CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
TENTH SESSION, HELD JULY 27TH, 1891.
MINUTES OF EVIDENCE.
TAKEN IN SHORT-HAND, BY
JAMES DROVER BARNETT
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ROLLS CHAMBERS, No. 89, CHANCERY LANE.
THE POINTS OF LAW AND PRACTICE
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OYER AND TERMINER AND GAOL DELIVERY
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AND GAOL DELIVERY FOR THE
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
Held on Monday, July 27th, 1891, and following days.
BEFORE the RIGHT HON. Sir JOSEPH SAVORY , Bart., LORD MAYOR of the City of London; the Hon. Sir ARTHUR CHARLES , Knt., one of the Justices of Her Majesty's High Court of Justice; Sir WILLIAM LAWRENCE , Knt., Alderman of the said City; Sir THOMAS CHAMBERS , Knt., Q. C., Recorder of the said City; DAVID EVANS , Esq., WALTER HENRY WILKIN , Esq., GEORGE FAUDEL PHILLIPS, Esq., HORATIO DAVID DAVIES , Esq., ALFRED JAMES NEWTON , Esq., JOHN DIMSDALE , Esq., and MARCUS SAMUEL , Esq., other of the Aldermen of the said City; and Sir WILLIAM THOMAS CHARLEY , Knt., Q. C., D. C. L., Common Serjeant of the said City; Her Majesty's Justices of Oyer and Terminer and General Gaol Delivery, holden for the said City, and Judges of the Central Criminal Court.
Sir AUGUSTUS HENRY GLOSSOP HARRIS, Knt.,
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
SAVORY, MAYOR. TENTH SESSION.
A star (*) denotes that prisoners have been previously in custody—two stars (**) that they have been more than once in custody—a dagger (†) 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, July 27th, 1891.
Before Mr. Recorder.
(576). CHARLES PIERMAN** (22) , To breaking and entering the Congregational Church, Wood Green, and stealing certain books and £2, the goods and money of the Rev. William Garrett Horden.— [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Six Months' Hard Labour.
For case tried in this Court this day see Surrey cases.
NEW COURT.—Monday, July 27th, 1891.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. BRUTLER Prosecuted.
CHRISSY WILKS . I am assistant at a hairdresser's and jeweller's at. 3A, Sidney Place, Leicester Square—on 1st July, between 3 and 4 p.m., the prisoner came in and produced a watch chain, and asked for a swivel for it, which I gave him, and charged him sixpence—he gave me this two-shilling coin (produced); I noticed that it was bad, and said that I had not got change—I recognised him as having given me a bad one before, and having seen the chain before I gave him in charge—he had been there on July 18, and shown me the same chain, and asked for a swivel, which I put on and charged him sixpence, and he paid me with this bad half-crown; I afterwards found it was bad, and kept it distinct.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. On 18th June I did not find the half-crown was bad till you had gone—I put it with other money, but there was no other half-crown.
ALICE WILLIAMS . I am an assistant at the same shop—on 18th June the prisoner came in, and after he had gone this half-crown was found in the till on top of the other money—I also saw him come on July 18th and produce a chain.
WILLIAM BAKER (P 10). On July 1st, at 4.20 p.m., I was called to 3A, Sidney Place, and the prisoner was given into my charge—I asked him, how the coin came into his possession; he said he changed a half-sovereign on Saturday night, and must have got it then—he gave his address, 93, Leather Lane—I found on him two good florins and a penny.
The Prisoner, in his defence, stated that he had no idea that the first half-crown was bad, being nearly blind, and that he took the second one in change.
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction at Chelmsford on November 2nd, 1886, of feloniously uttering counterfeit coin, when he was sentenced to five years' penal servitude.— Seven Years' Penal Servitude,
MR. WILKINSON Prosecuted.
WILLIAM GEORGE MASON . I have known the prisoner three or four weeks—I met him first about the last day of June on London Bridge—I had some talk with him, and went with him to Victoria Park—on the way he gave me a half-crown to get a two penny loaf—I went into a baker's shop and offered it in payment; she broke it in the tester, and gave me the pieces—I went back and gave them to Gregory, and told him; he said nothing, but threw them into the water in Victoria Park—he said he would put me in the way of earning two or three shillings in doing counterfeit coin, and he produced a half-crown and said, "This is a bad one "—he asked me to go to his house, and on the way he gave me a half-crown, and said, "Go to the post-office and get some stamps "—I did not go because I thought I could not change it, but I went next door and got two penny eggs, and the woman gave me 2s. 4d. change—the prisoner was opposite, and I went with him to 62, Queensberry Street, Islington—he had only one room there as a sleeping and living room, and I occupied it with him till I was taken in custody—he said his name was Gregory, and I said my name was Mason—when I arrived there I stopped outside and he went in and came out and brought out five half-crowns, and gave me one of them—he filed the edges of them, and went into shops and passed them, all five, one at a time—after that we went back to his lodging—three or four days afterwards he made a mould for some shillings, and put it on the hob to dry, and then poured some metal in, and made two or three shillings—he also made a mould for three half-crowns, and I saw him make about a dozen and a half shillings and half-crowns—I went with him and saw him buy some metal like solder, which he melted in a little pot—July 10th, the Friday before I was taken, was the last time I saw the half-crown mould used—he poured metal into it
—they were afterwards filed and silvered—I saw some blue stone and water, and he put a zinc thing in, and put some copper wire to it, and the coins at the end of the wire—there was some silver in a cup—I went out with him on Saturday, the 11th, about one o'clock—he took out twelve half-crowns with him, and left eight in a tin box under the washhand-stand—that box was used for keeping the metal in—when we were out he carried the coins, and gave me one at a time—I took them to twelve post offices, and passed ten of them—I went to one post-office at the corner of Balls Pond Road, and got 5s. worth of stamps, and put down a bad half-crown and 2s. 6d. in good money—I gave the stamps to the prisoner, and he put them in his pocket—on the same afternoon I went to a post-office in High Street, Stoke Newington, and gave a half-crown to a man who said it was bad, who took the stamps back and gave back the coin—we then went to a post-office at Stamford Hill—the prisoner remained opposite—I asked for some stamps, and the young man behind the counter broke the coin—the prisoner threw the pieces over the hoarding—all those visits were on the afternoon of the 11th—we went to Essex Road that evening, and the prisoner sent me to buy a cup and saucer—the prisoner stood two or three yards off—the coin was found to be bad, and I was taken in custody, and saw the prisoner going away towards home—he had said to me, "If you are caught I will throw the mould into the canal."
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You first met me on the last day of June—I said I was hungry, and you took me to a public-house and gave me something—when we had passed one half-crown we went home for more—I have been convicted of stealing two pigeons.
JOHN SMITH . I am a clerk at the post-office, 261, Balls Pond Road—about 2nd or 3rd July the prisoner came in for five shillings worth of stamps—my sister served him; he gave her two half-crowns, and she handed one to me, and asked me in his presence if it was good—I tried it between my teeth, and said, "No"—it was gritty—it was handed back, and good money paid—on July 22nd I went to the police-station, and picked the prisoner out from a number of men.
JAMES COLE . I am a clerk at the post-office, 39, High Street, Stoke Newington—on 11th July Mason came in for four shillingsworth of stamps—he tendered a half-crown, twelve penny pieces, and some six-pences—after he left I found the half-crown was bad—the prisoner was brought back, and I took the stamps away—I had seen the prisoner a fortnight before, when I served him with some postage-stamps—I do not know what he paid with, but there was a bad half-crown.
LILA SCUTT . I am a clerk in the Stamford Hill post-office—on. the afternoon of 11th July a boy about Mason's size came in and asked for four shillingsworth of stamps, and gave me a bad half-crown and sixpence and twelvepence—I found out immediately that the half-crown was bad, and called him back and gave him the pieces—I saw it broken in the tester—I recognise the prisoner as having given me bad money.
MARGARET OATES . I assist my son in a china-shop, 140, Essex Road, Islington—on the night of 11th July I was outside the shop serving—Mason came and asked for a penny cup and saucer, and tendered a half-crown; I asked if he had any coppers; he said, "No "—I handed the half-crown to my son, who said, "Come here, my lad; where did you get
this from?"—he said, "My mother gave it to me"—he threw it down, and broke a piece off with the heel of his boot on the wooden floor—a constable came and took the boy—this is the half-crown,
WILLIAM AUSTIN (N 353). On 11th July I was on duty at night in Essex Road, and saw Mason outside No. 140—he picked up a couple of saucers outside, and tendered a half-crown to Mrs. Oates—I took him into the shop, and took him into custody—I then saw the prisoner about twelve yards from the shop, walking behind me—I took the boy to the station, and then went to 62, Queensberry Street, and saw a woman there—about five minutes afterwards the prisoner came in as I was going out; I said, "Have you a son here?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "He is detained at Upper Street Police-station"—he said, "What, with that half-crown?"—I said, "Yes"—he said, "I hope it is a good one"—we then got to the station, and he said, "I gave him the half-crown; I did not know it was a bad one. "
Cross-examined. I went into your room at your invitation.
FOSTER ISAACSON . I live at 5, St. Paul's Road, Islington, and am a cigar. merchant—on 11th July I went to the post-office at 261, Balls Pond Road, and changed a half-sovereign, and received two half-crowns, two florins, and one shilling; I had nothing but gold at that time—I afterwards looked at the half-crowns and found one of them bad—I gave it to Sergeant Smith—this is it; I marked it.
JAMES SMITH (Police Sergeant N). I took the prisoner on a warrant on 15th July—I read it to him; he said, "Who gave you that information?"—I said, "William George Davis, your boy"—he said, "That is not his name; we shall see by-and-bye"—I alluded to the boy Mason, who first gave his name Gregory, then Davis, and then Mason, which is his correct name—I went with Detective Dyke to the first floor back room at 62, Queensberry Street, and got in with a key which I found on the prisoner—I searched the room, and found this file, pipe, piece of looking-glass, jelly-pot, and copper wire; some in a cupboard and the others under the bed.
Cross-examined. You were not really detained at the station, you were there on behalf of your boy.
WILLIAM JOHN WEBSTER . I am Inspector of Coin to the Mint—the coins are both counterfeit, and from the same mould—this file could be used in the manufacture of counterfeit coin, and there is metal on it—there is no liquid in these pots now, but the blue liquid was probably sulphate of copper, which is used in the silvering process.
Prisoner's Defence. Everything the boy has said is entirely false; he states this to clear himself. Everything he says contradicts the other. He is relating a conversation which he heard between me and another person relating to years gone by.
GUILTY . He had been several times convicted, and sentenced to six years and ten years' penal servitude.— Twelve Years' Penal Servitude.
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, July 28th, 1891.
Before Mr. Recorder.
579. JOHN SMITH (17) and CHARLES RAEMERS (20) PLEADED GUILTY to a burglary in the dwelling-house of Joseph Vesty, and stealing a quantity of clothing, value £4 10s., his property.— Four Months' Hard Labour.
580. FREDERICK CROMER (38) , to unlawfully obtaining two swords from Arthur George Lock, and other swords from other persons, by false pretences.— [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Two Months, without Hard Labour.
(582). JOHN GROUT (32) and GEORGE BEAUMONT (22) , to burglary in the dwelling-house of William Lane Lea, with intent to steal. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] GROUT also PLEADED GUILTY to a burglary in the dwelling-house of Adelaide Heymanson, and stealing a musical box and a pair of scissors, the goods of Rebecca Holland. BEAUMONT also PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at this Court in June, 1880.— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour each.
NOT GUILTY .
585. CATHERINE BOWLEY (17), SARAH ANN HARNETT (15), MARY ANN FURBY (16), ALICE EVERSON (15), and MARY ANN DONOVAN (15), PLEADED GUILTY to a burglary in the dwelling-house of John Frederick Stoy, and stealing a watch and other articles, value £42. BOWLEY* and FURBY— Six Months' Hard Labour. HARNETT, EVERSON, and DONOVAN— Ten Days' Imprisonment and Three Years in a Reformatory.
MR. B. A. SMITH Prosecuted.
GEORGE ABBOTT (Sergeant F 6). On 7th July I was in the station; I had received information of a burglary committed in the Lansdown Road, Notting Hill—about half-past seven a.m. Mary Ann Donovan and the prisoner came, and Mary Ann said, "Are four girls locked up here for burglary?"—I said, "Yes"—she said, "I was with them when they broke into the house, and I wish to give myself up "—the prisoner said, "I was with the others, but I did not go into the house; I waited outside with a girl named Annie Cullen, who lives in St. Clement's Road, and watched to see if a policeman or anybody else was about whilst the others were inside "—I took these statements in writing, and they signed them.
WILLIAM PRINCE (Detective F). On 6th July I had received information of this burglary—I went with two other officers to the house, and watched the pavement below from the drawing-room—I saw the prisoner and the five other girls who have pleaded guilty in Chichester Road, which is opposite the house—they were playing about in the road, and occasionally one or two would walk round in front of the house; when a man in uniform came by they would walk away and come back again—the prisoner did not go round by the house, but she was playing about
with the others—when it began to get dusk I missed them; I could not see them from where I was then.
The Prisoner's Defence. I did not know what they were going into the house for. I never had any of the stolen property. I know nothing at all about it, nor what they had.
The Prisoner called
MRS. DONOVAN. I am the prisoner's mother—she is a good girl, only fourteen years old, and has done nothing wrong—she went away with Furby, who said she would be well done for.
GUILTY. Recommended to mercy by the JURY on account of her youth. The police sergeant stated that he had reason to believe she had been led into it.— Two Days' Imprisonment.
MR. GREENFIELD Prosecuted.
JOHN WALTON, JUN . I am a clerk, and live at 15, Landrock Road, Hornsey—on 29th June, about half-past eleven at night, I was with a friend in Ridge Road, Hornsey, which runs parallel with Mount View Road, where my father lives—I heard a whistle, and we ran in the direction, and just before getting to the corner saw the prisoner running down Granville Street into Ridge Road; another man was ahead of him, and a constable in chase—I got up to him just as the constable stopped him, and went to the station with him—I afterwards went to my father's house, 137, Mount View Road, and found the door broken, as if by a jemmy—the house was a furnished house, but had been unoccupied for some time—I had passed the house three times the previous day, and it was then all right.
DAVID DUNBAR (Y 450). On 29th June, between half-past eleven and twelve, I was in Mount View Road, Hornsey, and in consequence of information I went down Mount View Road—I saw the prisoner with another man not in custody, standing under a lamp—I at once gave chase, and pursued them along Mount View Road, turning into Granville Road, and caught the prisoner in Ridge Road; the other escaped—I seized the prisoner; we had a struggle—he raised his left arm and was about to strike me with this jemmy—another constable came up and seized him by the arm—I took him into custody, and told him he would be charged with attempting to break into 137, Mount View Road—he made no reply—I searched him at the station, and found this jemmy in his pocket—I examined the door of the prosecutor's house, and found on it marks corresponding with both these jemmies; I also found some matches on the floor, which had been struck, and the prisoner had similar matches in his pocket—I had passed this house at six that morning, and it was quite right then; the gate was locked with handcuffs.
