CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT.
WHETHAM, MAYOR. SECOND SESSION.
A star (*) denotes that prisoners have been previously in custody—two stars (**) that they have been more than once in custody—an obelisk (†) that they are known to be the associates of bad characters—the figures after the name in the indictment denote the prisoner's age.
LONDON AND MIDDLESEX CASES.
OLD COURT.—Monday, December 9th, 1878.
Before Mr. Recorder.
71. GEORGE EXETER (19) to stealing, whilst employed in the Post-office, half a sovereign and a shilling out of a letter, the property of the Postmaster-General— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment . [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
MR. BESLEY for the Prosecution offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
MESSRS. STRAIGHT and MEAD Prosecuted; MR. M. WILLIAMS Defended.
JOHN ANOELL . I am coachman in the employment of Mr. Alexander, of 12, Devonshire Street, Portland Place—I know Page; he has a stall in Leadenhall market, and amongst other things deals in dogs—two or three months previous to June I visited his shop—I then had in my possession a valuable Mount St Bernard dog named Avalanche, which I valued at 100l.—I had given 50l. for it; I kept it for stud purposes—my charge was five guineas—I mentioned the fact to Page, and asked him if he could procure customers—I saw him again on 13th June, and then purchased from him a dog, a black poodle, for which I gave 6l.—I then mentioned Avalanche again, and said if he should know anybody requiring its services I would pay him a commission for any he might send me—when I paid for the dog lie said if at any time I knew a dog that was lost in my neighbourhood which would do to go back, if I came to him and he had not got it, he should know where to find it—on July 10 about 8.30 I missed my dog Avalanche—I had seen him late the evening before—I had bills printed offering 10l: reward—this is one of them (produced)—I heard nothing, but on 15th July about 11 o'clock I went to Page, told him I had lost my big dog Avalanche, and
asked him if he knew anything about it, and then referred to Mr. Dresden's case—he said "I was b——annoyed about that affair; I. thought what I spoke to you I spoke in confidence" (that was a black poodle which I had bought for Mr. Dresden)—I said, "I have offered 10l. reward for my dog; if you know anything about it, I shall be glad if you will tell me"—he said, "Oh, you don't mean paying any 10l. to get him back"—I said, "Yes I do, if I can get him back at once"—he said, "You come to me in two or three days' time; I will see if I can do anything for you"—I said that I should have to know at once, as I had a bitch coming from Long Sutton, and was going to give the gentleman an answer about it; that as I should get a fee of 5l. 5s., it would suit me then to pay 10l.—Page said "Call again in two or three hours' time, and I will go round and see one or two of the lads and see whether they know anything"—I said, "I have not time to go home and back"—he told me not to go home, as he should not be more than 10 minutes or a quarter of an hour—he went away and came back in about seven minutes and picked up a head of mint at the greengrocer's next door, which he handed to me and said, "Here, smell this; is not this nice?"—I took it, and he said, "Put it in your coat;" but I held it in my ha id and made no remark—he said, "Put it in your coat"—I still held it in my hand and said, "Have you heard anything about it?"—he said "Have you got the stuff to pay for him?"—I said, "No, but I can get it in a very few minutes"—there was some talk about getting the money—he said "You can either get it now, or come down any time by appointment to Moorgate Street or Liverpool Street, and wear that in your coat, and some one will pick you up, and take you where the dog is"—there was some more talk about the arrangements, and it ended in my going to his beershop in Slater Street—I said to him, "10l. is a good lot; can't you get him back for me for less?"—he said, "No, you are very lucky to get him back for that, for he is in price for a Captain Taylor to go to New York on the Wednesday, and the hamper and everything was prepared for him to go away"—an arrangement was made for me to go to Slater Street—I had been there before to get the black poodle for Mr. Dresden—he said I should have to come down by myself, and this time to bring hard cash; it was no use for mo to come alone; if I brought anybody with me, sooner than I should have my dog back his throat would be cut, because the lads would not be done—I went to Slater Street about 8.30 that evening—I did not wear the mint as I was to go to his house—in the meantime I had communicated with Inspector King—when I got into Page's beershop I saw Mrs. Page, and asked if Mr. Page was in—she said he was lying down—I saw a number of people in there, and when I went in there was a general whisper all round, men getting up and putting their heads together, and all eyes were upon me—Page came out, and I asked if he had heard anything more about my dog—he said "No, don't know the least; I have put it into the hands of those who will arrange everything," or "into the hands of the lads," "and somebody has promised to come and pick you up"—I asked if they would be long—he said, "They may be here in a few minutes, or half an hour, or an hour, or an hour and a half; I cannot tell in the least"—he said I should have to go through a little ceremony, and if I paid my money civilly I should get my dog—I said, "Then you promise there will be nothing more," meaning that there would be no row—he said, "No, there will be nothing more"—soon after the man came in, but before that Page looked straight across at the men that were there and said, "There is a fine lot of you in here; I should think it was time some of you were
getting out," and I noticed several go, one at a time—I noticed Cook there; he went out—a little man then came in, and came up to Page and said, "Mr. Page, is this the gentleman come about the dog?"—Page said "Yes"—the little man then turned to me and said, "If you come along with me I think I can show you where the dog is"—Page told me to go with him, and I went out with the little man—we went up Slater Street towards Shoreditch, and I looked at the corner where Inspector King had placed a detective, but could not see him—I went into a urinal there to give him a chance to look at him, and as I came out the little man and Cook were in conversation—as soon as they saw me they parted; the little man came on to join me, and Cook went down Slater Street towards Page's house—I went on with the little man through a number of narrow turnings that I don't know the names of—we ultimately reached Bunhill Row, and went up a narrow passage called Chequer Alley, and into a narrow passage, and up a dark yard—the little man there stopped, looked about, and said, "I think this is the place, somewhere here"—he was dodging about for a second or two, and up came Cook from somewhere out of the dark; he walked up to the little man and said, "What is it you want, what is it you want"—he said, "Oh, this gentleman has come about a dog"—Cook said, "What about a dog?"—lie said, "About a dog he has lost"—Cook said, "If you know anything about the dog, why don't you go and get it?"—I then said, "I have had enough of this humbug; if you are going to get my dog, get it; I am not going any further"—I then turned round and walked slowly up the narrow passage—Cook said, "Do you mean paying the money for the dog?"—I said, "Yes, I told Page I would"—he then said, "Will you wait here if we go and get the dog"—I said "Yes"—they went up some place in a line with Chequer Alley—they were gone some few minutes, and they came back with the dog—when I saw them coming I turned round to walk slowly towards Bunhill Row; they overtook me, and when they came up to the first lamp-post they stopped and said, "Is this the dog?"—I believe the little man said that—I said "Yes"—he said, "Now we want the money before we go any further"—I offered the 10 sovereigns to Cook—he said, "No, it is nothing to do with me; he will take the money"—I then gave the money to the little man, and they handed me over the dog—I then said, "After taking me all this long route you ought to give me something to drink"—Cook said, "No, we have got to go and take the money to the man that has had the dog"—there was some little haggling about it, and Cook said to the. little man, "You go," and we went into a public-house in Bunhill Row and had some drink—we then came outside and waited; I kept him in conversation as long as I could, but no constable came along, and we parted—a few seconds afterwards I heard a voice calling along the street, but I could not tell what the words were; a second afterwards I heard the same voice call out, "Where the b—h—have you got to?" and a second afterwards I recognised Cook running in the direction of the little man—I afterwards gave the dog in charge of Sergeant Cloak and William Downes—on 9th August I saw Cook in charge at Marlborough Street
Cross-examined. I lost my dog on 9th July—I saw Page about recovering it on 15th July; these proceedings were taken on 14th November—Page has a shop in Leadenhall Market; I believe he deals in rabbits and fowls and such things—I did not put the mint in my coat; there was no occasion for it afterwards the mint had nothing to do with the recovery of the dog;
he told me to go to his own beershop in Slater Street—I knew that he had a beershop there—my dog was worth 100l.; it was a valuable dog for lining bitches, and was always able to command a good price for that—I know a little about dogs—when dogs are lost I have found it of use to go to the police—I have never received anything for getting a dog back, save Mr. Dresden's; he gave me a sovereign for my expenses when I got his dog back—Page was in Court in that case; I don't know for what purpose—I had a St. Bernard bitch there was a little disturbance about; it took the second prize at the Crystal Palaee; it was owned at Margate as the property of a gentleman named Congreve—I gave 3l. 10A for that dog; Mr. Congreve entered it for 50l. at the show; I also know it was not worth anything like 50l.; I bought it without a pedigree; I afterwards got part of the pedigree; I bought it of a man named Riddesford, a carrier at Walton—on the-Hill; he is dead; I refused to give Mr. Congreve his name on account of Mr. Congreve's behaviour—the dog was subsequently given up to Mr. Congreve—the matter was settled to the satisfaction of the committee, and I got my prize—people may innocently be possessed of stolen dogs—I knew where to find Page between July and November—the prisoners were tried for this offence last Sessions, and the jury being unable to agree were discharged without giving a verdict—when I left Page at his beer-house in Slater Street I did not see him afterwards—I left him about 9 o'clock, and I paid the money about 10.30.
Cross-examined by Cook. I have no doubt it was you who said to me, "Do you mean paying the money if he goes and gets the dog?"—I don't think I would swear it—the other man had the dog—I offered the money to you because your hands were free, and the other man had the dog; I believe you were the nearest to me—I thought you were both concerned in it—I had no particular reason for offering you the money more than the other; it was not to get you into trouble—I addressed both of you when I asked for something to drink—it was you who said, "I have got to go and give the money to the man that got the dog."
Re-examined. I gave information to the police on 15th July, and left the matter in the hands of the police—it was in August that I was sent for and saw Cook at the police-court, and on 14th November both prisoners were charged at Worship Street, and the matter was then taken in hand by the Treasury authorities.
JOHN COATS . I am in the service of Mr. Hankey, of 59, Portland Place—I know Angel and his dog Avalanche—on 10th July, about 7.10 a.m., I saw Avalanche following close at the heels of a man who was walking in the mews leading towards Portland Place; the man dropped something from his left hand, and the dog picked it up and went on following—about 11 o'clock I heard that Avalanche had been lost; Angel, came to me and made inquiries—I could not swear to Cook, but he is very much like the man.
THOMAS CLOAK (Police Sergeant D). On 15th July Angel spoke to me—I saw him go to Page's beershop—I waited outside—after waiting half an hour—Angel came out with a short man—I went in front of them as far as Shored itch—I saw a second man following them—I cannot identify the man.
at the House of Correction on 8th November—I told him he would he charged, with being concerned with Page for the restoration of a dog for 10l.—he said he knew nothing about it
Cross-examined by MR. WILLIAMS. Page keeps a shop in Leadenhall Market, and has done so eight or ten years.
Cook's Defence. When I first saw the man he stopped me, and spoke about his dog. I said, "I know nothing about it; why don't you go and get the man his dog?" He said, "Come with Me." I went with him, and waited a few minutes, and the man with the dog came. I was in no way connected with the dog, or I should not have let the man go away with the money.
GUILTY . COOK**— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment . PAGE— Nine Months' Imprisonment .
MR. CUNNINGHAM Prosecuted.
HENRY JOHN CROSBY . I am one of the trustees of the East London District Grand Lodge of Odd Fellows—I live in Stamford Street, Vauxhall Bridge Road—the society holds its meetings at the Monster in St George's Road—it is a benefit society—the prisoner was secretary to the district lodge for many years up to 1ST November, when he absconded—this cheque for 10l. purports to be an order on the treasurer—it is dated 10th October, 1878, signed W. Cannon and T. Smith, for funeral allowance to the late Brother Humphreyson—I believe both the signatures to be the prisoner's writing—I do not know of any member named Humphreyson or Bird—there was a meeting of the funeral committee on 1ST November—the prisoner did not attend—these three cheques were produced on that occasion by the secretary pro tem.—one of them is made payable to me for 12l. for the funeral expenses of Brother Bird—we never had such a brother—Cannon was the grand master, and his signature is supposed to be put to cheques for six months—I do not believe these signatures to be his—I believe it is the prisoner's writing.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I have known you I dare say fifteen years—there have been some money transactions between us—I never had occasion to find fault with you before—I always found you honest and straightforward—we have about 1,500 members—your salary was 8l. a year.
WILLIAM CANNON . I live at 9, Douglas Place, Vauxhall Bridge Road—I am the Grand Master of the district of the Odd Fellows' Society—it was my duty to sign all the cheques for the funeral expenses during the six months of my term of office—I went into office at Midsummer—the signature W. Cannon to these cheques marked A and B is not mine, or written by my authority—the prisoner was secretary to the district lodge—the last meeting of the funeral committee was on 1ST November—these cheques were then produced by the treasurer—I do not sign my name as W. Cannon—I always sign in full "William Cannon".
HARRY BACK . My mother is the treasurer of this lodge—I act for her, and cash cheques—I cashed these three cheques—I could not say who I cashed A and B for, but C I cashed for the prisoner—he brought it himself—I had not sufficient change then, and he came for it next morning—I believe he had the money for all three, or was present when the money was paid.
Cross-examined. I would not like to swear that I paid all three to you, but C I know I did—I have known you about three years—I never knew anything wrong of you, quite the reverse.
GEORGE HENRY SIMPSON . I act as secretary pro tern, of this district lodge—I produce cheques numbered 1 to 3—there is no letter on them—then was a Brother Everard—he is dead, and this cheque 3 is for 12l. payable to his representatives—that is a genuine cheque—that money has been paid—I have the claim here—by Rule 21 the claim is to be sent in to the secretary—no claims have been sent in for Bird, Humphreyson, or Wilkinson, or their representatives—there were no such members.
Cross-examined. I have known you 15 or 16 years—I never knew anything wrong of you before—there have been money transactions between us—between 300l. and 400l. have passed between us.
GUILTY. Recommended to mercy by the Jury on account of his character. — Six Months' Imprisonment .
MR. TAMPLIN Prosecuted.
HENRY WILSON . I am a seaman—between 7 and 8 on Monday evening of 25th November I was in High Street, Shadwell—I saw the prisoner there; I did not know him before—I went with him into a public-house—he asked me for a drink; I gave him a drink—I came out with him—he would shake hands with me—I said I did not want to have anything to do with him—he repeated his request, and I again declined—I had a red pocket handkerchief containing 3l. and some silver—I walked away, and he came and knocked me down senseless and took my money—when I recovered my senses I was on the ground at the same place—the prisoner was not there then—he ran; another man was with him—I was taken into a house, and the blood washed from me—I was much hurt, and I had a wound on the cheek which was bleeding—when I was in the public-house I had taken out my handkerchief with the money in it in the prisoner's presence—when I called out, the witness Leman and a young lady came to my assistance.
HENRI LEMAN . I am landlord of the White Swan public-house, in High Street, Shadwell—on Monday evening, 25th November, I was standing at my shop door; I saw the prosecutor in the street; I saw the prisoner go up to him—he asked "When you go, shake hands with me;" he said "No, let me alone," and he went round the corner of Gravel Lane—he again said "Shake hands with me," and knocked him down—there was another man, who stood aside; he jumped over him, and kept him down—they put their hands in his pocket, took something out, and ran away together—I ran after them, but could not find them—I had never seen the prisoner before.
MARGARET GRIPPER . I am single, and live with my mother, who keeps a provision shop in High Street, Shadwell—on Monday night, 25th November, I was in my parlour; I heard a noise in the street, and a voice halloaing out "Leave me alone"—I went to the door and looked out, and saw the prisoner following the prosecutor—the prisoner said "Where do you want to go to?" and the prosecutor said "Leave me alone"—the prisoner said "Shake
hands with me"—he did shake hands with him—he then followed the prosecutor close behind till they got to the corner; I then heard the prosecutor halloa out "Leave me alone"—I ran to the corner, and saw the prosecutor on the ground and two men with him—the prisoner was one; they put their hands in his pockets, first one and then the other, and then ran round the corner—that was all I saw of them—I had seen the prisoner before.
GUILTY .— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment .
MR METCALFE, Q. C., with MR. BAGGALLAY, Prosecuted.
GEORGE PALMER . I live at 23, Green Street, Holborn—I am fireman at the Criterion—I was on duty there on Tuesday morning, 12th November, between 5 and 6—I have a lobby at the back entrance, in Jermyn Street—I saw the prisoner and a boy loitering about—I went into my lobby, turned down the gas, and watched them behind the glass door—they passed my box and looked in, but the gas being down they did not see me; I could see them plainly—they went straight from my gate to the post-office in Jermyn Street, kept by Mr. Clark; the prisoner lifted the small boy up to the fanlight, and the boy forced his way in; I heard the breaking of glass as he went in—the prisoner stepped from the shop door and stood on the kerb, looking first one way and then the other; I walked towards the shop, and the prisoner walked towards me; I met the constable Hammerton; he said "What glass is that broken?"—I said "At the post-office; collar him; the other one is in the shop; I saw him put him in"—the prisoner said "Not me; sir; I did not break it; I have been talking to that man," meaning me—the constable took him in charge, and I went to the shop door and stopped outside; I took the constable's rattle and sprang it, and the boy ran out of the shop and ran away; I ran after him, but could not catch him.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. When I first saw you and the boy I was coming down the Haymarket to go to the Criterion—you walked towards me, then went back into the Haymarket and spoke to another man—I then went to my lobby at the back and then saw you and the boy come back again—you stood in the doorway of an empty shop next door to the post-office—I watched because I had an idea you were going to get down into the basement of the Criterion—the distance from my gate to the post-office is about 70 or 80 yards—there was a lamp burning at the post-office—you were not standing by my side when the constable came up—I did not call police till I sprang the rattle and then the policeman had hold of you—it was about four minutes after I saw you lift the boy up that the policeman came.
JOSEPH HAMERTON (Policeman C 281). I was on duty in Garden Court between 5 and 6 on this morning—I heard the sound of glass breaking—I ran into Jermyn Street and saw the prisoner coming away from the post-office towards me—the last witness was coming in the opposite direction from the Criterion—he made motions to me to take the prisoner—I said "Where was that glass broken?" he said "At the post-office, and there is another man in it, take him and collar him"—I did so—he said, "What are you taking me for?"
