBINSON. I am chief wharf-clerk to Lebeau & Co.—on 28th November, I went with Reed to Hewlett's house—I have heard what Reed has said—it is correct—on the way to the station, Hewlett said "I should like to tell you all about it, as I don't see why I should bear the blame myself, when I was only carrying out my employer's instructions; I should not like to bring the matter forward, accusing my master of it, as I should
take you into custody for being concerned with others in stealing them"—he said "No, I did not steal them, I can soon clear myself"—I said "If you can it will be to your interest to do so, I don't wish you to make any statement to me, I would rather you would wait till you get to the station"—when at the station he said, in the presence of Mr. Robinson, myself, and other officers, "I don't wish to criminate my employer; when the goods came to our wharf there was one bale over, and a lot of loose coats, and I asked my governor what I was to do with them; he said 'You may as well get them together and sell them,' and I then gave a coat as a sample to Mr. Finden, and he sold them"—I said "And when Mr. Finden handed the money to you for the coats, what did you do with it?"—he said "I handed it to my governor, Mr. Watkins"—I said "How much?"—he said "I don't know exactly, but I think about 40l."—he then gave me Mr. Watkins' address, "Oakley Square, Camden Town"—I went there about 3 o'clock on the morning of the 28th—I rang the bell; a female looked out of the window—I said I had come from Mr. Hewlett, from Wapping, and I wished to speak to Mr. Watkins—the answer was "Very well"—Mr. Watkins came down to the door, and opened it a little way, with the chain on—I told him I was an Inspector of Police, and that Mr. Hewlett was at the station about some coats that had been Bold, and would he come down to the station and see Mr. Hewlett—I handed in a card upon which Hewlett had written for Mr. Watkins to come down and release him—he said "Yes, I will come back"—he dressed himself, and came away with us, and we took him to Wapping station—I told them all I should charge them with stealing 302 coats—Hewlett said something to Watkins about settling it with Mr. Robinson—I did not hear what it was, exactly—Hewlett said to Mr. Watkins "You know when the goods came to us there was a bale over, and a lot loose, and I asked you what I should do with them, and you said I might as well get them together, and sell them, which I have done; I only acted as a servant"—Mr. Watkins said "Yes, that is right."
Cross-examined by MR. SERJEANT SLEIGH. When I asked Watkins to come down to the station, he came directly.
Cross-examined by MR. LEWIS. I saw Finden and Lovell before I saw Hewlett—they gave me an explanation which led me on to Hewlett—there was no secrecy on their part—there was some conversation between Hewlett and Robinson which I did not hear—he might have given, as a reason for not wishing to oriminate his master, that he should lose a good situation if he did—I went to Wapping before I went to Mr. Watkins—Hewlett gave me a card with Watkins' name on it, to take to Mr. Watkins to come and clear him, and when Mr. Watkins was brought into the station Hewlett said to him "I have told the persons here that you gave me instructions to dispose of the coats"—Mr. Watkins said "Yes," and then Hewlett said something about settling the matter with Mr. Robinson—Mr. Watkins did say to Mr. Robinson "What is the claim for the coats," or something of that sort—I could not say what it was, I was busy at the time, and it did not concern me.
JOHN ROBINSON . I am chief wharf-clerk to Lebeau & Co.—on 28th November, I went with Reed to Hewlett's house—I have heard what Reed has said—it is correct—on the way to the station, Hewlett said "I should like to tell you all about it, as I don't see why I should bear the blame myself, when I was only carrying out my employer's instructions; I should not like to bring the matter forward, accusing my master of it, as I should
lose a good situation by so doing"—he then said, "I got a market for the coats through Finden, who sold them by the help of Lovell; Lovell had 2l. for his trouble, Finden 5l.; I had 10 per cent, on the whole amount, and the surplus was handed over to Mr. Watkins, in Bank of England notes, and the very same notes were placed to my master's credit at the bank, which he could prove by his books"—I also went with Reed when he took Watkins—at the station, when he was brought in contact with Hewlett, he told Mr. Watkins that he had mentioned to the people present that he gave instructions to dispose of the coats—Watkins hesitated for a moment or two, and raised his head again, and said "Yes"—Hewlett said "You had better settle the matter with Messrs. Lebeau & Co."—Mr. Watkins then asked me what was the claim for the coats—I told him I could not answer that question—he then came round to me at the other side of the station, and asked me to do what I could to settle the matter, as he did not want it to come before the court-house that morning—I told him I could do nothing of the kind, and that was all that passed.
Cross-examined by MR. SERJEANT SLEIGH. Hewlett said that he found a bale and some loose coats, and that he asked his master what he should do with them—he said that to Reed, not to me.
EDWARD FINDEN . I am a general merchant—I disposed of 302 of the coats in question, through Lovell—I believe the coats found at Meyers, are the same—I can't recognise them—Mr. Hewlett sent a sample up to my house—I handed it over to Lovell—I told Hewlett it was out of my line, I could not sell them myself, and I handed the sample over to Lovell—he got an offer for the coats—I told Hewlett and he supplied the quantity—he was at the wharf then—I think it was on Wednesday, as I had the coat on the Monday—I don't know the day of the month—I received the coat on the Monday—I saw Hewlett on the Wednesday, and handed the money over on the Friday—I told him on Wednesday that I had had an offer, and he accepted it—Lovell gave me the order and told me where to send them to—I gave it to Hewlett and he sent them—the offer was 5s. 6d. each—Hewlett went away, and when he came back he accepted the offer—the bulk was sent in a cart to Houndsditch—I saw Hewlett again on the Friday morning, when I gave him the money—I think it was 79l. as near as I can say, in Bank of England notes and cash—they were the same notes I received from Lovell—Hewlett was the only one I saw in the transaction—I never saw the bulk—he merely sent the sample to my house.
Cross-examined by MR. SERJEANT SLEIGH. I did not regard the transaction as anything improper, I should do it every day if I possibly could—if there was a sack on the wharf, it would be the thing to get rid of it, and account for it to the owner, if it was subsequently claimed.
Cross-examined by MR. LEWIS. When Hewlett spoke to me he said they belonged to his governor—he did not in any way hint how I should dispose of them.
SAMUEL HOWARD (Thames Police 70). I was employed to watch Sufferance Wharf—on 5th December, I went on the roof of the adjoining wharf, which is rather lower than the other—I found two gunnery bags containing twelve coats and a jacket—they were coats with brass buttons, and one was a blue jacket.
I produced to the police 302 coats, which I had from Lovell—I gave him a cheque for 100l. 19s. 6d. which I have here—it is dated 23rd November—that was the date of the transaction—Lovell came the next day, the 24th, for an open cheque, and I made the same cheque an open cheque—it has been cashed—the negociation was on the Monday, and went on till Thursday, the 23rd, when the goods were delivered between 4 and 5 o'clock, and the sale was completed.
WILLIAM FREDERICK CHANDLER . I am a clerk in the London and Westminister Bank, head office—I have here one of the books of the bank—I did not make the entries, and the cheque was not cashed by me—Mr. Peterson was the person who made the entry—Hewlett had an account at the bank—I did not keep that account—Mr. Paterson was the person who entered the numbers of the notes in the book.
WILLIAM PATERSON . I am a clerk in the London and Westminister Bank—I have an entry here of a cheque drawn by Meyers & Son, on 24th November, 100l. 19s. 6d.—that entry is in my writing, and I paid the cheque in seven 10l. notes and 30l. 19s. 6d. in cash—the notes were numbered 67704 to 67710—I don't keep Hewlett's account, it would be the ledger keeper.
CHARLES MCBEAN . I am a clerk in the London and Westminister Bank—Hewlett has an account there—on November 25th I credited him with 20l., paid in two 10l. notes, numbered 67705 and 67706—I also credited Watkins with four notes for 10l., each numbered 67704, 67708—9 and 10.
WILLIAM BARNETT . I am a general dealer—I know Hewlett—the writing on this credit slip looks like his, it is his signature, "C. F. Hewlett"—this one looks like Mr. Watkins'. (This was a credit slip for Hewlett for two 10l. notes, dated 24/11/71.)
EDWARD FINDEN (re-examined by MR. STRAIGHT). I went to the wharf, on 23rd, to tell them to send the coats up—I was a cart there at the time—it was between 12 and 1 o'clock—I am quite sure it was after 12 o'clock—I saw several persons about the wharf.
COURT to SIMON MEYERS. Q. You bought 302 coats, how were they packed up? A. In bales—these were not the wrappers, and there were no shipping marks—they were different wrappers altogether to what have been produced.
COURT to SOLOMON HART. Q. What time did you go to the wharf on 23rd? A. I got down there about 10.30 or 11, and got back to my place about 2.30—I went about the same hour the next day.
The prisoners received good characters.
GUILTY—Recommended to mercy by the Jury on account of their good characters.
No evidence was offered against WHARNSLEY— NOT GUILTY , WATKINS. and HEWLETT PLEADED GUILTY — Two Years' Imprisonment each . The COURT ordered Watkins to pay the costs of the Prosecution to an amount not exceeding 75 l., and to pay the Prosecutors in each case the sum of 100l.
FOURTH COURT.—Wednesday, January 10th, 1872.
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
MR. MOODY conducted the Prosecution; and MR. WOOD the Defence.
SARAH WELLS . I am the wife of Peter Wells, who keeps the Walton Arms beer-shop, High Street, Poplar—about 3 a.m on 2nd January, I was awakened by some noise in the bar—I called up my nephew, and we went down—a constable had the prisoners in custody—I was shown a tin can and stone bottle, which contained some ale and stout—they were my husband's property—I fastened every place up the night before, excepting the back door, which was left on the latch for a lodger—I bad closed the shutter of the kitchen window—when I came down, the window was half way open, as if the shutter had been tried.
COURT. Q. Did you leave these things in the bar when you went to bed? A. I did.
Cross-examined. I did not measure the ale and stout—I did not see the prisoners in the house, they were some yards off—the noise I heard was like water being turned on; instead of that it was the taps of the barrels, the beer running all over the bar, and it was like people rumbling about in the bar—it was not a great noise—anyone could open the back door—the name of the lodger is Mappin; he has lodged with us for years—my sister and a woman named Slade, a ship-keeper, were also lodging there—I had a friend from Liverpool staying there, but she has gone away—she was not living there with George Harris—I heard the prisoners say they were passing the house, and two girls came past at the time; they said they should like a drink of beer, and the girls said "You can get beer here at any time," and that they gave the girls three shillings to come in and get the beer—I took the police-sergeant up stairs to see if there were any women there—I know one of the prisoners—I think they were tipsy.
Re-examined. When the sergeant came, he did not find anybody but the lodgers in the house—I saw no girls about my place.
DANIEL PRATT . I am the nephew of the last witness—she called me up on this morning, and I went down—I saw Donovan with a can, and Sullivan with a stone bottle, going out of the front door—I called out, and the police came up and took them—they had got about twenty yards from the house when they were taken.
Cross-examined. I live in the house—I had been sleeping in the tap-room next to the bar—I generally sleep up stairs, but my brother and another little chap had got my bed.
GEORGE ROBERTS (Policeman K 607). About 3 a.m. on 2nd January, I was on duty in High Street, Poplar, and while passing the Walton Arms, I heard a bustling noise—I waited outside, when the prisoners came out, Donovan carrying a tin can, and Sullivan a bottle—I asked what it was; they said "Beer"—I asked where they got it, and they said "We paid for it"—I heard someone call out "Stop thief! they have robbed me"—I immediately seized them, and got them inside the beer shop until assistance came—they came out of the place rather fast.
Cross-examined. I do not think they were much under the influence of drink—Sullivan might have been, but Donovan was not the worse for drink—they did not say anything about an Irish wake that was going on that night—when they got to the station, they said they had given two girls three shillings to get some beer for them.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. COOPER conducted the Prosecution.
MART MOTT . I am the prisoner's wife, and live at 11, Ferdinand Place—I have not lived with him for eleven months—on 18th December, I met the prisoner, and went into the Buck's Head public-house—we were on pretty good terms—he said he had heard I had been married to a man of the name of Jeckel, seven weeks, and I said, in a joke, "Yes I have"—this was after we went into the public-house—we had a few-words—he asked me whether I was married, and I said yes, I was—he then drew his knife, and stabbed me in the neck—he was very tipsy—this is the knife—I am living with Joe Jeckel now.
Prisoner. I was very drunk, and she asked me to cut her finger nails.
Witness. I did not ask him; he said they were rather long, and he would cut them.
THOMAS WILLINGDALE . I live at 49, Whitfield Street, Tottenham Court Road—at 6.45, on 18th December, I was in the Buck's Head—I saw the prisoner and his wife come in—they had a quartern of gin—some words took place between them, and I saw the prisoner draw his right hand from his pocket, walk up to the woman, and put his hand up to her neck—I saw the knife—this is it (produced)—I saw the wound lay open—I called to the landlord.
THOMAS ROWLAND (Policeman S 24). Between 7 and 8 o'clock, on 18th December, I saw the prisoner brought to the station, by S R 19—the prosecutrix was assisted in by other persons—I saw she had a very severe wound in the neck, I could have put my finger in it—I had her taken to the hospital—the prisoner said "It is my wife; I did it; and I will do it again; I will murder her, and Joe Jeckel, too."
Prisoner. I never said such words. Witness. She said she had been married to him seven weeks come Tuesday, or seven weeks last Tuesday—I should consider the prisoner was drunk, or else he was very weak; he could scarcely stand by himself.
Prisoner. I do not know what to say; she caused me to do it; I love her as well as I love my life.
GUILTY on the Second Count — Two Years' Imprisonment.
MR. BESLEY conducted the Prosecution; and MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS the Defence.
JULIA ANN FIANDER . I am a single woman, and carry on the business of a stationer, at 6, Down Street, Piccadilly—I also have a post and telegraph-office there—the prisoner had letters addressed there, to be called for—he did not ask my permission ever since I have had the place, three years—in July he gave mo an order for printing—this (produced) is one of the papers I printed according to his directions—
(MR. BESLEY read the last paragraph in the circular as follows: "Further correspondence may, in the first instance, be addressed 'Major Robinson, 1st Derbyshire Regiment Militia, Post Office, Down Street, Piccadilly, London.' Each applicant must furnish his name and address, and pay 50l. at the time of subscribing. That sum will defray all the expenses incidental to the expedition, and in return a formal acknowledgment, expressive of all particulars, and guaranteeing the due accomplishment of the expedition, without further or extra charge, will be transmitted to each subscriber.") I printed 100 circulars—after they were printed I received this letter (produced) in reference to postage-stamps—it was brought by Mr. Adam's, Captain Hunt's Secretary.
CHARLES BUTCHER (Detective Officer). When the prisoner was taken into custody he said it was all settled, his secretary had been there and paid the money—I asked him who is secretary was, and he said "Mr. Adams."
JULIA ANN FIANDER (re-called). I have seen Adams and the prisoner together more than once—this letter is in the prisoner's handwriting—I sent the stamps afterwards—I received this second letter on the 1st August, and on the 3rd August Mr. Adams came and had the circulars—he brought this cheque for 3l. 10s. (produced)—that is in the handwriting of Mr. Hunt—I made out the bill, and Adams said he should like a receiptstamp put on—I put one on, and signed it, and he gave me the cheque, and I gave him 1l. 3s. 1d. out of it—my account was 1l. 8s. for the circulars, and 18s. 11d. for stamps—I was induced to part with my money because I thought there were effects in the bank, and I should get the money—I paid the cheque into the Postmaster-General's the same night—the next morning Mr. Adams came and said Captain Hunt had sent him, and if I would give him back the cheque he would give me the money—I told him I had sent it to the General Post Office—in the afternoon this letter came: ("4th August, 1871. Miss Fiander. Madam. I find that a gentleman who faithfully promised me 65l. has not kept his word, and that the 3l. cheque will therefore not be met, as my account has not been put in the condition I expected, at the bank. I write to tell you Mr. Adams will call upon you to settle it to-morrow afternoon, so do not be put out about it.")—Adams came every day until the cheque came back—on the 15th August it was returned—I told him I had got it, and he asked me if I would let him have it—I said "Yes, if he would give me the money," but he had not got the money, and I did not show him the cheque—I never got back my money—this is another letter I received before the cheque was returned—it is in the prisoner's handwriting: ("I am very sorry you should have had any inconvenience about the cheque, but immediately I receive my money this week I will send yours round. Please give bearer letters for 'H. de V., Major R.' or 'Major Robinson."')—I did not see the prisoner from the time of parting with my money until he was in custody.
Cross-examined. When Adams called the next morning, if he had the money and I had the cheque, I should of course have given it back.