Cross-examined. I produce the matches; they had been struck on the doorway and window—I did not see you do anything.
ALFRED DIXON (Detective Y). I heard the whistle, and ran in the direction, and saw the prisoner standing with Dunbar; the prisoner had this large jemmy in his left hand raised, about to strike him; I secured him, and took him to Hornsey Station.
WILLIAM DESBOROUGH (Y 217). On the evening of 29th June I passed the house, 137, Mount View Road about a quarter-past nine—I examined the door and found the premises all safe and the gate locked—at half-past eleven I saw the marks on the door and the gate open.
Prisoner. I Plead Guilty to having the jemmy on me, but to nothing else.
Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
588. WALTER BILLINGS (61) , Corruptly making a false declaration. Second count, by false pretences causing William George Stacey and Francis William Finney to execute a promissory note for £250, with intent to defraud.
MR. FARRANT Prosecuted.
RIVERS MONTAGU TURNBULL . I am a solicitor, and a commissioner to administer oaths in the Supreme Court of Judicature, at Mitre Court, Temple—on 30th January I went to the office of the prosecutor's solicitor in the same building, and the prisoner made this declaration before me, and signed it in my presence—I said, "I suppose you know all about this, it has been read over to you?"—he said, "Yes."
WILLIAM GEORGE STACEY . I am a commercial clerk, at 70, Ampthill Road, Tottenham—I have known the prisoner for seven months—about the end of last December he said he was in want of money; that he had a reversion, under his brother's will, of a considerable amount, and that he wanted a loan—he told me he had not charged the reversion—in consequence of what he told me I signed this promissory note at his request—I should not have signed it except for what he told me—I signed it at my City office, and handed it to Mr. Finney, an old friend of mine, who introduced the prisoner to me—proceedings were instituted against me in respect of this note, and judgment signed against me in default.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. The first advance and promissory note were for £100, and then subsequently you came and made a statement, and believing it, and on your declaration we agreed to lend our names for you to receive £250—the note for £100 was destroyed at the time the note for £250 was given—the note was made on 30th January; evidently the declaration had been made before I was asked for the note—a bill with three names is not negotiable till it is complete—the declaration was made before the others signed—I was to have 5 per cent, interest for signing the note.
FRANCIS WILLIAM FINNEY . I am a manufacturer's agent, living at 158, Malpas Road, Brockley—I have known the prisoner for some years—he told me he was in want of money, and said he had a sixth share under his brother's will; there was about £25,000; after paying off certain legacies it left him £18,000 or £19,000—he said he had never charged it—in consequence of what he told me I signed a promissory note for £250 at his request—on that day I attended at 5, Mitre Court Chambers with the prisoner and Mr. Robinson—I saw Mr. Turnbull there—the prisoner made a declaration that he had not dealt with his reversionary interest in any shape or form; that was read to him in my presence—I nut my signature to the promissory note—Mr. Robinson gave him for the promissory note a cheque which he cashed in Fleet Street—the prisoner did not pay" the promissory note; proceedings were taken against me, and judgment was given in default—the prisoner gave me £10 as consideration
—if he had not told me he had not dealt with the reversionary interest in any way I should not have signed the promissory note.
By the JURY. Only Mr. Stacey's signature was on the note when I signed it—the prisoner had £100 first, and when he had the £250 he paid the £100 off, because he had it from a different party, the second time I think; I could not tell what he paid for the £250 accommodation—I was a manufacturer's agent at this time—I am not in the habit of taking money for finding people to pick up bills—I should not have signed my name to this bill unless the prisoner had wanted to go into business with me: he was going to put £600 down to join me in business—I thought his story about the reversion was all right, as I had known him as a gentleman for many years—the declaration was made before I signed this note—when I signed the note two more signatures were wanting.
WILLIAM JOHN HELLIER . I am managing clerk to Lawford, Water-house, and Lawford, solicitors, 28, Austin Friars—they are solicitors to Mr. Radford, who was trustee under the will of Albert Billings, the prisoner's deceased brother—the prisoner at one time was entitled to a reversionary interest in one-sixth share, subject to the life interest of the widow, and her right to appoint a sum of £1,000—the prisoner borrowed on mortgage on his interest, and I was instructed to pay off that mortgage, taking a reassignment, and clearing up some other claims against the prisoner, which I did—I afterwards took a clear mortgage, which is still existing—in 1882 he sold to Mrs. Emma Radford his equity of redemption in the reversion, subject to the previous mortgage, for £300—on that occasion the prisoner was represented by a solicitor, Charles Edward Smith, who perused the documents, and gave him the figures—Mrs. Radford then really gave more than it was worth—the reversion was then sold for £800; the tenant for life was aged 41, and the residuary estate was invested in debenture stock, which has increased something like 20 per cent, in value—the figures were represented by £680, and the value of that reversion would exceed £1,100 or £1,200—that is nearly ten years ago—it is absolutely untrue for the prisoner to say that he had in no way dealt with it—at that time he was not interested in it at all; he had parted with all his interest in it.
Cross-examined. Your sister did not tell you it was held over for you; that is imagination—Mrs. Radford is your sister.
Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I did not intend to defraud. "
The Prisoner called
MARY BURGESS . I am single; the prisoner is my master—Mr. Finney came to our place with Mr. Stacey, and said he had made arrangements with Mr. Robinson that they were going to pay so much a month, and that that was the agreement—I was in the hall, and heard Mr. Finney say he was going to make an arrangement with Mr. Robinson for Mr. Stacey to pay so much money down and so much afterwards—Mr. Robinson is one of the solicitors I suppose—they have taken and sold the furniture, which is Mrs. Billings's property; it is her separate estate.
The RECORDER ruled that the first count of the indictment was bad, as it neither stated that the declaration was made before a Commissioner for Oaths, nor that it was false in a material particular. Upon the second count the JURY found the prisoner
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, July 28th, 1891.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. HURRELL Prosecuted.
ANN RILEY . I am a widow, living at 19, Rupert Road, Holloway—I have a laundry business—on 25th December I went through the ceremony of marriage with the prisoner at St. Judo's Church, Gray's Inn Road—this is the certificate—I lived with him as his wife at 19, Rupert Road, till the middle of April, when we agreed' to separate, because we were continually quarreling—while I was with him, a month or six weeks after our wedding, I heard he was a married man from something he said, and I went to Somerset House, searched the register, and found he was married—I got this copy of the certificate there, (this was the certificate of a marriage on 8th October, 1882, at the parish church, Islington, between Charles Valentine Smith and Rebecca Taylor)—I did not know when I married him that he had been married before.
Cross-examined. I came to your lodging once, and your landlady said something about your being married, but you told me you had lived with a woman for eight years—you told me that when you first met me—you have four wives living now—I came to your place with your third wife—we separated in the middle of April on account of your vile tongue—I have had nineteen children; sixteen are living.
JOHN COUOHMAN (Detective Sergeant Y). About half-past twelve on the 20th I took the prisoner into custody, and said he would be charged with bigamy and felony, and whatever he said might be used in evidence against him—he said, "It is quite right about my having a wife living; but she is no wife of mine, as she is a prostitute, walking the Euston Road, and she" (referring to Mrs. Riley) "knew I was a married man when we got married"—I have compared one of these certificates with the register at St. Mary's, Islington, and the other with the register at St. Jude's, Gray's Inn Road; they are correct.
MRS. SHEAN. I am the wife of John J. Shean, 25, Seaton Street, Hampstead Road—on 8th October, 1882, I was present at St. Mary's Church, Islington, at the wedding of the prisoner with Rebecca Taylor—I saw her at the Police-court about three weeks ago—I was one of the witnesses who signed the register; I was Sarah Drewitt at that time; I have married since—I saw them after their little girl was born, and again about three years afterwards.
GUILTY .—The prisoner then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at this Court in December, 1869.
There was another indictment against him for stealing a watch, the property of Ann Riley.— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
MR. CRANSTCUN Prosecuted.
GUILTY.— Judgment respited.
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, July 29th, 1891.
Before Mr. Justice Charles
She received a good character.— Discharged on her own recognizance. The prisoner teas also charged on the Coroner's inquisition for the manslaughter of the said child, upon which MR. NICHOLSON, for the prosecution, offered no evidence.
MR. KERSHAW Prosecuted,
"ELIZA SAUNDERS . I am a laundry woman, and live at 39, Manchester Road, Notting Hill—I lived with the prisoner as his wife till about five months ago—on Saturday night, 27th June last, I was out with the prisoner and returned to 39, Manchester Road about twenty minutes to twelve; he then asked me to go out with him again—I said no, I was not going any more, for my baby was ill—he said, "If you don't go out, you b-----, I will do for you"—he then hit me under the ear, and threw me on the bed—I did not know that he had a knife until I felt the blood come—I screamed, and an old lady that I lived with came to my assistance—this took place in the back parlour—my two children were in bed at the time, but I did not know they were there; Harry was one of them—the prisoner was not living there with me at this time; he came there sometimes; he met me that night at work; he was generally there when I left off work.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. On the night this happened I did not say I was tired of my life, and I would do for myself and my two children also; I never took up the knife—I never saw the knife till I went into the room with the policeman—after receiving the wound I ran out into the street to go to the doctor's; I met the policeman, and he took me back—I had some bruises on my arm, but that had nothing to do with this; it was in a row that I and the old lady had—on the Wednesday evening before this I was at his place all night, and it was a wonder I was not killed then.
HARRY SAUNDERS . I am eight years old, and live with my mother at 39, Manchester Road—on this Saturday night I was in bed in the back parlour when my mother came in with the prisoner—I saw him push her in the back first, then he took up a knife on a box where mother put the washing; this is it—he made a stroke with it, and then dropped it on the floor—she screamed out, and went into Mr. Clark's room—I saw blood on the bed—after hitting her he said, "Now I have done it!"—I was sitting up in bed when I saw this.
JANE PEARL . I am a widow; I live at 39, Manchester Road—Eliza Saunders lodged there with me; she occupied the back parlour; she is no relation to me; the child has been brought up to call me "Grannie"—I know the prisoner—on Saturday, 27th June, about half-past eleven, the prosecutrix came in with the prisoner—they then went out together to the Bull public-house—they were out for about ten minutes; it was about twenty minutes to twelve when they brought in a pint of beer—they came straight through into the back kitchen—he asked for a shirt which I had washed—she went out of the back kitchen into the back
parlour; he followed her—I heard her say, "I don't want you following me"—the back parlour was where she slept and where the little boy slept—he was in bed; he had not been in bed long; my son had put him to bed—the prisoner said, "Are you not going out again?"—she said, "No, I am not, not to have a blowing up when I come back," meaning that I should be cross with her—he then said, "Then you don't want me," and then I heard a dreadful scream from her, momentarily—I then new into the back parlour, thinking he had hit her—he was leaning over her on the bed—she was bleeding, and I felt blood on my arm—I was very much frightened—I said, "Good God, Bemmer, what have you done?"—he said, "I have done it, and I meant to do it"—my son's wife, Mrs. Clark, then came in—Saunders ran out as soon as she could—Mrs. Clark hit the prisoner on the back, but he would not release her till my son came in, and he pulled him away—a policeman afterwards came—I saw that the prisoner had something in his hand, but I could not say what it was—the box the boy speaks of was really two boxes covered with a cloth and used as a table.
SARAH CLARK . I lodge at 39, Manchester Road—on Saturday, 27th June, between half-past eleven and twelve, I heard a scream, and went to Saunders' room, and saw her and the prisoner struggling together partly on the bed—I tried to take his arm from her—finding I could not called my husband—the prosecutrix was under, and the prisoner was leaning over her—I heard something fall on the floor in the struggle;. it sounded like steel and the handle together—when Mrs. Pearl came in she asked what he was doing—he said, "It is done, and I meant to do it."
HARRY JAMES CLARK . I am the husband of the last witness—on 27th June, about 11.30, I saw the prosecutrix come in with the prisoner—I did not see where they came from—I was in the front parlour—I did not hear the prisoner say anything when he came in—later I heard a scream—my wife went into the prosecutrix's room—I heard her call me, and then I went in and caught the prisoner by the collar—he was standing by the fireplace, away from the bed—I said, "What the b----hell have you been doing, Jim?"—he said, "It is done; where is Eliza? let me kiss her before I go"—I sent for a policeman, and stayed with the prisoner till he came.
GEORGE FREDERICK MURRELL . I am house physician at the West London Hospital—the prosecutrix was brought there about a quarter to two on Sunday morning, 28th June—I examined her; on the chin I found a small superficial wound about an inch long, and below the chin I found a deeper wound about three inches long, which had turned down a flap of skin—it was not really a deep wound; there had been a good deal of hemorrhage—the wounds themselves were not dangerous—they would be caused by a sharp instrument such as this knife—I attended to her and sent her away.
ALFRED TIDD (X 123). I met the prosecutrix a little before twelve on the evening of 27th June; I went with her to 39, Manchester Road, and there took the prisoner into custody—he said to prosecutrix, "You have done it yourself."
GEORGE JENKINS (Inspector X). On 27th June I was at Notting Dale Station—the prisoner was brought in and charged—he wished to make a statement—I cautioned him, and took down this statement in writing, and read it to him, and he put his mark to it. (Read: "The first thing this evening, at 9.20, I met Eliza Saunders at the Nut Brown public-house, Bramley Road. We went in and had refreshment; we then walked on till we got to the York public-house in the same road; we met a friend who asked her to have another drink; she declined, we went to 39. I asked her for my shirt. She said, 'We will go and get it.' I said, 'All right, put your coat on, and we will have a joint of meat.' We then went to the Old Black Bull and had some ale, and brought back a pint of porter for the old woman. Mrs. Saunders said, 'Jim, I will kill my two children.' She took up a knife, and then she screamed and said, 'Jim, I have done it,' and then ran out of the room."
Prisoner's defence. I have spoken the truth in what I have said; what the boy has said is quite wrong.
GUILTY of unlawful wounding — Five Months' Hard Labour.
593. PATRICK COSTELLO (60) , Unlawfully attempting to administer poison to Jane Bass, so as to endanger her life. Second Count, So as to occasion actual bodily harm, and to injure, aggrieve, and annoy.
MR. C. F. GILL Prosecuted.
ETHEL LILY ROTTNDTREE . I am eleven years old, and live with my mother in London Fields—on Friday afternoon, 26th June, about twenty minutes to four, I was in Mare Street, Hackney—the prisoner came up to me with a paper bag in his hand; he said, "Will you give these two buns to that woman standing at the corner selling flowers?"—he gave me the bag: and walked away—I went and gave the bag to the lady; I said something to her, and then walked away—about ten minutes afterwards she came after me, and spoke to me, and showed me the buns—one of them was broken; there was some green-looking stuff inside—next day I went with two constables to a public-house in Mare Street—I saw some men there, and amongst them the man that had given me the buns; it was the prisoner—I pointed him out to the policeman—I pointed out to the policeman the place where the prisoner had given me the buns, and where the woman was standing. (George Sutton, J 92, produced and proved a plan)—I was standing near the railway arch on the left side—the prosecutrix was standing at the corner of Kenmure Road—I am sure the prisoner is the man—I had not seen him before.