I said "I will tell you directly when I know a little more about it—I took him towards the post-office—the witness said "Bring out your rattle and let me spring it, as there are three of them in it, this man has put another one in the post-office through the fanlight"—I took out my rattle and tried to spring it but could not, and the fireman sprang it for me, and just as we got to the post-office door some one looked out at the door—I made a rush to the door—the prisoner pulled me back, and my lamp having gone out I could not see and the person who came out ran away—I took the prisoner to the station, he gave his name but no address.
Cross-examined. You did not offer any resistance, but you moved me about to get rid of the other person—I found nothing upon you but a pipe.
ADAM CLARKE . I am a stationer and post-master at 132, Jermyn Street—on the night of 11th November I was the last to go to bed—I saw that everything was fast and secure—I was aroused next morning by a knocking—I then found that the fanlight over the door had been forced and the glass smashed—nothing was missed, the shop was strewn with broken glass—the door was unbolted and the policeman was in the shop.
The Prisoner in his defence stated that as he was passing the corner of the street he saw a man run and heard a cry of police, and as he stood by the fireman the policeman took him into custody.
GUILTY . He also PLEADED GUILTY to a previous conviction at this Court in May, 1877, for burglary.— Seven Years' Penal Servitude .
The Prisoner PLEADED GUILTY to the Second Count, and MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS stated that he could not resist a verdict on the First Count, the prisoner being seen to break open the letter.
GUILTY.— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment.
NEW COURT.—Monday, December 9th, 1878.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MESSRS E. LLOYD and DE MICHELE Prosecuted; MR. W. SLEIGH Defended. WILLIAM CLIFFORD (Detective Y). About 12.20 on the morning of 17th November I was with Sergeant Witham—we stopped the prisoner and asked him if he had anything which did not belong to him, and he said No—Witham felt the outside of his coat and said "There is something hard inside"—I searched his breast pocket, and found this pewter measure—he said to Witham "Perhaps you put it there"—he was asked at the station his name and address—he said he should not give it—after he was charged, I went with Whitham and two other officers to 73A, Churchill Road, Junction Road, Islington, and Mr. Brown, the landlord, took us to the top room back, where I found on the mantelshelf this little box, covered with a piece of paper, which I removed, and found these two plaster-of-Paris moulds, one for making shillings, and the other for pennies—I found on the
top shelf of a cupboard this half-quartern pewter measure with "J. Speedy" on it, and on the second shelf these two pieces of metal, covered with paper, and this frying pan, with pieces of metal sticking to it, and Some other pieces which fit into the grooves of it—on the table I found this spoon with metal sticking to it, and this pair of pliers—this bag, three parts full of plaster-of-Paris, was under the table—I went back to the station with Witham—the prisoner was taken out of the cells, and the articles were on a table where he could see them—I said "Is your name Walter Cooper?" he said "Yes"—I said "Do you live at 73A, Churchill Road, Junction Road?"—he said "Yes"—I said "I have been with your landlord, and found those things at your lodging"—he said that he knew nothing about them.
Cross-examined. He appeared sober when I took him—he gave Witham his name and address, and I found he-had been there two nights before—I have heard from his landlord that a young man had been there one night—I did not hear anything about sleeping—I think the landlord said "I heard from my wife that the prisoner frequently had a young man staying with him"—I do not know that the young man we discharged was the young man who used to stay with the prisoner—I have seen him since in the Caledonian Road, a fortnight ago, and asked him how he was getting on, and if he had got any work—he said "No," and I passed on—I knew him before, he is an iron bedstead maker—I did not 'ask him if he knew the prisoner—I never mentioned the prisoner's name to him—I had never seen him in the prisoner's company before—I left the bag of plaster-of-Paris and the frying pan in the room, and when I went again two days afterwards the plaster-of-Paris was gone—the prisoner gave his address after I had searched his lodging, but he refused it when he was first charged—we got our information from the man we let go, upon whom we found nothing, or we. should have detained him—he gave his address.
WILLIAM WITHAM (Police Sergeant Y). I was with Clifford in Brixton Road—we overtook the prisoner, and Clifford asked him if he had anything which did not belong to him—I put my hands on him, and felt a pewter-pot in his inside breast-pocket—we afterwards went to 73A, Churchill Road—Mr. Brown, the landlord, opened the door, and showed us up to the top back room, where Clifford found this pewter measure and pan, and these moulds, in a box on the mantelshelf—I think there was a lid to it—this plaster-of-Paris was under the table—the prisoner said in the station room of the police-court "You have made a mistake, it is not a two-shilling mould, it is a mould for penny pieces"—he was a yard or two from them then, and had not examined them; he could not see what they were—another man was brought into the station—I asked the prisoner if he knew him—he said that he did not—he had only been in his company for a few minutes—I searched him and let him go.
Cross-examined. I don't know his name, but it was taken and put down at the station; he did not give the same address as the prisoner—Clifford knew the prisoner's address I believe before he was brought in—I said before the Magistrate that the prisoner said "I have only known the man a few minutes," but it is not in my deposition because it was interposed in, the middle of Brown's evidence.
Re-examined. We were late at the police-court, and Mr. Barnard, the. Treasury solicitor, had gone away when we arrived—we merely gave our evidence by ourselves and Mr. Ricketts objected.
JOSEPH BROWN . I live at 73A, Churchill Road—the prisoner lodged my second-floor back from 6th April till he was taken in custody—his sister paid the rent—he was the regular occupant of the room, but a young man slept with him occasionally—I pointed that room out to the three officers on 17th November, and saw these two moulds found in a little tin to the best of my knowledge—there was a box on the mantel shelf; I am not positive whether it had a lid.
Cross-examined. I never saw the other man, but I knew from my wife that he slept with the prisoner occasionally—I do not know that he slept there on the Friday night before the prisoner was taken—my wife is not here—I saw a young man who called on Sunday, the 16th, between 10 and 11 a.m.—I let him in and did not see him go out again all day—I cannot say whether he was the man who was taken in custody and let go because I was not there—I heard one of the police say that they took another man in custody who was let go as they could not find anything on him—I don't remember the police saying that he gave the address of the prisoner, but I told them I thought it must be the same man—I believe the prisoner was at home and went out on the 16th after the young man called—I have never heard anything against the prisoner.
HENRY PANNELL . I manage the Victoria Tavern, King's Cross, for Mr. Baker—these two pewter measures are his—one has "Baker" on it, and the other "Speedy"—Mr. Speedy was the former proprietor—the prisoner was a frequent customer—I saw him drinking beer there on the night of the 16th from 9.30 to 11.30—these measures must have been taken from the back of the recess.
Cross-examined. He was with several men and women—I had seen one of the men with him on several occasions during the last fortnight or three weeks, but have not seen him since—I know nothing against the prisoner.
WILLIAM WEBSTER I am Inspector of Coin to the Mint—bad money is frequently made from pewter pots—these are two moulds, one for making pence and the other for shillings—they are made of plaster-of-Paris, but I have seen pence cast in sand; this was never intended to do anything at all—this frying-pan has metal adhering to it now, and might be used to pour lead into the moulds, but it would be a clumsy way of doing it—these pliers have plaster-of-Paris sticking to them; they would hold a coin which was too hot to hold with the fingers.
Cross-examined. I have been connected with the Mint many years, and never saw such a set of things produced before in any coining case—I should say that a man had been trying to make something with them and did not succeed—the fact is he could not use these moulds; copper would break them by its excessive heat—both sides of a coin could not be completed in one mould; if he wanted to make a cheap copy of the Queen's head it could be done, but I doubt if he could make either side in this penny mould—the shilling mould shows the same peculiarities precisely.
Re-examined. A bad shilling cannot be made in this mould because it is so badly made; the hot metal would run through it, and you would not get any impression, but you might stop it with a bit of grease.
GUILTY. Recommended to mercy by the Jury on account of his youth. — Nine Months' Imprisonment .
MESSRS. E. LLOYD and DE MICHELE Prosecuted.
GEORGE HENRY PARTINGTON . My father keeps the City of Hereford, Cleveland Street—on 21ST November, about 6 o'clock, the prisoner came in, and a man who had a French accent joined her inside—she came in again about 9 o'clock, had something to drink and paid for it, she then threw down a medal, saying, "Change me this"—I told her it was bad, she said it had been given to her by the Frenchman who was in the house with her at 6 o'clock, and that he had a purse full of them—she took up the medal and walked out, she was brought back by a constable about 9.30—the medal was similar to this produced, but I only saw the head.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. A woman with two children came in afterwards, and you went out with them—you did come in a second time.
MR. WILLIAM WOOD . I am barman to Mr. Finch, at the Globe, Upper Marylebone Street—on 21ST November I served the prisoner with a glass of ale, she put down a coin and asked for change for a sovereign—I heard by the sound that it was bad, and took no notice, I did not examine it farther—she put it in her pocket and afterwards threw it down again and said, "Give me change for a sovereign"—I also heard her say to Mr. Robinson, "Change me a sovereign"—I spoke to him.
FREDERICK WILLIAM ROBINSON . I am manager to Mr. Finch—on 21ST November the prisoner came in and asked for change for a sovereign—she gave me this Hanoverian coin, I was rather busy, went to the back, got the change and put it in front of her—I saw her counting it, and then found it was a medal—I spoke to Mr. Finch, who went outside and afterwards gave him the coin, this is it.
Cross-examined. I knew who you were, you had been a customer for two or three months—we keep each sovereign in a place by itself.
HENRY HOBSON FINCH . I keep the Globe—it would take five or six minutes to go from there to the City of Hereford—on 21ST November Robinson spoke to me, and I saw the prisoner there—I went out after her and stopped her, and said, "I believe you had change for a sovereign at this house a few months ago," she said, "Yes"—I said, "I will trouble you to step inside, as I shall be obliged to give you in charge"—while she was waiting for the constable to arrive, she said that she had already passed one over the way, and that a gentleman gave them to her—she did not say a French gentleman—Robinson gave me this medal—I gave it to the constable—it was marked at the station.
DANIEL BROWN (Policeman E 275). I was called to the Globe, and the prisoner was given into my charge with this medal, with the words "To Hanover" on it—I marked it and said, "Where did you get this coin?"—she said a gentleman gave it to her—I said, "Have you got any more?" she said "No," but that she had passed one before, but could not remember the place—on the way to the station she said that she had been into the Hereford Arms, and passed one there; I took her there, and Mr. Partington said that she had been there two or three times that evening, and that it was a bad coin—she said nothing to that—only three pawn tickets were found on her—she had been drinking, but she knew what she was about.
Prisoner's Defence. It was given to me by a French gentleman. I am perfectly innocent of knowing that it was bad From the time I received it to the time I attempted to change it, it never went out of my hand.
GUILTY . *— Four Months' Imprisonment .
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, December 10th, 1878.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. A. B. KELLY Prosecuted.
MICHAEL DOYLE . I am a labourer at Old Brentford—on the night of 24th November, between 10 and 11, I was going home; I had had some drink, but I had my senses perfectly well—between the Gas Factory and Drum Lane, in High Street, I saw two men and a woman; the woman was behind the men, she had a long pipe in her hand; I said to her, "Give me the pipe," she made no answer that I know of; as I passed on the prisoner, who was one of the men, put his hand to my collar, put his foot before me, knocked me into the road on my face, and as I lay in the road he put his hand in my left trousers pocket and took out three half-crowns—I had had them safe five minutes before—he ran away, I pursued him into an alley, and lost sight of him—as I was looking about he and some others came out in their shirt sleeves, he had a large knife in his hand, and said, "If you don't get out of the alley quick, I will run this through you"—I went out and met a constable and gave him a description of the man—next morning he took me to the station—I saw several men there and pointed out the prisoner; he is the man; I had an ample opportunity of seeing him—it happened four or five yards from a gas lamp.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I passed the police-station when I was pursuing you; if I had gone in there I should nave lost you—you were more than two yards from me—I did not take the pipe from your missis—I did not insult her—I knew you by sight, but not by name, or where you lived.
CASTLEMAINE LIDBURY (Police Sergeant T 1). I was on duty on this night at Old Brentford—the prosecutor came to me in the road close to Raven Alley and made a complaint—he had been drinking, but was not quite drunk; he knew what he was about—his clothes were muddy, as if he had been on the ground.
SAMUEL WALTERS (Policeman T 397). I was in company with the sergeant when the prosecutor made a complaint—he gave me a description, and from that I apprehended the prisoner next morning at 6 o'clock in his own house in One Tun Alley, Old Brentford—I took him to the station, placed him with five others, and the prosecutor identified him—the prisoner said nothing.
Witness for the Defence. THOMAS TREE. I work on the water—I have known the prisoner six or seven years—I was with him on this Sunday evening, 24th November, about 10.15, in High Street; his wife was behind us—she halloaed "Charley!" and he went back and chucked the prosecutor into the road—I stood there; I did not go back—the prosecutor got up again, and we went on home.
NOT GUILTY .
The Prisoners stated that they were guilty of the attempt, and the Jury on that statement found them.
GUILTY of the attempt. Scott also PLEADED GUILTY to a previous cons viction in October, 1870, when he was sentenced to Ten Years' Penal Servituds after a previous conviction.
SCOTT— Six Months' Imprisonment, to commence after the expiration of his former sentence, he being on ticket of leave . HUDDLESTON— Four Months' Imprisonment .
MR. STRAIGHT for the Prosecution offered no evidence. NOT GUILTY .
MR. FREER Prosecuted; and MR. STRAIGHT Defended. JAMES BADGER (Policeman E 479). On 22nd November, about 9 p.m., I law the prisoner with two other men and a woman in Holborn—they went into a dining-room—when they came out I followed them; they went to the Coach and Horses in Holborn, almost opposite the other place—they came out from there, and one man then left them—they then went to the York Arms, the prisoner, the prosecutor, and the woman, and afterwards to the Bull and Mouth close by; then into Dean Street and Lee Street, and into the Crown—the woman then left, and the prisoner and prosecutor went to the White Horse in Holborn—the prisoner ran from there across to the Royal Music Hall and called to some one, and then returned with another man, and shortly after all three left and went to the Globe; the prisoner and prosecutor went in, the other manstood outside—they then went up Southampton Street into the Yorkshire Grey, and then went down Duke Street near the British Museum—when they got to the top of Duke Street they stopped, and after a few seconds I saw a scuffle between them; the prosecutor called out "Police!" at the same time he caught hold of a lamp-post, apparently to save himself—the prisoner caught him on one side and the other man on the other and threw him violently on the ground—while he was on the ground I saw the prisoner's left hhnd inside his clothes; on going up the street the prosecutor's coat and vest were fastened, and when he was on the ground they were torn open—I ran up to his assistance; the prisoner ran away in the direction of Museum Street; I ran after him, shouting "Stop thief," and I caught him in Museum Street—the other man turned to the left, and I lost sight of him—I told the prisoner I should take him into custody for assaulting the man and attempting to rob him—he said, "I have not done anything"—I brought him back to the prosecutor, who was picked up by some people passing—his clothes were all torn open, the whole of the buttons were torn off his vest, and his pocket turned out—he at once seized the prisoner by the collar and said, "This is the man that robbed me"—he was drunk—the
prisoner did not say anything in particular then, only tried to get loose; on the road to the station he said he did not think it fair that he should be taken and the other allowed to go—he was searched at the station, and an opera-glass, 6l. 10s. in gold, 14s. in silver, and 8d. in bronze, was found on him; also five pawn-tickets, one for a ring pledged on that same day for 2l.
Cross-examined. When I first saw the prosecutor he had been drinking, he was not very drunk, he was under the influence of drink—I watched these people because I suspected them, I considered that I had no right to interfere with their going into these seven public-houses—I have been nearly seven years in the force—the prosecutor was sick in the street—I saw the prisoner holding his head.
CHARLES WILLIAM CRAFT . I am an articled law clerk, living at 61, Martin Road, Brixton—on the 22nd November I had lunched at the Holborn Restaurant—in the afternoon I played billiards at the Horse Shoe, and in the evening I went to a great number of public-houses—I think I first met the prisoner at the Royal Music Hall about 7—I had not known him before—I went to a great number of public-houses with him and a woman who afterwards joined us—I don't know the names of the places we went to—the woman left us—they made me drunk and the prisoner knocked me down and robbed me of about 7l.—there was one other man who tried to get my chain—the prisoner ran away and two detectives started after him, Badger brought him back to me, and I said "This is the man who robbed me," and I clutched hold of his coat—I had pawned my watch that afternoon for 10l. and I had that and change for a sovereign before I met the prisoner—I paid for some of the drink, for most of it I think—I drank beer.
Cross-examined. I am 21 years of age—I have been articled four years—I am employed in an office—I had left work before half-past 1—I generally lunch before that—my business is near the Holborn Restaurant—I was in there about an hour and I believe I then went to the Horse Shoe—I was not drunk at that time—I think I played billiards there till about 5 o'clock—I drank some beer during that time, but I had not too much by any means—I can't say whether I took a glass of something besides beer; I did not drink spirits—I told the Magistrate I sometimes took to drinking very much—I did not say "I am accustomed to hard drinking"—it was about 7 or half-past that I was at the Royal Music Hall—I was standing alongside of the prisoner at the bar there, I knocked his glass over and I called for another, and paid for it, and by that means we got into conversation and drank together—when we went outside there were some ladies on the pavement and I entered into conversation with them—I did not ask one of them to join me, we went to a cafe and they refused to serve me, and then we went to another public-house—I dropped some silver on the floor there—the woman did not pick up some and give to me—I swear that—she may have picked up a sixpence or a shilling—I have no salary, I have private means of my own.