EDWIN CHARLES MORRIS . I am chief cashier at the Knightsbridge branch of the London and County Bank—on the 17th February, 1871, the defendant opened an account there—I have the account before me—a pass book was issued—I cannot say whether it was finally left in his possession, but I believe, from the initials which appear in the ledger, that he had the pass book on the 12th April—the first payment in, was 290l. on the 17th
February; 23rd February, 50l.; 25th February, 90l.; 4th March, 12l. 10s.; 6th March, 8. 10s.; 9th March, 110l.; 13th, 41l. 13s.; 14th, 10l.; 24th; 40l. and 30l.; 27th, 11l. 17s.; and on the 1st April, 85l.; it was a running account—on the 12th April the balance in hand was 19l. 16s. 6d., including a cheque of Mr. Parks for 12l., which was returned by us on the 14th—on the 14th April there was 4s. 6d. to his credit, and on the 20th April the account was overdrawn 8l. 15s. 6d., and it has remained so—on the 20th April, two cheques came in for 2l. each; on the 2nd May, one for 8l. 10s.; on the 13th May, 5l. 10s.; on the 24th May, 2l.; and on the 5th (August, 3l. 10s., the cheque in question—there was none between May and August—those cheques I have mentioned were not met—when an account is overdrawn there is a letter sent to the customer—that is always done, and it was done in this case—I saw it done—I saw the letter written—I did not see it go—it was sent to the post-office by our messenger.
—SMITH. I am messenger at the bank—I principally post all letters—to the best of my belief, the letter of the 29th April, 1871, addressed to Mr. Hunt, I delivered by hand, at 32, Brompton Crescent, the defendant's address—I have a press-copy of the letter—I make these press copies.
COURT. Q. Can you say you made that copy? A. To the best of my belief I delivered a copy of that letter to the defendant's address—I cannot say for certain—I will swear it was either delivered by hand or posted by me—(Letter read: "29th April, 1871. Sir. I am directed to apply to you again for the payment of—the amount of your overdrawn account, 8l. 15s. 6d. Signed, George Sheward, Manager.") I can't say positively the letter of the 6th May was either delivered by hand or posted—I have a book in which I enter letters that are posted—I do not see any entry of a letter on the 6th May—I find the one on the 29th April, and I am able now to swear positively that I did post it.
MR. MORRIS (re-examined). There was a letter of 6th May.
CHARLES BUTCHER (Detective Officer C). I had a warrant handed to me in August, and I endeavoured to find the prisoner—I made every inquiry at the West End, where he was well-known, and at the Horse Repositories, and Queen Square—I continued to endeavour to find him up to November—I took him into custody the early part of November—I told him it was in reference to a cheque for 3l. 10s., in Down Street—he said Adams would settle the matter—I know Adams—the last time I saw him was in Piccadilly—I have not seen him since a fortnight before the prisoner was committed—I have seen the prisoner in Adams' company.
Cross-examined. The prisoner also said "When I gave Adams the cheque I expected the money would be paid in."
At the Prisoner's request, sentence was deferred till next Session.
151. THOMAS BURTON (17), JOHN CRADDOCK (19), JAMES MULLINS (20), JOHN BARNES (18), HENRY PAINTER (16), and MARY ANN WILLIAMS (24), were indicted for a robbery, with violence, on Samuel Boys, and stealing a purse, and 2l. 17s. 6d. MR. BROMBY conducted the Prosecution; >MR. HORACE BROWNE defended Mullens; MR. MEAD, Craddock; and MR. BESLEY, Mary Ann Williams.
SAMUEL BOYS . I live in Well Street, Hackney—about 12 o'clock p.m. on the 10th December, I was passing by the end of Full wood's Rents, Holborn, when I was rounded on by nine or ten men and a woman—I was hustled down this court, and thrown on my back; the bundle I had in my hand
was taken away, and my hands were trodden upon, some one held my feet, and several were round me searching my pockets—I do not know whether it was a man or woman—there were two sovereigns in my left trousers pocket, and in the right pocket there was a half-sovereign, a florin, a shilling, sixpence, and perhaps two or three halfpence—there was also a pocket-knife, duplicates, and several other things in my pocket, which were all taken away—some one had hold of my chin, keeping it up—I did not see Craddock or Williams there—the other four I did see, or else I am very much mistaken—I identify Burton, Mullins, Barnes and Painter—you must understand, when I got off the ground I was terrified—before I was knocked down I had a very good chance of seeing them—they were right under a lamp—I have a doubt about Mullins now—I fancy the man was stouter—after they had looked me over pretty well, a policeman came up, and they all ran away except one, who was taken into custody—I never saw Williams until I saw her at the Police Court.
JEREMIAH SUTTERS (Policeman E R 23). On the 10th December, I was on duty in Holborn—about 12 p.m. I heard a disturbance in Fullwood's Rents—I went down, and saw the prosecutor on his back, and all the prisoners, with two others, round him; some were searching him and some holding him down—Craddock was holding his legs, Mullins his left arm, and Burton was holding his handover his mouth, and feeling in his pocket—Barnes and Painter were on his legs, holding him down—Williams was on his left side, and had her hand in his trousers pocket—when they saw me they jumped up and all ran into "the kitchen," except Williams and Burton—I took Burton into custody, and Williams said "Don't take him, he has not got anything"—I said to the prosecutor "Do you intend to charge this man with robbing you?"—he said "Yes," and I took him to the station—I am quite positive about the identity of the middle lot—I have no doubt about Williams, I have known her for years—I had also known the other four—I am quite sure they are the four—there were two others that got away I have not seen since—after I had taken Burton to the station, I returned to the kitchen, with assistance, and found the other four prisoners there—when I took Burton, he said he had nothing to do with it—when I took the other four in the kitchen, Craddock said "I suppose it is that case of old Cox you want us for?" and he sung out "Bill, am I to go?"
Cross-examined by MR. MEAD. This kitchen opens directly on to the court—you go about four yards before you come to the kitchen stairs—I returned to the kitchen in about an hour and a half—Craddock was dressed as he is now—I did not turn on my lantern in Fullwood's Rents—it was quite light—there was a lamp where they were—I ran down as quick as possible—I stood and looked on for about a half minute to see what they were doing—this kitchen is No. 20—the landlord is here—I think there are twenty-four houses in Fullwood's Rents, all let out in different tenements, to costermongers and others—I did not dictate a description of the prisoners when I got to the station.
Burton. I had nothing to do with it; I went to see what was going on.
Barnes. I was down in the kitchen when the policeman came. I never had my coat on all night; I did not leave off work until 12.40. I work at one of the "Tater" machines, at the corner of Farringdon Street.
Painter. I am innocent. I know nothing about it.
Mullins received a good character.
Witness for the Defense.
JOHN WALTERS . I live at 20, Fullwood's Rents, Holborn—I know the men here—I know there was a robbery committed that night—I heard them rush down the passage through our kitchen at the time—I saw one man, he went into the kitchen, he told me afterwards that he was in the affair—he is not here—all the prisoners were in the kitchen before and after the occurrence, and at the time of the occurrence—Burton was in the court, but Craddock, Mulling, Barnes, and Painter were in the kitchen—I saw them there.
Williams. Q. When you came out of the kitchen did I not tell you all the men that were concerned in this robbery? A. Yes, you did—I could bring other witnesses to prove that these men were not concerned in the affair at all.
MR. BROMBY. Q. Are you the keeper of this kitchen? A. Yes, I know all the prisoners—they had been in the kitchen more than an hour before the policeman came.
COURT. Q. What is this place—an eating-house? A. A common lodging-house—I did not hear the disturbance which the robbery made, but I heard the rush of the men running away—the prisoners were in the kitchen then, because I ran down directly.
MR. BROMBY. Q. When you were before the Magistrate did you not say the policeman came ten minutes afterwards? A. No, I should think it was ever so long.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. BROMBY conducted the Prosecution; MR. MEAD defended Craddock, and
MR. H. BROWNE Mullins.
EDWARD FRANCIS BARNES . I am a law writer, and live at 10, New North Street, Red Lion Square—on Saturday night, the 25th November, I was coming along Holborn, and three men came from Fullwood's Rents—one knocked me down—I was knocked down three times, and there was one man I cannot recognise, tapped my pocket, and my money was taken out of it—I am quite sure about the two prisoners—Craddock knocked me down first, and Mullins the second time, and the other man knocked me down the third time—when I got up I found my money was gone—it was in my pocket loose—this was a little after 12.
Cross-examined by MR. MEAD. I could recognise the third man if I were to see him—Craddock was dressed in a white jacket—I was examined at the Police Court; my depositions were taken down and I signed them—Craddock tapped my pocket—I am quite certain Craddock struck me first.
MR. MEAD read from the depositions: "Mullins came from the top of Fullwood's Rents and struck me in the face"—they each did, but Craddock did it first.
Cross-examined by MR. BROWNE. I saw the prisoners the next night—they were not in custody then—I did not give them in custody, because there was not a policeman there—I did not say a word to them, they were at the top of Fullwood's Rents—I was at Bow Street on another case and saw these men in the dock—I did not describe the people at the police office.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. HOLLINGS conducted the Prosecution.
VALDEMAR LASSOTO . I am a student, and live at 11, Belsize Road—the house belongs to my father—on the 6th December I went to bed about 12.30—I saw the house was secured—I got up between 8 and 9 o'clock, and missed two coats, one jacket, and four knives—these (produced) are the coats I lost—I had seen them the evening before, when I left the dining-room.
EDWIN BUTTERFIELD (Policeman S 3). I took the prisoner into custody on the 7th, and charged him with committing a burglary at No. 11, Belsize Road—he stated that the coat was given to him to pawn by a man whom he should not know at the corner of Earl Street, Lisson Grove, and he pawned it for 14s.—this was about 7 o'clock.
NENILA PANTALIEF . I am cook in Mr. Lassoto's service—on the morning of the 7th December I came down at 6 o'clock, and found all the front doors open, and three coats were missing—these are the coats—also four knives and 4s. 5d., my money.
JOHN GODFREY . I live at 14, Woodstock Street, Oxford Street, and am a stableman—between 4 and 5 o'clock, p.m., on the 7th December, I saw the prisoner, with another man, coming out of my employers' yard—the prisoner asked me if I would purchase a pawn ticket of an overcoat—he produced the ticket, and I went to the pawnbroker's and saw the coat—it was pawned at Amhurst's, in the Edgware Road—this is the coat—this is the ticket the prisoner had shown to me.
Prisoner's Defense. On the 7th December I was living at 3, Little Grove Street—there were two young men there, and they said "Adcock, will you go and pawn us a coat?"—I said I did not mind—I pawned it for 14s., and brought back the money—they gave me the ticket, and a young fellow there said "I know where you can sell that ticket," and I went with him to the last witness, and offered to sell it to him—I asked him a half-crown—he said "All right, you call again at 7 o'clock, and I will look at the coat"—at 7 o'clock, when I got down there, there were two detectives, and they took me into custody.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Wednesday, January 10th, 1872.
Before Mr. Justice Lush.
154. DENNIS REES (29), was indicted for feloniously wounding James Wilson, with intent to murder him. Upon the evidence of JOHN ROWLAND GIBSON , the surgeon of Newgate Gaol, the Jury found that the prisoner was of unsound mind, and incapable of pleading. Ordered to be detained till Her Majesty's pleasure be known.
MR. BROMBY conducted the Prosecution.
JOHN SHAW . I am a general dealer, of Old Brentford—the prisoner is my son's wife—they live in my house—on 11th December I went to bed about 11 o'clock, or a little after, and went to sleep—I afterwards heard a
noise in my son's bedroom, and heard him cry out "Oh, Em, don't murder me!"—he used to call her "Em"—as soon as I opened my door my daughter-in-law rushed into my room, and I went to see what was the matter—I went into the room and found my son all over blood—he was, I believe, stooping to get his things on—he went down stairs and went out of the house—I did not help him down—he left while I was dressing, and I found him at a neighbour's house—I left him there and returned—the prisoner afterwards came back into his room, and I saw this small whitehandled cheese-knife on the wash hand-stand—there was more blood on it than there is now—it was covered with blood—there was blood on the carpet where he was standing—my daughter was stark naked when she came into my room—I did not see her clothes in the bedroom—when she came to my room she said "Oh, father, you must get up"—she had blood on one of her arms.
Prisoner. I came to your door and you got up and ran down stairs directly; you did not go into my room. A. I did, and I wrapped the child's nightgown round my son's neck in his room.
COURT. Q. How did they live together? A. Sometimes very comfortably, but sometimes they used to have little falls out, I do not know on whose side—I believe there was no cause for it—I have heard her say that he has been having other women, which I believe to be a very great falsehood.
WILLIAM SHAW . I am the prisoner's husband—we live with my father—on 11th December, just before 11" o'clock, I went up to my bedroom and began to undress—I had got everything off but my trousers and stockings, when my wife rushed into the room and said that I had been with some b—whores—I said "For God's sake don't poison your mind, because there is no truth in it"—as I was sitting and pulling off the leg of my trousers she knocked me off the bedstead with her hand on to the floor—I fell on my back, and found my throat bleeding—I had not felt anything before that, but I found her cutting me while I was on the floor—it lasted about two minutes, but I cannot say how many cuts I received—I said "For God's sake, Em, don't murder me!"—she said "You b—, I will!' and she cut me across the back of my neck and left me—I then heard her calling out to my father, and he came into my room—I did not see the instrument it was done with—I had no sharp instrument when I went into the room—this knife belongs to the house—I did not see it, and I did not take it up with me—I went to a neighbouring house, and a surgeon came to me. I believe my wife had her shimmy on when she came in, and she had it on when she left—I did not see whether there was any blood on it—I was not drunk, but I had been having something to drink.
Prisoner. William, you were tipsy when you came in. Witness, No—I did not have the knife, cutting my food—I think the medical man will know whether I was tipsy.
COURT. Q. Did you threaten to horsewhip her? A. Not that night—I had a fortnight before, and I did so—I have only done it once—there has been a dagger in the house for years, but not belonging to me—I had not seen it for two or three days previously—it was then in the middle room in the house, next to my bedroom—it was in my father's room—it is his property—I did not take it out of his room—he has shown it to me since—I took a light with me up stairs to my room—I had gone out between two and three o'clock that afternoon with a horse and cart, and afterwards I was
out of the house from 8.30 to 10.45—I have sometimes struck the prisoner, but very seldom.
Prisoner. There is a large sword, which left a large dent in my father-in-law's door, and had I been there my head would have been off; and the dagger was stuck through the wall. Witness. No, I never had the dagger in my hand—I never knew where it was—I did not fetch it and say "There is some cold steel for you, and strike it through the wall, and then place it in the rag shed; there is no truth in it—our little girl, seven years old, did not tell me not to do it—the only knives you took from me were those you took out of my pocket when I was a sleep—I did not threaten my father with a knife, nor did you take it from me by twisting my thumb back.
MR. BROMBY. Q. Was there a sword in the house? A. Three or four old rusty ones, only fit for old iron, which my father deals in.
RICHARD HARRIS . I am a surgeon, of Old Brentford—on the night of 11th December I was called to a beer-house there, and found the prosecutor, with five cuts on his face, and two on his throat, and one on the back of his neck, which was the most severe; it almost divided the right ear, and went downwards and inwards across his face, into his throat; it was about six inches long, but not very deep, his life was not in danger—the cuts on his face were quite superficial, the two on his throat were each about four inches long, but not deep—they were clean cuts, such as might be inflicted by this knife—it would be extremely difficult for him to have inflicted the cut on his right ear himself, and the cut on the back of his neck; it would be impossible for him to do it himself—he had been drinking, and was much the worse for liquor.
JAMES HARRIS (Policeman 259). I was called, and found the prisoner, with all her clothes on, except her shawl and bonnet, which she was putting on—I said "You seem to have done something for Bill, now?"—she said "He had a knife, and was going to cut my throat, and I put up my hand and struck at it, and knocked the knife against his face"—I took her to the station; she was perfectly sober; there was a little blood on her wrist, but I saw no wound—I searched, but found no knife—this knife was given to me next morning—there was blood on it, which seemed to be fresh—there was blood on the floor and on the bed.
MART ANN SERMON . I live at Nine Elms—on 15th December I was at the prisoner's house, Old Brentford, and found a chemise under his father's bed, which is the room adjoining the prisoner's—there was blood all over it.
Prisoner. My aunt found the chemise, you did not. Witness. I found it, but your aunt stood in the room; you were not there.
The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I did it in self-defence."
The Prisoner in her defence, stated that the prosecutor had not only horse-whipped her, but had severely injured her by kicking her in the private parts, through which she had to wear a truss by the doctor's orders, and had also knocked two of her front teeth out; that her father kept a dagger because the prosecutor had threatened to run him through; that on the night in question he seized her by the hair, put his foot between her legs, threw her down, and said, "I will jump your b—guts out," and threw a knife on the floor; and that when he got the cuts he said, "Oh, I have got it, but it was meant for you."
COURT to JOHN SHAW. Q. Were you present when your son horsewhipped her? A. Yes, that was a fortnight or three weeks before this; I saw him
strike her with a horsewhip twice—I have twice seen him hit her with a horsewhip—he did not kick her.
Prisoner. Oh, you wicked man, you are not a young man, father, what did you say when my womb was down? Witness. There was nothing of the sort.
GUILTY On the Second Count under great provocation. Recommended to mercy by the Jury. — Twelve Months' Imprisonment.