JANE BASS . I am the wife of James Bass, a hawker, and live in Jacob Street, Shoreditch—I sell flowers in the street—I have known the prisoner live or six years by sight, that is all; I have never spoken to him—I have spoken to his wife—she sells flowers in the street, and usually stands under the railway arch—I generally stand at the corner of Dalston Lane, and sometimes at the corner of Kenmure Road, and sometimes close to the railway arch, opposite the Railway Tavern—on the morning of 26th June I was standing outside the Railway Tavern up to about twelve o'clock—I was then moved by a constable—I saw the prisoner and his wife that morning—she was selling flowers close to where I was, under the arch—when I was moved by the constable I went to the corner of Kenmure Road—about twenty minutes to four the little girl Round tree came and gave me a bag with two buns in it, and walked away—I was the only
woman selling flowers at that corner—I broke one of the buns in halves, and was going to eat it—I noticed some yellow stuff come out of it—it smelt nasty—I went after the girl and spoke to her, and afterwards went to Hackney Police-station, and handed the bag and buns to Inspector Smith—this is the bag and the pieces of buns that are left.
ARTHUR SMITH (Inspector J). I was at the station about half-past five when Bass came to me with the paper bag and two buns, one broken—from the statement she made I had the buns examined by Dr. Gould—the name of the bag was "T. Hudson, 297, Mare Street," which is a very short distance from the railway arch—I was at the station when the prisoner was brought in; I took the charge against him and read it over to him; he said, "It is a lie; who is to prove it?"—next day, Sunday, he asked me for the stuff he wanted for his sore leg, referring to the bottle of phosphorus paste and blue stone and box of zinc ointment that was found on him by the constable; thinking that he meant the zinc ointment, I bought a pennyworth and gave it to him; he said, "I use it for my leg," referring to the box of phosphorus; he might have meant all four articles.
WILLIAM KNOTT (Detective J). On 26th June this matter was handed over to me to inquire into; I traced the little girl, and on the evening of 27th, about quarter to eight, I went with her and Sergeant White lock to the Cook public-house in Mare Street; there were ten or twelve men at the bar; she pointed to the prisoner and said, "That is the man who gave me the buns "—I went to the prisoner and said, "We are police officers, and are going to take you into custody for attempting to kill a woman named Jane Bass by administering to her a quantity of phosphorus paste in two bath buns"—he said, "I never bought no buns"—I took hum to the station, searched him, and found on him a box of zinc ointment, some blue stone, and this little box containing phosphorus paste marked "poison"—when the charge was read to him he said, "It is a lie, sir; who is to prove it?"—when the phosphorus paste was found on him he said, "I use that for my bad leg"—I had it in my hand, I did not say what it was—I think I said, "Here is a bottle containing phosphorus paste"; and he said, "I use that for my bad leg."
Cross-examined by the prisoner, I came to you on the Saturday morning about half-past ten, and asked, "Do you know where a woman named Bass was standing?"—your wife answered, "No"—you said, "Why don't you speak the truth if you know anything about it?"—you afterwards said, "I don't know. the name, but I believe she lives near Shoreditch Church"—I did not charge you then, because I had no evidence against you—I had not traced the little girl.
HENRY GOULD , M. R. C. S., of 102, Clarence Road, Clapton. On Saturday, the 27th, I was sent for to Mare Street Police-station—Inspector Smith handed me a bundle containing the paper bag and the broken buns—I examined the buns and found they contained a large quantity of phosphorus paste, in my opinion sufficient to destroy life—a very small quantity would be injurious—I also examined this bottle of phosphorus paste—the quantity left in it and that in the buns would account for the difference—I believe it is sold for vermin—it is not recommended for bad legs; the zinc ointment would be a proper thing to use—apparently a hole was made in the bottom of the bun and the
paste put into it; it was not mixed up with the bun—both buns had been treated in the same way.
Cross-examined. I saw you on the Saturday morning, and you told me you used the paste for your sore leg.
ALBERT PERCY (J 290). On the 20th June I was on fixed point duty in Mare Street, close to the railway arch—I saw Bass standing there at the opposite corner, outside the Railway Tavern; I saw the prisoner under the railway arch—he came to me and asked me to remove Bass, as she was stopping his customers, and taking his trade away—I refused to do it, and told him she had the same privilege as he had to stand here—he said he and his wife had stood there for a number of years, and the other had only just come, occasionally on a Saturday—next evening, Sunday, he came to me about seven, there were several on the opposite side selling flowers, and he asked me to remove them, and keep them further from him, and if I did so he would make it all right—I refused.
The prisoner, in his statement before the Magistrate and in his defence, denied all knowledge of the buns or of the girl.
GUILTY* on Second Count — Nine Months' Hard Labour.
NEW COURT.—Wednesday, July 29th, 1891.
Before Mr. Recorder.
(595). HENRY MASON (63) and JOHN WRIGHT** (50) , to burglary in the dwelling-house of William Adcock, and stealing a watch and other articles, his property; WRIGHT having been convicted of burglary at this Court in July, 1889, in the name of Robert Smith, after a previous conviction of burglary. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] MASON— Nine Months' Hard Labour. WRIGHT— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
For the case of Duke and Hitchcock, tried this day, see Kent cases.
THIRD COURT.—Wednesday, July 29th, 1891.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
The prisoner received a good character.— Three Months' Hard Labour.
MR. F. FULTON Prosecuted.
GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
For other cases tried in this Court this day, see Essex, Kent, and Surrey cases.
OLD COURT.—Thursday, July 30th, 1891.
Before Mr. Justice Charles.
MR. DE MICHELE Prosecuted, and Mr. ERNEST BEARD Defended.
No evidence was offered against JENNINGS.
NOT GUILTY .
HENRY SHEPHERD . I am a watchman at 123, Railway Arches, Shepherd's Bush—on the night of 24th June I was in the shop of my master, who is a carpenter—about twenty-five minutes past nine in the evening I heard a lot of lads running along the arches and getting over the fence, Moody and Young were two of them—there were two more with them—I heard Young say to one of them, "As soon as you light it halloa out"—I opened the door and went out after them, and caught Moody—I noticed a blaze in a field at the back of the arches belonging to Mr. Voysey; that was the next field to that from which the boys came—I told Moody I should lock him up for setting fire to the hayrick—he said, "It was not me; it was one of the others; Young gave me the matches."
Cross-examined, I was in the shop when the boys came over the fence—I was about three yards from the fence—there were five boys altogether—I was inside the shop when I heard Young speak—I know his voice, because he stutters badly—I had seen him before; he broke two panes of glass in the shop on Sunday night—this was on Wednesday—it is difficult to understand what he says—I don't think his words were, "As you have set it alight I shall halloa out"—I saw the haystack in the afternoon; it was burnt to the ground.
HENRY PERRETT (X 325). I arrested Moody and Young on the night of 29th June—I told them it was for being concerned with Walford in setting fire to a haystack—Moody said, "I own I was there, but I did not set fire to it "—I took Walford on the night of the 24th and charged him—he said, "Hannah" (meaning Young—Hannah is his nickname) "set fire to it, while me, Jennings, and Moody, and Foxey Collins kept watch to see if anyone came "—the other boys were not present when he said that.
Walford's statement before the Magistrate: "I set it alight." Young's: " "We had been playing cricket, and after the game was over I was sitting on a fence, when Walford came and asked me for some matches. I did not know what he wanted them for, or I would not have given them to him; then I came away. I had nothing to do with setting fire to the rick, but heard some time after what had been done. I was not near the rick, not within two hundred yards."
MOODY— NOT GUILTY . WALFORD and YOUNG— GUILTY. Recommended to mercy by the JURY.— Fifteen strokes each with a birch rod.
NEW COURT.—Thursday, July 30th, 1891.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. C. MATHEWS and MR. BIRON Prosecuted, and MR. FORREST FULTON Defended.
GUILTY of two slight acts of indecency .— Judgment respited.
THIRD COURT.—Thursday, July 30th, 1891.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. WARBURTON Prosecuted.
GEORGE GODDARD . I am a labourer, living at 54, Spencer Street—about three p.m. on 15th July I was in bed when the prisoner, whom I have known for some time, came to my door, bringing me this note, and me said, "George, I have brought you a note; I want you to cash it for me, as I am going away on Friday morning"—I said, "Is the note right? "and he said, "Yes." (The advance note was for £4 10s., payable to Robert Mason's order, at Donald Currie's offices; Duncan, Master; and was endorsed, "Robert Mason. Please pay the bearer, Mr. George")—I have heard before of these advance notes for wages, which are discounted by lodging-house keepers and other people—believing it was a valid security to me for £4 10s., I set off against it £2 10s. which he owed me, and gave him £2, charging him nothing for cashing the note—he asked me to come and have a drink; I said, "No, thank you"—I said I wanted it made payable to me, and it was endorsed—next day I went to a sailors' home, and then on board the Hawarden Castle—I have made inquiries; I have not tried to get any money on it—when the prisoner gave it to me lie said, "You can draw the money next Wednesday"—he did not give it to me as a piece of waste-paper.
ALFRED BRISTOW . I am messenger at the office of Sir Donald Currie, 3 and 4, Fenchurch Street; he owns the Hawarden Castle—the captain of that ship is named Duncan—I know Duncan's signature—this is not his signature on the front of this document; it is his on the back—our firm use no such advance note as this; we use notes like these (produced).
ARTHUR SNAPE (H 463). On 16th July I arrested the prisoner in St. George's Street East, and charged him with forging this signature—he said, "It is all right; the note is genuine "—I said he would have to go to the station—he said, "All right, I will go"—he was detained till Sergeant Glenister came in, and he was charged.
—GLENISTER (Sergeant H). I saw the prisoner detained at the police-station, and told him he would be charged with forging and uttering an advance note, and obtaining £2 by fraud—he said, "All right"—after I had searched him, and he was charged by the inspector, he said, "I did not make any statement to the constable.
GUILTY . The prisoner then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at this Court in May, 1891.— Six Months' Hard Labour.
MR. ROCHE Prosecuted.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. BAYLISS Prosecuted.
GUILTY on Second Count . Recommended to mercy by the JURY on account of their youth.— Judgment respited.
GUILTY on Second Count. — Three Months' Hard Labour.
For the case of Robert Bradshaw, tried in Old Court this day, see Surrey Cases.
OLD COURT.—Friday, July 31st, 1891.
Before Mr. Justice Charles.
MR. PURCELL Prosecuted, and MR. WARBURTON Defended.
GUILTY of an indecent assault — Six Months' Hard Labour.
NEW COURT.—Friday, July 31st, 1891.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. BURNIE Prosecuted, and MR. WILLES Defended.
THOMAS DWYER . I am a barman, of 34, Ratton Road, Brixton—on 7th October,1890, I gave a man named Whitehead a gold chain to sell and if it was not sold for fifty-five shilling to bring it to me—I saw the prisoner in the street about the same time—Whitehead showed him the chain, and said, "Will you buy it?"—they walked away, and I followed about six yards behind; they had some conversation, which I did not hear, and went into Roberts', a jeweller's in the Aldersgate Street, and came out, and the prisoner Walt'ers, a pawnbroker's while Whitehead stood outside—I stayed five or six minutes; the prisoner
did not come out, and I walked over to Whitehead and spoke to him, and he went into the pawnbroker's, and came out and said something to me, and I informed the police that my chain had been stolen.
Cross-examined. I know Cohen by sight, but have never spoken to him—when I gave the chain to Whitehead, Cohen was not present, but he was in sight; he knew nothing of the directions I gave to Whitehead—I do a little in horseracing—I cannot tell you what race was on on 7th October, but a horse named Magistrate and another named Heresy were going to run, and Magistrate was second—I sent the money to back one of them.
GEORGE WHITEHEAD . I am a skin dresser, of 39, Seward Street, Goswell Street—I have known the prisoner four or five years—on 7th October Dwyer gave me a gold chain to sell for fifty-five shillings—he said, "Come down with me as far as Roberts's, and we will see what it weighs"—that is a jeweller's in Aldersgate Street; they weighed it, and asked if I would take fifty shillings for it—I said, "No"—we came out together, and walked to Walter's, a pawnbroker's, at the corner of Aldersgate Street, and Cohen's brother came up—I agreed that he should go in and pawn it if he could get fifty-five shillings on it, if not he was to bring it back to me—his brother waited outside with me, but afterwards left me—I waited five minutes—Dwyer came and spoke to me, and I went in and spoke to the pawnbroker—I then gave information to the police.
Cross-examined. I heard of a horse named Magistrate, and another named Heresy—I did not tell Cohen that Dwyer wanted the money to back a horse; I never suggested anything about races—Dwyer had had a conversation with me about a race about 1.30, and the race took place at 2.30—I knew that Dwyer wanted part of the money to back a horse, but I do not know how Cohen knew that—I would not accept fifty shillings for the chain—I spoke to Cohen's brother that night, and said, "What makes it worse is that Cohen, my friend, was going to back Magistrate "—it was not Heresy—I did not authorise Cohen to dispose of the chain and put the money on a horse—I have known Cohen five years, but do not know where he lived.
CHARLES STEPHENS . I am assistant to Mr. Walter, a pawnbroker, of 106, Aldersgate Street—on October 7th Brook, a policeman, spoke to me—before that, between two and three p.m., the prisoner came in at the Aldersgate entrance, and came up to the counter when I was serving a customer, and without saying a word he walked out into Fann Street, where there is another entrance.
Cross-examined. I was the only assistant in the shop—he was not there more than two minutes, no one came in to look for him, but there was a disturbance outside—I went to the door, and Whitehead asked me if Cohen was inside—I said, "No, he has passed through."
THOMAS DRAKE (140 City), On 7th October I received information and searched for the prisoner, but did not see him till July 15th about 11 p.m., he was in a refreshment house in Compton Street—I said, "Mr. Cohen, I want to speak to you in reference to a gold chain you had from a man named Whitehead, in Aldersgate Street, on 7th October last"—he said, "I don't know what you mean, you must have made a mistake, perhaps it was my brother"—I said, "Is your name James Cohen?"—he said, "Yes"—I told him I was a policeman, and asked him to come
with me to Moor Lane Police-station—on the way he said, "I have some recollection of the affair you speak of; I had a chain from a man with a ginger moustache somewhere about that time; I was to sell the chain and back a horse called Magistrate"—I said, "To whom did you sell the chain?"—he said, "I sold it to the bookmaker; the horse lost "—I said, "Are you sure of that?"—he said, "Yes, it ran second"—I said, "It is rather singular you should say that, I recollect Whitehead telling me a few days after it occurred that his friend wanted to back Magistrate with part of the money, and that Magistrate won at 6 to 1 "—he said, "No"—he was taken to the station and charged by Whitehead; he said nothing—no mention was made of the horse Heresy till the following day—I produce the Racing Calendar, which shows that Magistrate won that day.