LEONARD RAY . I am a mercantile clerk and live in Mecklenburgh Square—on the night of 22nd November I was at Weston's Music Hall and saw the prosecutor there—I did not know him before—I saw that he was very drunk and could not take care of himself—he sat by me and began talking about football, and he pulled some money out of his pocket and offered it to me—I said he had better put it back, and if he would come with me I would put him in a cab and send him home, but he did not—I went outside and spoke
to a constable, and he told me to speak to two detectives who were walking up and down outside—the prosecutor left the hall with a woman and three men, the prisoner was one of them—I saw him in the Music Hall standing at the bar—I afterwards saw the prosecutor walking along Oxford Street between the prisoner and another man—I watched them—they were trying to take him into at least seven public-houses—I saw them go up a street near the British Museum—I heard the prosecutor cry "Police!"—I ran up with the two detectives and I saw the prisoner caught—the prosecutor was standing up when I got up—his waistcoat was wide open and his watch chain hanging down—the other man ran away.
Cross-examined. The prosecutor was showing his gold in the Music Hall—he offered me some—he paid for drink for other people—I saw him sick in Oxford Street—he put his gold on the counter at the Music Hall, people might have helped themselves.
The Prisoner received a good character. NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, December 10th, 1878.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. HURRELL Prosecuted. EMMA MARIA PYE. I am the wife of Edward Pye, of Haberdasher Street—on a Sunday evening about three weeks ago I was in East Read, and the prisoner came up, struck me a blow on the chest, and twisted my chain, which was tied in my button hole, tore my coat, and took my watch—there were two more with him—I held him as long as I could, but one of the others struck me a blow on my side, and the prisoner twisted round and ran for his might—I saw that he had stolen my watch and chain, and then the others struck me and ran away—I called "Stop thief," and then went to the station and told the inspector—I was much hurt, and have not been very well since—I have not been in the doctor's hands, but I had a large bruise on my chest—on the next Tuesday I picked out the prisoner from six other men, and am positive he is the man—it was a silver Geneva watch, worth 1l. 15s.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. It is a very dark street, but there was a lamp opposite—you did not care what you did to me, or whether you killed me—you tore my hair.
HENRY JENMAN (Detective Sergeant). On Tuesday, 19th November, about 4.30 p.m., I met the prisoner with another man in Nile Street, East Road, and from the description I had received I told him that I should take him on suspicion of stealing a watch on Sunday night in East Road—directly I took hold of him, he said "If you don't let me go I shall kill you"—he was very violent, and took from his pocket this stocking with a stone in it (produced)—I closed with him, and caught his comforter with my left hand—his companion kicked me and threw me down—I think there were two or three companions, but only one of them took a prominent part in it—they got me down, and I asked some of the shopkeepers by name to
assist me, but they would not come—the prisoner heard that I halloaed out loud when we were struggling together—it is a very low neighbourhood in Hoxton—I got up again and struck the prisoner's companion across the face, and struck the prisoner across the head with my cane and cut his head open—my cane was then taken from me, and I lost my hat—a uniform man came to my assistance, and then two constables, and the prisoner was taken to the station—I went back and picked up this stocking with a stone in it, which the prisoner dropped when the constables came up—I was shaken, but not much hurt—I had one or two little bruises—he was put with six other men, near about his own appearance, at the station, and she identified him—I did not point him out to her—I kept in the charge room.
Cross-examined. The doctor had washed the blood off your face and dressed your head before you were identified—the prosecutor had given such a good description of you that we could not miss you.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate. "I did not do it." The prisoner handed in a written statement, denying the charge, and stating that he was not near East Road till 11 o'clock that Sunday night. GUILTY . He was further charged with a previous conviction in April, 1877, at Worship Street, to which he PLEADED GUILTY.— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment and Twenty Strokes with the cat . (There was another indictment against him for a similar robbery.)
FOURTH COURT.—Tuesday, December 10th, 1878.
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
MR. HUMPHREYS Prosecuted.
WILLIAM LANE . I am a gatekeeper in the employ of the London and North-Western Railway Company—at about 7.20 p.m. on the 3rd instant, I was at the Church Street gate of the station, and saw the prisoner on the bank—I went towards him, and got behind a van and watched him—he went inside the warehouse where we have bacon and butter stored—he looked round and removed this tub of butter outside, where we load our vans, and then he looked each way—he saw me standing behind the van, and I saw him going away towards the tunnel—I asked him what he was doing—he said he was looking for a friend—I said "You will have to go with me"—he had no right there—he was a stranger—he moved the butter eight or 10 yards.
and took the prisoner into custody—at the station he said, "I am very sorry, I have been ill, I hope you will forgive Me."
Prisoner's Defence. I only put my hand on it to jump from one place to another.
GUILTY of the attempt — Four Months' Imprisonment .
MR. GRUBBE Prosecuted; MR. PURCELL Defended. ELIZA PARTRIDGE. I live in Gosford Street, Kentish Town, and am the wife of Daniel Partridge—my son and I got this certificate at Somerset House (produced)—the father was present at the marriage—the prisoner is the person mentioned in the certificate as being married to my daughter, Eliza Eleanor.
DANIEL PARTRIDGE . I am the husband of the last witness, and the father of the prosecutrix—I made a communication to her some time since, which resulted in this prosecution, and I said to the prisoner, "Your first wife is living," and he said, "Well, well"—I do not remember anything else—I was present at my daughter's marriage with the prisoner, on 23rd September, 1871.
Cross-examined. It was about the 20th of last month—I spoke to the prisoner and gave information to the police a few days after.
JOHN HENRY GUEST . I am a house and estate agent, and am the brother of Susannah Amelia Guest, who is now living—the prisoner came to my house 15 or 16 years ago with my sister, and she introduced him as her husband—I afterwards saw him from time to time—they lived then in Park Lane, Waltham Cross—they had several quarrels and ultimately parted.
Cross-examined. I was not present at the marriage. (The certificate of the first marriage stated it to have been solemnized at the district church of St. James's, Enfield., on 2l. st January, 1859.)
JOHN LEES . I live at Waltham Abbey, and know the prisoner—I saw the parties get into the carriage when the prisoner was going to be married to Miss Guest—my mother cooked the dinner at Moles Lane, Cheshunt.
THOMAS LUCAS (Policeman). I took the prisoner into custody in High Street, Camden Town—I told him it was bigamy, and he said, "Yes, quite correct"—on the way to the station he said Mr. Partridge had told him he would charge him with bigamy.
GUILTY .— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment
MR. DIXON Prosecuted.
JAMES GLEDHILL . In November last I lived at 122, Cable Street, St George's in the East—on the night of the 23rd, about 12.30, I was walking in a street near there, when I met the prisoners and another man—I asked them where I could get a lodging—O'Bryen pinioned me behind, and Picket went to my pocket and took out 3s. 6d. and my purse—there was nothing in the purse except the pawn-ticket of a watch for 6s.—I said, "Take the 3s. 6d., don't kill me"—I was knocked on the nose, and when the policeman came up I was bleeding—I afterwards saw the prisoners and identified them—I was not sober.
Cross-examined by Picket. I was in the house—I was not on the scene of the robbery—the prosecutor was locked up himself that night, and fined 5s. for being drunk.
Witness. That is so.
WILLIAM KNIGHTS (Policeman H 2). I saw three men on the night in question, in Royal Mint Street, running away from a man who had his nose bleeding—they went up Cartwright Street, and I followed—the prisoners went into a house and the door was shut—I knocked, and when the door was opened there were two men, some women, and a police-constable inside—by that time the prosecutor came up and I asked him if those were the men, and he said "No"—the prisoners I afterwards found in the room when I turned on my light, and the prosecutor identified them at once.
O'Bryan. He said, "Let me see your face"—I said, "Yes, and he said, "This man accuses you of stealing 3s. 6d."—I said, "All right, I never see the man before."
Picket. I live there.
WITNESS. Yes, his address was correct—I never saw the man before—I lost sight of them for half a second when I followed them.
GEORGE CARPENTER (Policeman H 102). I was in the house in Cartwright Street at the time in question and saw the prisoners come in—they pusehd the door from outside and were rather excited—I was investigating a case of a woman losing her shawl—the prosecutor identified the prisoners.
Cross-examined by O'Bryne. You asked me what I was there for and I told you—you made no attempt to walk upstairs.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. TAMPLIN Prosecuted.
GEORGE WAYGOOD . I am a pastrycook of 1, Nightingale Lane, Limehouse—at 1 am. on 26th November I was in Church Row, Limehouse, and had On me a silver watch value 3l, and a chain and locket, when I saw Marney and another man—Marney knocked me up against a post and dragged me through the mud—he then ran away—I do not identify Carrol—he was too quick and ran away after taking my watch—I ran after Marney and a policeman caught him just round a corner.
Cross-examined by Marney. I was perfectly sober—I had been drinking during my work—you kicked me in the elbow—I did not state that before—I swear to you by your voice; not by what you said to me, but by what you said to the other man—the policeman had hold of you by the side of Limehouse Church—there were cries of "Murder" and Police from the same spot where I was robbed, and the policeman had to go back to quiet a man—it was just under a lamp that I was robbed.
Cross-examined by Carrol. I could not swear to you—nobody told me you took my watch—you are just the figure of the man who took it.
EDMUND BRETT (Policeman K 582). At 1 a.m. on 26th November I was on duty at Colt Street, Limehouse, about 300 yards from Church Lane, when I heard a scuffle and I saw Marney and another man running towards me—I cannot identify Carrol—I ran across the road and stopped Marney and took him to the prosecutor, who said he had been robbed of his watch and chain—Marney said he saw a man running away and ran after him—the prosecutor was covered with mud and in a very exhausted condition—he had had something to drink and was very excited.
Cross-examined by Marney. I searched you and found nothing—you said "I saw some men running and ran after them"—it might be "man" or "men."
Re-examined. I found the watch and chain close to where I apprehended Marney, in the churchyard—I found it the second day after—Thursday. Cross-examined by Marney. It might have been placed there by any number of people.
BENJAMIN HUDFIELD (Policeman K 538). I was in the neighbourhood of Church Row, Limehouse, a little before I a.m. on 26th November, when I heard some cries—I could not be sure whether it was "Stop thief" or "Stop them"—I went to the spot and saw Marney and another man—I do not identify Carrol—Marney said "Over there"—I did not know what he meant—I left him in charge and ran after the other man.
Cross-examined by Marney. There were cries of "Police" where you came from—I inquired about the assault, and he said he would not charge any one—I don't know who the man was that was not charged—I heard "Over there" when I got hold of you by the church railings—the prosecutor was excited and had had a glass of beer or two perhaps.
JOHN MCDONALD . I live at 6, Oak Lane, Limehouse, and am a labourer—I was in Church Bow at 12.45 on the, morning in question, and saw Dyson (Carrol)—I have known him 13 or 14 years—I saw two men chuck the prosecutor down and run away—they struggled for about two minutes—a gentleman asked me why I did not stop them—I said, "You are bigger than me; you and your dog might have stopped them," and he up with his stick and gave me two black eyes—I have been in trouble, and that is why I came to clear myself.
Cross-examined by Marney. I did not recognise you at all—I have known you a long time, and if you had been there I should have identified you.
Cross-examined by Carrol. I can swear to seeing you there—you ran close to Mr.
Marney's Defence. It is very slight evidence to swear to a man by his voice; I am sure some people in Court have got the same voice as I have, and if I had a watch about me it would have been found on Mr. The last witness states he did not see me there.
Carrol's Defence. I hope the Jury won't take that convicted man's (McDonald's) word against Mr. I work hard for my living.
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, December 11th, 1878.
Before Baron Huddleston.
MESSRS. POLAND and MEAD Prosecuted. JANE JEFFRIES. I am the wife of John Jeffries, a law-writer, and live with him at 22, Cumberland Street—I have known the prisoner two years this last August—on 26th November, at 6 o'clock in the evening, he came to my house; he knocked twice before I heard him—I only heard the third knock; I then opened the door to him; I said "What do you want here!"—he said "You"—I said "You will not get me, you have no business here—he called a young man, gave him threepence, and said "I shall not be
long"—the young man went away—I should not know him again—my street door is close by the room door, and the prisoner put his foot between the doors as he gave the young man the threepence—I used rather a vulgar expression in my excitement, and said "You had better take your hook, you have caused enough misery here; I don't want you here after me"—he walked into my room and shut the door after him; he looked round the room and said "This is very comfortable, very comfortable indeed, and I have nowhere to go"—he then said "You have got to come out with me"—I said "I am sure I shall not, I expect my husband home every minute;" with that he pulled a revolver out and said "Come out or die here, which you like, for die to-night you will"—he put the pistol to my head—I put on my bonnet and tried to escape by the bedroom door, he heard me turn the key, and said "You don't get out that way, you will never slip me again"—he pulled the pistol out again and said "I have a great mind to do it as you stand now, if you defy me I will"—I said "Oh! pray don't shoot me, I am sure I am not prepared to die"—he said "Then come out, or I will shoot you;" and under that threat I went out—I told him I expected my husband in to supper—he said He will never have another supper here—I went out with him round to a beerhouse; I sat there crying; he called for a pint of ale and wished me to drink; I did not want to drink; his pistol was out again directly—we stayed there about three-quarters of an hour; he would not allow me to go home—I was praying to go home to get my husband's supper; he would not allow me to do so—we came out together and walked from Goodge Street into Tottenham Court Road and went into another public-house; he would not let me leave him a step; the pistol was then in his coat pocket, just inside, and he kept shifting it from one pocket to another pocket—I was crying most hysterically in this public-house, and I kept saying out loud, thinking the landlord would notice what I said, "Will you unload that pistol; pray unload that pistol?"—the prisoner laughed and said "Yes, I will unload it directly, through your head when I do unload it; you had better behave yourself, if you do you shall stay till 12 o'clock, you shall live till 12 o'clock; if not, you will go at once, as I mean to do for you, the old man, and myself to-night"—the landlord ordered us out; he would not go till he made me walk first—I said something to the landlord when we got outside; the prisoner did not hear it; he asked me what I was whispering about, I said "Not anything much"—he said "If I thought you had told him what I had got you would have it directly"—he said to me "Come to the corner of Windmill Street with me, and I will give you up the pistol to your possession"—I went with him, and when we got there he laughed at me when I asked him for the pistol—there were two Life Guardsmen there, he spoke to them and called for a quart of beer, and they drank it with him—that was at a public-house at the corner of Windmill Street—I went with him there; he demanded me to go wherever he went—I said to the Life Guardsmen "Well, gentlemen, you are soldiers, this man has got a loaded pistol in his pocket, will you be kind enough to protect me?"—they said "I suppose it is a love affair; you are his wife?"—I said "No, sir, I have got a good kind husband at home, and I want to get home to get his supper"—I pulled his coat on one side and they could see the butt-end of the pistol, and one soldier said to the other "He has got a pistol
there," and the other one said "Let us see what you have got?"—the prisoner said "I can let you see my fist, and if that is not sufficient I can let you have a bit of metal"—I believe those were the words—the landlord then ordered him out; we walked from there back towards the police-station, and when I got there I walked backwards into the station; the prisoner was standing looking at me at the time, and I expected he would shoot me as I went in—I spoke to the inspector, and explained everything to him; a constable in uniform came out with me, the prisoner was then gone—the inspector told me something and I went home, that was about 9 o'clock as near as possible; I found that my husband was not at home and I went to the Old King's Head opposite, where he generally goes to get a glass of beer for his supper;—I said to my husband, "I have seen that fellow again," and as my husband was coming out at one door the prisoner came out at the next compartment following him; I caught hold of my husband, and said, "Don't speak to him, pray don't, he has got a loaded revolver, and he has pointed it at my head such a many times tonight;" the prisoner laughed and said to my husband, "Well, Mr. Jeffries, how are you, I should like to shake hands with you"—my husband said, "You go away, you are no man to follow my wife about and frighten her as you do," and he said to me, "Come inside, Jane"—I went inside with my husband, the prisoner followed us in; he said, "I am going to Colchester tomorrow, I have enlisted to-day"—my husband said, "I don't know so much about that, for the first constable I see, I shall give you into custody"—the prisoner had got the pistol then in the waist of his trowsers, and he pulled it out and fired at my husband without a word; my husband said, "He has shot me"—the prisoner waited close on a minute and then he fired again; finding my husband did not fall, he levelled the pistol straight at my husband's head; at the second shot I laid hold of his hand and knocked his hand on one side, and made the shot go on one side; he fired, and as he fired I knocked his hand on one side, and the shot went to the right; I laid hold of the pistol, and he tried his hardest to bend his hand down and put the muzzle to my head—I held it straight up in his hand—I had got my two hands on it, and in our struggle he turned me from one corner about four or five feet; I still kept hold of the pistol, and hearing a crowd outside, I called out, "Won't some one come, I can't hold on much longer"—two young men rushed in, one laid hold of him by the wrist—I can't tell whether I gave the other one the pistol or not, but it was taken from him—I don't know what the prisoner said—my husband was taken to the hospital Cross-examined. I had seen you on the Monday afternoon, the 25th, the day before this—I met you accidentally in Tottenham Court Road—I was not walking with a young man, you saw me speak to a young man in the Euston Road, a cousin who used to come to Mr. Cole's shop, he did not speak three words to me—whether he got on a bus or not I could not tell—I tried to pass you, and you said, "I have come from the Isle of Wight to see you, you need not think to pass me like that since you have got up in the world"—I did not tell you the young man was a particular friend of mine, and that I did not intend to give him up—I did not say that he knew nothing of me as yet, but at Christmas he might, as he was going to buy me a diamond ring, which I should have to take care to hide from the old man—I said nothing of the kind—I don't think you asked me why I did not keep to my husband, and not go with
other men—why have you followed me in the manner you have done if you wish mo to keep to my husband—I do not remember saying it was no business of yours, and that I should have who I liked—I think if I said that I should be bound to remember such a thing—I went with you to the City Road that night, I was bound to go because you always followed me about—you have been to my house in the dead of the night—I went with you on the Monday night, I was bound to follow you, as I have always been bound to do since I have been a married, woman, or else have you come to the house—I went into Mrs. Jordan's—I tried to get away from you thinking you would go away, but you waited outside the door and came and knocked and asked me if I was not coming out, and I said to Mrs. Jordan, "It is no good, I shall never get rid of him till I give him some money again as usual"—I tried my utmost to get away from you, I did not stay there with you till half-past 12 o'clock, I jumped into a hansom to get away from you, and you caught sight of my dress as I got into the cab, and you jumped into the cab while it was going on—as we were going along, I said, "Will you allow me to go home"—you said, "I have got no money, and you don't go home till you give me some"—I gave you 3s. in the cab, and you allowed me to get out, and I went straight home and told my husband what had occurred—it was not 1 o'clock when I left you, I was frightened of you knowing where 1 lived—you shot my first husband dead—I did not ask you to come next day at 3 o'clock—I had too great a horror of your knowing where I lived to think of such a thing—you did not come and whistle, I never knew that you could whistle—I did not jump up and come to the street door and say, "Come in"—you did not come in and sit with me in front of the fire—I did not take a fancy to your purse, nor did you give it me—I never saw your purse—I think I told you that my husband had been suffering with rheumatics, that was in the evening when I wanted to get home—I did not show you my knee covered with flannel—I showed you my hands where I had rheumatism, and I said, "Keeping me out in this wet won't improve it"—I did not say to you "You cannot pass from this door because my husband has got the key and he can come in at any moment, we will go to the bedroom"—you did not pull off your coat, nor did I say, "Don't be careless, keep your coat on"—I tried to escape out of the bedroom door and you followed me and said "No, you don't escape me any more"—we did not remain in the bedroom 20 minutes—I did not tell you to wait for me at the corner of the street—I did go out with you under your threat of shooting me in my own room if I did not—it was not as we were standing in the house having a glass of ale that I saw the muzzle of the pistol in your pocket, the first time I saw it was in my parlour, and you pointed it at my head several times—you did not tell the Lifeguardsmen that you had a pistol—I can't say that you were sober—when we went into the last house you were not so sober as you were when you first came to my house, because you drank several pints of ale to yourself—I did not drink anything but one glass of ale—you insisted on my drinking with you.