SARAH HARRIS . I am eight years old, and live with my mother at 41, Flask Street, Hampstead—on a Wednesday, some time ago, my mother came into the bedroom, my sister Mary was there—my mother took off my frock and got a razor from the clock, and cut my arm across three times, once up here, and once down here, and one across here—it bled—she did not say anything—we had our dinner—we dine at 12 o'clock—she then did the same thing to my sister, but she did not take off her frock, because her sleeves were short—mine were long—she said nothing when she cut my sister's arm—I said "Mother, are you sorry for what you have done?"—she said "Yes," and kissed us both, and said "Now I am going to see Mr. Winter, and tell him"—he is a doctor—she then went out, and I did not see anything more of her till she came back with a policeman—my sister and I were taken to the hospital that afternoon—when my mother had gone out I stopped the bleeding because I bounded my arm up with mother's apron, and my sister with mother's handkerchief, and directly I took the apron off my arm it begun bleeding directly—my mother has always been very kind indeed—she saw me in the hospital, and I said "Mother, when I come home you promise me you will never do it again"—and she said she did not think she had done it.
Cross-examined. I had been ill some weeks before this with an ulcerated throat and fever, and my mother always sat up with me and nursed me by night as well as by day—she had sat up with me the night before—I have only one sister, and no brother—my father works at a railway station, I forget the name—I had been a very good girl that day, and my mother had not said anything cross to me, nor yet to my sister.
COURT. Q. Were you standing up or sitting down when this happened? A. I was standing up when she cut me—I asked her what she was taking my frock off for, and she said "I don't know yet"—I saw the razor in her hand before she did it, but I did not say anything—my little sister was standing up in the room when the cut was made, but she got on the bed and laid down afterwards.
JAMES THOMPSON (Policeman S 308). About 4 o'clock in the afternoon of 27th September the prisoner came to me in James's Street, which is two miles from her residence, and said that she had done something wrong—I asked her what she had done—she said she had cut her two children—I asked her where she lived—she said "Flask Wharf, Hampstead"—I found that was the correct address—I took a cab, and took her home in it, and her husband also—she told me where he worked—we went into the front kitchen underground, and found the two children there, one in one bed, and the other in the other, bleeding very much, and the floor was saturated
with blood—I did not ask her for any explanation, but I asked her why she had done it—she said she did not know—the children were taken to the hospital, and she was taken to the station, and charged—she would not say anything there—her manner was very strange, very peculiar, when she first came to me—she did not seem to be sensible—her mind seemed as if it was wandering—we could get nothing out of her at the station.
COURT.Q. When you took her home in the cab, what was her manner? A. Very peculiar all through—she had a bonnet on—I did not know her before.
JOHN ALLAN LICETT . I am house-surgeon at Middlesex Hospital—the girl Sarah Harris was brought there on 27th September with three incised wounds round the lower part of her left arm, one of them penetrating to the bone—they were each about three inches long, and she had evidently lost a great deal of blood—it was necessary to ligature one, and to secure the other by torsion—the principal wound was very near the principal artery running down the arm—if it had touched that it would have been fatal without medical assistance, and amputation would have been rendered necessary—she was in the hospital about six weeks, and left on 13th November—she has not recovered yet—the lower wound divided a muscle which causes paralysis of the fore-arm—she will not lose the use of her wrist permanently, but it will take many months before she regains it, and it must permanently interfere with the muscles of the fore-arm, which have been divided, and their power is impaired, but she will regain perfect use of her fore-arm—the wounds on the other child were of the same nature, and nearly in the same places.
ROBERT WINTER, M.R.C.S . I live at 58, High Street, Hampstead—I had attended the prisoner for six years before this happened, and had been in pretty constant attendance on the eldest girl for about two months before this occurrence—she had gastric fever, which required constant watching night and day for two months—the mother alone did the nursing; there was no servant, and no other person there—she must have been up pretty constantly night and day—I know that she had a miscarriage the Saturday before—I attended her, and saw her every day between that Saturday and the Wednesday, and I had seen her on the Wednesday at 1 o'clock, and noticed irritability and weakness from the miscarriage, but I noticed nothing particular about her mind—I attribute the miscarriage to the anxiety and want of sleep in the watching of the eldest girl—I have never noticed anything peculiar in the prisoner's state of mind.
Cross-examined. I know her husband, he is employed in the goods department of the North Western Railway, at Camden Town—during the years I have visited the prisoner at her house, I never observed anything in her conduct to lead me to suppose she was an unkind mother; quite the contrary; she was a very kind mother and very anxious—she appeared fond of her children—she was three months gone when she miscarried—sitting up so much with her child, would overtax her system very much—if she had symptoms of puerperal mania in her constitution, she would be more likely to give way after sitting up with a sick child night after night—I did not observe any symptoms of puerperal mania, but it sometimes comes on quite suddenly—it may affect people at a moment's notice, who have never been subject to it before—it makes them quite insane at a moment's notice, so as not to know what they are doing—it is a medical fact that the desire to kill may go off as suddenly as it comes on—a mother will sometimes attempt
to destroy those nearest and dearest to her—the sight of the object itself is enough.
COURT. Q. Do I understand you to say that a person is quite unconscious of what the act is? A. Yes, there was nothing the matter with the youngest child.
CHARLES STREET .—I am the prisoner's brother, and live at Ampthill—I had been stopping at her house on the night before this Wednesday—I saw her last about 1 o'clock on Wednesday afternoon—she was quite right in her mind then, and I left her and did not see her again till after this had happened—she and her husband were happy together.
Cross-examined. She had been very ill for a few days; she was weaker than before.
WILLIAM SMILES . I am surgeon to the House of Detention—the prisoner was admitted there on 28th September, on remand, on this charge—she did not seem to be at all conscious of what had been done—she did not seem to know anything about it, and would not give any reason for it—I do not think she was capable of judging between right and wrong when she was admitted on the 28th.
Cross-examined. I have heard Dr. Winter's evidence, and agree with what he has said.
NOT GUILTY, being Insane. — To be detained during Her Majesty's pleasure.
MR. STRAIGHT conducted the Prosecution; and MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS the Defence.
SOPHIA MORGAN . I live in Euston Road, and am the widow of the deceased, Charles Brown Morgan, a cab driver—his age was forty-nine—he left home in perfect health on Friday, 8th December—I never knew him to have any illness of any kind—he was a sober man—I never knew him the worse for liquor for twenty-seven years—I saw him at the hospital and was with him when he died.
JAMES PICARD . I live at 18, Minerva Street, Hackney Road, and am a potman—on 8th December I saw the deceased in Hackney Road lying on the ground about a yard and a half from the kerb, on the near side, and a yard and a half from his cab—there was a horse in his cab which stood in the direstion of Victoria Park, and a brougham and horse driven by the prisoner was going in the other direction—if I had been riding on the box, the man would have been lying on the road on my left, between the cab and the kerb—it was a four-wheeled cab, and he was about a foot from the wheels of it—the brougham and the cab were close together when I was there—I helped Morgan up and put him into his cab—I did not notice any cut or wound about him—two persons who were in the cab got out and stopped the brougham.
Cross-examined. It was about 12.45 in the morning—it had been very slippery in the night.
AMOS SAUNDERS . I am a cabinet maker, of 224, Gloucester Street, Cambridge Heath—I was in the deceased man's cab, with Mr. Black more—the driver was sober—a collision took place, we were then about five feet from the near side kerb—the road is about forty feet broad at that part—the collision gave us a shock, and we thought we were going over; I was on the side that went up, and Mr. Black more pushed against me and we
balanced the cab, or else very likely it would have gone over—it was against the off fore-wheel, and the driver fell off from the shock—I afterwards saw the brougham driven by the prisoner, I ran after it and stopped it—there were people inside, Mr. John Davidson was one of them—the prisoner was not sober—there was plenty of room for the brougham to have passed the cab—the deceased was put into his cab and taken to the hospital.
Cross-examined. This was about 12.45 a.m.—the deceased fell to his near side, and the side on which he was sitting, but I did not see him till I got out of the cab—I think I must have been half an hour in the road with the prisoner—I did not see him afterwards—there was a lamp alight close by where the collision happened—it was a very cold night, and slippery—the brougham was not twenty yards from the cab when I stopped it—I had been in the cab about half an hour, I only gave the deceased 2d. worth of rum—I did not examine the brougham after the collision—I examined the cab the next day, it was not a first-class cab—I did not tell the prisoner that I gave the deceased two glasses of gin.
Re-examined. I was sober, and as far as I can judge the cab-driver was sober.
SYDNEY BLACK MORE . I was with Mr. Saunders, in the cab—his description of the collison is correct—the driver was sober, in my judgment—I saw him lying on the near side of his cab, between the kerb and the cab, perfectly insensible, and groaning heavily—it was a moonlight night, and very frosty, and the road was slippery—it was not foggy—there was plenty of room for the brougham to have passed without colliding with the cab—the brougham was about twenty feet away—I went up to it with my friend, and saw the prisoner, who was the driver of it—he was the worse for liquor, I mean drunk—I formed that opinion from his general manner—I asked him his name, but I could not get it out of him, he said he had no Christian name—he told me his surname with some difficulty, but I had to ask him several times—he then said it was Mansfield—I told him he was perfectly incapable of driving a brougham, but he said nothing—I told him he had injured a man very seriously; he said nothing to that.
Cross-examined. I saw no policeman there—the prisoner remained on the box—the brougham was drawn across on the opposite side of the way, two gentlemen were inside it—we saw the man off to the hospital, and then we went home.
JOHN DAVISON . I live at 8, Edgware Road—I was in this brougham, with my daughter and two friends—it was hired, and the prisoner was the driver—we had been to a friend's house—the prisoner was told to come at 11.30, and we kept him waiting till 12.33 or 12.40—my friend gave him a small glass of gin, as it was a very cold night—I cannot say whether he was sober or not—we were not going at any great pace, and the collison was so slight that I did not know whether it was against a carriage or over a stone—the cab horse came up against the brougham door—we were both in the middle of the road when the collision happened—I got out and reprimanded the prisoners—they were both on their right side of the road, and he was in the middle of the road, to keep the horse on his legs—I was twenty feet from the cab when I got out, the brougham had not moved a peg; the cab horse was almost against the brougham door when I got out—the result of the collision was that two vehicles stopped together, but they did not block—when I got out they seemed close together; they had not moved—I do not think I was taking a nap; I am sure I was not
—I saw the cab-driver on the ground, but had no conversation with him, nor with Mr. Blackmore or Mr. Saunders; but when I got out I saw Mr. Saunders holding the horse's head and I said "Go and look after the man, never mind the horse"—the off-side door of the cab was open, the side next the brougham—there was room to open the cab door between the brougham and the cab—I got out on the off-side—the off-side door of both vehicles was open.
Cross-examined. I had to push the cab-horse away before I could get out—I knew perfectly well what I was about—it was not a sharp collision; the brougham was not injured, nor the cab—I have no interest in this case—I hired the brougham from a livery stable.
ROBERT WILLIAM PARKER . I am house-surgeon at the London Hospital—I did not see the deceased—the surgeon who did so was unavoidably absent, and asked me to certify to the Coroner as to the cause of death, and I did so—it is not unusual to do so.
SOPHIA MORGAN . (Re-examined). I went to the hospital about 6.50 a.m., and stayed till my husband died—his head was shaved, and they put ice to it—he died at 12.10 on Friday night, the 9th—I noticed no mark whatever on his head—he never spoke or opened his eyes—he had been in sound health till this happened.
The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I reside at 35, Adam Street. I was the driver of the brougham on this occasion; it was about 1 o'clock. I was bringing some gentlemen and a lady from Victoria Park Road; the road was slippery and I was doing my best; we happened to come to a collision and the coachman was pitched off the box. I halloaed to him, but it was done momentarily."
MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS submitted that there was no evidence of the cause of death and that the Jury must not act on inferences. MR. STRAIGHT stated that the deceased was in perfect health up to the time he fell from the box. THE COURT did not think that in the surgeon's absence there was sufficient evidence; the man might have died from a spasm of the heart.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. WOOD conducted the Prosecution; and MR. RIBTON the Defence.
ELLEN HARRIS . I am the wife of Henry Harris, of James's Buildings, Uxbridge—I know the prisoner, and knew the deceased, George Carter—they stood just outside the tap-room door of the Prince of Wales, Hillingdon, on the evening of 12th December, and I heard t he prisoner say to Carter "You b—, you have been jeering at me all the evening, and I will give you a slap for it"—he then hit Carter on the head, and he fell, but got up again, and the prisoner knocked him down again; he got up again, and the prisoner struck him a third time, and he fell again—he laid for a minute or two, and then he said "Take me out"—I do not know who he said that to—two men were standing there, but I don't know who they were—I saw Henry Saunders there, but not Henry Scott, or Herbert Murray—I did not see them there—two men picked Carter up, and I said to my little girl "Mind, Lizzie, you don't fall over him"—he was bleeding very much from his head—I did not see what occurred outside—Mr. West drawed my pint of beer, and I came out—I had no opportunity of seeing whether they were wrangling before the remark was made, because when I
came out with my beer the prisoner said "You b—, I will fight you outside, if anyone will pick me up"—I do not know who he said that to.
Cross-examined. There were only two people behind the front door—there was not anybody else there—I could look into the room—I saw no one, and if there was anybody I must have seen them—I swear positively that nobody was there—the landlord came out of the parlour just as the third blow was struck—I had known Carter a long while—I have heard his wife say that his age was thirty-one—he was taller than the prisoner, but not much stouter—he appeared to be a stronger and more powerful man—I have heard of his being in quarrels—I do not know of his being a fighting man—I heard of his nose being broken in a fight—he was a wellknown pugilist in that neighbourhood, and the terror of all persons who were not so strong as he—I did not see him do anything, or hold up his hand when the prisoner struck him, and I must have seen him if he had—I did not see his hands in a position to be ready to strike—the prisoner struck, him on the side of his head the first time Carter was facing him—they were near to each other—Carter said nothing when he fell—I was no friend of either of them—Carter got up after the first blow, having received no damage apparently—I cannot say where the prisoner struck him the second time, because I went in the bar out of the way, but I did not take my eyes off them, I was not out of sight—I mean to say that Carter, a fighting man, got up, and neither said or did anything—I did not see him strike any blow, and I should have seen if he had struck the prisoner—I did not see where the prisoner struck Carter the second blow, because I went inside the bar, and the same reason would apply to the fact of my not seeing Carter strike the prisoner—Carter got up the second time with the same alacrity as the first, not damaged—he did not say or do anything after that—the prisoner then struck him a third time without any provocation, and he fell again—the two men who stood behind the door then carried Carter outside the door—they must have seen the bloQ. as well as I—this was just after 8 o'clock on Tuesday—I did not see Carter again till the next Saturday, when he was coming from Mr. Weston's house—I did not speak to him, or enquire if he had recovered from his injuries, I did not think anything more about it—I thought he looked very pale.
Re-examined. I did not know more of Carter than the prisoner—I do not know the names of the two men who assisted Carter out.
JOHN WARWICK . I am a shoemaker of Hillingdon—on Tuesday evening, 12th December, I went to the Prince of Wales, at a few minutes after 8 o'clock, and saw the last witness there, and a moment or two afterwards the prisoner came to the bar, out of the tap-room, and said something to the landlord, but I did not understand what, as I was about two yards away—the landlord said "I hope you have done with it"—he said "I have come away on that purpose"—Carter immediately came out of the tap-room, and came close to the prisoner, and began using very abusive language—the prisoner then turned round, and used abusive language, and said to Carter "I have come away on purpose not to have any row, but if anyone will go out and pick me up I will fight you"—Carter drew his arm up in this way into his face, and said "You b—pig, I could double you up"—he was a much bigger man than the prisoner, in fact, I think the youngster was frightened of him—he thought he was going to have a blow, and he struck out in his own defence, and hit Carter somewhere in
the face—neither of them appeared to be drunk—Carter fell against the wall from FelloQ.' blow—he then recovered himself; and closed with FelloQ., who struck him again somewhere about the face or head when he was in a rising position, and he went down on the ground again, and the landlord rushed out and said "I will have no fighting in front of my bar; if you want to fight, go outside," and Carter walked out into the street—several men were there, and he called to one named Saunders to come out and pick him up—FelloQ. followed him out, and they faced each other in a fighting position about a yard and a half from the front shop—I do not think Carter's blow reached FelloQ., but FelloQ. struck him, and he fell on the ground, and his head fell on some hard substance, either a stone or some old foundation, by the sound of his head—William Smith, who was by me, and who had been in the house, said "I think he is stunned; let us go and pick him up"—I said "I have nothing at all to do with it"—he did not move, but lay in that position about two minutes—I said "Let some of his friends see to him," but finding he did not move I went and rose him up in a sitting position, and found him insensible—there was a little blood on his face, but it was dark, and we did not see it till we carried him indoors, and sat him on a seat—he was insensible about three minutes—I afterwards spoke to him, and bathed his face—he said "I do not want any of that foolery," and shoved me away.