Cross-examined. I made a note of the conversation afterwards—I gave evidence at the Police-court, but did not tell the Magistrate all I have said to-day—I found there was a little more when I referred to my note—I did not mention the ginger moustache, or his saying, "I don't know what you mean; you must have made a mistake"—on the 17th I went into the witness-box again—my evidence was read over, and I produced the Racing Calendar, but I gave no evidence—I did not think it material to correct my former evidence—he said he sold the chain to the bookmaker, but nothing was said about the horse—he did not say he had backed a horse in Magistrate's race—he said, "I backed the horse Magistrate, which ran and lost"—I said, "It is singular you should say that, because Whitehead told me he saw your brother a few days afterwards who said the horse ran and won"—I stated that at the Police-court—Cohen called a witness at the Police-court—I heard Whitehead mention the brother this morning—I have not had a word of conversation with Whitehead about the case.
The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "At the time the detective arrested me I was so confused with having a false accusation made against me my mind was so upset I could not call to mind the name of the horse I did back, but the horse was mentioned by Mr. Whitehead. He said, 'Mr. Cohen, I want you to sell this gold chain for fifty shillings, and put the money on Heresy in Magistrate's race,' which I did do. I was in Walter's about five o'clock, I had a diamond ring I was going to pledge, but as he was busy I came out."
MR. WILLES called
FREDERICK LESTER . I live at 26, Freda Street, Essex Road, Islington, and am a dealer in jewellery—in October, 1890, I was with Cohen in Goswell Road; I have known his family twenty years—Whitehead came up to me, and said, "I have got a gold chain here, and I want you to sell it and back a horse called Heresy with the money, £2 10s. "—the race was going to be run the same day, and this was at twelve or half-past twelve—I did not see Dwyer there—lots of jewellery business is done in the streets—they went to Roberts's, and I followed them as far as Fann Street, and then I went into a public-house, and Whitehead said, "Come on, I am going to sell this chain and back Heresy at the Bouverie Club with the money"—that was in Bouverie Street—I did not go in because I am not a member—he came out and said, "I have sold the chain for £2 10s.; what will you have on Heresy?"—I said, "Eight shillings," and he put on eight shillings for me also—I am certain Heresy did not win, because I lost
the eight shillings, and I only had ten shillings—I was going to put that on, but Whitehead and Cohen were rushing about, and I thought they knew something good.
Cross-examined. I distinctly heard him tell Whitehead to sell the chain for £2 10s.; I was only a few yards off—I did not hear of any other horse—I know Magistrate won, but I never heard of him till after he won.
Re-examined. Magistrate got six to one, and Heresy six and a half to one.
By the JURY. I believe my eight shillings was paid to a bookmaker named Robinson—Cohen went back into the club to put on my eight shillings added to the fifty shillings—that was done inside the club—I am sure he did it, by his anxious manner—I believe the chain was sold to the bookmaker.
GUILTY — Two Months' Hard Labour,
MR. KYD Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL Defended Brace.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted, and MR. F. FULTON Defended.
ELIZABETH BANDY . I am the wife of Frederick Bandy, of 300, Mile End Road—on 14th June I went to bed with my husband about 1.30 a.m., he having seen the house secured—I was awake about 3.30, and saw a man in our room with his back towards me, facing the chest of drawers—directly I moved the bedclothes he went out of the room, but came in again in a minute or two; I saw his face then—it was the prisoner; I have no doubt about him whatever—he stood with his hand on the bedstead; I was very frightened, thinking he might have a revolver, and was afraid to wake my husband—he went out, and came back a third time, and stood with his right hand on the door, and when I saw his hands were free I awoke my husband—I could not speak; but from the action I gave, he went downstairs—I saw the prisoner plainly both times, and have no doubt about him; I shall never forget his face as long as I live.
Cross-examined. This was 3.30 a.m.; the Venetian blinds were down, but the curtains were open—it was as light as it is now—I said before the Magistrate that my eyes were not wide open—the man's hair was as red as the prisoner's—I told the police his hair was inclined to be carrotty, more of a redness—there were from eight to twelve men present when I identified him, two of whom had red hair, the prisoner and another—that was a week afterwards.
Re-examined. I had not the slightest difficulty in picking him out—I recognised him at once.
FREDERICK BANDY . I am an oil and colourman of 300, Mile End Road—on 14th June, about 3.30 a.m. my wife awoke me—it was light—I heard a noise, ran to the top of the stairs on the landing, and saw one man, and heard more running downstairs—I went back into the next bedroom, opened the window, and called "Police," and saw three men run down the yard towards Ely Place—I cannot describe either of them—I had seen the house securely fastened the night before—I went back to my
bedroom, put my head out at the window, saw two policemen, and called them—I then went down and found the woodwork of the shop-parlour window forced away, the shutters forced, the bolt broken, and the catch cut away—I missed the articles mentioned, and several others since and some money.
WILLIAM GOLDING (Police Sergeant K). I took the prisoner on 22nd June, shortly before 10 a.m., in the Mile End Road, and took him to Arbour Square Station, where he was placed with others, some of whom were very fair men—Mrs. Bandy came in and identified him; she was not long about it, but she looked at them all—he gave his address at 1, Medway Road, which is nearly half a mile from 300, Mile End Road—I walked it the other day in fourteen minutes.
Cross-examined. I did my best in getting men with as near the same shade of hair, from the passers-by, but I could not get any with hair like that; his is fiery red—there were eight of them, and one had hair very nearly like that—I had not taken the prisoner in custody the previous Saturday, but I saw him in custody, and he was taken to Bow Station—the inspector had received a description of the man in the woman's room—he was taken before Inspector Dwyer, and allowed to go—he gave his right name and address on the Saturday—he said he knew nothing about it; he could prove where he was—he asked me to go to his house and inquire of his parents—they are very respectable people—I went on the Monday and saw his mother—the prisoner has never been charged with any offence that I know of.
Re-examined. I did not know him till the Saturday—I have made inquiries about him—he told me he worked on and off at the docks, but he did not say which.
Witnesses for the Defence.
OCTAVTUS TAPLEY . I live at 1, Medway Road, Bethnal Green, and am buyer for Mr. Keeler, of Whitechapel Road—I have a large family, and the prisoner is one of them—he was living at home in June—he was assistant to a pawnbroker at Nottingham, but left there at the beginning of the year—I was looking out for something better for him, and meanwhile he was employed at the Royal Albert Docks—there is no truth in the suggestion of the police that he has ever been in trouble—I have one son who got into difficulties—on Saturday night, 13th June, I got home about ten minutes to twelve—I have a latchkey; nobody else in the house has one—I let myself in, and one of my sons, Percy, came in about two minutes after me—it is my custom to go round and see if all my family are safe at home—I went into the prisoner's room, and found him in bed and asleep with others of my family—after Percy came in I bolted the door with two 9-inch bolts, and went to bed—there is a back door, but that leads nowhere, you cannot get away there—on Sunday morning I came down at 8.30—the prisoner was not up—I unfastened the door; it was in the same condition as when I went to bed—the prisoner came down to breakfast at 9.30—when the police came to me I first heard that he was charged with burglary; I said that they had made a mistake, he was in bed.
Cross-examined. I was at the Police-court at the hearing, but was not
called—the prisoner was last in employment about eight months ago—11.30 was his latest time for coming in—lie was never in the streets as late as one o'clock; he has never been seen in the streets by the police as late as one o'clock—he was in Nottingham seven or eight months—he was also employed at Wisbech about eighteen months, and left on 20th April, 1890—his two younger brothers, Percy and Charles, were sleeping in the room with him—their ages are sixteen and twelve—he never stayed out late at night unless I let him in—I am more than a quarter of an hour's walk from 300, Mile End Road, unless I walk very quick—I have never heard any complaint against the prisoner, or of his having been fined, or of disorderly conduct.
Re-examined. This son has never given me any trouble.
ELIZABETH TAPLEY . I am the wife of the last witness, and the prisoner's mother—I have a son who has been in trouble, but the prisoner has always been thoroughly respectable—on Saturday night, June 13th, he came in about 9.30, and only went out again into the front garden talking to the neighbours—he was in bed at eleven—I was in my bedroom when my husband came in at 11.50, but not in bed—I had left the door unlatched for him to come in—he sees that the lamps are all out, and the children all in—he, locks the front door, and nobody can get in or out at the back door—I went down at 9.30 a.m. and had breakfast with the prisoner.
Cross-examined. This was Sunday night, and my attention was called to it because a neighbour of ours died—the prisoner comes home at 11.30 at the latest, perhaps twelve on Saturday nights if he has been to any place of amusement, and then we always let him in.
The prisoner received a good character.
Evidence in reply.
DOUGLAS SWIFT (K 387). I arrested the prisoner on June 20th—I have known him about four years—I have seen him as late as one a.m., some mornings at 1.5—I called his attention to the rowdyism opposite the Plough, Mile End Road—his associates are convicted thieves—his brother Walter has been out of prison ten days for a watch robbery.
Cross-examined. I did not know him when he was at Nottingham—I have not been to Wisbech to ascertain his character there—I do not suggest that he has been charged with or convicted of any offence—I have lost sight of him for a short period.
Witnesses called by request of the Jury.
CHAKLES TAPLEY . I live at home with my father—the prisoner is my brother; he was living at home last month, and slept in the same room with me—I remember his being taken up—on the Sunday week before that he was in bed before me—I went to bed at half-past eleven and slept in another bed; I went to sleep; I awoke at four a.m., and the prisoner was then in bed—I know the time, because my brother Harry asked me to get him a drink of water, and I went into the kitchen to get it; it was then four o'clock—I went to bed again, and awoke about eight, and went down and saw my brother at breakfast.
PERCY TAPLEY . I live with my father, mother, and brothers—on the Saturday night before the prisoner was taken in custody I came home about twelve o'clock—my father let me in; I went into the kitchen and had my supper and went to bed—the prisoner and the last witness slept in the same room with me—the prisoner was in bed and asleep when I
went to bed; I did not sleep in the same bed with him, I slept with my little brother—I awoke about 9.30 next morning; I never woke in the night; my brother was not there—I dressed and went down, and found them down there—Harry could not have gone out during the night without disturbing me.
NOT GUILTY .
THOMAS SPARKS . I am a drover, of 129, George's Road, Holloway—on 9th May, between 8.30 and 9, I was in Red lion Street, Clerkenwell, and was knocked down by the prisoner and another person, who has been convicted and is doing twelve months' hard labour (See Reg. v. Madden, page 843.) I cannot swear to the prisoner, because it was a dark place—I lost £12 from my pocket-book, which I saw safe in the middle of the day, and I put it back in my pocket.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. One of the men knelt on my chest; they were both over me, and both pretty near my chest—I seized one and held him—I got my bag back, but it was £3 10s. short.
JOHN WILSON . I live at 12, Benjamin Street, Clerkenwell—on 9th May, a little before nine p.m., I was in Red Lion Street, Clerkenwell, and saw the prisoner and Madden knock Sparks down; the prisoner knelt on his chest, while Madden rifled his pockets—Sparks laid hold of Madden, and the prisoner tried to rescue him—a constable came up, and the prisoner made off, and I saw no more of him till he was in custody.
Cross-examined. I was nearer to Sparks than I am to you when he was being robbed; I was half a yard from him—it took place very quickly—the prisoner was trying to pull Madden from Sparks, but could not.
ALFRED HILL . I live at 22, White Horse Alley, Clerkenwell—on 9th May I was in Red Lion Street, and saw Sparks passing through Eagle Court; the prisoner and Madden knocked him down, and the prisoner knelt on his chest while Madden took a bag from him—it was dark, but I could see what they were doing—a gentleman fetched a policeman.
Cross-examined. Wilson was about the same distance from Sparks as I was—neither of us did anything—Sparks had got hold of Madden, and the prisoner was trying to get him away, but could not, and went away himself.
SAMUEL WATERMAN (G 241). On June 20th I saw the prisoner at the corner of St. John Street—he walked away, and then commenced to run—I was in plain clothes—he went up St. John Street—I beckoned to an officer, who went over, and when the prisoner saw that, he stopped, and I took him in custody—he said, "All right, I own I was there, but I took no part in it"—I took him to the station, and told him he would be charged, with another person now doing twelve months, with stealing £12 from the person.
Cross-examined, I said, "Where have you been?"—he said, "I have been working at Sevenoaks. "
By the COURT.£8 was found on Madden, which was returned to Sparks.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I plead guilty to being there in Madden's company, but I never had any idea of what was going to occur between him and Sparks. Sparks sent me to call Madden out
to have a glass of beer, and when I came hack Sparks was holding on to Madden, and said he had got his bag of money. "
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction at this Court of robbery with violence on 13th December, 1886— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour,
THIRD COURT.—Friday, July 31st, 1891.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. F. FULTON Prosecuted; MR. ROOTH Defended Prest, and MR. HUTTON Defended Neary.
PHILIP GEORGE CHEVALIER . I am manager to William Barker and Sons, wine and spirit merchants, 48, Bishopsgate Street Without—we have three branches, an ordinary public-house, a family wine merchant's business, and a wholesale wine department—Prest has been in our wholesale department about four and a half years—on Tuesday, 30th June, he was mainly employed in filling casks; it was also his duty, when it became necessary, to fill jars of persons coming to have orders executed in that way—I think that until recently the filling of jars had been his exclusive employment, I think the foreman will speak more about that—various public-houses in the metropolis deal with us as wholesale wine and spirit merchants—this is one of the books kept in our wholesale department as a record of all orders taken and executed—a customer at the wholesale department would go first to the order counter and give his order, the quantity and quality of which the clerk would enter on this counterfoil—then he would enter the quantity and quality on the black ticket, which he would give to the customer, who would take it to and leave it with the servant in charge of the jar-filling department—the customer would return to the order counter and receive from the clerk a red ticket on which, in the meantime, the clerk had filled the particulars of quantity and quality, an invoice showing the price, and the customer's permit—the customer would take them to the cashier's desk; the entry would be entered in the day journal; the customer would pay the money; the clerk would initial the back of the invoice to indicate that the order had been paid and entered—then the customer would take the red ticket to the servant to whom he had given the black ticket, and who, in the meantime, would have executed the order, pasted the black ticket on the jar, and sealed it up—the man would compare the black and red tickets, and give the red ticket back to the customer, who would then take the jar away—I have seen Neary several times—I don't know that he came from the Duke of Clarence—I saw him on 30th June bringing in empty jars—I saw him during the whole time he was proceeding with his order, going from one counter to the other—I saw him taking one jar outside.
Cross-examined by MR. ROOTH. We conduct business on a large scale and receive a great many orders; we do not have a great many orders like this; we chiefly have travellers' and letter orders—we receive a considerable number of orders; Prest is one of the men who would have to carry
them out—the customer and the man who fills the jars come together sometimes—the customer hands the order to one of the warehousemen, who has to execute it—we are not free from mistakes—Mitchell is in our employment; I am not aware that he made a mistake with regard to Neary—my attention was not called to the fact that Mitchell poured out a smaller quantity than was on the order—I did not see how these jars were filled—we have no option as to the size of a jar when a man brings his own jar—I was present when the constable came back—Abbott said to Prest, "Before we measure this, what is it?"—Prest said, "There are four gallons in each, for what I have the order for"—that was what was in the jars—Abbott said, "What are they?" and he replied, "Two four gallons of gin, four of whisky, four of port."