By the COURT. It is two years ago next February that the prisoner shot my first husband dead—he was tried before your Lordship for that (The Report of the trial in question was referred to in this Sessions Paper, volume 85, page 693, from which it appeared that the prisoner was then acquitted, the Jury believing that the death was the result of accident.) On that occasion there was a dispute between the prisoner and my husband and
another woman, and the defence was that the gun went off by accident—my husband had been beating me very much, and he brought another woman, in the house, I was trying to turn her out and the prisoner came to my rescue, and in the struggle the gun went off.
Re-examined. Since that time the prisoner has annoyed me most dreadfully, ever since I was married—I was married on the 24th of last February—he began to annoy me as soon as he found where I lived, that was about a fortnight or three weeks after my marriage—we have moved repeatedly on account of his continually coming to the house.
JOHN JEFFRIES . I am a law writer and live at 22, Cumberland Street, Tottenham Court Road—the last witness is my wife—on Tuesday evening, 26th November, I was at the Old King's Head, in Cumberland Street, about 9.15; the prisoner came in while I was there—I knew him by sight only, I had never spoken to him—he looked very hard at me, but I did not want to know him, and I went out and into another compartment to avoid him—I spoke to the landlady—my wife had not arrived then—I went outside and met her—the prisoner came out as well—nothing passed between me and my wife in his hearing—he came up and said "How do you do, Mr. Jeffries?" I said "I want nothing to do with you"—he said "I am going to Colchester to-morrow morning for a soldier"—this was just inside the public-house—I pulled my wife in there for protection sake—I said "I don't know so much about your going to Colchester, for the first policeman I see I shall give you in charge;" he then deliberately took out this revolver and levelled it at me and fired—he fired twice—I think he took it out from his left-hand pocket, he had been fumbling about there for some time, and he fired it from his right-hand—he might have been perhaps three yards from me when he fired the first shot, perhaps not quite so far—the bullet hit the button in front of my trousers and glided off on to the floor—the button struck my stomach—the bullet went through my greatcoat and there is the hole now—when he fired my wife seized his hand, but he managed to fire a second time; the pistol was directed at me, but she just managed to shake it off, and the bullet fell on the ground close by where I was standing—it must have hit the partition, I suppose—the prisoner did not say a word when he fired the two shots—my wife kept hold of his hand all the time, struggling with him till assistance came in—I believe the revolve was taken from him, but I was so excited after being struck—I walked to the hospital with one of the constables, and a surgeon examined me—it was not necessary for me to remain there—there was a bruise on my stomach—this man has been trying to take my wife's character away, but she has been a good wife to.
Cross-examined. You were partially sober, you knew what you were about, you were not drunk—you did not speak to me when you came in—you stared at me, and that was the reason I went out—you have threatened me behind my back, not to my face—you have been a great annoyance and terror to me ever since I have been married—I have gone in fear of my life from what I have heard; I have been told of your carrying a dagger about with you—one night at New Cross I had to escape on to a tram, and a mob stopped you from running after me—goodness knows what weapon you had about you then—you took the revolver out of your left pocket—I don't know whether it was the undercoat or the overcoat—you handled it in the proper way to shoot a man—you have been in a rifle corps, and are well tip in firearms
—I can positively swear that you took a deliberate good straight aim at me—you meant to murder me—I don't know whether you pointed at my head or my body—you intended to hit me in the head, no doubt, and you would have done so the second time but for my wife—there was plenty of room between us for you to take a deliberate aim—you were not going to take it out of your pocket to show, and it was not discharged twice rapidly in your doing so; nothing of the kind.
CHARLES VIPONT . I was a porter at the Middlesex Hospital—I left last Saturday week—I live at 21, Cumberland Street—on 26th November, at a quarter-past 9, I was in Cumberland Street—I heard the report of two shots fired from a revolver—I and Smith ran into the Old King's Head, and I saw the prisoner and Mrs. Jeffries wrestling with the pistol—I laid hold of the prosecutrix's hand, and Smith laid hold of the pistol—the prisoner said, as we were taking it from him, "I will give it up now"—it was handed over by Mrs. Jeffries to the witness Smith—a constable was sent for—the prisoner said "I will not run away, I have done it, and I will own to it; I have worked hard for her for two years, and I will now die for her."
Cross-examined. You were sober—there are two ways of looking at it; in the army you would be put down as drunk, but you were not drunk, you knew what you were about—I did not see you fire either of the shots—I heard them—when I came in Mrs. Jeffries had hold of your hand, and the pistol as well—I did not ask you to give up the pistol—I can't say whether she did—not in my hearing—I struggled with you, and wrested the pistol from you.
WILLIAM SMITH . I am a painter and glazier, and live at 8, Cumberland Street, Goodge Street, next door to the Old King's Head—I heard the report of two pistol shots, and went into the public-house—I there saw the prisoner and Mrs. Jeffries—she had hold of his hand and the butt end of the pistol—I saw the pistol in his hand—I caught hold of the muzzle and took it away from him, and gave it to the constable, E 487—the prisoner was half drunk.
Cross-examined. I caught hold of the pistol, and Mrs. Jeffries had hold of it as well—we took it away between us—you had your arm down—I did not hear her ask you to give it to her—you might have let go of it—I did not notice—it was not taken from you by force—you did not struggle at all—you stood still.
WILLIAM WILSON (Policeman E 360). At 9.25 p.m. on 26th November, I was in Cumberland Street in plain clothes—I heard the report of a pistol, and went into the Old King's Head—I saw the prisoner there, struggling with the prosecutrix—I afterwards took him to the station, searched him, and found some loose cartridges in one of his coat-pockets, and this box of cartridges in the other, 44 altogether—as I was searching him, he said "I am the man that shot her husband, and what she said I was to do, I went and did it like a man; that woman ought to have been shot long ago, and I will carry the game out if I hang for it; and when I am gone there is another one that will take it up"—he was not drunk, but he had been drinking—I examined the prosecutor's coat, and found a hole in it.
GEORGE CARR (Police Inspector X). On Tuesday night, 26th November, the prisoner was brought to the Tottenham Court Road Police-station—this pistol was handed to me by Maddox, E 487—Mrs. Jeffries came to the station, and while she was making a statement the prisoner said, "Sergeant,
take me to the cell. I don't want others to suffer; I don't want others to be brought into it. I worship every hair that grows on her head; and if he has got a wound, she has led me to do it"—I then entered the charge of shooting, with intent to murder, and read it over to him, and he replied "That's a lie"—he was not sober, he was unsteady in his walk, and also thick in his speech—I examined the revolver—it has six chambers, five had been loaded, two had been discharged—three then contained full ball-cartridges—I produce them—it is a self-acting revolver—the cartridges found on the prisoner are ball-cartridges of the same description, and they fit the pistol.
PHILIP PARDY (Policeman E 97). After the prisoner was taken into custody, I made a search in the Old King's Head, and found two bullets, which I produce—one I found about 12 inches from the partition, and the other three feet, on the floor—they are the same class of bullets as the others.
JOHN CROOK (Police Inspector). The day after the prisoner was in custody, I went to the Old King's Head, and made a search to see if I could find any marks of bullets—I found two marks on the partition, apparently bullet marks, one three feet from the floor; it was a very slight indentation; it might be accounted for by the bounding of the bullet; the second mark was 13 inches from the floor—that appeared more like a bullet mark—there was also a fresh Mrrk on the ceiling—it had the appearance as if something had hit the ceiling, and bounded from the ceiling on to the partition—the ceiling is about 12 feet from the floor—I measured the place where this matter occurred, the partition is 11 feet 6—that is the space in front of the bar.
WILLIAM EDWARD DIXON . I am house surgeon at the Middlesex Hospital—on Tuesday night, 26th November, about 9.45, Jeffries was brought there—I examined him; I saw the hole in his coat—I found a contusion on his stomach about the size of a sixpence, just below the navel; it was the kind of mark I should expect to find if a bullet had struck a button there; it was in a very dangerous place—a bullet fired at 9 or 11 feet distance and entering the stomach there would in all probability have caused death—it was not necessary to treat him surgically; he was able to walk away.
The Prisoner in a long defence stated that after his acquittal, in 1876, he cohabited with the prosecutrix at Kingston and different places until her marriage with Jeffries, that after her marriage she invited him to her house and continually sought him, that he had no ill feeling towards Jeffries, but that being drunk on the night in question, in taking out the pistol it accidentally went off without any intention on his part to do injury.
JANE JEFFRIES (Re-examined). I never lived with the prisoner after the death of my first husband—he got a situation at Kingston, and I went with him there for six weeks as his housekeeper, and he beat me three times because I would not take the place of wife, and I locked him up—I was not living with him as housekeeper at the time I was married to my present husband—I was living in Jeffry Street; the first day I moved there I met my husband—the prisoner did not live in Jeffry Street; he came there on one occasion—he did not lodge in the same house with me and my husband at Hatcham; when he found us out there he came in the dead of the night knocking at the door, and calling out "My Jenny; I want my Jenny"—when
I left Kingston the prisoner said what furniture there was I was welcome to; it was partly his and partly mine; I had to sell part of them to come away—he did not know that I was coming away.
GUILTY on the First Count.— Twenty Years' Penal Servitude .
NEW COURT.—Wednesday, December 11th, 1878,
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. PURCELL Prosecuted; and MR. ST. AUBYN defended Geary.
JAMES ALFRED FRITH . I am a plasterer, of Robert Street, Commercial Road, Pimlico—on 17th November, about 12.30 at night, I was in Great Peter Street—I had had a little drop, but knew what I was about—the prisoners met me at the corner of St. Ann's Lane, and one of them asked me for a piece of tobacco—I told him I did not use it—the other two got hold of me and threw me over on my back; Barry held me by the throat, while Geary tried my pockets, where I had 1s. 1 1/2d. and some pawn tickets—I called "Police," and a policeman came and took them and took Geary's Hand out of my pocket—I have seen them about before, but they are not pals of mine.
Cross-examined by MR. ST. AUBYN. I was with some chaps I knew, but they went away—I had come from Stoney's, where I had been drinking—Robert Street is about a quarter of a mile from Great Peter Street—I had not been into Doudney's public-house that night—I had not been at work that afternoon; I had been to my father—this was Sunday morning, after the "houses" had shut up on Saturday night—I was not seriously injured; I got a scratch on my neck—they pushed me and I fell over with the force of it.
Cross-examined by Barry. I was not drunk, for I signed my name to the charge sheet—I did not ask for a lodging on trust that evening—I do not know where Geary lives, but he was standing at the corner of the lane.
Re-examined. I did not go to the police-court at first—I was too ill—a policeman came for me on Wednesday.
WILLIAM WYBROW (Policeman B 193). I heard cries of "Police," went in that direction, and found Frith on his back, with Barry's hand on his neck, and Geary had his hand in his pocket—Barry said, "It is all right, we are all pals" but Frith said that he knew nothing of them whatever—I saw the sergeant take Geary's hand out of Frith's pocket.
Cross-examined by MR. ST. AUBYN. Geary lives within about two doors from there—he is, I believe, a respectable young man; I never heard anything against him—this is a very rough neighbourhood, especially on Saturday night, but no people were about then.
Cross-examined by Barry. You had Frith down by the neck, holding his scarf—he was not all over mud; it was not a muddy night—you did not see us before we got hold of you—we both came up together—Frith did not bring us up to you—I know of no felony against you, only assaults.
WILLIAM SMITH (Police-Sergeant B 34). I heard cries of "Police," went into Great Peter Street, 30 or 40 yards off, with Wybrow, and saw Barry's hand on the prosecutor's throat and Geary's hand in his pocket—I pulled
Geary's hand out, and he gave them both in custody—Barry said, "I have done nothing, and I was only larking."
The Prisoners' Statements before the Magistrate. Barry says: "The police have told him what to say since the remand. The man was drunk." Geary says: "I know him well, and have drunk with him I never had a stain on my character."
Barry's Defence. "Frith went to a lodging-house that night and asked for a lodging on trust The landlord said, 'If you can get money for drink you can get money for a lodging. ' He went out, and came back and put down 8d., and 6d. dropped on the ground."
BARRY— GUILTY . **— Twelve Months' Imprisonment . GEARY received a good character— GUILTY. Recommended to mercy by the Jury on account of his character. — Three Months' Imprisonment .
MR. W. SLEIGH Prosecuted; and MR. W. WILLIAMS Defended.
NOT GUILTY .
THIRD COURT.—Wednesday, December 11th, 1878.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
NOT GUILTY . There were also two other indictments against the prisoner for assault, on which no evidence was offered . NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT—Thursday, December 12th, 1878.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MESSRS. STRAIGHT and J. P. GRAIN Prosecuted; and MR. SEYMOUR, Q. C., and
MR. FRITH Defended, The Prisoner received a good character.
GUILTY .— Four Months' Imprisonment ,
THIRD COURT.—Thursday, December 12th, 1878.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant
MESSRS. MEAD, H. AVORY, and TAMPLIN conducted the Prosecution; and
look after everything that entered and left the field, and check the tickets with respect to the quantity of bricks that came in—on the morning of the 24th I took a can of tea which my wife had filled and some food in this handkerchief for my breakfast—I never drink milk in my tea—I arrived at the field about 6.20, having been previously to the office—I unlocked No. 4 gate to let in a van with bricks—on leaving home at about 5.45 I drank some of the tea, and at about 6.20 I drank about a pint—the can holds about two quarts—I then hung it up on one of the iron pegs that keep up the hack caps that cover the bricks to keep them from rain, close by the kiln—this is the can (produced)—I went away and returned about 8 o'clock, and saw the prisoner holding the can like this, and the handkerchief which had been attached to the handle was thrown over a wooden cross-bar under the middle of another hack cap—he went straight down through the same hack my bottle was in towards Elliott's lobby—that is not the same lobby I breakfasted in—I then took my can and went straight down to the lobby to breakfast, where I found Marlow, sen., Sheppard, James Marskel, jun., Hughes, and Swanney—I cannot say whether that is his right name—I ate some bread and butter and took my can from the fire and drunk five or six mouthfuls—I detected a disagreeable smell, handed my can to Marlow, and asked him to smell it—he put it to his mouth, and said it smelt very strong of something, and I believe George Marskel tasted it—I cannot say whether any one else tasted it, for directly after I felt ill, and had a burning pain in my muscles, throat, and stomach—my muscles seemed drawn up double, and I cried, thinking of a threat the prisoner had used towards me only one hour before—I cried out, "I believe Dabber has been poisoning me"—Marlow handed me his bottle to rinse my mouth out—one of them poured some of the tea into his hand—I thought it was Marlow, but I heard at the police-court that it was Sheppard—young James Marskel says, "I dare say Dabber has been and put some stuff in it, as we seen him with the bottle"—Dabber is the prisoner's nickname—the boys Marskel and Marlow were with me when I saw Saint with my bottle—Marlow senior said, "You boys have nothing to say about it"—the tea that was poured into one of their hands was blue—I asked one of them to go with me to Mr. Bird's house to get something to take, and Hughes came out and said, "I will go along with you"—some one in the lobby told me to put my fingers down my throat; I did so, and vomited a good deal along the road—we went to the house, which may be about 200 yards—I only went into the hall, and the servants gave me some salt and water to drink—I had vomited twice—I did not vomit after taking the salt and water—Mr. Ernest Bird put some of the stuff from the can in a glass, and it was a bluish-green dirty colour—he also gave me some mustard and water—I was then taken in a cart to the West London Hospital by George Ball—I was sick in the cart—there was a lot of straw in the cart—I was unconscious—at the hospital I saw Mr. Mortimer, the surgeon, perhaps 20 minutes after my arrival—I remained five days under his care, and came out on the sixth day—I have been attending the hospital ever since, once a week—the same evening I was taken there I gave information to the police—on 27th July previously I was in my place at the yard gate and saw a carman leaving with some bricks—I saw Saint hand some money back to the carman when some bricks were taken out of the cart—there were 500 in excess—he had no right to take any out when
there was no ticket, and I turned the cart back—Saint said "You b—Irish s—, who is going to have a peg-legged s—like you watching us?"—I lost my leg in the Royal Navy—I reported that to Marskel senior, foreman of the field, Mr. Bird being out of town—on another occasion I reported the prisoner to Mr. Bird for sending out 50 more bricks than the ticket specified, and he threatened to put my b—light out, and that he would not do any more work as long as I was in the field—I was continually being threatened by the prisoner and two other mates, Davis and Care, from that time up to the 24th October—the mates have threw pieces of brick at me and threatened to smash my skull in—before 19th October Saint and Davis had thrown bricks at me—on the morning of the 19th I was coming to work, over the line, at 5.50, when I saw Saint just in front of me—he turned round and said "You Irish s—, if I knew you was coming close behind me I would have put your b—head down underneath that train"—an engine was just coming down from the Scrubbs station towards Uxbridge Road—no one was with the prisoner at that time—he then said "A s—like you ain't fit to live, to be going to master's telling tales"—an hour after I was passing one of the kilns, on the top of which were the prisoner and Davis, when a brick came down and struck me on the heel—I don't know who threw it—I heard Davis say "It was very near the top of his b—head," or "skull"—the prisoner said "It would have been a good job if it had broke his b—head"—at 10 o'clock that day I obtained two summonses against them at the Hammersmith Police-court for threatening me, which were to be heard on the 24th—at 7.15 a.m. on the 24th the prisoner was standing by the lobby where we used to go to breakfast about 100 yards away from the kiln, where I left my tea-can, and he said to me "You peg legged s—, I will lay you b—stiff," or "sick, before night, and you can * * * * with the summons."