Cross-examined. He did not seem much the worse—I saw him next day, and he only had a black eye—I saw him on the Saturday, and said "How do you feel?"—he said "Pretty well,"—I saw him about sixteen or eighteen times before he died—I asked him if he would have some drink the next evening, and I said I was very glad that he was not hurt—I have known him from childhood, he used to drink occasionally—he was a coal heaver and a powerful man; very strong and athletic—he liked fighting very much, I think—there were a lot of people in the tap-room—I saw Mrs. Harris there—it is not true that he was carried out—he was first to leave—I am quite sure he was struck outside the house—Carter first addressed the prisoner, he said "You b—y sod I could lick forty such as you," those were the first words, he used that language in an offensive manner; he seemed very much out of temper—he raised his arm and said "You b—yprig, I could double you up"—he raised his arm close to his face, apparently for the purpose of delivering a blow; I thought he would have it—Carter went out first, when the landlord opened the door, and said he would have no more fighting—he not say: "Come out and fight outside"—they struck out outside, but I do not think the blows reached Fellows; one blow struck Carter from which he fell—none of us interfered, it did not last three minutes from the commencement—Mrs. Harris is making a strange mistake about his being knocked down three times inside the bar by Fellows, it is false—she rushed into the bar with a little girl, but I do not think she saw much.
Re-examined. He was not in the act of striking a blow when he said "I could lick forty such as you"—I mean to say that this fighting man lifted his hand to the man's face and did not strike him, and the other man who was not so accustomed to fight, was so much on the alert that he knocked him down.
JOSEPH WEST . I keep the Prince of Wales beer-shop—on the evening of 12th December, the prisoner and Carter were there, and I heard high words in the tap-room about 8 o'clock—I went in, found the deceased
and the prisoner quarrelling about 2d. which one had borrowed of the other—I told them they ought to be ashamed of themselves, and left them all quiet, smoking their pipes—I went to the bar and Fellows came there in about a minute and asked me for a pint of beer—Mrs. Harris came in while he was at the bar—I asked him if he had done with that bother because I would not draw him any more beer if he had not—he said yes he had come away on purpose and he wanted no more of it—I was going to draw him the beer when Carter came out of the tap-room and called him "A b—y sod" and said, "You b—y pig, I will double you up, "and he up with his fist to hit him as I thought, but he did not, because the prisoner struck him first and he went up against the wall but recovered himself a little, and slipped down—he got up again, and received another blow and went down again—he got up again, and I unbolted my bar door and slipped out and got between them and stopped the fight, and opened my front door and ordered them out—Carter went out first—Mrs. Harm rushed in when I went out of the bar—if she looked through the window she would see them—when Carter went out he said to Saunders "Prinny," which is a nickname for him, "Will you come and pick me up?"—he said "No, pick yourself up"—I am sure Carter walked out and was not carried out—he was not much in advance of the prisoner, because the bar is only two yards square—there was no one near Carter—he was afterwards brought in again—his nose was bleeding a little, and he was not sensible—he remained in that state about two minutes—I sent for some warm water and got him bathed and he stopped in the tap-room three quarters of an hour. Cross-examined. I have no doubt that he walked deliberately out of the house—when Carter slipped down, he did so intentionally, to avoid receiving a blow; it is a pugilistic trick which is common in a fight, I should do so—Mrs. Harris seemed to be out of her mind—she said that I was not there at all, but I stopped the fight—when she says that two men carried him out she is wrong—I should not allow that—he came to my house every night till the day of his death, smoking and drinking as usual.
EMMA CARTER . I am the widow of the deceased, his age ws thirty one—I was not at home when he came home—I found him in bed at 10 o'clock—he did not complain then, but in the night he asked me to get a light—I lit a lamp and then I saw his face, and he made a complaint to me—I went to work at 8 o'clock next morning, and when I came home at 12 o'clock, he was still in bed—he was out of work at this time, but it was not usual for him to lay in bed till 12 or 1 o'clock—he went out, and walked about after he got up—he asked me to go home early in the evening, and do the bed, as he wanted to go to bed—he complained of his head and face, and on the Thursday morning he could not speak to me, he could only say simple words such as "Yes" and "No"—he got up very late every morning, but he walked out every day for nearly a week afterwards—he continued to lie in bed of a morning because he was so ill—he died on the 20th—he had fits on Monday night till he died.
Cross-examined. He had had three fits on previous occasions but I did not see him in any of those, and do not know whether they were the same—he had one in Hampshire last summer, he had a doctor and come round directly—the first was from excessive heat and drinking cold water—we sent for a doctor on this Monday, but he did not come.
sister—I did not know him before—he was unable to speak—he made a few noises, but could not say what was the matter—his sister told me that he had been fighting some time previously, and that he had had fits—his eyes were black, and there was a mark on his nose—I told him to go home and remain quiet—I went down to see him again at his sister's the same evening, but he had gone home and as I was told, to bed—I went to see him next morning, and found him in a semi-conscious state, having had several fits during the night and he afterwards died—I afterwards made a post-mortem examination, and found marks of bruises on his face and scalp—on taking off the skin of the head I found a large bruise, and on removing the skull-cap, I found a fracture of the skull at the back, or rather the side, and a clot of blood on the dura mater, which was no doubt the cause of the fits—they were caused by pressure on the dura mater—the clot would be caused by the rupture of a small vessel by a blow or a fall—that would be consistent with the fact of his receiving the injury several days before.
COURT. Q. Do you think his skull might have been fractured on the Tuesday week before? A. Yes, but the mischief was not developed; the clot of blood was beginning to be organised.
Cross-examined. The fracture of itself caused no pressure, the pressure was caused by the blood thrown out pressing upon the brain—it does oocur from other causes, no doubt, besides fracture—I examined him on Monday night, but should not be inclined to attribute the clot of blood at that interval of time to other causes than the fracture—they had told me that he had had fits before, but I do not know what caused them—it may have been congestion, from drinking too much—he seems to have got over them.
Q. Supposing a man, predisposed to fits, receiving a fracture, and going about smoking and drinking as usual, and you find him on the Monday in the state which you describe, is it not quite consistent that the blood which pressed upon the brain may have been entirely independent of the fracture? A. I think not, because the blood was between the skull and the dura mater, not between the dura mater and the brain, and therefore it did not come from the internal part of the head, but from one of the vessels broken by the fracture—it pressed upon the dura mater, and the dura mater pressed upon the brain—if a man received a fracture of the skull, I should not expect to find him walking about, and drinking as usual.
COURT. Q. That is, all this might have happened from the mischief which occurred a week before? A. Yes, I do not say more than a week, I should expect it to come on rapidly, but evidently it did not; the mischief which produced that clot of blood might have happened very recently; it might have been hours, and it might have been days.
MR. RIBTON. Q. Would it be much more likely to be a few hours than a few days? A. Not in the condition in which the man was, the blood was beginning to be re-absorbed, beginning to become living flesh again, and if the re-absorption had taken place, he might probably have recovered—congestion of the brain arises from drinking, and from many causes—a man who has had fits is pre-disposed to fits, and to congestion; but there may be no congestion, and yet he may have fits—congestion may be caused by over-drinking—in a man who had received an injury of this sort, drinking would be likely to bring on the congestion from which he had suffered—he died on the Wednesday.
Re-examined. I do not think drinking alone would have caused it, but it would assist—congestion of the brain was the cause of death—that was connected with the fracture of the skull—there was nothing but healthy structure in the brain, there were no marks of epileptic scars—blood rushing into the brain is sometimes re-absorbed, and a scar is formed—I saw a trace of that, but I did not examine for that.
COURT. Q. Might the clotted blood you saw have been there for a whole week without any evil consequence? A. It might.
GEORGE HUTCHINGS (Police Sergeant X 4). On Thursday, 21st December, about 4 o'clock in the afternoon, I went to the prisoner's lodgings, and found him in bed—I told him he was charged with causing, the death of George Carter hy knocking him down, and he would have to go to the station—he said "I am ill, and unable to go"—I said "What is the mattert?"—he said "I have a pain in my chest"—I left him with a policeman, and fetched a doctor, and on my return he had gone to the station.
JOHN MOORE (Policeman). I was with Hutchings, who left me in charge of the prisoner, who was in bed—I said "It is no use lying in bed any longer, get up," and I told him to dress and go to the station—going along, he said he struck him twice inside the public-house at West's, and once outside.
Cross-examined. He said as he came out of the tap-room Carter came out after him, and he thought was about to strike him, and he struck Carter because he thought Carter was about to strike him.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. LATIMER conducted the Prosecution; and MR. HARMSWORTH the Defence,
LOUISA BARNSFORD . I live with my husband in Linden Street, Copenhagen Street—the prisoner and his wife and three children have been living in the same house about ten weeks—on Saturday, 9th December, about 5.30 or 6 o'clock, he and his wife came home, and went into their own room—they were quarrelling—Mrs. Lambert called me half an hour afterwards, and I went down and saw one of the children bleeding from a wound on the side of its head—I took it out of its mother's lap, and took it upstairs—the mother and I took it to the Great Northern Hospital, and it was attended by a doctor—we brought it home again, and it died a week afterwards—I said to the prisoner "This is rather a serious case, through temper"—he said "Yes, I never intended to hurt my wife and child," and I do not believe he did either—he said that he threw a piece of iron at his wife, but it struck the wall, and hit the child—I daresay he had had a little drink, but I never saw him have any.
Cross-examined. He is an affectionate husband—I do not believe he intended to hurt his wife or child, any more than he intended to hurt me.
WARD HANDEL . I am Coroner's constable—I received information and went to the prisoner's house, 20, London-street, on 18th December—I told them who I was, and that I had come to make inquiries about the death of their child—Mrs. Lambert spoke in a very loud violent voice, and told me in his presence, that he came home drunk on Saturday night and took a fender rest up, which is a piece of iron, and threw it at her, and it struck the child—I asked her where it was, and the prisoner, who was sitting by the fire, stooped down and produced this, and said "This is it, and I am sorry."
THOMAS ALLEN . I am house-surgeon at the Great Northern Hospital—on 9th December, the child was brought there by Mrs. Barnsford and the mother—I found a scalp wound on the right side of its head, partly contused and partly lacerated—I told the mother what to do, and it was taken home—I saw it next day, Tuesday, and took it into the hospital—it went on apparently well, till the early part of Saturday, and died of convulsions on Sunday, the 17th—I afterwards made a post-mortem examination, and in addition to the small wound on the scalp, I found a punctured wound in the skull, exactly corresponding with that on the scalp, and on removing a portion of the skull I found on it several large spiculæ of bone, little splinters, penetrating the brain, and lacerating it completely—it died from convulsions, caused by the laceration of the brain by those splinters of bone, and the subsequent inflammation—it appeared that some blunt pointed instrument had fallen on the corresponding part of the scalp, vertically on the skull—I think the same blow caused the whole mischief—the piece of iron produced, would have caused it I believe.
The prisoner received a good character— GUILTY — Three Months Imprisonment.
NEW COURT.—Thursday, January 11th, 1872,
Before Mr. Justice Lush.
MR. COLLINS for the Prosecution, with the assent of THE COURT, offered no evidence on this Indictment.
NOT GUILTY .
He received a good character.— Six Months' Imprisonment.
MR. BESLEY conducted the Prosecution; MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS with MR. HARMSWORTH the Defence.
GUILTY .— Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. COOPER conducted the Prosecution; and DR. KENEALEY, Q.C., the Defence.
NOT GUILTY .
THIRD COURT.—Thursday, January 11th, 1872.
Before Mr. Deputy Recorder.
MESSRS. MONTAGU WILLIAMS and TURNER conducted the Prosecution; and MESSRS. WADDY and STRAIGHT, the Defence.
After the case had proceeded for some time, it was arranged that no further proceedings should be taken on either side, and a verdict was found of
NOT GUILTY .
MESSRS. POLAND, BEASLEY and COLLINS conducted the Prosecution; and MR. MACRAE MOIR the Defence.
RICHARD BRINSLEY SUMMERFORD . I am a clerk to the Lords of the Committee of the Council on Education—I produce a letter, dated 8th September, 1858, from the Education Department of the Privy Council—it purports to be signed by Joseph Wood, Incumbent of Clayton-le-Moors, and is directed to the Secretary of the Committee of Council on Education—it appears to have come by post—there was a very lengthy correspondence between our office and Mr. Wood, and I know from that correspondence that that is the handwriting of Mr. Wood—I never saw him write; we have written to him and have got letters in return, and they are all in the same handwriting; MR. MACRAE MOIR submitted that this was sufficient proof of handwriting to admit the documents. THE COURT: "There is a correspondence with a man, and business is done in consequence of what is written in those letters, I think that is evidence of handwriting." (The letter was then read: it was a statement by the prisoner that additional accommodation was required in connection with the National Schools, at Clayton-le-Moors, and requesting that blank forms of application might be forwarded to him for the purpose of requesting the assistance of the Council towards the projected work)—I also produce a letter dated 15th June, 1859, which also purports to be signed by Joseph Wood—it is in the same handwriting as the other letter—(This enclosed the certificate of the completion of works in connection with the National Schools, at Clayton-le-Moors, stating that the works had been finished three weeks, and that the sum required to meet the grant of 210l. had been subscribed, it also enclosed a list of local contributions, said to have been received and expended)—I also produce the certificate from the same department, dated 9th June, 1859, purporting to be signed by John Wilkinson, of Oakenshaw; W. Bates, of Oakenshaw; Joseph Appleby, of Enfield; Joseph Crowther, of Oakenshaw; John Walker, of Enfield, as Trustees and Managers of the Schools at Clayton-le-Moors, and by Joseph Wood, Incumbent—(This stated that the buildings had been completed, the subscriptions received, expended, and accounted for, as set forth in an annexed balance sheet, and the premises conveyed to Trustees by deed)—There is another certificate appended to that which purports to be signed by Thomas Hacking, of Enfield, and Thomas Seymour, surveyor, and there is also a balance sheet of the building account, purporting to be signed by those two persons—both those forms are issued from our office—upon a certificate of that kind being received, it is the practice of the Privy Council Office to send a form to the trustees that they may appoint some one to draw a bill for the money to be paid—it was sent to the Incumbent, Joseph Wood, in this case—this is the form—the person who signs on the first line is entitled to draw a bill, by which he receives the money—the first signature here is Joseph Wood—it is in the same handwriting—it also purports to be signed by John Wilkinson, W. Bates, Joseph Appleby, Joseph Crowther, and John Walker, as Trustees and Managers of Clayton-le-Moors National Schools—that form came back accompanied by this letter of 20th June, 1859, signed by Joseph Wood, in the same handwriting—("Sir. I beg leave to remit to you, herewith, the form of 'Letter of Authority' transmitted to us along with your communication, dated the 17th instant, and which form we hope will be found to have been properly and duly filled up.") We then send authority to the Pay-Master General, which authorises him to pay that bill—the bill is dated 27th June, 1859, and is drawn by Joseph Wood for
210l. addressed to the Right Honourable the Paymaster General—it is a seven day's bill, payable to order and endorsed "Joseph Wood," that is in the same handwriting—those bills must be negotiated through a bank—the authority to pay the money is signed by two of the officers of the Committtee on Education, Mr. Sandford and Mr. Bryant—I also produce this letter dated 25th July, 1871, which is signed Joseph Wood, in the same handwriting—(This was a letter addressed to the Privy Council on Education in reply to a request from them of an explanation of the circumstances under which the grant of 210l. was obtained in 1859. It began by stating that he had no remembrance of the facts referred to, that they had entirely passed from his mind, but that on looking over his papers he had found plans and letters from which he assumed that he had commenced the correspondence in 1859 in perfect good faith, that at that time he was in great pecuniary difficulties, and he could only conclude that he was induced to apply the grant of 210l. to his own use, believing at the time that he should soon be in the receipt of a legacy, of 1200l., but which he never received, the same expectation led him to obtain by fraud, nearly an equal sum belonging to the Sunday School Sick Society, of which lie made a full acknowledgment in February, 1863, and was sentenced to Ten Years' Penal Servitude, that that long severe punishment had entirely blotted from his memory all transactions with their Lordship's Secretary, but he would at once repay the 210l. if a merciful view was taken of his case.)
Cross-examined. Applications of this kind come addressed to the secretary—I am his private secretary—we require that an amount at least as large as the grant required shall be subscribed by the parties in the neighbourhood—we have the evidence of the clergyman of the district writing to us, and correspondence being carried on; we don't send anyone down to ascertain for ourselves—we want other signatures besides that of the clergyman—we are satisfied with the documents signed by the Incumbent and the Trustees—the prisoner was tried in 1863, four years after the circumstances we are now inquiring into—I believe that he was sentenced to ten years' penal servitude for forgery.
THOMAS HACKING . I am a surveyor and builder at Clayton-le-Moors, Lancashire—I am a member of the Local Board, and have acted as correspondent to the National Schools, and been acquainted with those schools upwards of twenty years—up to 1857 there were no additions made to the buildings of the schools—in 1857 two new wings and a porch were added—from that time up to the present time there have been no new buildings added—the committee of management in 1857 were John Wilkinson, of Oakenshaw, William Bates, of Oakenshaw, Joseph Appleby, of Enfield, Joseph Crowther, of Oakenshaw, and Joseph Walker, of Enfield—the prisoner was incumbent of All Saints, Clayton-le-Moors—I know his handwriting—the signature, "Joseph Wood," to the letter of 8th September, 1858, is his signature, also the signature to the letter of 20th June, 1859, and to this bill for 210l.—the signature "Thomas Hacking" to this certificate is not mine, nor written by my authority—there is also a signature of "Thomas Seymour, surveyor"—I have lived at Clayton-le-Moors ever since I was born, and know all the surveyors and different people there—I have never heard of a man named Thomas Seymour as a surveyor there—there is no such person—there is a signature purporting to be mine on the balance sheet that was not by me or by my authority—I am not aware that there was any application for a grant for the enlargement of the schools,
either in 1858 or 1859—there was no enlargement, in point of fact, except in 1857—there was no trustee of the name of John Walker; his name was Joseph.