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. There are three men in the room where the jars are filled—Prest was in that room—there is a bar that lifts up and down, at which a customer would stand as a rule—we do not strictly enforce the rule of not allowing customers to go inside; the bar is intended for people to stand at—I could not say if I saw Neary inside the bar; I don't think I did—I saw him backwards and forwards—the jars would be filled inside by Prest or any of the other warehousemen, and would be carried outside—the purchaser would receive the jars at the bar, and take them to the cart—he would take no part in filling them.
Re-examined, If we supply a jar at a customer's request we supply a two-gallon jar for a two-gallon order, and a four-gallon jar for a four-gallon order—very often customers bring their own bottles or jars—there is no practice, custom, or rule as to what sized bottle or jar he brings.
ERNEST JOSIAH NASH . I am a clerk in "William Barker and Sons' employment—I receive orders from customers—I am supplied with these books—Smith is the warehouse foreman—he is away between two and three on Tuesdays at our Broad Street Branch, and on Fridays he is away from eleven to one on other duties—on Tuesday, 30th June, he was away—I have known Neary for about six months as a customer coming once or twice a week; he very often came on Tuesdays and Fridays—on Tuesday, 30th June, he came between two and three—I was sitting alone—he said, "Will you take my order, Mr. Nash?"—he gave me the order in the name of James, the name of an old customer of ours at the Duke of Clarence—he always gave the name of James—he said, "Two gallons of old torn," meaning unsweetened gin—I wrote it down, and said, "Thirty-three under—he said, "Yes"—that was the strength which he was in the habit of buying; I knew it quite well—he said, "Two gallons of dry gin," or unsweetened—I said, "Thirty-three under"—he said, "Yes"—that was the usual strength of the dry gin—he said, "Two gallons of Irish whisky"—I said, "Twenty-five under?" he said, "Yes" that is the cheapest, and his usual class of goods—he said, "Two gallons of port"—I said, "S. R. "; that is our trade sign for our cheapest port, "Spanish Bed," a Tarragona wine at 5s. per gallon—he said, "Yes"—I entered those particulars on the counterfoils, and filled up these four black tickets, tore them out of the book, and gave them to him for one to be stuck on each jar; he had brought four jars with him—he took the tickets into the warehouse—the jars had the tickets in my writing on them at Guildhall—one has since
got rubbed off—after the prisoner had taken the tickets and the jars into the warehouse, the junior clerk, Todd, came in, and he made out these red tickets—Todd has gone for his holiday; these tickets are in his writing—they are similar to the entry in my writing on the counter-foils.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. When Smith is away we are all supposed to keep our eyes about us to see that things go right; no one is deputed to specially look out—there is opposite to my office another office, with five or six clerks—there are ten or twelve people about when the manager is away, but they cannot see very well what is going on—they are supposed to keep a look out when the manager is away—only one was in the warehouse on this occasion; that was Prest—I cannot say if anybody was bottle-washing at the tub; there would be as a rule—I have noticed by referring back to his orders that Neary has generally come on Tuesdays and Fridays—it is not unusual for a man to come always on the same day.
Re-examined. There are three clerks in my department, the order department; it is quite separate from the warehouse, into which I do not go unless I have something special to say to the foreman; it is on the same floor as my office—I cannot see what goes on in the warehouse—the ledger-keeper's office is an enclosed place on the same floor, there are about half-a-dozen clerks there; they have nothing to do with the warehouse—if they leave off their work and take the trouble to look, they can see what goes on in the warehouse; but if they had no reason to be suspicious they would take no notice—as a rule, three men are employed in the warehouse filling the bottles—Smith is foreman of the filling and the casks; he is overlooker in the bottle department—when he is away on Tuesday and Friday no one takes his place as overlooker of the warehouse.
ARTHUR JOLLY . I am a clerk to the prosecutors—on 30th June I acted as cashier during the cashier's absence—between two and three, I think, Neary came to me with this customer's permit, these four red tickets and the invoice corresponding with them, and representing a total value of £3 6s. 10d. for two gallons of dry gin, two of old torn, two of whisky, and two of port—he paid me £3 6s. 10d.; I receipted the invoice and handed it with the red tickets and the permit to him, and he went away in the direction of the warehouse.
CHARLES SMITH . I am foreman of this warehouse—I have been with Messrs. Barker between seven and eight years—Prest has been with them between four and five years, I should say, and during that time he has been under me as warehouseman, filling jars and casks—at first he was in the cellar, and then he came into the warehouse to fill jars, and then he filled casks, which require more experience—it does not take all a man's time to fill casks; he fills jars as well—on Tuesday, between two and three, I always go to our Broad Street establishment to turn over the wines and spirits there; and on Fridays, from eleven to one, I am absent from the warehouse—it is our dip day—it is known to all the men in the warehouse that I am absent for those hours—I take a man with me to turn over on Friday, and to Broad Street on Tuesday, so that sometimes only one man is left in the warehouse, and that one has always been Prest for the last two or three years—he has never had to turn over dip—he would always be the one left in the warehouse on
Tuesday, because I took him to be a respectable man and had great confidence in him, and left him in charge—sometimes a man was left with him; on this particular Tuesday he was alone—a four gallon jar weighs about 26 lb. empty, 60 lb. full, and about 44 lb. if it contains two gallons—it does not require a vast amount of intelligence for a man to distinguish between a full and half-full one; he would know the difference if he were carrying one in one hand and one in the other—when I came back on the 30th I saw Neary coming out of our warehouse with a four gallon jar in his hand—a costermonger's, barrow was standing outside; I saw another jar on the kerb by the side of the barrow, and I believe a third one was on the barrow partly covered with a sack—I saw him lift the one he was carrying and the one on the kerb on to the barrow and cover them over—I believe another man was with him who helped him cover them—I saw them move off—afterwards they were brought back; as I was walking into the warehouse Mr. Barker met me with the permit, and afterwards the prisoners were brought in; I had the jars measured in the presence of Mr. Barker, my manager, and myself; they contained four gallons of dry gin, four gallons of old torn, four gallons of whisky, and four gallons of port—I tested the quality, and found that the dry gin and the old torn were 17 under proof instead of 33, the whisky was 10 over proof instead of 25 under, and the port wine was either 10s. 8d. or 13s. a gallon instead of 5s.; it was more than twice as good—our warehouseman would fill a four-gallon jar with a four-gallon copper measure, and a two-gallon jar with a two-gallon copper measure.
Cross-examined by MR. ROOTH. I went after Prest's character when he came four or five years ago—Mr. Newton, of Cannon Street, wine merchant, with whom he had been, would not give me a character; he said he had no fault to find with him, and I was pressed for a man, so I took him on—he has gone on rising in our firm, and now he is in a very responsible position; I trusted him—no mistake was made with Mitchell that I am aware of; Aldred was not in our employment.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. The difference of weight between four and two gallons would be 16 lb.; it would not be so discernible if you carried the two gallons two or three days after carrying the four gallons, as if you carried them one in one hand and one in the other—the man who was with Neary, and assisted him in putting the jars into the cart, was charged before the Magistrate and discharged—I am sure no one was with Prest in the warehouse when I went away; one man went with me, and the other was engaged packing claret in the cellar underneath the warehouse—when I left Prest was engaged in. filling a hogshead which was not filled when I came back—clerks and people are passing by the barrier into the warehouse.
ARTHUR ERNEST MORRIS . I am one of six clerks in Mr. Chevalier's office, the ledger department—our office is surrounded by glass, so that I can see into the warehouse; there are three large panes of glass in front of me—that is the only window from which you can see into the warehouse—I received special instructions from my employer to keep a watch on Prest, to see how he transacted his business—I had received instructions to watch him and Neary on Friday, 26th June, and on that day I saw Neary there between twelve and one, and I saw Prest go down to the cellar steps with two two-gallon cans; he brought them up
and emptied the contents of one into a four-gallon jar, and the other he placed on the foreman's desk, facing my window—he went away, and I could hear the washing of a can; he went to another part of the ware-house, and turned the contents of that two-gallon can into another four-gallon jar—he came back, took the two-gallon can which contained port off the foreman's desk, and poured the contents into the port jar, which already contained two gallons, making four in all—I saw nothing else that day; I reported what I had seen to my employers—I was instructed to keep watch again on Tuesday, 30th—I then, between two and three saw Prest place four four-gallon jars in a row in the warehouse, and then turn the contents of a two-gallon can over into those four jars eight times, that would make sixteen gallons—I saw nothing of Neary—I gave information to Mr. Barker and Mr. Chevalier, as the result of which the prisoners were brought back three or four minutes afterwards—I saw the foreman measure out the jars, and test the strength—I heard him say the strengths were considerably over—I am quite sure that I saw Prest use a two-gallon measure.
Cross-examined by MR. ROOTH. Prest's business is pouring out these things—the whole of this was done in a most open manner—no customers were there—our office is in the corner of the warehouse, and you can see right into it—anyone looking through the window could see everything going on.
Re-examined. I should not look through the window unless I were instructed to do so.
PHILIP GEORGE CHEVALIER (Re-examined). Gin and old torn seventeen underproof would be 10s. 8d. a gallon; whisky ten overproof would be 15s. 7d.; the port I estimated to be 13s. a gallon, so that the total value of the goods Neary was taking away was £9 19s. 8d., instead of the £3 6s. 10d. that he had paid, a difference of £6 12s. 10d.
THOMAS ABBOTT (Detective Sergeant City). About 2.30 on 30th June I saw Neary and Baker going from Messrs. Barker's with a trolly containing some jars—I had received instructions—I stopped them, and told them I was a police officer, and asked them what they had in the jars—Neary said, "Two gallons in each," producing the invoice for goods worth £3 6s. 10d., and the permit—I said, "I have reason to believe there is some mistake here; you will have to come back with me, and let me measure it"—Neary replied, "If I have got more than my measure I don't know it"—I conveyed them back to the warehouse; the jars were taken into it—I said to Prest, "I am a police-officer; before we measure the contents of these jars how much is there in them?"—he replied, "Four gallons in each; what I had the order for "—I said, "Of what?'—he said, "Two four gallons of gin in each jar, four gallons of whisky, and four gallons of port"—he said he had filled them with one can—we measured the contents of the jars, and found they each contained four gallons—the foreman tested them as well—the prisoners were given in custody.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. I had been there altogether seventeen or eighteen days—I had seen Neary and Baker there before—the jars were sealed.
made no reply—Baker was discharged by the Magistrate, as there was no evidence against him.
CHARLES SMITH (Re-examined). The instrument for testing spirits is Sykes's hydrometer—it is well known in the trade—every publican ought to keep one, as the law is very stringent with regard to not selling under a certain proof; the difference in value is very considerable.
Witness for Neary.
JAMES BLUMSON . I keep the Duke of Clarence at Hackney—Neary has been my potman for the last eighteen months; he assists in the bar when he is wanted—I always found him very straightforward and honest—he has taken money over the bar; I have had no reason to complain of him.
Cross-examined by MR. FULTON. These goods were ordered for me—Neary was instructed to order two gallons of gin 33 under proof at 8s. 9d., two gallons of old torn at 8s. 9d., two gallons of whisky, and two gallons of the cheapest port; that was the ordinary order than I was in the habit of giving—if he had arrived safely at my public-house with the four jars, he would have taken them into the spirit room and emptied them—if I had been at home I should have been there—we always buy spirit of the breaking down strength—we have to take care we don't buy it under a certain strength, because we are liable to prosecution—I keep a hydrometer, but I should not test spirit, I bought from Barker, because I should believe in the quality—I should know the difference between 5s. and 13s. port—I should take Barker's word for the strength of the spirit—if I measured it and found 1 had more than I ordered I should send to Barker's—I should find out if I had got whisky ten over proof, the customers would find it out; it would want well watering, which would increase the quantity very greatly—four gallons of whisky ten over proof when watered down to its proper strength would come to five or just over five gallons.
Re-examined. If I found out such a mistake I should communicate to Barker—once before Neary told me he brought back a gallon too little by mistake, and he went back and got the gallon, and they apologised—I am Neary's brother-in-law.
By the JURY. I believe Neary generally took four-gallon jars—I have two-gallon jars, but they might have cordials or other things in them, and so as a rule he took gallon jars; if he wanted two gallons he would take a two-gallon jar if one was empty, but if not he would take a four-gallon jar—I believe I ordered two gallons of port on the Friday—I did not order it myself.
The prisoners received good characters.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. C. N. NELSON Prosecuted, and MR. BURNIE Defended Sidley.
CHARLES LAZENBURY . I live at 5, Teesdale Street, Hackney Road—on Tuesday night, 7th July, I was in that street and saw three men walking up and down till about 9.45, and then I saw Sidley lift Wall and another
man over the fence into the wood-yard, and then he walked up and down and whistled—I waited, and when a policeman came up I informed him of what I had seen—the police arrested Sidley, who said he was waiting for a woman at nine o'clock—it was then about 10.30—I went into the yard with the police; they found Wall there hiding behind some timber.
Cross-examined. Sidley gave the other men a leg-up, and then walked up and down the wood-yard about twenty yards—I was about fifteen feet away, standing outside the wood-yard watching against the gate—Sidley saw me watching; I don't suppose he noticed me there, he saw me there.
GEORGE WARNER (J 33). About 10.30 p.m. on 7th July I was in Teesdale Road; Lazenbury told me something—I went into the wood-yard adjoining Lazarus's premises, and saw Wall there—I did not see Sidley there.
FREDERICK WISDOM (J 147). On the evening of 7th July Lazenbury spoke to me, and I went into the wood-yard; I found a chisel where Wall was concealed—I saw Sidley standing beside the yard, and asked him what he was doing there—he said, "I am waiting for a woman who promised to meet me at nine o'clock"—it was then about 10.30—the following morning I went into the yard where Wall was found, and found two lots of boots, one lot done up in an apron, and one lot in a sack.
Cross-examined. Sidley was standing outside—he was not under the influence of drink; I took no notice if he smelt of drink.
ALFRED LAZARUS . I am a shoemaker, of 410, Hackney Road—the timber-yard adjoins my premises—about eight p.m. on July 7th I saw my premises safe—in the morning I missed thirty-two pairs of boots, value about £15—these are they.
ROBERT STEMP (Inspector J). I examined the premises—access was gained by climbing over some gates, seven or eight feet high, into a timber-yard, and then getting over a large heap of timber into a closet, passing their hand through a piece of paper pasted over a broken pane of glass, and opening a window.
Cross-examined. There is only one timber-yard, it is a very large one, and there is great confusion of timber—the gates of the yard are closed at night, and then you can only get in by climbing over the gates—when I saw them it was ten or eleven.
SIDLEY— NOT GUILTY .
WALL then PLEADED GUILTY**† to a conviction of felony in February, 1887.— Twenty Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Recorder.