Cross-examined. I went to Bird's on 8th July last—I am not there now—he has told me not to go anywhere near his field again—I have not spoken to the prisoner for two months—I did not tell the boy Ovenden about a week before this that if Dabber did not mind before he was a week older I would make it hot for him—I do not know that he is still in Mr. Bird's employ—Mr. Bird offered to bail the prisoner at the police-court—I do not know that he did bail him last session before Mr. Justice Hawkins—I did not before the Magistrate speak of the prisoner's threat to put me under the train—I complained to Mr. Henry Bird, not to Mr. Bird my master, I never see him—I told Mr. Henry Bird of their throwing bricks at me—I don't know whether I told him my life was threatened—I told him I was afraid to go anywhere near the kilns—I did complain to him of Saint threatening my life—I do not know that the attempt to carry the bricks off Mr. Bird's premises was inquired into—I was too ill at the police-court to bear a quarter—I heard Mr. Henry Bird say at the police-court. something about burrs; not bricks—before I went to Mr. Bird's I was working for the Fulham District Board of Works close by his house—I was there for three years, and before that I and my wife were in service for three months—before I went to Fulham I came from home, New Maiden, Surrey—I was there three or four months—before that I was in business at 74, Hobewell Road, Bristol—I kept a commercial boarding house there for nine years—I have no friends in the north—I was never in Dewsbury—James Marskel, junior, and James Marlow must have seen
Dabber with my bottle—I used to hang it up under the hack cap when the kiln was that end of the field, and if I crossed the line coming into the field to my work I would have to pass the lobby to go to the kilns—I did not hang my bottle in what is called the kilnman's lobby more than 20 times while I was there—there is more than one lobby—I did not on that morning, before my bottle was tampered with, say to Marlow, "Did you ever see a wooden-legged man dance? and begin to dance—one of them called my attention to Saint interfering with my bottle—I cannot say whether it was Marlow or Marskel—it was not I that called out" There is Saint at my bottle—I went with the two boys Marskell and Marlow to breakfast in the lobby—I went out of the lobby during breakfast, and I drank the tea when I came back—Case was there—I cannot say whether any one saw me drink the pint when the tea was all right—Case at the Kiln could have seen me—I had drank five or six mouthfuls when I detected the nasty smell—I was drawn up seven or eight times after—Hughes was with me—I said nothing at the police-court about being drawn up almost double—I have not heard that strychnine has since been discovered in the tea—I vomited twice on my way to Mr. Bird's—Hughes was with me—the others were at breakfast—I never saw this bottle (produced), before I saw it at the police-court—I heard it stated in the police-court that it was found a few yards from the place where I hung up my tea-bottle—I don't know anything about it—I am attending the West London Hospital now—I felt the stiffness that nearly doubled me after I got to the hospital—I was under Mr. Mortimer's treatment five days—I complained to him of the stiffness in my joints and pains in my limbs—perhaps it was an hour after I drank the tea that I saw Mr. Mortimer—when I was drinking it the smell was very strong—I continued to taste the disagreeable smell when I got to the hospital—I cannot say what the taste was—I drank nine or ten lots of milk in the hospital, and warm water and other things—I was half insensible—I cannot say if I had any milk before I saw the doctor—some one told Ball he need not stay, and he was not in my company till I saw the doctor—I have attended the hospital since for sickness, and for the nerves of the stump of my leg—three or four months before the strychnine business, I had a little wound where the cork leg had rubbed me, and I used zinc ointment for it, which my wife got in a penny box from a chemist in Bramley Road—I used it and threw the box on the back of the grate—I remember using the last bit of it—nothing has ever been said to me before about the ointment.
Re-examined. Before I took out the summons I had complained to Mr. Bird of the threats being used, and the old foreman Marskel told me I had no right to go to master, but to complain to him about anything that occurred in the field—that was before Mr. Bird—when I told Mr. Augustus Henry Bird of it he said, "You have done right, Collins, but for the future perhaps you had better inform the old moulder Marskel," and the old moulder said he should not be able to get the men to stop at the kiln if I got carrying tales—he said that before Mr. Henry Bird—I told Mr. Henry Bird, it was no use my speaking to Mr. Marskel, as I had done so before, and I had a life like a dog in the field in consequence—then I told him I would not work any more round the kiln for some time picking up the brickbats, filling up my time as I had done, because I was afraid, and he told me I could go on the soil hacks, as there were
carts there throwing in the soil, and keep the soil levelled down, and the ashes—after I took out the summons Mr. Henry Bird told me I had no business going away from my work down to the police-court, as if I had come to him he would have made it all right, and that he would not let the men go down to the police-court, as he should not have anybody in the field to load the carts—I told Mr. Bird I did not wish to harm the men in the least, but my life had been threatened so long that I felt it insecure, and I wished them to be bound over to keep the peace, and I did not wish to go down against the men if they would promise not to molest me again—when I came out of the hospital he declined to take me back, as he said I had brought disgrace on his field and family by taking the proceedings I had—I received these three medals in the navy.
By MR. WILLIAMS. I never knew until I heard it at the police-court that it was mainly through Saint's recommendation that I was taken into Mr. Bird's employ—I have never said that the packet of poison or powder was found in Saint's great-coat pocket.
By the JURY. I left my can on an iron peg, and found it about four yards off—I saw the prisoner throw it over the peg.
WILLIAM HUGHES . I am a labourer in these brickfields, and went to work about 6 a.m. on 24th October—at 8 o'clock I went to the lobby to breakfast—there were two or three there, and in a few minutes Collins came in—young George Marskel and old Marlow were there, and young Marlow came in afterwards—Collins went out for three or four minutes, and then returned and put his bottle to his mouth—I don't know whether he drank or not—directly he took it from his mouth he said his tea tasted funny, and asked old Marlow to taste it—Marlow did so and spat it out, and said it tasted funny, and handed it to Marskel, who drank half a quartern, and he said it tasted like alum—he handed it to Swanney, who tasted it, said it was funny, and handed it to Sheppard, who poured some out in his hands, and I saw it was of a greenish colour, and Collins started halloaing "Poor spite, Dabber has poisoned me; take me somewhere"—I said, "We had better go to the master's house," and I took him there—I did not see Marlow hand his can to Collins to rinse his mouth out—at Mr. Bird's house they gave him some salt and water and a glass of mustard and water—he soon after went in a cart to the hospital with Ball—Collins looked rather funny before he took the tea—he kept looking round at us—he did not seem ill.
Cross-examined. I dare say it is about 250 yards from where Collins took the tea to Mr. Bird's house—he walked as fast as he could—he was not sick on the road, nor did he vomit.
Re-examined. Marskel said he was sick—Collins was not sick outside Mr. Bird's house, or at any time in my presence.
JOHN MARLOW, SENIOR . I am the old moulder, and have a son in the brick-field—I went to breakfast in the lobby at about 8 a.m on 24th October—I saw Collins put his bottle to his mouth—I can't say whether he drank; he went through the swallow—I did not hear him say how it tasted, but he said "Poor spite, Dabber has done it"—I have a cold on me sometimes, and am rather thick of hearing—he handed the bottle to me, and said "Taste it"—I did so, and it tasted as much like lucifer matches as I know—I could not get the taste out of my mouth till night—I gargled my mouth out with some tea, and wiped my mouth with my handkerchief—I handed the bottle to young Marskel—I offered my bottle to Collins to gargle his
mouth out, but he would not take it—William Sheppard poured some of the tea in his hand; I did not see what it was like—I saw Collins and Hughes go towards Mr. Bird's.
Cross-examined. I took very little in my mouth, and spat it out as quick I could—I could not get rid of the taste till I had an onion at night with some cold meat.
GEORGE MARSKEL . My father and I work in these brickfields—I saw Collins take up his can, and after he had drunk he said he was poisoned—that was all I heard—he handed his bottle to Marlow, who tasted the tea, spat it out, handed it to me, and I swallowed about half-a-quartern—it tasted like alum—it was very nasty—I handed it to the others, and Sheppard poured some out in his hand—it was of a greenish colour—Collins went out with Hughes to go to Mr. Bird's—the tea made me sick three times that day, once about half an hour after breakfast in the field; again about half an hour after that, and after dinner—I saw Marlow offer his bottle to Collins, but I cannot say whether he took it or not—Hughes went with Collins to Mr. Bird's.
Cross-examined. I was sick three times, and once when I got home at night—I never saw Collins sick—Collins was in the lobby before I was—from that time till Hughes took him to Mr. Bird's he did not leave the lobby.
Re-examined. William Marskel, my cousin, is employed in the field—there are James, George, William, and Edward Marskel there.
HENRY OVENDEN . I was coming up from breakfast at about 8.30 on 24th October, when I found a little gin bottle like this, 17 yards from where I was told Collins hung up his food and bottle that morning—he usually hung it up in the lobby—I did not see it hanging up that morning—the little bottle had a cork in it—I gave it to a boy, Hackwood, who tried to get the cork out, when half broke off, and he shoved the other in—it looked more of a greenish colour than now—I had passed the same spot about 8 o'clock, and the bottle was not there then—I heard of Collins going to Mr. Bird's and I then pointed out this bottle—Marskel told me to put it back in the same spot, as it might be wanted.
Cross-examined. I remember a few days before this Collins saying if Dabber did not mind, before he was another week older he would make it hot for him—James Marskel, junior, was present—I told the men of it on the Tuesday or Wednesday before the Thursday that Collins used the threats—I breakfasted in Dan Elliott's lobby—when I passed down the hack the bottle was not there—when I went out of the lobby, between the time I passed down and up the hack, I saw Collins standing on about the spot where I picked up the bottle.
Re-examined. We were at work in Toby Hack, shovelling up. sand, when Collins used that threat, and he came down to see the cart—James Marskel is bigger than me—I am 18—one of us, I think Marskel, had said, "It wants a man like Dabber to pick up the brick-bats; he takes all the tops with the bottoms of the bricks;" and then Collins used the threat—Collins went away then—it was after breakfast—I cannot say whether I had had my dinner.
with this bottle in his hands—I told him to pat it back and he did so—Collins was standing a few yards off—I went away a little time and then went back and told Collins I had come back to take charge of the bottle, as I thought it might be wanted—he said "Do, Bill; I would if I were you, it may be wanted;" and I took it and gave it to Mr. Henry Bird in the yard—it is my duty to go round to see the men at work—I went my first round between 6 and 6.30, and saw the prisoner at work near the kilnman's lobby, and at the other kiln about 7.30—I did not see Collins's can hanging up—the spot where it was hanging was pointed out to me—when the boy put the bottle back that was found, it was about 12 yards from where Collins's bottle had been hanging.
Cross-examined. I did not smell the bottle the boy picked up—I went to Saint's house after he was in custody, and the landlord gave me a bottle of iodine.
Re-examined. It was on 24th that the hack was pointed out to me where Collins had hung his bottle—I was not in the lobby when Collins had his breakfast—my reason for the bottle being put back was that I thought some one would be sure to come and look for it—I had not seen Ovenden previously to his showing me the bottle—young Marskel and young Marlow told me of the affair.
JAMES MARSKEL . I am 17 and work in this field with my father—on the morning in question I saw Collins under the caps at 7.50—Marlow and Dabber were there—Dabber was loading a cart on the top of the kiln—Collins started dancing and said "Did you ever see a woodenlegged man dance?"—Case was in sight—Collins then swore and said to Marlow and me "There is old Dabber at my tea-bottle"—I looked and saw Dabber under the hack-cap—we walked towards the hack-cap—Dabber was unfastening his basket; he took his jacket down, threw it over his shoulder, and walked across the hacks to breakfast—the basket was hanging about 4 feet from where I afterwards saw Collins's bottle—on the Monday previous to this I was at work with Ovenden shovelling up sand on Mr. Toby's hacks about dinner time, and Collins said he would make it as hot as he could for Dabber before he was a week older if he didn't mind—something had been said about the sand being kept up clean from the bottom, and Ovenden said it wanted a man like Dabber because he made them pick up the sand from the bottom of the kiln—I never told anybody what I heard.
Cross-examined. I was not examined before the Magistrate—I was called; Mr. Paget asked me what I knew about that bottle; I said "Nothing," and I was told to step out of the box—when Collins said "There is Dabber at my bottle," I looked up at once, but did not see any bottle in Dabber's hand—he had his own basket, which he was in the act of unfastening from the hack—it was not Collins's habit to hang his bottle under the hack-cap, but in the lobby behind the door, where he used to have a nail for his waterproof jacket—Saint's basket was hanging at the end of the cap, on the end cross-piece, and Collins's bottle was on the middle cross-piece—when Saint took down his basket he went across the hack to Dan Elliott's lobby to breakfast—from the time Collins put his bottle to his mouth to the time he went out with Hughes he did not go out of the lobby—he was not sick.
Re-examined. I did not hear Collins say "It is poor spite, Dabber has
done it," or anything about Dabber—I should not like to swear he did not—one of the boys said "It is poison," and Collins began crying—he might have said something about Dabber without my hearing it—I did not hear any one in the lobby say "Keep quiet, you boys."
By the JURY. When the prisoner went out with his basket, he was not obliged to pass by the centre cross-piece where Collins's basket was hanging—Collins said on taking his bottle down "Here is where I hung my bottle, on this peg, and Dabber has hung it on the cross-piece "—that was a peg to hold the cap up—the two cross-pieces are about 4 feet apart.
By MR. WILLIAMS. After Dabber took his basket down from the crosspiece near the end of the hack, he went straight out from that end of the hack—from the time Collins said "There is Dabber at my bottle," Saint did not pass towards the centre where Collins's bottle was hanging.
GEORGE MARLOW, JUN . I am in Mr. Bird's employ—I saw Collins under the cap shortly before 8 am on 24th October—James Marskel was there—I did not see Collins's can—I saw Saint's breakfast under another cap in the same hack—Collins said "Did you ever see a woodenlegged man dance?"—we said "No," and he started dancing to us, and he called our attention and said "There is Saint at my tea can"—I looked and saw Saint under the cap where the bottle was, with his clothes on to go to breakfast, with his basket on his shoulder, and he went along to breakfast—the two caps, I dare say, are 12 or 14 feet apart—I went to breakfast in the same hack with Collins, but don't know what took place—I heard Collins halloa out, and I saw him go to the farm with Hughes—I did not say anything about the can—I did not hear one of the men say "You boys had better hold your tongues," or anything of that sort.
Cross-examined. When I looked up on Collins saying that Dabber was at his bottle, I did not see Collins's bottle in his hand.
AUGUSTUS HENRY BIRD . I am manager of these fields for Mr. Augustus Bird—I am called Henry Bird on the works—on 24th October this small bottle was handed to me by William Marskel, in the yard adjoining the office—I gave it to Harry Terry, a clerk—it was afterwards given to my father, who took it to the hospital.
Cross-examined. Saint has been in our employ 15 years, and is what is termed head kilnman—he has always borne a good character, and my father is bail for him—he is still with us—before Collins came to us he was in the employ of the District Board of Works, Fulham—I mentioned to Saint that I thought of taking Collins, and thought he would be a good man for our business; he said he thought so too—some complaints were made about taking away a greater number of bricks than ought to have been taken out of the yard, and I inquired into it and was quite satisfied with Saint's honesty in the matter—he is usually a very quiet man—when Collins took out summonses against Saint and Davis, I told him he should have complained to me first—he had made no complaint before—it is not true that I said I would not allow any of the men to go to the police-court—my father does not attend much to the business—it is an extensive property—Saint lives in the neighbourhood of the field across the line, and has been constantly at work for the last three or four years—I have a number of my men here to-day.
Re-examined. I do not remember any complaint about bricks in July—I was not out of town—my men have no authority to take bricks without a
ticket—I remember Collins complaining to me that Saint had done so, or had received money from the carman on condition of allowing him to take out a load of bricks-—that was not in July, but when he told me about the summonses, I think—it would have been irregular if it occurred—it is our custom to sell burrs to customers—they are old bricks for garden purposes—it is the practice for customers to give the workmen 1s. to induce them to pick out good ones—Collins told Harry Terry of that—I had not told Collins it was allowed, I thought he would know that—I do not know his antecedents—I think I complained that the summonses would take my men from their work—he told me the men had threatened him—I said he should have told me—I did not want to bring my field into public notoriety—he gave as a reason for not telling me, that I had on a former occasion said I did not want to hear the tattle of the field—that was in July, I think, when the kilnman complained and asked who was to be foreman in the field; the foreman told me about it, and we called Collins up and asked him what he was doing, interfering with the men in their work, and I told him he was merely to stick to what he was told to do—I offered then to have one of the kilnmen to say what he did say, and he would not have him.