Cross-examined. There is no such man there as Seymour—I am a surveyor and builder there, and therefore I should be aware of it—there was an addition to the schools in 1857—I can't tell of my own knowledge how they were paid for, I suppose from private subscriptions—the money came through Mr. Wood's hands—I don't know whether that would constitute paying for them—I am quite sure that is not my signature—I believe I said at the Police Court "It is not like my signature now"—it is not like it now, it never was at all—it is not a good imitation—I don't know that the prisoner bears a very good character in the neighbourhood—I know he has been incumbent since 1841—I would rather be careful about saying that he bore a good character up to 1863—I don't know what constitutes a good character in a clergyman; it is an indefinite term—there was nothing ever proved against him—I hope I am not prejudiced against the defendant at all—I know the name of Joseph Appleby very well—he is a corndealer and corn merchant, a very respectable man—if he said the prisoner bore a good character I believe that that was his impression—I know Mr. E. Taylor, Justice of the Peace, W. F. Calvert, Thomas Calvert, A. Heywood, Joseph Beck, Arthur Appleby—he is Mr. Appleby's son, and is in the corn business—he was not a trustee—I know Benjamin Hargreaves and John Mercer, Justice of the Peace—he is a man of good position, a highly respectable man—he would not say the prisoner had a good character if he did not think so—I know Robert Clayton Mercer, Thomas Townshend, Robert Clayton, John Cronsdale Kenyon, Owen Spencer Kenyon, Mark Johnson, Matthew Green, Richard Ellison, William Monk, James Smith, and Abraham Derswell—I know them to be highly respectable men—I know R. A. Featherstone, Vicar of Accrington—for anything I know he is a highly respectable man, he is the clergyman there—I have seen him here since I have been up—I don't know that those men have signed a memorial expressing their high opinion of the prisoner; if they have done so I believe that they believe it—I am not anxious that the prisoner should not go back and officiate as incumbent—anxious is hardly the word, I would rather he did not—it is not a thing of anxiety to me, I would rather he did not, that is all—I have taken steps with others where—by he might get a portion of his living, and not go back—there was a meeting, and a resolution passed agreeing that if he could take advantage of the new Act of Parliament we were desirous he should, so that he should decline to go back to his incumbency, and have a third of the living during his life—this letter (produced) is in my handwriting, and signed by me—(This was a letter to Mr. John Mercer, staling that the witness would call on him to see if he would forward the arrangement, that Mr. Wood should give up the living, and receive one-third of the income during his life.)—I did not communicate with the Treasury regarding this prosecution—there was not a great deal of feeling on the part of the people against the prisoner, only that he had done things that he ought not to have done, and we did not want him—I know of my own knowledge that alterations were made in 1857, and the money came through the prisoner—the grant in question was not made till after that—I should think something like 700l. or 800l. passed through his hands—I will swear to the best of my belief he is not popular down there with the great mass of the people—I know
he has given a great deal of money to the poor—I know, with the sanction of the Bishop of Manchester, since he has returned from penal servitude, he has been to the parish ministering to those who desired him—he is not desired by a great many.
JOHN WILKINSON . I live at Enfield House, Clayton-le-Moors—I am one of the Trustees and Committe of Management of the National Schools there, and have been so eighteen or nineteen years—there was an enlargement of those schools in 1857—there was a grant made at that time—the prisoner wag incumbent at that time, and he would carry on the negociations which got that grant, with the Privy Council—since the year 1857 there has been no alteration or addition whatever made to the schools—I did not know, as a trustee, of any application having been made for any grant in 1859—there is a signature to this receipt purporting to be signed by John Wilkinson—it is not my signature, or written by my authority—I knew nothing about it till recently—there was no trustee at that time named John Walker—that is a very good imitation of my signature—there is also what purports to be my signature on this balance sheet—it is not mine.
Cross-examined. The prisoner has been incumbent at Clayton-le-Moors since the church was built, I think it was thirty years ago—I don't know the value of the living—I took an active part in the matters in 1857—I was the incumbent's churchwarden then—I had nothing at all to do with it in 1859—I was churchwarden then and trustee—I was a trustee in 1857—I took part in the application for the grant in 1857—I signed the application that was sent up to London—the prisoner was tried and convicted in 1863 for forgery—I had nothing to do with it—I don't know whether the Treasury had—I was not a witness—I know he had ten years, but only from what I saw in the papers—he went back to Accrington after he came out—I don't know as a fact that he visited his parish with the sanction of the Bishop of Manchester, and I am not aware that he was very acceptable to the people there—I am not aware that he gave a good deal of his money to the relief of the poor—I don't know that he was popular as a clergyman before 1863—I know most of the leading people in that part—I know several of the names on this paper to be genuine (the memorial)—I don't know that these proceedings were taken with a view of keeping him out of his incumbency—I did not take part in any meeting where such resolutions were passed—I have heard since that there was a meeting of gentlemen to go to the Bishop—the first communication I had, was a gentleman named Barnard Thomas came down there from the Treasury—he did not come down at my request, I did not know he was coming—I had an interview with him—I did not write to him to come down—I don't know who did—I know nothing about it—I can't tell you who first communicated to the Solicitor of the Treasury.
Re-examined. I know nothing about setting this prosecution on foot—a gentleman came from the Treasury and saw me, I received a letter from him, asking me to attend as a witness at Bow Street, this is the letter calling my attention to the time when the case was to be heard before Sir Thomas Henry.
JOSEPH APPLEBY . I am one of the Trustees and Committee of these National Schools—the name "Joseph Appleby" on that paper is not in my handwriting, or written by my authority—the signature "Joseph Appleby" to the balance sheet is not mine—I was not aware that any application was made for any further grant for the schools in 1859.
Cross-examined. I don't remember any enlargement in 1859, there was in 1857—the prisoner was highly respected by the poor of the neighbourhood both before 1863 and since his from return prison—he may be by some of those who are well to do, but not generally—I signed a memorial in his favour, there is nothing in that memorial that I object to at all—he was generally respected up to 1863—he visited the poor and contributed to their wants out of his own pocket, and was beloved by them—he was received back with cordiality by the poorer classes—I know that some arrangements were commenced with a view of securing him a certain portion of his living during his life if he retired—I don't know that if that had been done these proceedings would not have been taken.
Re-examined. I have nothing to do with these proceedings—I was summoned by the Treasury to say whether that was my signature or not—I know that the prisoner is on ticket of leave now.
JOSEPH WALKER . In 1859 I was a trustee of the Clayton-le-Moors Schools—there was no John Walker, who was trustee at that time—this signature, John Walker, to this document, is not mine—I know nothing about it—there is the name here of William Bates—he was a trustee—he is dead—I don't know his handwriting—he did not act at that time as trustee, although he was one—he had not acted for nine or ten years.
Cross-examined. I know Mr. Beverly, a solicitor—I don't know whether he had anything to do with the schools—he left the neighbourhood, I should think, seven or eight years ago—I can't say that my signature is in the prisoner's handwriting.
Cross-examined. I signed the document for the grant in 1857, to the best of my knowledge—I would not swear it.
PETER LONSDALE . I am now a member of the firm of Bolton & Co., Victoria Mill, Blackburn—in the month of June, 1859, I was one of the cashiers at the Blackburn Old Bank—I know the prisoner—I don't think he had an account at the bank at that time—I have here a bill for 210l., on the Paymaster-General, which was placed in the Suspense Account, at the bank, in the name of Wood, on 27th June, 1859—on the 29th September, 1859, I cashed this cheque for 210l., which bears the signature "Joseph Wood"—I paid it in ten 10l. notes, ten 5l. notes, and remainder in sovereigns—that appears on the cheque, in my handwriting.
Cross-examined. I can't tell whether he had any account there before or not—I can't say that he was the man who came and got the money—I should not be authorised to pay it to anyone except the drawer, or someone authorised by him.
ARTHUR CROSS . I am a clerk in the Paymaster-General's Office—this bill of exchange, dated 27th June, 1859, is accepted by J. Black, a clerk in the office, in the ordinary way of business—he is dead now.
RICHARD MOON (Detective Sergeant). On Saturday evening, 9th December, I received a warrant, and I went to the prisoner's residence, at Accrington, the next day—I took him into custody, and charged him with forging an authority for the payment of 210l.—he said "Oh, my!"and sat down—after that he said "Officer, I will give you no trouble; I know you have an unpleasant duty to perform"—I took him to Manchester, and brought him to London the next day.
The Jury stated that they believed the punishment he had received was sufficient— Two Years' Imprisonment; to run concurrently with the unexpired sentence which he would now have to undergo.
FOURTH COURT.—Thursday, January 11th, 1872.
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
MR. KELLEY, for the Prosecution, offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
No evidence was offered against Mayers. The evidence was interpreted to the prisoner.
ARTHUR SOUCHMAN . I live at Lille, in France—I know Belon—on the 14th February, 1871, I was appointed agent of the Banque Comptoir, Financier Anglo-Francaise, at Lille—I produce a copy of that appointment, certified—the original letter containing the appointment is in possession of the Court of Assize at Lille—the prisoner was director of the Banque Comptoir Financier Anglo-Francois, 376, Strand, London—I received circulars and saw placards on the walls relating to the business while at Lille, and I was instructed to treat and negociate advances with Belon in London—before I received my appointment, I had no interviews with Belon in London—from time to time, I received securities in Lille, and transmitted them to the Banque Comptoir Anglo-Francais in London—in my business transactions at Lille, I became acquainted with a gentleman of the name of Calier—Calier called upon me on the 16th of April, 1871—I had some conversation with him—I received a written order from him to negociate some securities for him in French rentes, and I afterwards sent a letter to him—subsequently I received in money from Calier 10,352 francs on the 19th of April, and I gave a receipt for it—I sent it to London, to the director of the Bank Comptoir Financier Anglo-Francais—it was a registered letter, containing ten French bank notes, dated 24th April, 1871, addressed to "M. Director Belon, in London"—the bank-notes were sent on behalf of Calier—I received a letter back from Belon, dated 25th April, 1871, saying: "We have received by post, this morning, your cover containing ten bank-notes for 10,000 francs"—Belon was to have sent me stock in French rentes for the money; but I never received any, and I never received back from him any of the money that I had sent to him to buy the stock for Calier—in consequence of that and other transactions, I was arrested at Lille; but I was subsequently liberated by the French authorities on explaining matters—prior to my being taken into custody at Lille, Monsieur Calier had called upon me from time to time for the delivery of his securities—I had applied to Belon several times to deliver them, but he never did so—as soon as I regained my liberty, I came to London, and I went to the Comptoir Financier in the Strand—I saw Belon, and I had some conversation with him on matters connected with the Comptoir Financier—I mentioned to him the rentes that Calier had instructed me to buy for him, and I asked him for
them—he said that he would give them to me; but that some difficulty prevented him at that moment—I saw him and spoke to him several times afterwards about the matter—up to the time prisoner was taken into custody and the bank shut up, I was never able to obtain either the rentes or Monsieur Calier's money from him.
Cross-examined. When I asked him about the purchase of the rentes, he said "They were bought," and he gave me a memorandum—I have been agent for this company about seven months.
COURT. Q. When did you come to London? A. In July.
HENRI CALIER . I reside at Lille—in the month of April last I saw circulars there relating to the Comptoir Financier, and I afterwards called upon Monsieur Souchman, the accredited agent of the Comptoir Financier, at Lille, and had some conversation with him—I paid to him 10,352 francs to be sent over to the Banque Comptoir Financier Anglo-Francais in London, to buy French rentes with—I have never received either the rentes or my money—I have applied to Souchman several times for the delivery, either of the rentes or my money—on the 21st October, I received a letter from Belon in London, asking me to wait until Monday morning as he was communicating with Mr. Martin, a lawyer, on the subject—I afterwards saw Martin himself on the subject; but I got no satisfaction from him in any way.
WILLIAM BOYLE (Detective Officer). I took Belon into custody, at 376, Strand—I read the warrant to him—he asked me, in French, was Mayer's in custody, and I said "Yes"—I went to the Comptoir Financier—it is not in existence now; it is shut up; it is a hat shop—I took possession of a quantity of papers, letters, and other documents, bank-books, and a rough diary—Mr. Sidney has the diary—he said, when I took him, if I would let him go, he would pay all the money up.
MR. MEAD submitted that there was not sufficient evidence to make out a legal offence, and that what the prisoner was charged with was stealing money, not notes. THE COURT directed the indictment to be amended.
GUILTY .— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
There were other indictments against Mayers, upon which no evidence was offered.
168. THOMAS WARD (18), JOHN MONEYPENNY (20), and JOHN ADAMS , were indicted for burglariously breaking and entering the dwelling-house of Joseph Hollman, and stealing a coat, a rug, three books, 250 cigars, and other goods, and JOHN OGDEN (63) , with feloniously receiving the same.
MR. RIBTON defended Ogden; and MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS defended Moneypenny.
No evidence was offered against ADAMS.—
NOT GUILTY .
JOSEPH HOLLMAN . I live at 115, Lancaster Road, Notting Hill—between 3 and 4 o'clock, on the morning of 18th December, I heard a noise, but where it proceeded from I could not say—I got up, and turned up the gas, and I heard nothing more—soon afterwards my servant came and spoke to me, and I went down to the dining-room—I found that two desks had been broken open—I lost a great coat, a rug, and a hat-brush, 250 cigars, a biscuit-dish, au opera-glass, three scarves, three pipes, two cigar-holders, a knife, a pencil-case, a pen-holder, or the silver of one—the cigars were of peculiar manufacture—one lot was a Manilla kind of cigar, as distinguished
from cheroots, and the others were of peculiar manufacture, but I could not swear to them—I kept them in boxes, on the top of a bookcase—I found one of the boxes left behind—I can swear to the opera-glass and the dish, as being similar to those I lost—I cannot swear to the knives, nor the cigars—the Manillas are like those I had in the box that was left behind—I had had my house done up lately—an entrance had been effected through the dining-hall window, at the back—I cannot say whether either of the prisoners were employed at the house.
Cross-examined by MR. WILLIAMS. I have only one cigar holder—I can swear to the two pipes and the opera glass—I identify the cigar-holder from the colour of the case—and the pipe, I bought it in Regent Street about two years ago; and I very much doubt whether there is another of the same pattern—I could not say if 500 might not have been made of the same pattern.
Cross-examined by MR. RIBTON. I know the opera glass by the case and the name upon it—the case is worn in a peculiar manner, and it came from a distance—I have had the glasses ten or twelve years—the case is worn in a smiliar way to what mine was—I lost a screw out of the glasses, and I had another and a much larger screw put in—in this there is a much larger screw I see, than what is usually put in opera glasses—I cannot swear, however, that the screw was the one I had put in—I identify the pencil case and penholder from their peculiarities—the pencil case is also worn, and very similar to that which I had in my possession some time back—I lost more things than those I have mentioned, but I cannot remember, excepting a fusee box, what they were.
JOHN MANTON (Detective Officer X Division). I met Ward on Saturday afternoon, the 25th November, and from information I had received I took him into custody on suspicion of his having been concerned in this burglary and told him the charge—he said "You can take me, I am not the man"—he also said "I saw you coming, I could have run away had I liked."
JOHN BAKER . I am a pawnbroker's assistant, 158, Portobello Road—on Wednesday evening, the prisoner Ward came to my master's shop and offered a cigar-holder for pledge—I told him we had received information respecting it and that we could not take it—he said he had got it from a man named Murphy—I gave the cigar-holder up to the police-constable.
COURT. Q. Did you ask him his address? A. Yes.
HENRY BRENNAN . (Policeman X 4). I went to Moneypenny's house on 24th November last, in consequence of a robbery that had been committed at the Duke of York public-house—he had some beer in a can on the table, and he invited me to have some but I refused—he then went out to get some gin, and on his return he offered me some, but I refused that also—he said "I have nothing else that I can offer you, will you have a cigar?"—I said "Yes"—his wife said "We have not got any"—he said "Oh yes, I think we have"—he went to a box which stood on a chest of drawers, and handed me a cigar, and also the constable with me, Findon 24—I said, "These are very good; where did you get them from?"—he said "I found 18 of them wrapped and tied in some paper, which was sealed, in the Hertford Road, last Wednesday fortnight, about the eigth November—I said "I doubt that, and I shall take you into custody on suspicion."