She had attempted suicide a week previously, but was discharged by the Magistrate on her promise not to repeat the offence.— Six Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
614. JOHN HARRIS, Unlawfully obtaining by false pretences from William Howard two postal orders for 10&. and 2s. 6d.; and other postal orders and money from Sidney Needes and James Henry Kemsley, with intent to defraud.
MR. BURNIE Prosecuted.
WILLIAM HOWARD . I live at 5, Chapel Road, Stamford Hill, and am a ratcatcher—on 23rd January I saw this advertisement in the Bazaar, Exchange and Mart. (This advertised ferrets for sale; applications to be made to J. Harris, 350, High Street, Stratford)—in consequence of that I wrote the same day to J. Harris at that address, enclosing postal orders for 2s. and 10s. 6d.—I received no acknowledgment of the money, nor any answer, and on Wednesday, 28th February, I went to 350, High Street, Stratford, and found it was a beer-shop—I saw the prisoner in another compartment there; directly he came into the house he made brag that he had sold seventy ferrets, and had four more to dispose of; then a postman came in with some letters; the prisoner received three or four of them at the bar; the first letter he opened he read and put in his left breast pocket, and the next one he turned all manner of colours as he read it—I came out of my compartment, and when he saw that he ran away; I had not said anything to him.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I did not touch you in the public-house, nor speak to you—I had never seen you before—I did not take the numbers of the orders.
JAMES HENRY KEMSLEY . I am a butcher, of 20, High Street, Sitting-bourne—I saw an advertisement similar to this in the Bazaar, Exchange and Mart, in consequence of which I sent a P.O. for five shillings to J. Harris, at 350, High Street, Stratford—I did not receive any reply or ferrets.
SIDNEY NEEDES . I am a steward, of the North-West Hospital, Hampstead—I saw an advertisement similar to this in the Bazaar, Exchange and Mart in January, and in consequence I sent to 350, High Street, Stratford, a postal order for five shillings and sixpence—I received an acknowledgment a day or two afterwards; I have destroyed it; it regretted he had not answered my letter before, as he had so many advertisements to answer, and said that he should be going into the country in a day or two, and then he would forward the ferrets on—I never heard from him again—I never received any ferrets.
JAMES HENRY ARGENT . I keep a beerhouse at 350, High Street, Stratford—I know the prisoner by his coming in there—in January this year he asked me if I would take in one or two letters for him—he said his name was Harris—I consented—some two or three dozen letters came for him, some in the name of Harris, and some John Harris—two days after he called, I handed them to him; two were registered—the Wednesday evening when Howard was there was the second time the prisoner had come for letters—the prisoner was not a regular customer; he had only come in about three times—he ran out of the house when Howard was there, and did not come back again—letters continued to come for him; about 195 came; I gave them to the police, finding he did not come.
Cross-examined. You were in the house before Howard came on the Wednesday—you were there ten or fifteen minutes—you left one bar and
came into another one, stopped there some time and went out—I cannot say if you ran out hastily; you walked out—you received two or three letters from the postman—I kept the letters that came for you locked up in a box; nobody had access to it—the second time you came you said you expected some letters complaining that the persons had not received their ferrets—you asked me if I had any letters for you, and I said there were none.
FREDERICK FORTH (Detective Sergeant). I received information, and on 27th February Argent handed me 197 letters, twenty-two postcards, and three telegrams—a warrant was obtained against the prisoner; after that he was searched for in the usual way till 29th June, when I arrested him at Tunbridge Wells—I brought him to Stratford, and read the warrant to him; it charged him with the larceny of these moneys—he said, "I did not receive all the orders; some I destroyed"—I asked his name—he said, "John Harris"—afterwards he said, "My right name is Gardiner."
The prisoner, in his defence, said he had some ferrets which he sent off; that he did not say in the advertisement how many he had; and that he had not received all the letters.
GUILTY *— Eight Months' Hard Labour.
MR. AVORY Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL Defended.
The prisoner stated, in the hearing of the JURY, that he was GUILTY of unlawfully wounding, and the JURY returned that verdict. — Three Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. BURNIE Prosecuted.
THOMAS GASCOIGNE . I am a seaman, living now at 97, Campbell Road, Finsbury Park—on 26th June I was employed on the Joseph, lying at Ollendorff's Wharf—the prisoner, who was on board, offered to sell me an oilskin and south-wester, for which I agreed to pay one shilling—I said I had no money on me because my money was below in my clothes—I borrowed a shilling from the captain and paid the prisoner—when I went below later I missed my blue jacket and vest and cloth trousers, a silver pencil-case from my vest pocket, and nine shillings, and a pocketbook from my jacket pocket—these are the jacket and vest, the trousers have not been recovered—I missed the prisoner, and did not see him again till ho was in custody—there is no pretence for saying that I gave him the things in exchange for the oilskin and south-wester—he said he had no money to go to London, would I buy this oilskin and southwester to pay his fare to London, and I agreed to buy them for one shilling.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I borrowed a shilling from the captain, because I had work to do aloft—I was unloading a barge—the night before I paid for one lot of beer, and you for another.
Re-examined. I gave twenty-five shillings for the coat and vest a few weeks before, I had only worn them a few times; the trousers were worth about twelve shillings, and the pencil-case about four shillings; altogether the value of the things was about two pounds—the oilskin and south-wester were not worth a shilling.
THOMAS TAYLOR ( WR 30). About 2.30 p.m. on 8th July I saw the prisoner in the Wandsworth Road, and said, "I shall take you into custody for stealing some clothing and nine shillings from a boat at the Victoria Docks "—he said, "Oh, I thought you wanted me for something else"—afterwards he said, "I have been expecting this"—I conveyed him to East Greenwich Police-station—on the way he said, "I changed an oilskin and a south-wester for the clothing, and Gascoigne gave me a shilling as well"—he was wearing this coat and vest when I took him—none of the other things have been recovered.
WILLIAM STEVENS (Detective Thames Police). On 27th June I received information—on 8th July I found the prisoner detained at East Greenwich Police-station—I said, "How do you account for the possession of that coat and vest you are wearing?"—he said, "I gave a man an oil-skin coat and south-wester for them "—I said, "What man?"—he said, "A man on board the Joseph "—I said, "Do you mean Gascoigne?"—he said, "Yes"—when charged with stealing these things he made no answer.
Prisoner's Defence, The prosecutor is telling a lot of falsehoods about his money. When I felt in the coat-pocket all it contained was a tin box with one farthing.
GUILTY . He then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction of felony in March, 1890 .—Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. ROOTH Prosecuted.
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Recorder.
Three Days' Imprisonment,
MR. POYNTER Prosecuted.
JOHN FERGUSSON . I am a sailor, and lodge at Sloper's Dining Rooms, Manor Way, North Woolwich—on Saturday night, June 14th, I was going down Beresford Street, Woolwich, to get across the water, and four men came up to me, assaulted me, and took away my watch and. guard, and ten or twelve shillings—one came in front and three behind—they seized me by my throat, and hurt it—the prisoner was one; he broke my
guard and stole my watch—Mr. Armstrong came to my assistance, and they all ran up Beresford Street and turned up by Barnard's Theatre of Varieties—I next saw the prisoner about a fortnight afterwards; not in a group; he was in the office when I went in.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. This was about 12.30; it was under a lamp, but they took me away from the light.
THOMAS ARMSTRONG . I live at 92, Wellington Street, Woolwich—about 12.30 on Sunday morning, 14th June, I was going down Beresford Street and saw four men opposite Barnard's Music Hall—the prisoner is one, I am quite confident—they were standing speaking, and I watched them—they went very slowly and made a halt—I saw the prisoner a little way ahead, he joined a soldier, and they stopped—when I got by the Guild-hall the prisoner crossed to my side of the road; I went into a dark corner, and one of the men, McBride, went up to the prosecutor and said, "God blind me, why do you want to fight? "and the prisoner put his hand in the prosecutor's pocket, and I saw him breaking his chain—I shouted out, and they ran away down by the side of the music-hall—I called the soldier and we took the prosecutor to the station—on Wednesday, July 1st, I saw the prisoner in the Essex Arms, and pointed him out to the police—I had been looking out for him for sixteen nights every night—I have known him since last December.
Cross-examined. The prosecutor was going the same way as me towards the Arsenal, which was about eighty yards off—he was going a little bit away from his boat, but he is a stranger in Woolwich—after twelve o'clock at night he could not cross the water—last Christmas Eve was the first time you spoke to me—I did not know your name, but I gave your description to the police—the soldier was ten or fifteen yards away when the robbery took place—only you and McBride used violence, but one of the others held his hands—you put your hands in his pocket, and you choked him—a little man who I did not know held his other hand.
JESSE BARTLE (R 403). On Wednesday, July 1st, about 10.15, Mr. Armstrong pointed out the prisoner to me at the door of the Essex public-house—I told him I should take him in custody for highway robbery on June 14th—he said, "I do not know anything about it; you might have had me before if you had wanted me "—I had told him he was charged with McBride.
JOHN PATTERSON . I am a gunner—on this Saturday night I was in Beresford Street with Mr. Fergusson—he went on some yards, and four men came behind us—I afterwards saw him in the middle of the road, and saw the men running down the road—I did not see anything done to him—the prisoner was among them; I am quite sure of that.
Cross-examined. I was perhaps thirty yards off; not near enough to see whether you did anything, but yet I recognise you as one of the four who committed the assault—I was at the Police-court before I was asked to recognise you—I saw the men called in, and saw that you were not among them—I was up and down the street, waiting till the case came on.
Witnesses for the Defence.
HARRY REES . I am potman at the Duke of Sussex, Beresford Street—I have known the prisoner about two months—on Saturday, June 13th, I saw him in the Duke of Sussex at 10.50; he remained there till 11.20;
he was the worse for liquor, and I took him home and put him into bed—he lives at the Casual Ward lodging-house—I saw no more of him till 12.25; he was then sound asleep in bed—I heard of his being taken up on this charge, and went and gave my evidence, and was bound over.
Cross-examined. The Duke of Sussex is right opposite Barnard's Theatre, and thirty or forty yards from the Casual Ward lodging-house—I do not live at the Casual Ward now, I left last Saturday—I looked at the clock as I went in—I can get away from business at any time—the Drill Hall is about 200 yards from the Duke of Sussex—I am no relation of the prisoner—I remained till 1.40 in the same room with him; I was attending to a man suffering from pleurisy, who is here.
JOHN O'CONNOR . I have known Rees about two months—on Saturday, 13th June, I went to bed about 11.35 at the Casual Ward lodging-house, and remained in bed till about seven next morning—I slept in the next bed to the prisoner, and saw him in bed when I went up to bed, and fast asleep—he remained in bed—I was examined before the Magistrate.
Cross-examined. There is no clock in the room, but there was a watch; I did not look at it till three o'clock next morning—I am no relation of the prisoner.
WILLIAM HENRY ELLIS . I am a carman—on 13th June I was at this lodging house, in bed with pleurisy, when Rees brought the prisoner up drunk at 10.50, and put him into bed—I know the time by my watch—he remained in bed till 6.40 next morning.
Cross-examined. If any one had got out of bed and left the room I should have seen it, as I had not a wink of sleep all night.
GEORGE DAVIS . I am a fishmonger's assistant, of 21, Rope Yard Rails, Woolwich—that is a lodging-house—I slept there on Saturday night, 13th June—I went to bed about 11.30—the prisoner, who I had known about a fortnight, came in from 11.5 to 11.15 with the potman of the Duke of Sussex, and was taken upstairs and put to bed—he was the worse for liquor—I slept in the next bed to him on the other side, and there he slept all night.
Cross-examined. When I got up to bed I found him in bed—I went to sleep about a quarter to twelve, and slept soundly till morning.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. CRANSTOUN and MR. BYRON Prosecuted, and MR. BESLEY and MR. BODKIN Defended.
ALFRED MARTIN . I am in the employ of Thomas Bevan, of Northfleet—on 17th June I was in charge of his barge Alert, lying in the upper entrance of Albert Dock—I got there about 12.30 at night; I had come down the river—I had to wait till the gates were open, when the tide came in—two men, named Cross and Day, were on board—the head rope was tied to a ring, which was attached to a long chain which hung down from the pier-head; anyone could reach it even at low water—any barge going into the dock could be attached there—we were moored with a rope; we had no stern rope, only a line made fast to the barge we were lying alongside of—we were the outside barge, but there were five or six more between us and the jetty, lying head up—there were more
barges astern of them, but not between us and the gate—we made everything right, and went into the cabin to rest ourselves, down a ladder, through a scuttle, which is covered with a hatch, which works backwards and forwards—we left that open, and I went to sleep—there are lockers or seats round the cabin, one is about two feet from the floor, and the other one foot nine inches—there is a skylight in the roof, it is large enough for a man's head to go through and look round—I awoke about 3.30, and the scuttle-hatch was pulled over close—I tried to open it, but could not, as it was fastened—I gave warning to my mates, and put a winch handle under the flushing-board and prized it up an inch, which enabled me to see forward, and I saw the two prisoners on board; Duke was about four feet abaft the mast; he picked up a coil of rope and took it off our barge and across two others, and threw it into the water—Hitchcock made a rope fast to the ring and pulled from the shore towards our barge—that was our headfast—I saw it pulled away from the ring—I afterwards examined the rope and found it had been cut, and the other rope was let go which I had made fast to the barge, and we were completely adrift—I saw the prisoners shoving her astern down the river—they then went across the inside barges; I cannot say where they went to—we then got an axe, prized open the scuttle-hatch, and let ourselves out—a long iron bolt like this (produced) had been shoved into the place where the padlock goes—when I got on deck I saw the two prisoners in a boat fifty yards off—it was not a clear morning, but you could see a quarter of a mile—Truss and I launched our boat, and followed them up the river for about an hour and a half; we were not fifty yards away from them at any time—they asked us if we had a bailer—they rowed their boat ashore, but did not leave it—I kept my eye on them—they went to the tug Naples, and then to a dumb barge, and both went down the cabin—a police galley came up in five minutes, and I informed the police, who went on board with me—Hitchcock came up from the scuttle; Duke was below; I shouted for him, but he did not come at once—I charged them with wilfully cutting the barge adrift, and stealing rope; they said they knew nothing about it—besides the things being thrown overboard, the ropes were all taken out, and the pump-spear, and break—that is used to keep the goods from being damaged by water, and if we were deprived of it the stuff would get wet—the main cord was cut, which would cause greater risk of capsizing—it was about 50 feet long—we do not let both the lee-boards down at the same time, or when we went near the ground we should touch the bottom—the one on the port side was let down—the tide was ebbing—supposing I had not woke up the barge might have turned over, and this rope being cut would make it more liable to turn over—if it had gone to the mud banks on the other side the lee-board would have broke, and when we were drifting on the river we might have come against some ships or the piers of a bridge—we ran a great risk of destruction.