DR. JOHN MORTIMER . On 24th October I was house surgeon at the West London Hospital, and was on duty when Ball brought Collins there, whom I first saw in the casualty room a few minutes after his arrival—he was lying on the sofa, and complained of being poisoned—I examined him thoroughly, and found a slight trace of froth on his moustache, saliva; I really could find no symptoms at all—I tried his respiration and powers of walking, and he did not vomit—there was nothing abnormal—he complained of certain symptoms—I admitted him into the 'hospital, and put him to bed—I gave him no medicine—the first two days I gave him liquid food-r—I gave him no emetics—he remained in the hospital, I think, from the 24th to the 29th—he then left at my suggestion—he was not in bed all that time—I saw him once about a week after—he came to me amongst the out-patients—he Was to return if symptoms of his poisoning should come on—when he came the week after, in consequence of the cold weather affecting his stump, I bandaged it with cotton wool—he does not come to me now—I am house physician now—soon after he came to the hospital I received this tin bottle—I poured some of the contents into a glass; I could hardly recollect the odour of it at the moment, but I say now it was a decided odour of phosphorus—I kept it under lock and key until it was given to Mr. Davis, the analyst—on the same day I opened this glass bottle which I received from Mr. Bird, of which I made a very slight examination; I found there was phosphorus in it—at the Hammersmith Police-court I also received this packet of powder, on which is written, "Hunter's Dewsbury Vermin Destroyer, poison"—I made no examination of it; I handed it to Mr. Davis—I saw nothing given to Collins but what was given by my order, namely, warm water and milk, which is an emetic and a dilutant.
Cross-examined. The odour from the bottle was exceedingly offensive—I smelt the man's breath, but there was no smell of sulphur—if a man had drunk three or four mouthfuls of the liquid within an hour or two of that time, I should expect to smell it—he had the milk after I saw him and after I had smelt his breath—we get a lot of poison cases—I found no symptoms of poisoning by strychnine—acetate of lead would be sold at a chemist's without an order, it not being included in the schedule to the Poisons Act—
it is commonly called "sugar of lead"—it would be a poison in a very large dose—large doses are given medically—phosphorus is a poison, but not under all circumstances—it is given medically—I walked him about, and observed no rigidity of the limbs—there were no symptoms of his being doubled up—my treatment was more expectant than negative, but my expectations were disappointed—acetate of lead would be used in the preparation of Goulard water, which is commonly used when the skin is rubbed or chafed.
Re-examined. I saw no symptoms consistent with his having taken an irritant poison—as to the absence of symptoms being consistent, it would depend if vomiting had taken place and the dose of the poison—profuse vomiting would decrease the smell there might be, undoubtedly—Goulard water is a lotion—it would be a matter of difficulty for a person unacquainted with chemistry to extract the powder from it—the saliva I saw, I suppose, would be consistent if he had been drinking a great deal of salt-and-water.
GEORGE BALL . I work in the fields—I took Collins to the hospital in a cart from Mr. Bird's—I helped lift him in—he did not want much helping—I was not there when he had the salt and mustard and water—Charles Case drove—he tried to go into a little bit of a fit—he made a bit of a struggle in the cart—he was not at all sick—I was with him when the doctor saw him—I took the can with me, and gave it to the porter at the hospital.
Cross-examined. Collins was in my sight during the whole time from Mr., Bird's to the hospital—he had no milk before the doctor saw him. Re-examined. He did not wait two minutes before the doctor came.
DAVID WOOLFORD (Detective X). I went to the hospital on 24th October, and saw Collins, who made a statement to me—I afterwards went to the prisoner's house; he was not in, and I left a message—after I had been a second time, I went to the police-station and found the prisoner there—I told him he must consider himself in custody for attempting to poison James Collins by putting poison into his tea-bottle whilst at work in Mr. Bird's brickfield—he said, "I know nothing about it, and he is a wicked man to say such a thing"—I took him out of the dock after he was charged and searched him, and found in his right-hand waistcoat pocket a packet containing some powder; it had a label on—I should say this is it—I held it up in this way, and said, "Do you see this?"—he says, "What is it?"—I said, "It is a paper marked 'Poison'"—he says, "Oh, that is nothing; that is what I bought at a shop near the Black Bull"—the packet was afterwards given to Mr. Davis, the analyst, at the police-court.
Cross-examined. I simply said "A paper marked poison," and then he said "Oh, that is nothing; that is what I bought at a shop near the Black Bull"—I saw no iodine found in his room—I have made inquiries in the neighbourhood of the Black Bull public-house, but have not traced the purchase of any powder of that sort.
JAMES DOUBAVAND . I live at Westgate, Dewsbury, Yorkshire, and am manager to the late Mr. James Hunter, wholesale druggist, of Dewsbury—I am the manufacturer of Hunter's Infallible Vermin Destroyer—we sell it
in 2d., 3d., 6d, and 1s. packets—the principal ingredient in the 2d. packets is strychnine, to which the effect of the powder is due—there is about one grain of strychnine in a 2d. packet—the whole packet represents about 10 grains, it being made up of starch and other harmless matters to attract the vermin—in a 3d. packet there would be about one and a half grains of strychnine and 15 grains of powder—in a 6d. packet there would be about 68 grains altogether; seven grains of strychnine—I cannot say from this paper whether it was a 2d., 3d., or 6d. packet—there is no acetate of lead employed in it.
Cross-examined, We sell it in large quantities to wholesale dealers only—there is no phosphorus in it.
ROBERT HIGGINS DAVIS . I am public analyst for the Fulham district—I received this tin can from Dr. Mortimer, and subsequently the flat glass bottle and this paper packet—I analysed the contents of the tin can, namely, 28 1/2 fluid ounces of tea—I found phosphorus—I did not estimate the quantity, and acetate of lead to the extent of 147 grains—I afterwards made an examination, and found the quantity of free phosphorus to be 8.19 grains—on a subsequent examination I found strychnine, which you cannot find unless you specially analyse for it—on the first occasion I was not looking for it—the tea had been so far used by that time that I could not by analysis estimate the quantity, but I had reason to suppose that the powder, the remains of which I found in this packet, was identical with the powder in the tea, and if that were the case there would be about half a grain of strychnine in the whole quantity of tea—I examined the glass bottle, and found phosphorus and acetate of lead—I afterwards found extremely minute traces of strychnine—the inside of the bottle was coated to a greater extent than now—it had contained fluid which must have contained those elements—I endeavoured to ascertain in what form the phosphorus was present, and I concluded it was in the form of match heads, not with the wood attached—that was a microscopic and analytical examination—in the powder I found 94.3 percent of acetate of lead and some starch and blue colouring matter—the blue would be ultramarine, and innocuous—in my first examination I found nothing noxious except the acetate of lead—I subsequently found strychnine—I cannot tell how much, as I had used almost all the powder in my preliminary examination—there was no phosphorus—acetate of lead in large quantities would be poisonous—phosphorus is very poisonous—it if taken as a medicine—in the tea there was probably enough poison to poison more than one person—the quantity of strychnine in it has produced death in only one recorded instance—that was not in what was left for me to examine, but arguing from another set of facts altogether.
Cross-examined. I did not look for strychnine till the prisoner was committed for trial, so that it was not mentioned at the police-court—I am told this case was postponed from last session in order to prefer a fresh indictment because strychnine was found—strychnine would produce contraction of the body—I believe the phosphorus in the tin can to be the same as in the bottle.
MR. BIRD gave the prisoner a good character.
NOT GUILTY . There was a farther indictment against the prisoner for unlawfully administering poison , on which the Prosecution offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY ,
MR. MEAD, for the Prosecution, offered no evidence. NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. RAVEN Prosecuted; and MR. HORACE AVORY Defended. HENRY NETTLETON. I am a driver in the Royal Artillery, Woolwich—on Saturday, 16th November, about 8 p.m. I saw the prisoner in a public-house in Woolwich; we had some beer, and I asked her to take me home with her—she took me to her house in Punch Bowl Alley about 10 o'clock, where I remained with her about 10 minutes, for which I paid her 1s. 6d.; we then went back to the public-house, where we stopped* half an hour, and I paid for a drink of ale—I had then in my purse in my jacket pocket better than 3l.—there were four half-sovereigns, and the rest in silver, but I did not take my purse out the second time I went to the public-house—I paid with money from my trousers pocket—I then said I would stop the night with her, and we got back to her house* about 10.30—after we had been there a short time I gave her 1s. from my trousers pocket to fetch some rum, and while she was away I took the rest of my money out of my trousers pocket, put it into my purse, and counted it—there were four half-sovereigns and the rest in silver and 4d. in coppers—I took my jacket off while she was away and put it loose on a chair—we got into bed and stopped there half an hour or an hour, when she said she would go out and fetch some shandy gaff—I was undressed—I asked her if she wanted the money, she said "No," she had got some, and she got up, dressed herself, and as she went out she knocked my trousers down, and two or three coppers fell from them on to the floor—I was a little bit jealous at seeing the money fall out of my pocket, and got up after she had gone and looked in my jacket pocket, and my other money was not there—I got dressed to go out but found I was locked in—two men then opened the door, who swore at me, asked what I was doing there, and ordered me out of the house—they did nothing to me—they opened the door and drove me out—I could not find the prisoner and told Stewart and another policeman.
Cross-examined. The public-house is in Warwick Street—I had been out from barracks on leave all the evening—I had about three pints of beer with the prisoner—I did not take off my jacket the first time I went to her house—I said before the Magistrate "I said I would give her 4s. and 1s. for beer to stay there the night, and I did not go out to the Warwick after that," that is correct—I did not go to the Warwick after I went to her house to
stop the night—I did not go to stop the night the first time I went—when I went back to the Warwick I drank some shandy gaff—I never took my purse out in the public-house—having had the beer I did not drink the rum she brought to the house, I only just put my lips to it—I gave her the 1s. for it from my trousers pocket, and from my purse—up to that time I had not taken my purse out at all, not to give her anything out of it—I do not remember saying before the Magistrate "I had taken the purse out when in the house, and gave her 1s. to get some beer with," I said "rum;" I never gave her anything when she went for the beer—I do not remember much about it—there was no light in the room when she went out for the shandy gaff, it had been put out when we got into bed, but I lit it after she went out—I was quite sober, I had not been to sleep at all—I have not seen my purse or money since.
RICHARD STEWART (Policeman R 377). About 11.30 on this Saturday night Nettleton spoke to me—I went to the prisoner's house and said to her "I shall take you into custody on suspicion of robbing an Artilleryman"—she said "I have not had any Artilleryman home with me to-night"—on the way to the station she said "I took two Artillerymen home, and I had 11s. 2d., one gave me 4s."—she said that without my saying anything to her.
Cross-examined I told her that there was 3l. in the purse—when I went to her house it was locked—I apprehended her on the Sunday morning a little after 1—I said before the Magistrate that the prosecutor came and said that a woman he described had not returned with his money—I could not tell that he had had any drink at all.
The Prisoners Statement before the Magistrate. "As God is ray witness I do not know anything about it; I had 18d. from an Artilleryman and another 2s. from a gent who comes from across the water."
NOT GUILTY .
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
108. JOSEPH DE HANCEY (18) PLEADED GUILTY to burglariously breaking and entering the dwelling house of Edmund Barker, and stealing therein four coats and other articles his property.— Twelve Months' Imprisonment .
Before Mr. Common Serjeant,
109. MARY ANN MILLS (26), CHARLOTTE MILLS (60), and EMMA MILLS (24), PLEADED GUILTY to unlawfully endeavouring to conceal the birth of the child of Mary Ann Mills. MARY ANN and EMMA— Three Months' Imprisonment . CHARLOTTE—. Six Months' Imprisonment
111. And GEORGE CLARK (35) and THOMAS HILL (30) to burglariously breaking and entering the dwelling-house of William Martin Symons, and stealing therein a pair of boots and other articles, Clark having been convicted of a like offence in January, 1873. CLARK**— Eight Years': Penal Servitude . HILL— Twelve Months' Imprisonment , [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
114. GRIFFITH VAUGHAN (37) was again indicted for stealing two shirts, a pair of drawers, and other articles, the property of George Lloyd, his master; and THOMAS EADE (46) stealing two tablecovers, three ties, and other articles, the property of the said George Lloyd.
MR. DAVIS Prosecuted. GEORGE LLOYD. I carry on business at 5 and 7, Jamaica Road, Bermondsey—Vaughan entered my employ as an assistant on 9th September, and remained eight days—I missed over 100l. worth of things—Lloyd gave me certain information, and I gave information at the police-station.
Cross-examined by Vaughan. From the information I received, you stole a quantity of shirts and ribbons, and took them up to a receiver at Islington.
EDWARD LLOYD . I live at 4, Great Earl Street, and was in the prosecutor's employ at the same time as Vaughan, and had been there before—on a Thursday, when Vaughan first came, we were dressing the window, and he asked me if I knew the way to make sixpence—I said "I dare say we can do so," and after the window was dressed, we went behind the counter and Vaughan made sixpence, and gave me half of it; and in the evening we took some articles up to my lodging, and sold them to Bishop, a watchmaker, of Liverpool Road, on the Sunday for 15&, and we had 7s. 6d. each—another young man in Mr. Lloyd's employ took 10 or a dozen pair of kid gloves, and 18 yards of ribbon—Vaughan sold them—we also took four yards of flannel—after Vaughan left he took me to Eade's place, in Pleasant Row, and sold him a cover and four pawntickets—the longcloth Benham and I took the night after—I don't know where he is—he has bolted—we arranged to meet Eade, when we sold the tablecover and pawntickets to him, at a public-house the next night, and he came, and we sold him the 40 yards at three-pence a yard—we sell it at 5 3/4d.—he knew where we worked—a few nights we had 10 or a dozen pair of gloves, which we sold to Eade for 2s. 6d.—Vaughan was outside when the longcloth was sold—we gave him one shilling—we also took him one of master's tablecloths for 1s. 6d.—Eade said it did not matter what we brought, he would buy it—we then took him a piece of ribbon, and 10 or a dozen pairs of kid gloves, and sold them for 12s. 6d., and Benham and I sold him three ties one night—Vaughan was not there then—we sold him a great many other articles.
Cross-examined by Eade. I told you on the Sunday we were employed by Mr. Lloyd at Bermondsey—you refused to buy some alpaca that was wound round my body because you could not pay, or else you could have had it.
AMBROSE EDGER (Policeman M 305). On the evening of the 12th, McQueen and I went to Eade's house, and found him in the back room—I asked him if his name was Eade—he said "Yes"—I told him I was going to take him in custody for being concerned with others in stealing drapery from Mr. Lloyd's at various times—he said "I know nothing about it"—I told him Vaughan was in custody for stealing various kinds of drapery
from Mr. Lloyd in Jamaica Road; and he said "I don't know Vaughan, and I don't know Lloyd. I don't know the Jamaica Road. Where is it?"—McQueen searched the house, and found some mustard and other articles.
The COURT considered that there was no case against the prisoners, and that Edward Lloyd ought to be in the dock. NOT GUILTY .
115. WILLIAM STAGEMAN (22) PLEADED GUILTY to stealing a cask, 14 gallons of sherry, one dozen claret, and a truss containing five pieces of cloth, received by him on account of the London, Brighton, and South Coast Railway, his masters; also to stealing one tub and 941b. of butter, received by him on account of his said masters.— Fifteen Months' Imprisonment .
MESSRS. OPPENHEIM and MOSELEY Prosecuted; MR. STRAIGHT Defended. CHARLES CHAPMAN. I am a butterman in the employ of the London, Brighton, and South-Coast Railway, Willow Walk Goods Depot—Stageman was in their employ—I delivered the butter to him, and it was his duty to deliver it to the consignees—on 4th November there was a consignment of 60 tubs and 72 crocks of butter for Dixon, Carter, and Co., of Whitechapel—I saw them laid on the prisoner's van—there were 40 firkins of butter marked "Finneau et Fils," which it was not Stageman's duty to deal with in any way, and I did not put them on his van—about an hour and a half after Stageman left the place I missed one of these firkins—this is it, and this is one of the tubs put on the van.
JOHN CRONIN . I am a vanguard in the service of the Brighton Railway Company—I had been in the habit of going out in the van driven by Stageman about two months before 4th November—I went with Stageman in the van after it was loaded with the tubs and crocks of butter—we went to 3, Collingwood Street, Shoreditch, about 10 o'clock, when Stageman told me to hand down this tub and a firkin of butter, which he left at 3, Collingwood Street, and went across the road with a man—when we got to Dixon and Co. 's Stageman was either unwell or tipsy, and there was a noise—I saw the van unloaded, and the tubs delivered to Dixon and Co.—there were 59 tubs and 72 crocks.
JOHN WILLIAM INKERSOLE . I am a carman in the service of the company—I was sent for on 4th November to Dixon and Carter's premises to take Stageman's van after an accident—I went to the yard and found the van covered with a sheet, and I drawed the van round to unload it—there were 59 tubs and 71 crocks—one they had taken off.
JAMES WALSH (Police Sergeant M). On 4th November, in consequence of information I received, I went with Sergeant Harvey to Collingwood Street, Shoreditch, at about 1 o'clock—it is a very low street—nothing in it hut costermongers and haddock-driers, and a lot of barrows in front of the doors—a girl of 12 or 14, standing at public-house corner, halloaed out "Coppers!" and ran as hard as she could—I said to Harvey "We must run"—she ran into 3, Collingwood Street—I ran upstairs and Harvey after me; I shoved in the door and went in and saw Hill and another man; I saw
there this firkin and tub of butter beside Hill—the tub had been opened and the lid was loose on the top of it—I said "We are two police sergeants What about this butter?"—as soon as I said that I was hit by the other man and by Hill and drove through a picture, and the other man jumped out at the window and Hill ran to the stairs—I ran after him and a dog had hold of me behind—I believe the dog was under the bed—Harvey, who wag on the top of the stairs, had hold of Hill, and I had him behind by the coat—we had to throw him down, he struggled very hard—up to then neither of them had said a word—Hill then said "I am a respectable man; I live at 25, Hackney Road;" that was after asking him two or three times where he lived—I said "It does not look like a respectable man to be here buying butter;" and he said "I have bought rough stuff of him before, and I believe him to be a respectable man"—I searched him and found a cheese or a butter scoop which had a sign of grease on it—I searched the house and found some rolls of cloth (produced) loose on the bed, and this roll of cloth was in a box under—we have tried to find Tracey, who jumped out at the window, but cannot—I went that evening to 25, Hackney Road, a grocer's and cheesemonger's shop—Harvey went with me—I found a lot of chests of tea, the greater part of them opened, and 11b., 21b., or 31b. of tea taken out of them—some were were half empty—there was some tea in boxes like meat boxes or soap boxes—I saw a bag there with tea in it and bags of sugar and loaves of sugar, and butter tubs without any heads—on the 6th Inspector Fox and I went there and he searched the place.