Cross-examined by MR. RIBTON. I said I would take him into custody on suspicion of being concerned with another person with committing
a burglary in Lancaster Road—his wife became violent and assaulted one of the officers—the cigars were of a similar description to these—I found a duplicate cigar-tube to this in his pocket—he said he had been hard up, and had tried to pledge it—he said the cigar-tube was with the cigars when he found them—on 30th November I obtained a search warrant and went to Ogden's shop, 5, Old Street Malylebone Road—I asked him whether he had bought a dish with a cover, an opera glass, a pencil-case, a knife and a penholder—he said "Why?"—I told him I came there with a search warrant, and he was suspected of having these things in his possession, knowing them to have been stolen—he said "Oh dear, don't disgrace me; shut the door"—we were about searching the place, and he said "Don't trouble, I will get what you want"—he took from a recess in the window a pair of opera glasses, with the case produced, two penknives, a pencil-case and this fusee-holder—just then Pike went round the counter and underneath some trousers and waistcoats he found this biscuit dish—he said "Sergeant, here is what you want"—Ogden said he had bought that on the 21st of the same month from a man named Murphy, he gave 7s. for them—he enumerated the different prices—I know Murphy—he has given the name of John Adams—This cigar-tube was pawned at Sewell's by Moneypenny.
Cross-examined by MR. RIBTON. Before I read the warrant he said "Oh, dear, close the door, do not expose me to my neighbours"—I stated that before, but it is not in the depositions—Pike found my depositions, and they were read over to me—he did not say "Do not trouble yourself," and then give me the dish and cover and pencil-case—that is Pike's statement—I was examined before the Magistrates on four different occasions—I did not say that he gave me the dish and cover—I got from Ogden a pair of opera glasses with a case, two penknives, not identified, a pencil-case, a pipelight, and this thing called a teapot—Pike searched the whole house—we did not take away whatever things we liked, but we did take away things that had nothing to do with the burglary whatever—there was a cab-load of things, I daresay.
Ogden. All the things have not been returned. Witness. What I took I placed them in the reserve-room—I put down in a book all that I took away, and the prisoner signed it.
Re-examined. I had several informations—this is the only charge against Moneypenny.
ALFRED PIKE (Detective Officer.) I went with Brennan to the shop in question, and saw him find the things—I could not see any opera-glasses in the window—I went there for the purpose of looking in—before Ogden was apprehended Ward called me to the cell—he said he wished to make a statement to me—he said "I know nothing about this case, I know nothing about the cigar-holder; a man of the name of Murphy gave me the cigar-holder to pledge; I also sold a quantity of things to Ogden "he did not say when Murphy gave him the cigar-holder—it would be some few days before—I think it was on the 24th when he took the things to Ogden—he said I accompanied Murphy to Ogden's house—he had a biscuit dish with a cover, a pair of opera glasses, two pencil-cases, and a penknife, which he sold to Ogden for 7s. or 11s.—he did not know which.
NOT GUILTY .
WILLIAM PRIDEAUX (Detective Officer.) About 7 o'clock, on the night of 28th November, I saw the prisoners together in Sutherland Gardens, near No. 28, and they went on towards No. 31—next morning, from information I received, I went to No. 19, and I there found that a burglary had been committed, an entrance having been effected at the back window in the kitchen—I saw some footmarks in the garden of No. 19, and I covered them over with boards—I also found footmarks in that garden—I also found a Britannia metal coffee and sugar basin—the prisoners were apprehended—the boots were taken from off their feet—I compared them with the tracks, or footmarks in the gardens, and they corresponded exactly with the length and breadth.
Edwards. I bought the boots I had on my feet on the Friday before I was taken, and the robbery had been committed then about three weeks as near as I can guess. Witness. I made the examination on 12th December—they said they bought the boots at a shop in Ferdinand Rood, Chalk Farm—I went there, and there is no such shop at all.
Adams. If he saw us loitering about on the 28th why did he not charge us with the robbery? Witness. If I could have found them after the burglary I should have apprehended them.
Adams. Q. Why did you not swear to me at the Marylebone Police Court? A. I have been thinking further over it—I could not swear to it there, but I believe you to be the man.
COURT. How is it you can swear to him now? something must have occurred? A. No, nothing; to the best of my recollection, he is the man.
NOT GUILTY .
170. GEORGE EDWARDS and JOHN ADAMS were again indicted for burglariously breaking and entering the dwelling-house of Sophia De Morgan, and stealing a spoon, a trinket, a locket, a purse, and 9l. in money.
CATHERINE BENDALL . I am a cook, and live at 6, Burton Road, Adelaide Road, St. John's Wood—about 7.15 on the morning of the 9th December—I found the kitchen in a very disorderly state—my writing case had been broken open—I missed a purse containing about 9l. in gold and a gold trinket—I gave information to the police and a description of the purse—when I saw the purse at the Police Court afterwards I swore to it—the one produced is mine—I also missed some small change, a silver spoon, and a pair of boots.
Edwards. Q. Can you swear to that purse? A. Yes, I had a mark in it and the first compartment of it was torn—but on the night of 8th December I saw a short man lying under the wall.
THOMAS RODWAY (Policeman S 162). About 12.45 on the morning of 11th December, I saw the prisoners in Acacia Road—I did not then take them into custody—the next morning, at a 9.15, I took them into custody—I was accompained by a policeman that had watched their movements—I found this purse on Edwards—he said it was his—I charged him with being in unlawful possession of it and with loitering—just at the time I took the purse from him he said he had been in bed all night.
CORNELIUS O. O'HARA (Policeman S 22). From information I received, I went to the house where Bendall lived and she pointed out to me the writing desk which she stated was hers—she gave me a description of the purse that had been stolen out of the desk, containing 9l., with a small gold charm and a small locket containing grey hair—she did not say anything to me about the tear in the purse—it was from the description given of the purse that I believed this to be the one.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Friday, January 12th,1872.
Before Mr. Deputy Recorder.
171. JAMES KYLE (37), PLEADED GUILTY to feloniously setting fire to certain matters and things in his dwelling-house, under such circumstances that if the said house had been set fire to he would have been guilty of felony.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
HENRY YETTON . I live at 40, Ann Street, Mile End—I am a cabinet maker, in the employ of John Price, at 1, Singleton Street—the prisoner also worked there—on 7th December I was in the workshop about 9.30 in the evening—I saw him with a piece of lighted wood in his hand, which he placed deliberately behind a box which we use for colours—there were some shavings behind the box—I took no notice of it at the time—I called to a shopmate named O'Neil, and said "I shall leave off'—I walked down the shop to O'Neil's bench, and stood a little to see if the smoke would come up—Green went and smothered it with some sawdust or trod on it—I then left the shop with O'Neil, leaving the prisonor and a man named Gammon there—we merely went down stairs—we did not go away—I should think we remained down stairs five or ten minutes, and then we went round to the back of the premises to see if we could see anything further—I went up stairs by the back entrance, and looked through a hole in the door, leaving O'Neil down stairs—I saw smoke coming up in another place, but close to where the lighted wood had been laid—Green was standing at the further end of the shop—I saw him pick something up from the bench, put it under his arm, and walk out—as he shifted from the bench I lost sight of him, but I heard the door shut and locked, and he went down stairs and turned the gas off at the metre in the yard—I called O'Neil up, and we entered the shop together—as we went in where we saw the smoke it burst into a flame, from the draught of the door or something—I left O'Neil in the shop and went and fetched Mr. Dowsett, who was close by—when we came back the shavings were partly burnt out—there were shavings from the fire-place where the little heap was burning, and a train of shavings ran from there to two or three benches in the shop—we put the fire out And went away—the piece of wood which I saw him take from the fire had evidently been trodden on—it was broken, but I think two or three pieces were still alight when I left with O'Neil, leaving the prisoner and Gammon there—Gammon left before the prisoner—the train of shavings which I afterwards saw is not always in the shop—that communicated to two or three different benches.
Cross-examined. I accused the prisoner the next morning of setting to the place—that was the only time I accused him—I don't know what the piece of wood was that he lighted—it might have been a piece of moulding—he did not throw water on it—he trod on it—we left the shop at 10.30—there is a little stove there, but I don't think there was any fire in it—the fire-place was an open brick-built fire-place—the prisoner was using the fire to heat a moulding—the fire was of shavings, and a piece of wood—when he threw the piece of lighted wood behind the box I thought it was done deliberately—I have been twelve months in Mr. Price's employ—it did not strike me to go to him and say "What do you mean by setting fire to my master's premises?"—when I left with O'Neil I was away five or ten minutes—when I saw the smoke afterwards and the fire I did not go and tell Mr. Price—he was so far away—there is no foreman—Mr. Price lives at Tottenham, and I did not know the house—I don't know what wages the prisoner received—I suppose I average about 30s. a week—he might have received 40s. a week—he used to take good wages at times—I know Thomas Philps—he is another shopmate—I believe he has been working there some years—he was there in the early part of the evening, about 8 o'clock perhaps—I think there wore nine men and two apprentices working there that evening—I fetched Philps the same night to show him what had been done—I have been on the friendliest terms with the prisoner.
Re-examined. The prisoner smothered the fire when I called out to O'Neil—I said "I shall leave off work, Tommy"—I have no ill-feeling against the prisoner at all—I did not go to the police-station that night—I merely fetched Dowsett.
THOMAS O'NEIL . I live at 30, Booth Street, Brick Lane—I work at Mr. Price's—on the Thursday night I left the shop, with Yetton—he told me he was going to leave off work, and we went away together—he made a communication to me, and we went round to the back—I waited down stairs while ho went up—I afterwards went into the shop with him—some shavings were burning by the fire-place; they burst into a flame as we wont in—Dowsett, Yetton, and I, put it out—there were two or three benches along the shop, and shavings went from the burning heap to the benches—we sent and fetched Philps after we put it out—there was a piece of wood behind the colour-box, mouldering away—this was on a Thursday—on the Wednesday before I saw the prisoner come into the workshop, about 9.30 at night—he had not been at work more than a few moments when he moved to the next bench, with a lighted shaving in his hand, which he placed under the bench, with some more shavings—he did that several times—I saw him just before I went away strike a match and throw it under the bench—the match went out—I left the shop with Yetton that night, and I told him what I had seen—we went back and found some scorched shavings under the bench; they had been alight, but had gone out.
Cross-examined. It was about an hour before we went back on the Wednesday night; it was about 11 o'clock—several pieces of shavings were lighted—I am quite sure of that—I was about twelve or thirteen feet from the prisoner when ho threw down the lighted shavings—Yetton was at work at the far end of the shop—there were two apprentices, and Gammon there, as well—they could have seen it, if they had been noticing—Yetton and I left the shop together, on the Wednesday, about 10 o'clock—I think
the prisoner left with the apprentices, and Gammon about 11 o'clock—one of the apprentices was named Hanson—I don't know the other's name; they are not here to-day—they had only just left the shop when I went back with Yetton—we waited until they had gone, just to see whether the shavings had lighted—we were not surprised to find there was not a blaze—I did rather expect to find a fire there when I went back—at the time I left the shop, with Yetton, on the Thursday, I had not noticed anything—I waited at the bottom of the stairs while Yetton went up—he called me up afterwards—the prisoner had gone then—I did not see him go out—Yetton said he heard the door locked, and I saw that the gas was turned out—I should think it was hardly a minute or two before he called after me; he would only have time to get out of the gate—Yetton went and fetched Dowsett, and we put the fire out—I broke the train of shavings—Philps came after the fire was out.
Re-examined. We trampled it out, and threw the water which was in the glue-pot, over it.
JOHN JOSEPH DOWSETT . I am a licensed victualler, at 10, Singleton Street—on the Thursday in question, about 11 o'clock at night, Yetton came to me, and I went to Mr. Price's workshop—I found a few shavings alight in front of the fire-place—O'Neil was there—there was a small piece of wood close to the fire-place—I helped to put the fire out—I asked them what they were standing there for to let the shavings be alight—the fire covered a space about a foot wide, and a foot and a half long.
Cross-examined. I did not see Philps there but I know he was there—I know the defendant as working on the premises, he is a good workman—it was Yetton who pushed out the small piece of wood which was smouldering—it was a very small piece, about the size of my finger.
JOHN PRICE . I live at Walthamstow, about six or seven miles from my place of business—the prisoner works by the piece and can if he likes, earn from 45s. to 50s. a week—on Friday morning, on my arrival my attention was called to some burnt shavings—there ought to be no lines of shavings running along the floor, the rule of the shop is that all shavings shall be cleared from the fire-place every night.
Cross-examined. The prisoner has been thirteen or sixteen years in my employment—he is married—if my place had been set on fire and burnt down he would have been thrown out of employ—Yetton has been in my employ about a year—I usually superintend my work at this shop—I worked there all that week—Philps has been some few years in my employ and still is so.
COURT. Q. You saw the shavings on the floor, could they have come into those lines by ordinary working or must they have been arranged? A. I imagine they must have been arranged, but the men trample along of course.
THOMAS MAYNARD (Policeman N 7). I went to the shop at 7 o'clock, and saw the shavings saturated with water—I told the prisoner I should take him for attempting to set fire to the workshop—he said, pointing to the place where the shavings were "I know nothing about it;"—and speaking of the place behind the box, where a small piece of lighted wood was found, he said "I did accidentally drop a piece of lighted wood there, but thought I put it out."
Price—on the Thursday night the prisoner and I were the last in the shop—the prisoner was the last—I saw no fire or smoke when we left.
Cross-examined The prisoner left about a minute after me—he has I believe complained of shavings being brought to his bench room—his bench is about five feet from the fire-place—I saw nothing in any way wrong when I left.
JOSEPH JUTT . I work for Mr. Price—on the Thursday morning, about 9.30, the day the premises were burnt down—I saw the prisoner at the shop—we were talking about Maples' shop and the prisoner said "It would be a good thing if this place was burnt down"—we were all there, and Brooks heard it—about 8.45 in the evening, I went up to the fire-place to make a lining hot and the prisoner said "Are you going to pull it off to night?"—I said "No fear"—he turned round to Brooks and said "You will be all right Joe, it will be very nice for the governor to do as he has done before, and walk about with 1l. in your pocket, and have new tools and new benches"—I believe the prisoner has had new tools, which the governor supplied him with many years ago when there was a fire before—Brooks is not here.
Cross-examined. I made this statement first on Wednesday to the Counsel in this Court—I have made it to nobody else, but everybody in the shop heard it—Mr. Price did not know it—he was gone—O'Neil knew it—I was not examined before the Magistrate—I was subpœnaed to come here—I did not mention this conversation to Mr. Price—I had no suspicion of anything being wrong—I did not think it worth while to convey to Mr. Price this proposition almost to burn his place down—Mr. Price was there that day, but I think he was not in the shop when that was said—I would have communicated to him what the prisoner had said, but I thought nothing of it—it was nothing but a matter of general conversation, and I had no suspicion. of anything of the sort.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate: "The night this happened I went to the fire-place to get a moulding, and I accidentally might have pulled a bit of wood alight out of the fire-place, and when I had got back to the fire-place I saw the smoke coming from the sawdust where this wood fell, and I deliberately took it up and threw it into the fire-place; I then cleared the fire-place for about three feet from the blower, and went and put on my coat and left the shop."
COURT to JOHN PRICE. Q. Was there a fire at your place some years ago? A. Yes—the benches and tools were burnt—the prisoner was then in my service, and I set him up with all the tools he lost—we furnish the benches ourselves.
COURT to H. YETTON. Q. Have you heard Jupp examined? A. Yes—I was in the shop on the Thursday morning when the prisoner came in—Jupp was there, and O'Neil and Brooks—with respect to the fire at Maples', I said to the prisoner, by way of a joke, "Dick, Maples', of Tottenham Court Road, is burnt down!" and he said "And a good job if this was down as well"—that was all I heard that morning, and I heard nothing that evening, but on Wednesday evening, when I came in, he was smoking, and he said u You will burn the shop down, Harry, if you are not careful; I suppost you are insured with the governor?" and I said "No, I am not; but that don't matter; you must pay the shilling afterwards." That is all I know.
MR. COLE. Q. You were examined by me this morning, and not a solitary word did you utter of that which you have now uttered? A. Did you
ask me?—I was going to say what I wanted to say, and I was stopped; you would not allow me—I did not say a word about it before the Magistrate, I was not asked—I heard Jupp's evidence about the burning down of Maples' place—I think I was the first that mentioned it—I made the observation to myself in the way of a joke, and he answered me.
JURY. Q. Was the prisoner insured with the governor? A. I don't know—we were supposed to pay the governor a shilling a year, and he insured our tools for 20l., but I never paid it—these jokes passed between us because I wanted to draw what I could out of the prisoner—I think this train of shavings was put there purposely—the shavings dropping from the work are generally at the end of the bench—when I left the shop the shavings were partly in the shape in which I found them when I came back.
MR. COLE. Q. Did you not, in the presence of Philps, a fellow-workman, say that you would never work in the same shop with the prisoner? A. Yes, after what I had seen; and I told Mr. Price so.
COURT to O'NEIL. Q. Did you hear any of the conversation which has been spoken of? A. Yes—the prisoner said to me "It would be a good job if this shop was burnt down," and in the evening I heard Green mention the words "Are you going to pull it off to-night?"—he also said to me "You are all right with the governor if you have not given him the shilling; you can give it to him afterwards, and he will do as he has done before, and buy us all new tools and new benches."
Witness for the Defence.