Cross-examined by Mr. BESLEY. The Alert is 60 or 70 feet long—we had no topsail—the sprit is about three-fourths the length of the barge; there were 90 tons of cement on board, and the barge was down very low; the gunwale was only three or four inches from the water—I am a licensed waterman and a lighterman—I served six years' apprenticeship, and am subject to the regulations, one of which is that according to the size, the
barge shall have so many hands on board, and one licensed man if she is towed, but when she is cast off from the tug she must have two—when she is moored it is not necessary to have a man on board—we had come from a ship at Limehouse, and took in cargo at North-fleet—she came up eight miles above the Albert Dock—the tide began to run down at 9.25 at the bridge, and 9.19 at Limehouse, but we were towed back—we began to be towed at eleven o'clock, and we had the tide in our favour—the time would be an hour, or an hour and half; it depends on how many barges the tug had behind her, which I do not know, but only one stopped at the Albert Dock—there may have been twenty barges there, some laden and some light—I fastened the rope to the ring myself, and had to go over five or six other barges to do it—there were sixty or eighty feet of rope—I did not hear it asked for at the Police-court—I was not in Court when Day was examined—I saw the rope afterwards; it was not let go from our barge; it was cut near the shore end—they could not cut it from the pier, out they could get down from the pier on to the other barges—I turned in about 1.30—I had not got a watch—when I awoke it was guesswork, but I went by the state of the tide, which was ebbing slowly, and I should say it was between 3.30 and four—I saw sixty fathoms of half-inch rope thrown into the Thames; that would weigh one and a half hundredweight at the outside—the barge was not on the mud at low tide—there is great depth of water there, fourteen feet, I think—the Alert had moved ten feet when we left in our boat—it did not take thirty seconds to launch it—we left one man on the barge to prevent her going further—it was not foggy, but it was hazy—you can see a quarter of a mile at 3.30 a.m. at this time of year—some lightermen and watermen pick up jobs on the river if they have got a boat to do it with—Hitchcock may have gone on board three barges, and then went into his own boat again; after he left the barge it was low water—it was low water at Woolwich at 4.40, and it then turned—the police took them in custody between 5 and 5.30 when we got on deck they were fifty yards away, and when we had launched our boat they were one hundred—they pulled fifty yards against tide while we were getting our boat in—we were more than thirty seconds on deck before we launched our boat—there is not much tide at the entrance of the dock—Silvertown is nearly a mile and a half from the entrance to the Albert Dock, or not quite so much.
Re-examined. Our boat was pulled up on the hatches that night, and in thirty seconds we removed it from there, and put it afloat, but we were on deck longer than that—I never lost sight of the prisoners; there was a slight eddy helping them up—when Hitchcock went on board, Duke remained in the boat—he had on a two-peaked cap, a tourist's cap, the one he had at the Police-court.
By MR. BESLEY. I had never seen the prisoners before—I may know Hillman by sight; I do not know that his barge was lying next to the Alert, or that he wore a double-peak tourist's cap—I did not see him when the Alert arrived—these caps are not worn on the river much—this (produced) is the kind of cap, but it is darker.
Re-examined. Hillman (looking at him) is not the man I saw on my barge, nor the man in the boat which we followed.
on the Alert by Mr. Bevan—on the morning of June 9th the Alert was moored at the entrance of the Albert Dock—Martin and Day were on board—she was made fast to the pier-head by a ring with a chain—you can reach the ring from the barge—our other rope was made fast to a lighter alongside—I saw that everything was made right, and the two men and I went down to the cabin—the scuttle-hatch was right open—Martin awoke me in the morning, and the scuttle-hatch was fastened down; we were not able to open it—Martin said something to me, and I rushed to the skylight, stood on the seat and put my head out, and saw the two prisoners on board; Duke picked up a coil of rope alongside the mast and threw it into the water—Hitchcock was pulling our headfast rope from the pier-head—it was afterwards examined, and it had been cut—the rope by which we were moored was let go, and we were all adrift—Duke shoved our barge astern, and they went off our barge across some lighters, and I saw them come round the stern of our barge in a boat—the scuttle-hatch was not then opened; I kept looking out while Martin smashed it with a windlass-handle—we then got into our boat; this took about ten minutes, but we did not lose sight of them—we followed them about an hour and a half up to the tug Naples, and they went on board and moored their boat to a lighter, and went down in the cabin—we waited about five minutes for the police-galley to come up, and gave information—we moored our boat, and went on board with a policeman, and Hitchcock stood in the scuttle-hatch and shouted for Duke; he did not come up at first; he was supposed to be asleep—a charge was preferred against them—one rope of the barge was cut right through, which let the sprit go right round; that would be dangerous; if there was any wind it might break the other rope which holds the sprit—the whole of the pump apparatus was thrown overboard, and one of the leeboards let down—the barge drifted about twenty yards—Day was left in charge of it, when we followed the prisoners; and he let go the anchor to bring her up—I had been asleep—you. could see distinctly 100 or 140 yards that morning.
Cross-examined. I am not a waterman; I am a labourer—I am about five feet high—the cabin is so low that when I stood on the seat I had to stoop just a shade—there was no glass in the skylight, except in the centre—I looked out at the top in the centre, not at the side; the top was not on—the Alert has no topsail—I could not see quite across the river; it was a little misty—I saw Duke on the deck—I do not know that there was a watchman on the pier-head—I saw men on board the other craft—about seven minutes elapsed between Martin calling me and our getting out of the cabin—I did not call out to anyone during those seven minutes, but I called Day—our boat was not launched when the other boat went round our stern, and if they had chosen they could have got clear away from us—I did not see the rope cut attached to the prisoner's head, or see it let go—I saw it thrown on board—I saw Hitchcock hand it up through the ring; none of the rope was left on the chain—I saw Martin tie it up at night—I have seen the rope since, it was left on the bit-head, it was cut off four or five feet from the ring—I do not suggest that the two men in the boat avoided me—I made no complaint till the Thames wherry came—when I returned to the barge she had swung right round, she had shifted fifty yards; she was anchored there—the stern was up the river then, the
head was up before—the other barges had all swung with the tide, and the Alert was in the middle—there were twenty or twenty-five other barges there.
Re-examined. The other barges were moored, and when I saw the Alert at eight she was swinging by her anchor—Duke went on a barge, and I heard him ask if they wanted any help, and Hitchcock asked if they wanted a drop of rum—Duke had a peak cap on.
WALTER DAY . I live at Northfleet—on 17th June I was acting as third hand on board the Alert—I was asleep in the cabin with Martin and Truss—Truss woke me up, and I found the scuttle-hatch fastened down; it was wide open when I went. to sleep, we could not get out of the cabin—I stood on a locker, put my head through the skylight, but did not see either of the prisoners—Martin got the hatch open, and I went on deck and saw the two prisoners in a boat about 40 yards off—Truss and Martin rowed after them—our headfast had been cut, and the other rope let go; we were completely adrift, and drifted about a dozen yards—the van was cut, and the leeboard let down—I let go the anchor; the tiden was about ebbing—I found this iron bolt, which I had never seen on board before—Martin and Day were away quite three hours—it was a tarred rope made of hemp which moored us to the pier-head.
Cross-examined. Twenty barges or so were lying together when we arrived at midnight; I did not find any more in the morning—I did not notice Mr. Hillman's barge Amazon—what I call the skylight is not above the locker; you are obliged to lean forward a little bit—my mates had commenced to undo the hatchway when I woke—there was no calling out to anyone on board any other craft—I saw the rope put through the iron ring, I am sure it was not put round the chain—I expected to find part of it in the ring, but did not, they must have cut the bow—it is not here; I did not hear it asked for at the Police-court—I let down the anchor after I helped to launch the boat—the Alert had then moved half her own length—the other barges had not moved.
Re-examined. The other barges were not adrift—it did not take us a minute to launch the boat—it takes three or four feet of the end of the rope to take up a portion and make a knot, and if the knot was cut the whole thing would come off—the Alert had drifted, and there was a space between her and the other barges—the barges are not allowed to lie about the entrance to the lock where they like—there were four barges between us and the jetty, all waiting to get into the lock.
ROBERT BEVAN . My father is the owner of the Alert; he is a cement manufacturer at Northfleet—we lighter our own cement to the various steamships which export it—prior to June 17th we had had disputes with our workmen, which are still going on—there were 500 casks of cement on board the Alert, value about £175—wet spoils it at once; it sets it as hard as a rock—the water was nearly level with the deck, and with the slightest collision it would be likely to be sunk—if the men had not woke up, and she had been allowed to drift, she might have gone athwart a steamer at anchor, and tipped over, or she might have gone across the chain of a steamer, and gone over—the sprit being loose would make that worse—letting down the port lee-board would enable her to drift faster—there is an eddy on the other side which sets up the river, and the barge would
go up the eddy, and come right into the tideway—she might have come in contact with the powder hulks on the other side of the river; that is just where the ebb tide would sweep her, and they have very long mooring chains—there are always barges lying about—I have put my head through the skylight of the barge, and was able to see right round, and fore and aft—it is possible when the scuttle-hatch is battened down to open it, so as to see through—you might not see a man's boots, but you could see his face.
Cross-examined. My height is about 5 ft. 9 in.—the three men on board were shorter than me—I had to throw my body in a sloping direction to look out—I did not make the experiment at two or three a.m.—the Alert was towed to Limehouse, and came back because she had been to another ship which did not take the cargo—she went along the steamers in the river which did not take her cargo, and then the tug took her down.
JOSEPH GODDARD (Thames Police Inspector). My duties range from Barking Creek to Greenwich—the telegraph ship at Silvertown is within my limits—on 17th June I saw Martin and Truss at Mr. Tate's Wharf, Silvertown, and from the information they gave me I went to the barge Two Brothers, belonging to W. Arnold—they followed me on board—I saw Hitchcock on board, and said, "What are you doing here?"—I was in uniform—he said, "What's up, governor?"—I said, "What are you doing here? "—he said, "Having a rest," and called Duke twice—it appeared that Duke was having a sleep in the cabin—he came up, and I said to Martin, "Are these the two men?"—Martin said, "Yes, I can swear to them," and charged them with stealing two ropes and cutting the barge adrift—Hitchcock said, "I am quite innocent of this; what an unfounded charge! "—I took them both in custody, and they were charged before a Magistrate at Woolwich—I found a knife on each, and on Hitchcock's knife there was some tar and threads of hemp rope very minute, which have worn off, but here is a little bit of tar here—they were in a barge boat—I was on duty from two to eight a.m.—I went down the opposite side to Silvertown, and I was abreast of that place at 3.30, and went down a little further, and got back to where I arrested the prisoners at 5.30—I had not seen them before that morning, but they might have passed me plying about—I made some measurements on the barge by the Magistrate's request: the height of the cabin is six feet, and from the floor to the top of the lockers is twenty-two inches, and from the top of the lockers to the ceiling four feet two inches; from the top of the locker to the top of the skylight is four feet six and a half inches—the opening of the skylight is nine inches long fore and aft, and seven inches athwart—I put my head through, and got it out again.
Cross-examined. I do not think you could get your head through—the locker was not immediately underneath, and I had to steady myself with both hands—I had my knees bent a little—I think a shorter man could do it—three men were rowing the police boat, and I was steering, and heard someone say, "I want you, officer," and went towards the boat in which Martin was—we pulled to a barge which was half on the ground, I am not sure whether she was afloat at all—the Naples was not attached to the other barges—I do not know whether Duke was asleep; he looked very sleepy when I saw his face, and he wanted a lot of calling—it is
usual for men who have not constant employment to row about to get jobs.
Re-examined. It is usual for the men to apply for jobs to the master lightermen and the society, but they go out in boats to see that the barges are properly moored.
JAMES CRIPPS . I am a master lighterman, and know this locality—there would be a strong eddy running up against the ebb for a considerable distance—the wind was south-west, coming right out of the dock, and a barge cast adrift would go up the eddy, and the lee-board being let down on the port side the tide would catch upon her and take her up more rapidly; she would then meet the ebb, and if she came in contact with the powder barges, being deeply loaded, she would sink—there were twenty or thirty barges about there—if the three men were shut down in the cabin asleep they would run a great risk of being drowned.
Cross-examined. I know from my diary that the wind was S. W.—I cannot tell what it was at six o'clock the morning before, because I have not got my diary here—I write my diary at nine and at six from my compass, and correct it from H. M. Customs opposite.
Witnesses for the Defence.
ROBERT SHORING . I am a lighterman, of 58, Dale Street, Canning Town—on June 17th I was night watchman at the Telegraph Works, Silvertown—we took in the lights at 2.30 a.m., as it was daylight—about half or three-quarters of an hour after that I saw the two prisoners in a boat, and said, "Good morning, George"—they said, "Good morning, Bob," and rowed down inside the ship Silvertown, which was taking in telegraph cable—they rowed towards the Naples tug, which was sixty or seventy yards ahead, or a little more—I saw them row towards the ship, and I put the engineer ashore and rowed back—the prisoners were dodging about and boarding sailing craft—I did not see them go on board the Naples—they were in my sight from 3.15 to 5.15—I was in my boat to row people, ashore—I saw the prisoners taken out of the Two Brothers by the police—it is about a mile and a quarter from the ship Silvertown to the entrance of the Albert Docks; there is only one entrance, and that is about a mile and a quarter from where I exchanged words with them—it was ebb tide; it would take half an hour to row down, and three-quarters of an hour to row up—they were under my observation from the time I spoke to them till the police took them; there was no time for them to go down and come back without my missing them—it is not unusual for men to go about asking for jobs—I saw plenty of other boats in the river.
Cross-examined. I cannot give the names of any other person's boats that morning; they were strange boats—there were some small boats—I will not swear the tide was ebbing at five; I believe it was—I had no watch; I go by the state of the tide—when the tide is ebbing, an hour and a half before low water, a small boat could not go down from the Albert Dock to Silvertown in a quarter of an hour with two men rowing, and I do not think in twenty minutes—I was a watchman—I took people from the ship to the shore, which is three hundred and sixty odd feet, every quarter of an hour for two or three hours—it was good daylight at 2.30; I could clearly distinguish eighty or ninety yards off—you could not see quite so far at 3.30, because it was a bit foggy—there is no gangway from the ship to the shore—the ship is
about three hundred and fifty feet long—I was all round the ship watching—the prisoners were rowing all about the river, boarding first one ship and then another—I will swear I saw them every half-hour, not every quarter—I am not a union man—I have got my license with me—I did not take notes of the names of the sailing barges the prisoners went on board of, because I did not know I was going to be asked—lightermen ply for work night and day—they go to a place in the City, as a rule, between six and seven o'clock—there would be work to do at the lowest of ebb-tide going up the river; the way to catch them is to go down an hour or half an hour before low water—they might go to Rochester or Gravesend—two men as a rule are on board these barges, the captain and mate; I have been master of a barge—sailing barges could not go down that morning, it was low water—I do not suppose there would be anybody at the wharves before six a.m.—they would begin to go up the river about 5.16 with the flood-tide, and then the men would be on the look out for work; I should not expect them to be asleep at 5.15.
Re-examined. I did not see the prisoners go on board the Two Brothers—there was nothing wrong about them being on board ready to go up the river when the tide turned—officers look out for any infringement of the law for navigating a barge without two on board; they go on board and say, "Have you got a license, old man?" and if they have not you can complain.