Cross-examined. It was only one flight of stairs that I ran up—it might be 10 or 15—you must stand on the stairs to shove in the door, there being no landing—Hill had not to pass me to get to the door—Harvey was on the stairs—there was only room for a chair and table between the bed and the fire—I had to run about three times the length of the Court between the public-house at the corner and 3, Collingwood Street—I was in the passage as soon as the girl.
GEORGE HARVEY (Police Sergeant M). I was with Walsh when we found Hill and Tracey and the tub and firkin of butter which were behind us—Tracey escaped out at the nearest window; Walsh was pushed into a large picture that hung on the wall—Tracey has not since been head of—Hill tried to get away and I caught him on the stairs—we threw him down—the dog had hold of Walsh at the time—Hill said "I am a respectable man and keep a shop in the Hackney Road"—I said "You tried hard to get away, anyhow"—he said "When I saw how things were going I did; that man who got away brought me here to buy some butter; I have bought rough stuff of him before, and I believe him to be a respectable man"—it was Tracey's room—there are four rooms I believe there, all occupied by different families—he was a lodger—I held him down while Walsh got another policeman—Walsh said "It does not look like a respectable man, coming here to buy butter."
MATTHEW Fox (Police Inspector M). I went to 25, Hackney Road on 6th November with an inspector of the H Division and Sergeants Walsh and Harvey—it was a provision shop with a store or wareroom at the back—I saw tea, sugar, bacon, butter, eggs, and cheese—the place was crowded with goods—I found such butter as would come out of this tub and that firkin without any cover—there was tea in what I should call a soap box—there was very large amount of tea, and lard was scattered about without being in
any cover—there was some sugar in corn sacks all heaped away as I never saw it before—they were rough goods—the store was as full as it could hold—I was present at the first hearing at the police-court on 5th November—on the third hearing Hill called a number of witnesses who gave evidence as to the shop—he was committed and admitted to bail on 21ST November—on the 22nd I again visited his place and did not find a third of the goods that were there before.
He received a good character. NOT GUILTY .
He then withdrew his plea of NOT GUILTY to an indictment for assaulting the police, and PLEADED GUILTY to a common assault.— Fined 10 l.
Before Baron Huddleston.
MESSRS. BULLEN and TICKELL Prosecuted;MR. HORACE AVORY Defended.
ROBERT SHANNON (Policeman M 83). About 12.30 in the morning, 16th August, I was on duty in Lower Bland Street, Borough, near the Royal Oak public-house, kept by the prisoner—I heard a cry of fire—I went to the house, and saw him with his head and part of his body out of the first-floor window, which is about 10 feet from the ground—he said "I have got a fire in my place"—after saying that he jumped out, and I caught him—he was fully dressed with his coat on his arm—he had on his collar and tie, hat, boots, and everything—I asked him if there was any one in the house—he said "No, no one, my wife and children are in the country"—I sprang my rattle, and some other constables came up—I then tried to force the front door open—the prisoner said "It is almost an impossibility to force it in, as there is a strong bolt inside"—Constable Lane got in through another door, and then opened the front door, and I went in—I saw there had been a fire.
Cross-examined. When I first saw the prisoner he was fully dressed, and he had his hat on—I am certain of that—I did not hear him say "For God's sake help me, my house is on fire"—I told him to jump and I should catch him—he appeared afraid to jump—I did not examine the front door afterwards.
WILLIAM LANE (Police Constable M R.26). About 12.30 in the morning of 16th August I heard a call of fire—I went to the Royal Oak beerhouse—I saw the last witness there—I went round throught the next house, and got into the beerhouse by the back door—it is a one-story house and a ground floor—I forced my way into the bar parlour—I there found afire in a cupboard underneath the staircase leading to the first floor—the stairs form the top of the cupboard—the cupboard door was partly open, and there was very intense smoke and heat—there was some wood and papers and rubbish on fire in the cupboard—I did not minutely examine the contents—before I got to the cupboard door I threw several pails of water to cool the place, and I was then able to enter—from the top of the fire to the stairs I should say was about four feet—the stairs were charred—after I extinguished that fire some one called out "There is another fire"—I then tried to open the door leading to the bar—it is a door half glass and half wood, between the bar parlour and the bar—I opened the door after a little difficulty—I could not swear that it was bolted, but my opinion is that there was a latch or catch on it—I had to pass my hand up and down to find the fastening, as it was dark—underneath the
counter in the bar I found a second fire of newspapers and other little things on the top of a small barrel, about 18 inches high—it was alight and blazing—the fire was very close to the counter—I did not notice whether the counter Was burnt—after I extinguished the fire the firemen arrived—there was no connection whatever between the two fires—they were about six or seven feet apart, and the door was between them—the door was very much scorched and blistered on the side near the counter—I did not notice much the other side.
Cross-examined, I did not examine the door—I saw that it was very much scorched on the bar side, the other side not so much—when I first went in I could see nothing on account of the smoke—I could not tell where the fire was until I had thrown several pails of water into the cupboard—I then saw that the rubbish appeared to be piled up in a heap—I saw some small pieces of coal and wood there—it appeared to be a coal hole—I did not open the front door after getting in—I do not know who did—I was off duty in plain clothes—I do not think there was anything but paper on the barrel, but I did not examine that minutely.
ROBERT WOOD (Fireman 182). I am stationed at the Southwark Firestation—about 12.30 on this morning I went to the Royal Oak beerhouse—I got there about 12.40; I was passed through the adjoining house—I saw a fire in the cupboard underneath the staircase in the bar-parlour—there was a quantity of rubbish that had been alight; water had been thrown on it, but there were still some lighted embers, and I put some more water to it—I did not see what the rubbish consisted of; the underneath part of the staircase was charred for about three or four feet, so that the fire might have been actually flaring—I saw another fire in the bar; there was a cask under the counter, and a quantity of paper on it had been burnt; some part of the counter had been burnt, and was alight then; the partition itself had been burnt—there was no flame when I got there; there was no connection between the two fires; they must have been started separately—I saw the prisoner there; I was about to go upstairs, and he said he was the landlord and there was no one in the house; his wife and family were away; he did not say where—the distance between the two fires was quite 6 feet; the door between the bar and the parlour was not burnt on both sides nor scorched; the bar side was scorched, the other side was not scorched at all—the door was about four or five feet from the cupboard—the stairs were charred; they were not on fire when I got there, only some little matters at the bottom of the cupboard—what I saw on the barrel was paper and pipe lights that had been on fire—I could not say whether the newspapers were folded flat; everything was burnt that had been there—water had been thrown upon the papers, and a quantity of it displaced; there were some on the floor and some on the cask—the pipe lights were on the floor.
GEORGE DACK . I am superintendent of the Fire Brigade at. the Old Kent Road station—I have been a fireman 22 years—I arrived at the fire at 12.54, and found the escape and the escape-man there—when I went in I first found the fire in the cupboard; there was a little fire left there still; I ordered our men to get a bucket of water and put it out—I saw there had been a great many things burnt, although I could not tell exactly what they were—I did not turn them over minutely as I had to get the particulars of the fire, and I left that for the men—I saw that the staircase was charred and the inside of the cupboard was charred—I afterwards went into the bar, and found there
had been another fire under the counter on the barrel; it appeared to me as if paper had been placed on the barrel; the top of the barrel was between two or three feet from the counter, nearer two than three; the under part of the counter was very much charred, very nearly burnt through—the inside of the door towards the counter was also charred; the other side was not charred, there might have been a blister on it; I think there was, but it would almost have taken a magnifying glass to have found it—there was no connection whatever between the two fires; they were two distinct fires, and as such I reported—I saw the prisoner there, and asked him if he could account for the fire—he said "No," he could not—I asked if he were insured—he said he was insured once—1 asked him what office—he said he did not know just then, he could not recollect—I drew his attention to there being two distinct fires, and asked him if he could give me any account of them at all—he said he could not—I asked him who was in the house besides himself—he said "No one"—I said, "Then you must have been the last down in the parlour or the bar"—he said "Yes"—I asked if he had a candle when he put out the gas—he said "No"—I should think the two fires had been burning 20 minutes or from that to half an hour.
Cross-examined. I went in at the front door; it had been opened by somebody—I did not examine it—the papers on the barrel were newspapers—I did not notice any pipe-lights on the floor—the prisoner did not say that he had a candle and that he might have dropped a light—I am quite sure of that—I went up into the bedroom; I did not examine it—I merely looked round to see if there had been any fire there, and I saw that there had not and came down again—I did not see a candle in the bedroom—I did not look for one—the bed appeared as if someone had been in it—I looked to see if the bedclothes had been disturbed—it appeared to me that someone had been under the clothes—he was in front of the bar when I had this conversation with him.
MATTHEW FOX (Police Inspector). At 9 o'clock on the morning of the 16th August I went to the Royal Oak beerhouse; I examined the materials in the cupboard, they consisted of a heap in the centre of the cupboard; there were two brass candlesticks that had grease or tallow on them; on the top I found a small spirit-lamp with the top screwed off, some bundles of firewood, pieces of wicker-work basket, straw wrappers for bottles, rags, paper and wood heaped together apparently burnt, and in the centre a bottle containing some spirits-of-turpentine—I did not examine the bottle at that time, it was brought away by Sergeant Kimber, and I found that it did contain spirits-of-turpentine; all these things were heaped up together, and there was no other inflammable material in any other part of the cupboard—it looked as if these inflammable matters had been burnt together for the purpose of creating a flame; in the bar I found newspapers only had been burning on the top of the cask—I have a sample of them here, there were no pipelights or anything else near—I should say the distance between the two fires was about four yards, there was not the slightest connection between them—I went up into the front bedroom, and found a bed and bedstead, a table and a chest of drawers quite empty, and two cupboards empty, with the exception of two old pieces of crockery in-one—in the second room I found children's beds and another empty cupboard, and a large box empty.
Cross-examined. Before the Magistrate I said I would not give 5l. for the furniture in the house—I altered my opinion in consequence of what I
heard from somebody else as to the value of the furniture—there was burnt grease on the candlesticks in the cupboard—there was no spirit in the spiritlamp, if there had been any in it was all burnt, it burns very quickly; it was an old lamp, it is here—the wicker-work I found was broken in pieces and partly burnt nearly to ashes—there was no coal, there was the remains of coal-dust at the bottom of the cupboard—it had been used for coal—there were a lot of old bottles in the cupboard, but not near the fire—there was about a wineglass of turpentine in the bottle, the bottle was not broken, it was amongst the debris lying down, not corked, the other bottles were all empty—the newspapers in the bar were folded flat on the top of each other, there was a large pile—there were some pipelights on the shelf in one or two bundles—I saw none on the floor—the witness who spoke to finding some examined the place at 1 o'clock—I did not until between 9 and 10 in the morning—I examined the bed, it had no appearance of having been slept in when I saw it—I did not examine the front door—I cannot say whether there was a bolt on it or not.
SARAH BARLING . I live two doors from this beerhouse, I have been in the habit of going there to work for the prisoner's wife, I was frequently in the upstairs rooms; the cupboards were not empty, one contained crockery, and the other small parcels and boxes; I don't know the contents; I have observed the chests of drawers, they were usually full—on Friday morning, the 9th, Mrs. Whitham went away in a four wheeled cab; I saw two boxes put on the top of the cab, some small parcels inside, with Mrs. Whitham and the two children.
Cross-examined. The cupboards I speak of were in the joint room, which was occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Whitham—I went there to clean—the articles in the chest of drawers were clothing of Mrs. Whitham's and the children, and household linen; there were three children, and a family by the first wife—she went away with two children only, the other child had been away for some time, being minded in the country; she was going down to Norwich to fetch him—the prisoner has two sons, I know; one of them, Walter, is a barman—the box that was put on the cab was an ordinary box, not one that would hold chairs and tables; it was a box to carry clothing in, there were two boxes in the cab, the packages inside were small, the ordinary kind that ladies travel with—I heard the cry of fire on the night in question, I looked out of my window and saw the prisoner leaning out of his window, crying, "Fire, for God's sake help me, my house is on fire"—I saw the constable Shannon run across the street—the prisoner had no hat or coat on when he called out of the window, I particularly noticed him—I saw the policeman assisting him out, and a woman assisting him outside in the street—he had been an out-patient at the Victoria Hospital under Dr. Pocock, on account of his chest and a cough.
Re-examined. There was a small box put inside the cab as well as the two outside and other packages.
JAMBS COOPER , I am foreman of the Salvage Corps at 95, Southwark Bridge Road—I went to the house at the time of the fire—our corps remained in possession of the house, and it was left intact until the furniture was examined by Mr. Chadwick, the surveyor—there was no connection whatever between the two fires—I called the prisoner's attention to the suspicious nature of the fire—he said he could not account for the origin of it.
SPENCER CHADWICK . I am a member of the firm of Chadwick and Sons, of 17, Parliament Street—on 28th August, at the request of the insurance company, I made a valuation of the property on the premises of the Royal Oak beerhouse—I put it under three heads, as the policy was under three heads—the furniture I valued at 51l. 8s; the fixtures, 43l. 17s.; stock and utensils, 12l. 11s; total, 107l. 16s.—the fixtures would belong to the brewer—I put down the prices that would have to be paid to replace the goods with new ones; not the actual value of the goods then on the premises; they would not exceed 20l. the whole, exclusive of fixtures.
Cross-examined. I mean if sold at a forced sale, if sold by aucfion under a distress for rent—I did not make any valuation of the furniture at the time the insurance was effected.
GEORGE GREENHOUGH HUNT . I am a clerk in the Liverpool, London, and Globe Insurance Office, Cornhill—I produce a policy of insurance of the premises Royal Oak beerhouse, Bland Street, occupied by the prisoner, dated 30th November, 1877—it was issued by Mr. Trill, of Homerton—I drew it up and examined it—I did not see the prisoner about it.
RICHARD KIMBER (Police Sergeant M). I apprehended the prisoner on 22nd November at 74, Stanley Road, Poplar, which he was then occupying—I had held the warrant from 27th August, and had tried to find him—I had the hospital watched repeatedly—I told him he was charged with setting fire to his beer-house, the Royal Oak, Bland Street, in the Borough—he said, "I did not set fire to the house"—I found on him this receipt from the Liverpool, London, and Globe Insurance Company, dated 31st October, for 15s. premium on a policy for 300l.—I also found on him this pawn-ticket.
Cross-examined. It is in the name of Walter Whitham for something pawned at Norwich—before taking the prisoner I had traced his wife and son, and kept observation on them and followed them, and knowing that he was an out-patient of the hospital I kept observation there and made inquiry—I know now that he had been residing for three weeks at the house where I took him—he had only been to the hospital the week previous to my apprehending him—I have not said that he had been there from May 20th to November 20th.
GUILTY .— Ten Years' Penal Servitude .
MR. POLAND Prosecuted; and MR. ST. AUBYN Defended, at the request of the Court.
ELLEN SALES . I am an unfortunate woman, and live at 20, Marshall Street, London Road—I knew the deceased Mary Ann Gard by the name of Mary Ann Young; she and the prisoner lived together as man and wife—she was an unfortunate—they had been living together for some months at Dale Street—on Saturday night, the 16th November, I was at the Railway Bar public-house about half-past 9, and saw the deceased there with another female; she was drinking rum hot—I left there about a quarter to 10; at hat time she was sober—about half-past 11 I saw the prisoner and the deceased together outside the Railway Bar; they both seemed to be slightly a drink, but nothing to speak of—I heard her call him a very foul name, and he called her a "cow" and something before that which I did not hear—I walked on and left them there; he was then standing on the kerb, and she was in the road.
GEORGE TROT . I live at 36, Marshall Street, and am a butcher—on Sunday morning, 17th November, about 1 o'clock, I was in Deacon Street; I saw the prisoner and deceased there—I know them by sight; they were quarrelling; the deceased struck him several times in the back of the neck with her fist; he did not do anything, he kept his hands in his pocket; she spat in his face, and he turned round and walked away round the corner into Rodney Road; she followed him, halloing after him—I do not know what words she used—he was not sober; a sober man would not run against a post, which he did—I should say she was much more sober than he was—I went on, and saw no more of them.
EDWARD WEBSTER . I live at 26, Content Street, Walworth, and am a carman and coal-hawker—on Sunday morning, 17th November, about 5 minutes past 1, I was in Sarah Ann Street, exactly opposite Dale Street leading into Rodney Road; I was going home, and as I was opening my door I heard the screams of a woman—I went to the corner of Sarah Ann Street and saw the prisoner and his wife standing at the corner of Dale Street, about 3 or 4 yards from the lamp-post, about 5 yards down Dale Street—I heard them quarrelling for about 10 minutes, when he drawed his hand from his right pocket; I could not exactly discern whether it was his trousers or coat pocket; and then he struck the deceased in the lower part of her body; she screamed out most loudly the first scream, then she screamed out very faintly and fell to the ground; the prisoner picked her up and dragged her across Dale Street—they were face to face when he struck her, and I dare say there was about 2 feet between them—I was about 40 yards off; I did not know the prisoner before—I am quite sure he is the man:—I knew his wife by serving her with coals—I could not say whether they were sober or not; I thought she might have been drunk—when he struck her he knocked her down—I did not think she had been injured, and I went indoors.