THOMAS PHILPS . I am a carpenter, of 20, Great Charles Street, City Road—I have worked for Mr. Price seven years—on this Friday I left the workshop about 9.15—I then noticed shavings between my bench and the prisoner's, which are next to one another, and the young master's is next—Yetton afterwards called me in to look at some shavings—I should imagine that those shavings which were alight were what were swept back from the fire-place—the other shavings were in the same condition as when I left—I saw no train whatever.
NOT GUILTY .
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
MESSRS. CRAUPURD and DE MICHELE conducted the Prosecution.
CAROLINE FORD . I am barmaid at the Hare and Billet, Blackheath—on 9th December I served the prisoners with a half-quartern of peppermint, which came to 2 1/2 d.—Dunn gave me a bad half-crown—I threw it on the counter and told her it was bad, and she gave me a good one—I returned the bad one.
Sullivan. Q. Did you try it in a detector? A. Certainly—I cannot swear that I bent it.
Dunn. Q. When you gave evidence before you said you did not know whether I or my husband gave it to you? A. That is false—I am positive you gave me the good one. (The witness's deposition stated that the man gave her the good one.)
WILLIAM POUND . I keep the Three Tuns, at Blackheath, about 300 yards from the Hare and Billet—on 9th December the prisoner came in between 8 and 9 o'clock—Sullivan asked for a half-sovereign for 10s., an
then Dunn asked for a half-quartern of rum or peppermint, which was served, and Dunn gave me a bad half-crown—my daughter had served them, but I was close by her—I told the man it was bad, and threw it back to him—he said "Is it bad? if it is, my baker gave it to my wife"—I gave it back to him—he paid me—I did not try it—I could tell by its appearance—I made no mark on it—they went away.
CHARLES LAMBERT . My father is a cheesemonger, at Blackheath, fifty yards from the Hare and Billet—I was taking money in the shop on 9th December—the prisoners came in between 8 and 9 o'clock—Sullivan asked for a quarter of a pound of cheese, which came to 2 1/2 d—Dunn gave me a half-crown—I took it to my mother, who said it was bad—I took it back to Sullivan who looked at it, and gave me 2 1/2 d. in coppers—he kept the half-crown.
MART ANN CRIOKLER . I serve in a confectioner's shop, at Blackheath—on 9th December, about 8.45 in the evening, the prisoners came in, and Dunn asked for two penny buns, and she gave me a half-crown—I handed it to my master, who told them it was bad—he sent for a constable.; Dunn got away, but Sullivan was stopped by Mr. Riddington.
Sullivan, Q. What did your master say to this woman? A. He asked her where she got it, and she said from you; he was not cunning enough; he kept the half-crown in his hand.
STEPHEN RIDDINGTON . I am a confectioner, twenty or thirty yards from Lambert's cheese shop—on 9th December, in the evening, I was in the sitting-room, and Miss Crickler brought me a bad half-crown—I went into the shop, and said to Dunn, "You gave my assistant this bad half-crown "—Sullivan said "Is it bad, let me see it"—I said "No," and asked Dunn who gave it to her—Sullivan said "I gave it to her, I gave it to my wife "—I said "I shall give it to a policeman, for we have had bad money passed, here often"—Dunn went out, and Sullivan wanted to go out—he went up a lane, which had no outlet—he watched the entrance—a policeman was found, and he took them in custody—another policeman came, and I gave the woman to him—I kept the half-crown in my hand till I got to the station, where I marked it, and gave it to the sergeant.
DANIIL VICARS (Policeman R 99). Mr. Riddington pointed out the prisoners to me in a lane which has no outlet—I took them,. Sullivan turned, I thought, very restive—I told Mr. Riddington to take Dunn, Sullivan said we should have to carry him, and laid down in the road—a sergeant came up, and when there were two of us he walked—I searched him at the station, and found 1l. 3s. 10d. in silver, and 2s. 9 1/2 d. in copper, all good; a purse and a halfpenny were found on Dunn.
Sullivan. Q. Was I drunk. A. Yes.
Sullivans's Defence. I was intoxicated.
Dunn's Defence. I did not know it was bad.
GUILTY . They were further charged with having been before convicted of a like offence; Sullivan in September, 1867, and Dunn in February, 1868, to which they
PLEADED GUILTY**— Five Years' Penal Servitude each.
MR. BRINDLEY conducted the Prosecution; and MR. WHITELBY the Defence.
EVAN VON PFARFFER . I am a watchmaker, of 151, Cowes Street, Hampstead—on 24th December I was in a public-house, in Deptford—the prisoner was there, but I had no conversation with her—I only answered "Yes"when she asked me something, and said "What do you want?"—she left the house first, and when I went out she said she was very cold—she pulled my coat, and I felt her hand near my pocket where my watch was—I had in the same pocket my railway ticket, and some pawn tickets, and a knife—I said "You have robbed me"—she immediately went back about six steps—I cried for a policeman, and she ran—I followed her into some yard, and caught her, but did not touch her—a man came up, who said ho would go for a policeman, but ho never came back—I gave her in charge, and showed the policeman the place where she stopped me—he looked, and found my tickets, but not my watch.
Cross-examined. I went into the public-house about 11 o'clock—I had been from Deptford to Greenwich at 6.30, and came back to Deptford at 8 o'clock—I had been into three public-houses on the road, and had a glass of beer in each—there were about five persons in the public-house, including women, but I am short-sighted; I had my spectacles on, but they are not much use—the prisoner was there when I went in—she had no baby then—I did not understand what she said, and I said "What do you want?"—she made no reply, but went out—I do not remember that anyone else went out—some soldiers spoke to me, but no other woman—I spoke to no other woman—I went out five minutes after her, and saw her outside—I think she was waiting for me—I saw no one else there—she said "Where are you going t" and put her hand to my coat—I said nothing, but looked her in the face, and she said "Come along," or something like that, and I found her hand in my pocket—she ran away four or five yards, and then stopped and went into a yard—she did not ask me to follow her, she went in there as quickly as she could, after I said "You have robbed me," and tried to get away—the yard is near the public-house—she did not put her hand round my waist when she put her hand in my pocket—I put up my hands with my stick to prevent her getting out of the yard, and called "Police."
Re-examined. I was not near the other persons in the public-house—I went out quite alone—I can see a face four or five steps off—the prisoner lit me on the forehead in the yard, and knocked my spectacles off—she also caught hold of my whiskers.
COURT. Q. When had you seen your watch last? A. Ten minutes before I went into the house—I had not taken it out of my pocket then, out I looked for a small knife which I used to clean my pipe—I had my watch then, and my tickets, and railway ticket—my coat was open in the public-house—I saw no other woman there—the soldiers were drinking—I wore this chain which I have on now, and they could see it, but my watch was not attached to it—it was loose in my pocket.
JOSEPH SKERRY (Policeman R 246). On Sunday night, 24th December, I saw a crowd, I went up to it, and saw the prisoner and prosecutor, and another constable—the prosecutor said "This woman has taken my watch and some duplicates"—I kept her in custody while he and the constable
went to the spot to look for the watch—they came back with the tickets, but not the watch—the prosecutor and prisoner both appeared sober.
Cross-examined. There were about twenty men and women there—the prosecutor was excited.
——SALOMON (Policeman R 339). I was on duty about 11.55 o'clock, heard a cry, went to the spot, and saw the prosecutor and prisoner standing at the corner of the mews—the prosecutor had his stick up keeping her away with it—he said "She has robbed me of my watch and some pawn tickets; I will give her in charge"—I took her about fifty yards and left her with another constable—I went back with the prosecutor, who showed me the spot—I turned my light on and found the duplicates, which he said were his, but no watch—his face was very much bruised and scratched—he was sober.
Cross-examined. There were about twenty men and women about, but no soldiers.
NOT GUILTY .
Before the Common Sergeant.
Before Mr. Deputy Recorder.
MESSRS. POLAND and A. B. KELLEY conducted the Prosecution; and
MR. STRAIGHT defended Hanmore.
JAMES MORRIS . I am a fruiterer at Great St. Andrew's Street, Wandsworth Road—on 23rd December about 5.10 in the evening, Tickner came in for sixpennyworth of oranges, she put down a half-sovereign—I got change from Mrs. Price, and handed it to the prisoner, and she paid with a shilling—I gave her sixpence and she left—immediately afterwards Mrs. Price returned the half-sovereign to me saying it was bad—I marked it and gave it to the constable.
JANE PRICE . I live next door to Mr. Morris—on 23rd December I changed a half-sovereign for him—I took it into the sitting room and put it on the table—I almost immediately found it was bad and took it back to Mr. Morris—it was about 5.10 in the afternoon.
FREDERICK RAPLEY . I am a draper, at 580, Wands-worth Road—on 23rd December Tickner came in in the evening, and I served her with some net and some pins, which was 6 1/4 d.—I don't recollect what she gave in payment—Hanmore came in the same evening and I served him with a pair of stockings—I don't know what money he tendered—my shop was closed from that evening to Wednesday morning—on the Wednesday morning I found a bad half-sovereign amongst my money, I gave it to 117 V—he showed me a bill, some net, and some pins—they were the articles I had sold to the woman—Mrs. Morris' shop is three or four minutes' walk from mine.
Cross-examined. I said before the Magistrate that I found the half-sovereign on the Wednesday morning—I had never seen the man before that day—I can't fix the time at all—it was in the evening part.
KATE AMELIA RUSSELL . I live at 582, Wandsworth Road—on Saturday evening, 23rd December, between 5 and 6 o'clock, Tickner came into the shop and bought a purse, which was 6d.—I am not sure what she paid with, I gave her some change and she went away, leaving the purse behind—she came in again in about five minutes and said she wanted to look at some church services—I showed her some, and she bought one for 2s. 3d.—she put down a half-sovereign to pay for it, my mother took it up, and took it to my father—my mother gave her the change—she took up the church service and the purse and went away—she did not say anything about the purse, only took it up—the purse and church service were shown to me when I was before the Magistrate.
WILLIAM ROBERT RUSSELL . I am the father of the last witness—on Saturday, 23rd December, I saw Tickner in the shop—after she had left my wife gave me a half-soveriegn—I gave my daughter the church service to hand to the woman, and I saw my wife give her the change—a policeman came on the Tuesday following and spoke to me—I looked at the gold in my purse and found a bad half-sovereign, which I gave to the constable 117 V.
Cross-examined. There was another half-sovereign in my purse besides that—I took no money in the interval because the shop was closed.
JAMES COWLAND . I live at 5, Parkland Road, Battersea—on 23rd December, about 7 o'clock in the evening, Tickner came into my shop—my daughter brought me a half-sovereign and I went into the shop—my wife said that the prisoner had paid it for some stocking!—I told her it was a bad one and asked her where she received it—she said her husband had received it from the railway company for his wages, and she asked for it back so that she should not be the loser—I gave it her back and she left without the articles—she did not come back again.
ROBERT WHITLEY . I live at 5, St. John's Hill, Battersea, about 50 or 60 yards from Mr. Cowland's, and 20 or 33 yards from the Wandsworth Road—on Saturday evening, 23rd December, Tickner came into my shop and asked for two glass salt-cellars, which were 2s. 3d.—she gave me a half-sovereign which I broke in half—she said "Oh, my gracious, that is part of my husband's wages, he works for the London and South Western Railway (or the Brighton and South Coast), and has done so for 20 years; please give it me back as I must get it replaced, or we shall be at the loss of it"—I gave the pieces back, and she left without the salt-cellars—she went towards Mrs. York's—I watched her, I saw her come out of Mrs. York's and then I saw Hanmore—I spoke to Mrs. York and she showed me a bad florin—I went out and saw the woman walking towards Wandsworth, she joined the man, who seemed to be waiting; they walked along side by side towards Mr. Dilcher's—I spoke to V 117, and also to another constable; it was about 7.30 in the evening.
Cross-examined. I was about 20 yards off, on the opposite side of the way, when she joined Hanmore—I could not say whether he was smoking a pipe.
MARGARET ANN YORK . I live at St. John's Hill, Battersea—on Saturday, 23rd December, I was serving in the shop—between 7 and 8 o'clock Tickner came in, and I served her with a reel of cotton, which was 2 1/2 d.—she gave me a florin—I gave her the change, and she left, taking the change and the cotton with her—Mr. Whitley came in, and I showed him the florin—he broke it in my presence—he afterwards took them away with him.
HENRY DILCHER . I live at Oxford Terrace, St. John's Hill—on Saturday evening, 23rd December, Tickner came in, about 7 o'clock, and bought two cakes for 8d.—she gave me a half-sovereign—I gave her change, and put it in my pocket—I had no other half-sovereign there—the two prisoners were afterwards brought in, and I examined the half-sovereign, and found it was bad—Tickner seemed to be very much surprised about it—I can't say what she said—I marked the coin, and gave it to V 117—Hanmore had the cakes under his arm, when the two prisoners were brought into the shop.
THOMAS HARWOOD (Policeman V 117). On Saturday evening, 23rd December, Whitley spoke to me, and I saw Tickner come out of Mr. Dilcher's—I saw Hanmore further on, walking along the pavement—when she came out of Mr. Dilcher's she followed Hanmore, and went up close to him—I heard her say "Bill," and saw her hand him the cakes, which I produce here—I went up and said "Bill"—he answered to that name—I said "Here is a mistake about some things you bought down the road; would you mind going back to see what it is?"—he said "I have not bought anything"—"I said "Your missis did"—he said "She is no missis of mine; I know nothing of her"—" Well," I said, "You had better come back"—the female prisoner said "I will go back"—he said "Then there will be no occasion for me to go?"—I said "Yes, you had better go back as well"—at that time the other constable came up, and we went back to Mr. Dilcher's shop—I asked Mr. Dilcher whether he had changed any money for either of them—he said "Yes, I have just changed a half-sovereign for the woman"—I asked him if it was a good one—he said "I don't know, it is in my pocket," and he pulled it out, with two or three sovereigns—he said "That is the half-sovereign I changed"—I tried it, and found it was bad—the woman said she was surprised it was bad, she had just received it as a part of her husband's wages, that he had been at work on the London Brighton and South Coast Railway for above twenty years—she said to Hanmore "You go down to the station, and ask the station-master to come up"—I declined to let him go—I said she would be charged with uttering a counterfeit half-sovereign, and he would be charged with being concerned"—she said to Hanmore "You hold your tongue, and say nothing; leave it all to me"—I sent for a cab, and conveyed them to the station—she repeated the same words in the cab—I searched the cab afterwards, and as I raised the cushion a florin fell to the bottom of the cab, which I found was bad—I showed it to them, and Tickner said "If that was found in the cab, I know nothing about it, someone else must have left it there"—I searched Hanmore, and found in his possession 3l. 5s. 4d. in silver, which consisted of three half-crowns, fifteen florins, twenty-two shillings, ten sixpences, one fourpenny-piece, and two threepenny-pieces, and I think, a shilling's-worth of coppers—I also found this church-service, a purse, a piece of net, a packet of pins, and a bill—I showed the bill to Mr. Rapley, and he identified the handwriting as his own—I also found a packet of tea, a piece of suet, and a piece of cheese—I found this address, in pencil, in Hanmore's pocket: "Elizabeth Tickner, Blackfriars Road," where she was residing—Tickner gave her address "12, Church Street, Battersea"—the man gave his proper name and address, and she said "Oh, you fool, you must be a fool to give your right name"—I did not see the woman searched, but I received from the female searcher a latch-key, and a reel of cotton—I produce a half-sovereign, which I received from James Morris, one from Mr. Rapley, one from Mr. Russell, one from Mr. Dilcher—I also produce a florin I received
from Mrs. York, and the florin I found in the cab; there are four half-sovereigns and two florins.
Cross-examined. Hanmore put the bag of cakes down on the counter when he went back to the shop—he took them off afterwards, and put them in his pocket—on the morning of Christmas Day Tickner said "I was in company with another man, with red whiskers; Hanmore and he got speaking together, and the man said he had been paid 10l. in half-sovereigns, and he wanted silver, and he gave me a half-sovereign to buy anything I liked for myself, up to 8s. or 9s." I never saw Hanmore before.
Tickner. I asked the policeman, when he put his hand on me, to bring that tall man in black, and said "That is the man, if there is anything wrong." Witness. There was no such man there, and she did not say anything about it till she got to Mr. Dilchcr's shop.
WILLIAM WEBSTER . I am Inspector of Coin to Her Majesty's Mint—the half sovereign received from Morris is bad, also the one from Rapley—the one received from Russell is bad, and from the same mould as Rapley's—Dilcher's is bad, and from the same mould as Morris's—the two florins are bad, and from one mould.
GUILTY .— Fifteen Months' Imprisonment each.
MESSRS. POLAND and A. B. KELLEY conducted the Prosecution.
THOMAS HENRY BIGGS . I am shopman to Mr. Boyer, of 106, Waterloo Road, who keeps a ham and beef shop—on 26th December, about 7.40 in the evening, the prisoner came in for a quarter of a pound of cooked ham, which was 3d.—he gave me a bad shilling—I bit a piece out of it—I returned him both pieces—I placed them on the counter and he picked them up—one piece dropped behind the counter, the side where I was—I said "That is a bad one, have you another"—he said something but I did not hear what—Mr. Boyer came into the shop and said to the prisoner "You have got something in your mouth, tell me what have you got there; if not I will send for a policeman"—the prisoner did not answer and a constable was fetched—the constable took hold of him and something fell on the floor, from his hand or his mouth—the prisoner fell on his back on the floor, and would have crippled me if I had not got out of the way—I saw my master pick up the piece of the shilling which I had bit out—I gave it at the station to the inspector who took the charge—the prisoner was under the influence of liquor, but he appeared to know what ho was doing.
HENRY BUTCHER (Policeman L 103). On 26th December, I was called to Mr. Boyer's shop—the prisoner was given into my charge—I saw him put something in his mouth—and heard a rattle in his mouth—I held him by the neck and I felt something go down his throat—I said "You have swallowed something"—he did not answer—he was very violent and we both fell on the ground—he tried to get his hand to his mouth—I said "He has something in his right hand"—I got his hand open and discovered half of a counterfeit shilling, a good one, and a bad pennypiece—I searched him at the station and found a shilling in his left-hand trousers' pocket—I saw the half of the shilling produced by Briggs at the station.
Prisoner's Defence. I was not aware it was a had shilling, I had plenty of opportunity of making away with it.
He also PLEADED GUILTY* to having been before convicted of a like offence, in June, 1870. Five Years' Penal Servitude.
The evidence was interpreted to the Prisoner.
ARCHIBALD JOKES . I live at Lower Queen Street, Rotherhithe, and am a bottler—on Sunday night, 24th December, about 11 o'clock, I was going home—I saw some foreigners quarrelling in Russell Street—I went towards them, across the road—I had to go quite close to the prisoner and he stabbed me with the knife in the right side of the neck as I passed him—he said something in his own language—he ran away after he stabbed me—I ran after him and gave him in charge to a police-constable on the bridge—I did not lose sight of him—my wound was dressed at the station.
Prisoner. The man who had the knife is on board the vessel—I did not stab him. Witness. I am quite sure he is the man—385 R was the policeman who took him.
WILLIAM BROWNFIELD (Policeman R 385). On Sunday, 24th December, about 11 o'clock, I was on duty in Russell Street, Rotherhithe—I saw a number of foreigners there turned out of a public-house—they were fighting together—I saw the prisoner—he was pointed out to me by Jones, who showed me a wound on the right side of the neck—they all ran to the bridge, and the prosecutor charged the prisoner with stabbing him—the prisoner was drunk—Jones was sober—there were about twenty foreigners on the bridge—the prisoner was among them—I kept him in view while they were running—I did not sec a knife in his hand, and he had not got one on him—a knife was picked up in the street—another foreigner was taken—Daniels held him till another constable came up and took him—the other one did not have a knife at the time he was taken.
THOMAS DAILY . I am a lighterman, and live at London Street, Deptford—a few minutes after 11 on Sunday night, 24th December, I was going along Russell Street, Rotherhithe, towards home—there was a disturbance there between foreigners—they were fighting with knives—I saw the knives—I was stabbed by one of them in the head—I did not say anything to provoke him—that is the man—(Carl Jenson, see next case)—he stabbed me on the head—I was knocked down, and as I got up he stabbed me in the hand—I sung out for help, and Daniels came up and laid hold of the man—he struggled and got away from Daniels, and ran up Russell Street towards the bridge—I ran after him, with Daniels, and when we got to the bridge we both laid hold of him—I gave him in charge to 385—he had the prisoner in charge at that time—he said he could not take two at once—the witness and I held the other man till we got a constable—I saw the prisoner on the bridge—he ran with the others, and when I got up I found him in custody—Carl Jenson had not a knife when I gave him in charge—I saw the knives before I was stabbed—I did not see a knife afterwards, but there were others there, and they might have taken them.
Prisoner's Defence. I am quite innocent of the charge—the man who did it ran away afterwards and went on board the ship, and he is there—I stayed back, and some one came and took me.
NOT GUILTY .
The evidence was interpreted to the Prisoner.
THOMAS DAILY . I am a lighterman, and live at London Street, Deptford—on Sunday night, 24th December, about 11 o'clock, I saw a disturbance at the top of Russell Street, Rotherhithe, amongst some foreigners—I saw some knives—as I went past the prisoner came to me, and stabbed me in the head—he did not say anything—I fell, I got up again, and he stabbed me in the hand—he ran away, and I followed him with a witness, Daniels—I called out when I was stabbed, and he ran over and caught hold of the prisoner—he got away, and then we both followed—he turned round, and made a stab at my neck, but it did not reach me—I saw the knife in his hand at that time—we caught him on the bridge—he had not got the knife then—he was held till a policeman came—I was sober—the prisoner appeared drunk—my head was dressed at the station—I feel the effect of the wounds now—my hand and head are both bound up now—I examined the scarf which I was wearing, and there were four or five cuts through the folds, and there was a scratch on my neck—there was also a hole through the collar of my coat.
Prisoner. I had no knife; the man is on board the ship that did it. JOSEPH DANIELS. I am a labourer, and live at Lower Queen Street, Rotherhithe—I was in Russell Street—I saw the prisoner run across the road with a knife in his hand, and stab. Daily on the back of the head—I ran over and seized him—he got away from me, and ran down Russell Street—I caught him on the bridge, near the Commercial Dock—he had not got a knife then—it was just after 11 o'clock—when the blow was struck Daily fell on his knees, and that was when I seized the prisoner.
WILLIAM BROOMFIELD (Policeman R 385.) Daily gave the prisoner into my custody, and charged him with stabbing him on the back of his head and his hand—the blood was going down his neck—Daily was sober—the prisoner was drunk—Daniels was there, and helped me to take him.
Prisoner. Q. Did you see me with a knife? A. In Russell Street I saw something shining in your hand, which I took to be a knife—I did not hear you halloa out "Police."
Prisoner's Defence. I was going on board the ship, and I came to a lot of people standing outside the public-house door. Some one struck me on the nose, I received several blows, and then I ran away. They caught hold of me, and took me to the police-station. The man on board the ship had my knife, and I had no knife at all.
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding. — Four Months' Imprisonment.
EMMA THOMAS . I live at 49, Ash Street, New Kent Road—I was married to Charles Thomas, a house decorator—I lived with the deceased man for about twelve months before he died—on 26th November, the prisoner came to my house about 10.30 at night—Collett was not at home—the prisoner asked if Shandon was at home; he meant Collett—that is a name he went by—he also went by the name of Welsh, which was his brother-in-law's
name—I told the prisoner he was not at home—he said 'Give me a seat, I shall wait till he does come home;" and he sat down—a man named John Turner was with him—the prisoner asked me if I was going to treat him, and I said "No, I have no money"—he said "Will you fetch a pot of ale?" and he put 6d. on the table—I fetched some drink, and we had another pot after that—the beer was drunk, and Collett came in near upon 12 o'clock—he said to Roberts "Halloa, old boy, how are you?" and he put a parcel on the table, which contained a leg of mutton—I went out to get a shovel of coals, and when I came back, the meat was missing, and Collett was standing at the street door—I entered the room with Collett and he said "Where is the meat?"—I said "I did not know," and Roberts said he had thrown it on the ground to the dog—I looked and found it under the bed, and put it on the table—Roberts gave me some money, and I fetched another pot of ale—I afterwards fetched another pot—Collett had been smoking a cigar, and had put it on the mantelpiece—Roberts took it up, and was going to smoke it, but I took it away from him—Collett and Roberts then had a few words, but nothing to speak of—they did not seem angry—Collett was drunk when he came in—Roberts called me bad names, and Collett turned round to take up the poker—he could not find the poker, as it was down in the fender—Roberts said "If you mean that I will have this," and he took an old sword down which was hanging up against the wall—Collett made a snatch at it, the sword came out of the sheath—Collett got the sword and Roberts had the sheath—I pushed Roberts into the passage, and looked the door—Turner asked me to let him out, he said he would not stay in the room if violence was going on—I let him out, and then Roberts got in—a young woman, named Elizabeth Kelly came in and she took the sword out of Collett's hand—Roberts was not in the room then, he was outside; as soon as the door was opened Roberts came in, and hit Collett on the head—the sword was on the ground at the time—Collett was standing by the fire-place—Roberts struck him on the head directly he came in—it was a heavy blow, I think—Collett put his hand to his head, and went out into the yard, and put his head under the tap—the sword was still on the floor—I think Collett had struck at Roberts with the sword before, but he did not hit him, and then Roberts hit him on the head—I and Kelly called out, and the police came—Collett did not wish Roberts to be given into custody—he said "Don't take him, I shall be all right when the blood is washed away"—he went into the yard, and washed his head—there was a good deal of blood—Roberts was not taken—the police went away without him, and Kelly and the deceased went off in a cab—he was twenty-seven years old.
Cross-examined. The prisoner and Collett were old friends and very intimate—I believe they have known one another from the time they were boys—Roberts was constantly in the habit of coming to see him at my house, and as far as I know there was no ill-feeling of any sort between them—I don't think Roberts was sober—he had been drinking ale and he had a drop of gin at my place—he and Turner had been at my house about an hour and a half before Collett came in—only we three were there together—one of the young lady lodgers came into the room for a minute or two—the sword had been hanging up for five weeks or more—Collett was a very violent man when he was the worse for liquor—he used to get very excited—I believe that he had on a former occasion used the sword to a billiard-marker, but I believe they were larking, there was something of
the sort—I did not see it—when I came back after I got the coals there was some talking, more chaffing than anything else—I complained to Roberts about his coming down and interfering with us on Saturday night—I don't think it was Collett who took the sword down—they were sparring in fun—it is correct if Mr. Turner says Collett got up and looked about the fire-place as if looking for something, but not if he says that Collett took the sword down and the prisoner ran out of the room—Turner caught hold of Collett and he said "Lot mo go; I will cut the b—head off"—Roberts was in the passage, and the door was shut at that time—it was after that that I let Turner out and Roberts came in again—Collett had not got both the sword and scabbard in his hand at that time—if Mr. Turner says so it is not correct—before any blow was struck by Roberts, Collett made a hit at him with the sword—I don't remember him runing into the street after Roberts—the prisoner and Collett were out together on the following Friday—I don't think I said before the Magistrate that it was eight days after—Collett came home that night, about 12.30—he was a hard drinker—he was out two or three nights before he came to this injury—I asked him what he had been drinking, and he said "Cold sherry."
JOHN TURNER , I am a general dealer, at 4, Eltham Street, Walworth—I went with Roberts to Collett's house, about 10.30—we found Mrs. Thomas there—Roberts paid for some gin, and we all sat down in the room together—we chatted for an hour or so, and then Collett came in—he had half a leg of mutton with him—Roberts and the deceased got chaffing each other, and then they got sparring together—the deceased hit Roberts two or three times in the face—Mrs. Thomas said she wished Roberts would not come there on a Saturday night, and kick up a row—the deceased and Roberts had a scuffle, and the deceased fell on the ground—he got up and went to the fire-place, as if looking for something—he did not pick up anything, but he ran to where the sword was hanging up, and pulled it down, and Roberts ran out of the room—Mrs. Thomas put her back to the room door—I caught hold of the deceased, and said "For God's sake, don't use that you will do some injury"—he said "Let me go; I will cut the b—'s head off"—Roberts burst the door open and came in—the deceased struggled hard to get away from me, and he ran at Roberts, and went to strike him with the sword, but Roberts caught the sword on his arm, and struggled to get the sword away—it was in the scabbard then—as they were struggling the scabbard came off in Roberts' hand—the deceased had the sword—he made a cut at Roberts with the naked sword, but Roberts knocked it away, flashed it about two or three times, and ran into the street, followed by the deceased—I went out after a few seconds, and saw the deceased coming in rather quick towards the door—Roberts was walking towards the door as well—the police came up, and I heard one of them say "Hallao, Mr. Roberts, what is the matter?"—I did not notice anything the matter with either of them at that time—I went away and went home then—I did not see any blood or any wounds—the deceased came in as if he was half doubled up as he ran to the door—he came in rather sharp—he was drunk.
Cross-examined. I can't say whether Roberts struck the deceased when he was flashing the scabbard about to defend himself from the sword—he may have done so—the deceased was a very violent man—Roberts and he had known each other seven or eight years, and had been the best of
friends—I have heard that the deceased had used the sword to a billiard-marker before, and cut his eye—the prisoner was aware of that.
ELIZABETH KELLY . I live at 17, Elizabeth Place, Waterloo Road—I went to Ash Street, on this Saturday night, at 12 o'clock—I saw Collett turn round to look for the poker; he could not find it, and he took down the sword which hung against the wall—Roberts went to try and get it away from him—he said "What, would you use such a thing as that?" and he tried to get it away from him; the sheath came off in his hand—I said "For God's sake, don't be doing that, you will be killing one another!" and I pushed Roberts out of the door—the deceased wanted to go out after him—the door came open, and the deceased said "There he is, I will cut his head open"—I believe he said that in anger, but they were both in liquor—the deceased went to try and hit him, and it came across my back and Roberts' arm—I was trying to part them—I got a blow on my face, and fell on the bed—they were knocking one another about, and Roberts hit the deceased on the head with the sheath—I saw his head was cut—he still wanted to get at Roberts, and I said "Why don't you be quiet; I should think you have got a cut now," and I seized his arm, and got the sword out of his hand—he did not bleed much—I went with him to the hospital, and saw Mr. Jones, the house-surgeon.
Cross-examined. I knew the deceased as Welsh—he was getting angry, and was very violent with the sword—when the police came the deceased said "We don't want any locking up here."
THOMAS JONES . I was house-surgeon at Guy's Hospital last November—on 26th, the last witness came there with the deceased, about 2.30 in the morning—I found a wound on the right upper portion of the head, running towards the top—it was a clean cut, down to the bone, about three inches long—it had been bleeding a good deal—it was dressed—I did not do it myself, but I was there at the time—I saw him afterwards, as he was passing through the surgery, but I did not examine him there—on 12th December, about 3.30 in the morning, I saw him lying on a stretcher, in the surgery—he was insensible—I looked at his head—the original wound had healed up, but at the side there was a large collection of matter—I let the matter out, put a poultice on his head, gave him some brandy, and left him—he died about two hours after—I made post-mortem examination—the cause of death was blood-poisoning, resulting from the original injury to the head—the bone was yellow, there was a large quantity of pus in the cavity, and the brain was inflamed—the wound was such as would be inflicted by this sheath.
Cross-examined. When I had first seen the man I allowed him to go home—all scalp wounds are serious to a certain extent, not directly serious—it would not be desirable for him to be out till 1 or 2 o'clock in the morning—excessive drinking would not produce the blood poisoning—there was a slight enlargement of the spleen—that is not a sign of indulgence in spirituous liquors—there was no enlargement of the liver, and that is the first indication of hard drinking—the primary cause of blood poisoning was the wound on the scalp.
ROBERT LAMB (Police Sergeant P 42). About 2 o'clock, on the morning of 26th November, I heard cries of "Murder!" and went to 49, Ash Street—I saw the deceased standing in the doorway with his coat and waistcoat off—his head was covered with blood, his trousers and shirt were torn, and also covered with blood—the prisoner was standing there, and
the deceased said "Look here what he has done"—I said "Halloa, Roberts, what is the matter?"—he said in the presence of the deceased "He took up the sword, and threatened to kill me, I snatched the sheath from him, and struck him on the head; it is not likely I was going to let him kill me"—I asked the deceased if he was going to give Roberts into custody, and he declined to do so—I also asked the female, as she had a wound, and she declined to charge him—the deceased went out into the yard, and washed his head—I told two constables to keep Roberts there for the present—when the deceased came in I asked him again if he would give him in charge, and he declined again—the prisoner asked for his stick—I gave it to him—he took a chair and was going to sit down—I said "You have done quite sufficient; the best thing you can do is to cut it," and he went away—I produce the sword to-day—I took the sheath from Roberts—he had hold of it at the bottom end.
GEORGE RANGER (Detective Officer P). From information I received I went to Leeds, on 25th December—I found the prisoner detained there by the police of that district, for causing the death of William Collett on 26th November—I brought him up to London—he said "No one regrets more than I do this occurrence. Is it likely I should kill the young man?"
NOT GUILTY .
181. GEORGE DYKE (21), PLEADED GUILTY to two indictments for feloniously forging and uttering requests for the payment of money with intent to defraud, and unlawfully obtaining 18s. and 7s. 6d., by means of false pretences— Eighteen Months imprisonment; and
182. WILLIAM HARLEY (21) , to unlawfully and indecently assaulting Mary Ann Dinah Emberson, with intent to ravish her. He received a good character.— [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Four Months' Imprisonment.
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
184. GEORGE MORRIS** (27) , to burglariously breaking and entering the church of St. Philip's, Lambeth, and stealing therein two cushions and other articles, having been before convicted— [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
Monday and Tuesday, January 15th and 16th, 1872.
Before Mr. Baron Martin
MR. SERJEANT BALLANTINE, with MR. STRAIGHT, conducted the Prosecution; and
MR. SERJEANT PARRY, with MR. WPBSLEY, the Defence.
GUILTY .— DEATH .
ADJOURNED TO MONDAY, JANUARY 29TH, 1872.