Cross-examined. I did not see anybody else about—I did not interfere at all—he shoved her at the lower part of her body—it was a very fair night—it was not moonlight.
JOSIAH THOMAS MITCHELL . I live at 45, Rodney Road, at the corner of Dale Street—I am a salesman—on Sunday morning, 17th November, a little after 1 o'clock, I heard two screams—the first scream was very loud, the second was fainter—I went to my door, which opens into Dale Street—I could see nothing when I first looked out—I heard some money fall on the pavement, that drew my attention to where the prisoner and deceased were lying on the ground—they were about 15 yards from my door—it was almost dark, I could scarcely see—it was like a moving mass of something—they appeared to be both on the ground together—I heard the woman say "Oh, I am dying!"—the prisoner said "Get up"—I then turned my head to the left, and saw two young men crossing the road, pointing out to the policemen the blood on the pavement—that was about 15 yards the other way—that would be about 30 yards from where the prisoner and the deceased were lying—I saw them assist in taking the deceased to 14, Dale Street, the constable and the prisoner as well—the woman's dress was covered with blood at the bottom, and her stockings likewise—the prisoner asked the constable to get her indoors, that she would be all right if he got her indoors—he said he supposed the blood was from her monthly courses—he was not sober—she was assisted across to No. 14, and I went indoors.
William Street, Walworth—on Sunday morning, 17th November, a little after 1 o'clock I was coming down Rodney Road—I heard a woman crying out "Help, help" twice—I was then over 100 yards from Dale Street—I walked steadily along, when I came to the corner of Dale Street I saw the prisoner—he had got his arm round the woman's waist—she was standing, and he seemed to be helping her along—he was on the right-hand side—he took her across the left, and then they both fell to the ground—I heard her say "Young man, young man" very faintly—I think they were about 20 yards down Dale Street—when I first saw them I did not go down Dale Street I crossed the road going home, and I saw the blood at the corner of Dale Street and Rodney Road on the right-hand Bide, about two or three yards in Dale Street—I saw the witnesses Evans and the policeman on the opposite side, and I called his attention to it—I went down Dale Street with the policeman to where the woman was—she was then insensible.
FRANCIS EVANS . I live at 65, Darwin Street, Old Kent Road, and am a porter in the meat-market—on Sunday morning, 17th November, a little after 1 o'clock I was going home along Rodney Road, and heard a man talking in angry tones to a woman on the ground—I was at the corner of Dale Street, on the left-hand side—he said "Why the b——h—don't you come indoors, Polly?"—he was half carrying and half dragging the woman along the pavement trying to get her indoors—when the police came I assisted to get the woman into the house in Dale Street—she was put in the passage—I was standing at the door, and the woman said "He did it, he did it"—the prisoner stood next to me, about a foot away, at the time, and he said "I am here, Polly"—the surgeon came, and she was put in a cab and taken to the hospital.
Cross-examined. I was not examined before the Magistrate—I saw the witness Tabrum there—I did not see Mitchell—there were two young men at the corner, and I crossed the other corner and called their attention to the blood on the pavement—there were three persons there, the two other young men and Tabrum—they were looking down at the disturbance in Dale Street between the prisoner and deceased—that was what drew my attention to it—I was there before the police came up.
WILLIAM HENRY ROGERS . I am a surgeon of 84, Rodney Place, New Kent Road—on Sunday morning, 17th November, a little after 1 o'clock, I was sent for to 14, Dale Street—I went immediately—I saw the woman in the passage lying on her back—I examined her—she was in a state of collapse, cold and ex-sanguine—I failed to detect the wound at first—I had her carried upstairs, and shortly afterwards there was a slight spurt of blood, and I found a wound in the groin—one of the arteries was severed—she must have lost a great deal of blood, nearly all she had I expect—I could not say that she was dying at the time—if I had thought she was dying I should not have taken her to the hospital—of course she was in a very critical state from the nature of the wound.
LEONARD WARD (Policeman P 290). On Sunday morning, 17th November, I was in Rodney Road with Constable 510—my attention was attracted by some men standing at the corner of Dale Street—I saw some blood on the pavement on the right-hand side of Dale Street, and I saw traces of it about 25 yards down the street—I law the prisoner trying to lift the deceased up on the pavement; she was in a sitting position; I said "What is the matter here?"—he said "I want to get my wife indoors"—I said "How do you account for all this blood?"—he said "I suppose she has got the monthly
courses on; she has them very bad"—I said "Surely, man, it must be something worse than that"—he said he wanted to get her indoors—I said we would assist her, and with the assistance of the other constable and the prisoner I got her into the passage of No. 14 and put her there; we had to carry her about 25 yards—the other constable went for a doctor with the prisoner—I remained in the passage; the woman was at that time insensible—she revived a short time before the doctor arrived, and she made a statement to me; she was afterwards token to the hospital—I saw the wound in the groin—I took the prisoner into custody, and stated to the inspector in his presence at the station what the woman had told me—I told the inspector that I had been to the hospital with the woman, and that she died a quarter of an hour after she got there, and when she was in the passage she told me that the prisoner had committed the murder by stabbing her—I told the inspector the words she used were "He done it," and I asked her who done it, and she said her husband—I asked her what he had done, and she said "He stabbed me with a knife"—the prisoner's reply was "I am innocent"—I searched the woman's clothes—I found no money—I did not search the prisoner—I did not search him at the time in Date Street; he was not searched until he got to the station.
Cross-examined. I cannot say whether the woman was merry—I have heard so.
By the JURY. It was in consequence of what she said that I took him into custody.
THOMAS ING (Policeman P 510). I saw the blood on the pavement, and saw the prisoner dragging the woman along—I heard him make the statement to account for the blood—at that time she was unconscious—after she was assisted into the passage I went for the doctor, the prisoner went with me—I had not searched him at that time—he wanted to go to Dr. Dry, and I went there with him—we went out of Dale Street, up Rodney Road, past the City of Salisbury Arms—I know the place where the witness Stout pointed out as the place where he found the knife—we passed that place three times, first in going to the doctor's, then in returning, and then in taking the prisoner to the station—we walked on the pavement—I did not see the prisoner get rid of anything—I searched him at the station and found 13s. 9d. on him, but no knife.
EDWARD STOUT . I am an errand boy, and live at 60, Beckway Street, Walworth—on Monday morning, 18th November, about a quarter-past 6, I was pushing along with my milk can in a perambulator, and found a knife in the road, about six yards from the City of Salisbury public-house, about a yard from the kerb; it was covered with mud; the wheel of the perambulator went over it—I took it home and washed it, I put it in the water and stirred it about with my hand; when I found it it was nearly shut, not quite—my master afterwards went with me to the station and gave the knife to the inspector—this is it (produced).
Cross-examined. I did not see any blood on it, it was only a little way open, the blade was shut in a little.
EMMA ROBERTS . I live at 22, Churton Street, Pimlico, and am the wife of Frederick Roberts, a sweep—the deceased Mary Ann Gard was my sister—on Thursday, 21ST November, I went to Guy's Hospital, and there saw her lying dead—she had been living with the prisoner as his wife, they were not married—this knife belongs to the prisoner—I have seen
it in his possession a great many times—I have seen it in his hand, and taken it out of his hand; I think that was about seven months ago from the time my sister died; I saw it in his hand in his house, he was then living in Kennington—I saw it more recently when he lived in Pale Street; I went to tea there one day, and they had not sufficient knives, and my sister said to him, "Harry, lend Emma your knife and use your pocket-knife," and when he got it out, she winked at me, and said, "That is the knife he stabbed me with"—I said, "Is it?" she said, "Yes"—I said, "Let us look at it," and I took it in my hand and looked at it and said, "Rather a pretty handle"—I knew that she had been stabbed before—to the best of my belief this is the knife—this was about three months ago, when they were living in Dale Street.
Cross-examined. I have not been in the habit of visiting them much—my sister was married to William Gard; I don't know where he is living; I have never seen him but once—I believe my sister was occasionally given to drink—I am not living with my husband—Gard left my sister; it was not on account of her dissolute habits—I did not see her much.
Re-examined. I think she was married to Gard about four years ago, but my sister will tell you—she went to church with them.
By the JURY. There is no mark on the knife that I recognise it by, only this, the brass round the end, and the handle—the back part of it was not split then.
JANE WARD . I am the wife of John Ward, a hop porter, and live with him at 15, St Thomas's Road, Old Kent Road—the deceased was my sister—she was about 25 years of. age—she was married to Gard four years ago last May—she lived with him about a week—she has been living with the prisoner about two years—I have not seen Gard since he went away from her; I don't know where he is living or what has become of him—I have seen this knife before, it belongs to the prisoner; I have seen it in his possession about twice, the last time was when I called at his house, not in Dale Street, but a previous house; they were having dinner; I had just come in, and she said "You are just in time, Jane, we are going to have some dinner, sit down and have a piece"—I sat down; she said "I have not got sufficient knives; Harry, take your pocket knife and give. Jane your knife"—he did so, and she said "Jane, that is what he stabbed me in the back with"—I said "Oh, Harry, that was cruel of you; don't use a knife; if you want to do anything, use your hand, don't use a knife"—he looked at me and laughed—he used his pocket knife for his dinner.
Cross-examined. I said before the Magistrate that "I believe this to be the knife, it is very much like it"—I believe it is the knife; as near as I can say it looks very much like it—I saw it twice in his possession, I can't exactly say where the first time was; he was eating an apple, I should think it was about five months ago—I saw him eating his dinner with it about seven months ago, that was the first time I saw it—I am sure I saw the knife at the time I told him not to be so cruel—I have not said that he put his hand in his pocket but did not bring out any knife, I said he did bring it out (The witness's deposition being read stated: "He put his hand to his pocket, but he did not bring out any knife." That was the second time I saw it.
MARY ANN BEDFORD . I am an artificial flower maker, and live at 17, Content Street, Walworth—I knew the deceased and the prisoner—they had been living together as man and wife for about two years—this does not look like the prisoner's knife—I have seen a knife in his possession, it was brighter
than this—it is more than six or seven months ago that I saw it—it was not so faded as this, not so dark—it was a brown-handled knife.
Cross-examined. I was not before the Magistrate—I was asked to come here today; I was asked about the knife—the knife I saw the prisoner use was a brown-handled knife, but it was not broken at the end when I saw it.
Re-examined. A piece of the handle was off; this is very much like it.
DAVID HUNT (Police Inspector). On Sunday morning, 17th November, I examined the prisoner's clothing at the station about noon, and found a quantity of what appeared to be blood on the lower part of his trousers and boots, a spot of blood on the right cuff of his coat, and blood about his fingers and the nails of his right hand—he said that he supposed it was done while he was helping the missus, and that when coming home from Walworth Road with her she had a few words with some man about his change; that she was drunk and rather quarrelsome, and when they got to the top of Dale Street she would go no further, and he left her standing at the corner of Dale Street, where two or three men were standing on the opposite side of the Rodney Road, and went to the door of her lodging, but did not go in; he went back for her, and found her standing where he had left her, and as soon as he reached her she cried out "Oh!" and fell; that he thought it was her courses which caused the blood, and tried to get her indoors, and while doing so a policeman came up, and he had no idea how she was hurt—those were not his words exactly, but the effect of what he said when we were examining his clothes—that was said in nearly one connected statement—I asked him if he had any witness whom I should call for him—he said "No"—that was the same morning that he was in custody and before the knife was found—Mrs. Johns pointed out his room to me at 14, Dale Street; I searched it the same morning thoroughly, and much more carefully a day or two afterwards, and in Mrs. Johns's presence found a pocket knife—there were two or three very common table knives in a drawer, I think three—a knife was handed to me at the station by Inspector McKenzie—the prisoner was quite sober.
Cross-examined. I may say that I am sure there were three old table knives in the drawer, but only three, and some forks, and I think some spoons.
MARY ANN JOHNS . I am the wife of John Johns, of 14, Dale Street—the prisoner and the deceased lodged with us in one room since 5th June last—I pointed out their room to the inspector—on the Saturday that this occurred they left the house together between 6 and 7 o'clock—I did not see them go out, but I heard them, and I did not see them again till the matter occurred.
JOSEPH HAMMERSLEY . I am house-surgeon at Guy's Hospital—on Sunday, 17th November, about 2 o'clock, the deceased was brought there in a dying state and quite unconscious—I found that she was suffering from a wound in the right groin, half an inch long or perhaps a little less, nearly half severing the main artery—it went directly inwards—she died from loss of blood about 15 minutes after she was brought in—I examined her clothes, and found cuts through all of them corresponding with the wound, showing that considerable force must have been used—it was such a wound as could have been inflicted by this knife—I made a separate cut with it in the petticoat, and it appeared to make an ordinary-sized wound that any knife would make—I examined her wound, and found indications of either the commencement or the cessation of the menstrual fluid, but not much blood would come from that—I found
no blood in the vagina—the cut penetrated her chemise, two petticoats, and dress.
ELLEN SALES (Re-examined). I knew the prisoner and the deceased very well—I have not often seen him use his knife, but I handled a knife with him on the Thursday before this happened, opening some mussels—she went and asked him to lend her the knife—he did so; she brought it to me, and I opened some for her and me to eat—this is not the knife; it was a dirtylooking cream-coloured knife with a rickety blade—I had seen the knife on several occasions—I saw him and another man opening some mussels outside the railway bar; I saw a knife belonging to him, but I cannot tell whether this is it—on this occasion no other man was there, only the deceased and me—the dirty cream-coloured handle was not broken—it looked as if it had been a white handle, but very much worn—1 had it in my hand opening the mussels—I got it from her, but she got it from him—I gave it back to her—I have known the prisoner two years, seeing him constantly—I have seen him eating mussels on other occasions.
Witnesses for the Defence.
JOHN WALLIS . I am a slater, and live at 1, Northampton Place, Walworth—I know the prisoner, and am in his company three or four times a week—I was with him on a Tuesday, seven or eight weeks ago—I had a day off and we were in the Railway Station Tavern, eating mussels with a knife with a white handle and a long blade to it running off very sharp at the point—I had it in my hand and tried to open a mussel with it, and he took it away from me and said, "It is too sharp for you, I will open it for you"—this is not the knife.
Cross-examined. It was in the morning about 11 or half-past—that was the only time I saw the knife, I have not got a knife—I never carry one—I don't know whether he had a second knife, I never saw him with a knife after that Tuesday.
GEORGE WARDEN . I live at 28, Kell Street, and am a waterside labourer, a casualty man—I know the prisoner, I was often in his company about a, fortnight or three weeks before this affair—on the Saturday night before this, I saw him with a knife, opening mussels outside the railway bar, for his wife—it was a dark, white knife, with a sharp pointed blade about two inches long, and it had a piece of brass on one side of the handle like a little heart—it was like a cream-coloured handle—I never had. the knife in my hand—this is not the knife, it is nothing like it.
Cross-examined. I see some brass on the top of this knife, the brass on the other knife was in the middle of the handle, I could see it as he was holding it opening some mussels—he was forcing them open with the knife, he had hold of the handle—I could see the colour of the handle, because he showed it to me, and said, "It is a good knife, George"—the knife was open at the time.
WILLIAM KING . I live at No. 1, Little Richmond Cottages, East Street, Walworth, and am a cab-washer—I was with the prisoner and the deceased on the Saturday night that this affair happened—I dare say it was about 8 or 9 o'clock when I first went into the railway bar—the decease was outside, we had a drop of beer, and by their actions I should think they had had a little disturbance during the day, for he spoke to her and she made use of a very foul expression indeed—I won't swear I saw a knife, in the prisoner's hand that evening, but I did the evening before, and had it in my
hand—the last I saw of them that evening was about 11 o'clock, I left them them there very comfortable together—they had been drinking occasionally from 8 to 11, at the railway bar—the knife I saw was a longish knife, with a dirty white handle, turning to a cream-colour, with a long sharpish blade, and the tip of the blade was broken, just a little bit off—it was not at all like this knife.
Cross-examined. I did not see him open the mussels with the knife—he had it in the railway bar, and I asked him to lend it me to cut my pipe—I had it in my hand—it was a clasped knife the same as this—he took it out of his pocket and put it in my hand—I had it in my hand on several occasions and used it—I am sure I used it on the Friday night before this affair, and I won't say I did not have it in my hand on the Saturday—I have known the prisoner on and off two years, by seeing him at public-houses.
FREDERICK GOLDSMITH . I am a slater, and live at 1, Northampton Place, Walworth—I know the prisoner—we worked together—I saw a knife in his possession on the Tuesday before this affair; it was a white handled knife; he was opening mussels with it—John Wallis was with me at the time, and the deceased—this is not the knife I saw—I have never seen this knife before.
Cross-examined, I did not have it in my hand—I saw it in the prisoner's hand, opening mussels with it—I saw the colour of the handle—I have known the prisoner four years—I am not a friend of his—I was first asked about the knife yesterday, when his brother came to.
JAMES GRAY . I am potman at the railway bar, Station Road, Walworth—I know the prisoner—he uses our house—I have seen him with a knife—I have eaten mussels with him, and have opened them with his knife on the window ledge outside—I saw him with it on three occasions—the last time was on the Thursday night previous to this affair, when Sales, the deceased, and he were eating mussels inside, and I cautioned them not to throw the shells on the floor, because they made such a mess—I saw the knife then in the prisoner's hand—it was a dirty white looking colour, rather a half-moon-like blade—the top of it was broken, and there was a nick in it—I expect it was done in opening the mussels—this is not the knife; nothing like it—I never saw it before—I was subpoenaed yesterday.
Cross-examined. I have known the prisoner about nine weeks as a customer—I had his knife in my hand about a week previous to this affair; I had it to open some mussels—it was more flat than this knife, it was a knife that would shut up, with a clasp to it, a regular pocket-knife, with a dirty white handle.
GUILTY of manslaughter. A previous conviction was proved against the prisoner for biting a man's nose off, when he was sentenced to eighteen months' imprisonment.— Penal Servitude for Life .
ADJOURNED TO MONDAY, JANUARY 13TH,1879.