By the COURT. A lighterman who is looking out for a job can claim the job if there is no waterman on board—there is a penalty for working without a license—if a lighterman is going from one vessel to another he inquires if there is a license; if there is not he claims the penalty, and if there is he claims the job.
HENRY FREDERICK RUSSELL . I was captain of the tug Naples on 17th June—I had come to London and back, tugging up dumb barges to Harborough. Southwark Bridge—I had no barges going back—I got down to Mr. Tate's buoy about 10.50 and moored there, and the prisoners came in a boat about three o'clock, and Hitchcock asked me to give them a sleep—I judge the time by the tide—I said, "There is no room here; go on board one of the master's barges inside"—that was the Two Brothers—they got there in their boat, but I did not see them go there; I did not come up out of the cabin—they did not give me their names; I knew them.
Cross-examined. I was sleeping in my cabin—I fell asleep again, but I know it was three o'clock—I did not finish smoking till twelve—I was sleeping aft, and the mate also—he did not get up, but he woke up.
Re-examined. Hitchcock came to the cabin hatchway, and I could see him plainly—I knew him before—he said there was a man with him; it is a general thing to do.
By the COURT. I had no watch—I thought it might be about that time—I had been out the night before, and was very tired.
GEORGE BOWDEN . I am an apprentice to a waterman—I was with Russell on board the Naples tug—we left London at 9.30 a.m., and got down about 10.45; we had a quarter of an hour against tide—the engineer and stoker went ashore about 10.40, and we turned in about twelve—I slept in the same cabin with Russell—between two and three o'clock I saw Hitchcock; I did not see the man with him, but I heard him—I heard Russell give them leave to go somewhere—I judge the
time by the state of the tide—I saw them again three or four days afterwards.
Cross-examined. I was very tired, and wanted to go to sleep; I just spoke to him and went to sleep again.
JOHN KEYS . I am a lighterman, of 19, Heath Street, Commercial Road—on June 16 I lent my boat to Hitchcock for a day or two to get his living—it is red, white, and blue—there are four or five hundred boats on the river painted like that.
Cross-examined. It is a barge boat.
CHARLES HILLMAN . I am a lighterman, of 218, Cable Street, St. George's-in-the-East—on the evening of June 16 I was in charge of the Amazon, and got to the pier-head, Albert Dock, about 12.30 on the 17th—it is a dumb barge; no one was on board but me—I made fast to a barge of W. Pope and Co.—there were about twenty barges at the pier-head—the Alert was not there when I arrived—I saw her come; she laid outside another barge, and I saw a man run over the craft with a rope—I was wearing a cap the same shape as this, but thicker and darker—it is at home; I have two or three like it, I have two on board the barge—they are very usual among river men—there is always a watchman on the pier-head—I heard nothing to alarm me in the night—about six a.m. I saw the Alert with her anchor down; she had swung round with the tide—I saw nothing of the cutting of the rope—she had not shifted any distance, she had only swung round—I was on board the Amazon till break of day, a little after two, and then I went below and turned in—the Alert was there then, and no alarm was made.
Cross-examined. I am not the man with the peak cap who cut the rope.
THOMAS JAMES BELLMAN . I live at 7 G, Peabody Buildings, Bermondsey—on 17th June I was on the Nelson—I got to Albert Dock between twelve and one, and saw the Alert arrive, and another barge, called the Silver Wedding—the Alert was made fast—I turned in about 2.30—I next saw the Alert about 5.30, swung up at the entrance of the dock, in the midst of the craft, with her anchor down—she was only a few yards from us before—she swung round with all the others—I did. not know of any rope being cut—there is a watchman on duty at the pier-head; I saw him when we came down, I did not see him when I woke up—the bottom there is mud, and the anchor would hold in it very fast.
THOMAS HOLLIGAN . I live at 16, Tender Road, Bermondsey—on 17th June I was on board the Lascar; she was moored to the pier-head—we arrived there at 12.30—I turned in at 2 or 2.30; the Alert was all right then—I was not alarmed in the night—about one o'clock I saw the prisoners come to the Tilbury tug and tow away down the river towards Barking, that is not towards Silvertown—the Alert had not arrived then.
Cross-examined. It would take them an hour or an hour and a half to row from Barking to Silvertown.
CHARLES LEVETT . I am lock-man at the Albert Docks—there are two entrances close together, but the depth of water is different—the upper entrance with the least amount of water is used by barges—I went on duty at 8.30 and left at 6 a.m.—I passed the night there, and walked about—I did not see the Alert come, but I saw her there at 2 a.m. and again at 3.30, amongst nineteen or twenty other craft—it is the rule to require one man on board each—I did not see Martin and Truss go away in their boat; I heard nothing of it till 4.30, when a man came ashore
from the barge to the upper pier-head in a boat, and came in front of me—the Alert was then swung up, and there were about three craft inside her and fifteen or sixteen outside her; the tide was coming up, and that swung all the craft up—I do not know what was holding her, I took it that she was fast—she could not have got loose so as to float against the powder vessel—she could have got away from the other craft if she had been loosened—a person could descend the steps and get on board the craft—they can come and go as they please.
Cross-examined. The barges are not all in regular order—they must all take their turn to go into the lock.
Re-examined. Barges do not always swing in the same way, and if the barges get a cant in they stop in—their position gets altered very much.
GUILTY .— Six Months' Imprisonment each.
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Justice Charles.
MESSES. CHARLES MATHEWS , A. F. GILL, and ELDRIDGE Prosecuted; Ms. PURCELL Defended at the request of the Court. James Chapman, Police Sergeant M 15, produced and proved three plans of the premises in question.
EMMA JANE WILDE . I am a daughter of the prisoner—latterly I have been living at 40, Palatinate Buildings, Kent Road—on Monday, 29th June, I went with my mother, the deceased, to Southwark Police-court to apply for a summons against my father for threats—on Saturday, 4th July, about twenty minutes past twelve, I went to 24, Smith's Buildings, where my father and mother lived—I there saw my father, mother, Alfred Hodson, and my sister Maria—the prisoner said to me that he would bring b----authority (meaning my husband) down to give me a good hiding—I replied, "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, knowing that we have been parted nearly two years"—my husband and I had been parted two years come next March—he said, "Do you intend to carry out this summons? "—he said that to me and my mother—we were in the kitchen; she was cleaning out the kitchen—we both answered, "Yes"—he said, "Oh, neither you nor your mother shall live to see this on Monday "—the summons was to come off on Monday—he had had the summons; I believe lie had just burnt it—I did not see him burn it—he then walked upstairs, got a parcel, came down, and walked out with it under his arm—after that I went a little way with mother to get the boys' dinner in—I think it must have been about twenty minutes past one when I left her at the Bricklayers' Arms, Bermondsey New Road—that was about five or ten minutes' walk from her home—I next saw her about half-past two—she was then dead—I have often heard my father threaten my poor mother; for years he has
threatened her life—he has said, "I will do for you," and once, that he knew he would be hung for her.
Cross-examined. It is nine years since I lived with them in the same house—I very rarely went to the house in the week, but always every Saturday morning—I believe my father has not been working at the wharf for four or five years—he was supported by his wife and children, on and off—I believe he has hardly earned anything; it never benefited mother—I never knew him to ail anything—I do not know that at the wharf he was called "Mad Bradshaw"; this is the first I have heard of it—I only know one man who worked there with him—he worked with him for twenty years—I did not hear that he sometimes behaved there in a very peculiar and odd way—he has been given to drink for years, as long as lean recollect—I am twenty-nine years of age—on one occasion he was at Rotherhithe Infirmary for some illness brought on by drink—I should say that was from five to eight years ago—he has not to my knowledge been to any other infirmary or hospital—on a former occasion a summons for threats was taken out against him, but mother did not appear, because he said he would, turn over a new leaf—I could not say how long ago that was—I should think it was from two to three years—when sober he has behaved kindly to her—since he left off working at the wharf he has been doing odd jobs at home—I don't know what he did otherwise; of course, now and again he was at home—I have not been at home much—there are seven children living; I am the eldest—Maria is at home, and Samuel, ten years old—when we were young he was a very good father to us—he has been on good terms with me latterly—the authority he referred to was my husband—there has not been any difference between me and father lately about my husband—we have always been on good terms—I went with mother about the summons on this last occasion—I believe father was in the militia seven years; I do not know that he was discharged from the militia on account of his health—my brother was a baby when he joined, and he is twenty this month.
Re-examined. I cannot fix the date of the first summons; I should think it was within two years—after serving in the militia I believe father went to work at Hayes' Wharf, and remained there a great number of years; I do not know when he left—he afterwards worked at Butler's Wharf as a cooper—he has been drinking ever since I can remember; not continually; he would have bouts of drinking, and sometimes he would go without—I never noticed him to be violent when in drink—the threats would be more often when he had drink; I have not known him utter threats when sober; I can hardly recollect—I did not notice that he had had any drink on the morning of 4th July; as far as I could see, he was sober; he seemed perfectly calm—he had not been drinking to excess before that; he had not the money to do so—I could not tell how long before that I had seen him under the influence of drink.
MARIA MAUD BRADSHAW . I am fifteen years of age—in July this year I was living at 24, Smith's Buildings, Long Lane, Bermondsey, with my father and mother—I had been there about two months before 4th July—there were four rooms; a kitchen and parlour on the ground floor, and two bedrooms on the first floor; my father and mother occupied the front room, and the boys had the back room—I slept in the same room as father and mother—in the week ending on Saturday, the 4th, a summons was
left at the house—I did not see my father with it—on the 4th I came home about eleven in the morning, with my sister Emma, from the warehouse where we work—we worked at umbrellas and parasols, and brought our work home—mother was in the kitchen; father was upstairs—he came down into the kitchen, and said to my sister that he should bring authority down to her that night to fight her—she said, "If you do I shall give you in charge "—she is living apart from her husband, whose name is Wilde, and is living with Brett; she is called both Mrs. Wilde and Mrs. Brett—I went into the parlour and remained there some little time—father went upstairs, and came down with a bundle under his arm, and left the house—I did not hear what passed between them in the kitchen—about ten minutes after father had gone out mother and Samuel went out; about twenty minutes afterwards father came back without the bundle—he said, "Where is your mother gone?"—I said, "I don't know "—he went upstairs for a few minutes, and then went out again—about a quarter of an hour after that mother returned—she got the dinner ready, and we sat down to dinner; mother, young Hodson, who was living in the house, and my little brother aged ten—while we were at dinner father returned; he looked into the kitchen; mother asked him if he would have a bit of dinner—he said no, he did not require any, and he went upstairs—he stayed there a few minutes, and then came down with a jug, and went out into the yard for a jug of water—he did not come into the kitchen, he passed the door—I could see him; he filled the jug with water, and came back—as he came into the passage mother asked him if he would have a cup of tea instead—he said, "I have got a jug of water, that is sufficient, that is my allowance"—she said, "What is the good of telling lies, father?"—she asked him if he would have a piece of beef—he said no, he did not require it, and went upstairs—about ten minutes or a quarter of an hour afterwards he called out that he would have a cup of tea—mother sent my little brother up to ask him if he would have it up or down stairs, and I heard him say, "Tell your mother to bring it up to me "—mother got the tea ready, and took it up to him—I could not say in what room he was—I asked mother if I should take it up, and he said, "I don't require you "—then mother went up—I remained in the kitchen—after she had gone up I heard him say, "Will you withdraw the summons?"—she replied, "No; I have done it times enough "—I then heard him say, "If you will not withdraw it I will withdraw you"—she said, "If you touch me I will scream murder "—I was then at the bottom of the stairs, listening—it seemed to me that they were in a room, but which room they were in I could not say—I could hear distinctly—there is a bend in the staircase—I heard mother scream "Murder! "and "Police!" and I ran up the stairs and went to the front bedroom door—I could not open it; as I went to turn the handle I heard the key turned from inside, that locked the door—upon that I ran downstairs and out of the house—I saw Mrs. Chapman, a neighbour, and went back to the house with her—the door was then shut; it had slammed after me when I left the house—I could not open it, as I had no key—whilst I was standing there I heard some smashing of glass inside—I knocked at the door, father opened it—I said, "Oh, father, what have you done? "—he said, "I have done it, Maria; I have done it; I have got my revenge "—he came out and went away; he had his hat on—I went upstairs into the front bedroom, and there saw my
mother lying on the ground; she was alive, but unable to speak—I saw a wound in her throat, from which she was bleeding—a little time afterwards the police came, and then a doctor, and father was brought back to the house by a constable.
Cross-examined. I went out on Saturday morning about half-past nine, and came back at eleven—father was in when I came back—he went out twice, and was absent about twenty minutes each time—when he came back the first time he sent for some beer; my little brother got it, and took it upstairs to him—that was before he had the jug of water; he got that to sponge some clothes that he was doing, some tailoring, in the boys' room, some job that he had brought home—it was about twenty minutes or half an hour after that that he asked for the tea—father has been very much given to drink; I have often seen him very much the worse for liquor; he would then be noisy and use violent language—I have always been living at home, going out for work and coming home to my meals—I saw father every day—he has not been kind to mother and me when sober; he never was kind to me—there have been frequent quarrels and disputes between him and his children—my sister did not live at home—he was sometimes kind to mother, but not to me—besides Samuel there are three more brothers who live at home; one is away in India—there are three at home besides my little brother; the youngest is 10, another 18, and another 21, and the eldest 24—none of the three were there on this Saturday; they go out to work—they did not come home till after this had happened—they sometimes" come home in the afternoon; two work in the neighbourhood, and one in the City; they all three sleep at home—the prisoner for years past has been supported by his sons and daughters—I and mother used to work at umbrella work—I could not exactly say how long it is since father worked at a wharf; it is years since he did do work—the tailoring he did was odd jobs for his workmates—it is some years since he was in regular work—I was very young when he used to go regularly to the wharf—I remember when he was at the Rotherhithe Infirmary—he was not at Bartholomew's Hospital that I know; once he was under it with a bad cough—he has sometimes behaved in rather an odd way, and done remarkable things—he has been in the habit of sleeping with dangerous weapons under his pillow, sometimes a razor, sometimes a chopper, and sometimes a piece of iron, and that has often occurred, and for some time past, for years—on the Thursday night before this he was sleeping with a chopper under his pillow—I never heard him called "Mad Bradshaw. "
Re-examined, On Thursday night, 2nd July, he slept with a chopper under his pillow—I did not hear him make any statement about it—before then he had slept with a razor and a piece of iron there; that was at different times—latterly lie did some work for his mates at Butler's Wharf—it is turned two years now since he did a day's work, since then he has done little tailorings for the men he used to know—it was about half-past one when he sent for a pint of beer; mother had just come in then; to my knowledge he had no more beer that day—he was not in drink when he came in and asked where mother was—it was while I was at dinner that he sent for the beer; he was free from drink then to my knowledge—it was after the beer had been taken up that he came down for the water; it was a different jug that he brought down for the
water; I saw no more of that jug—he had not drank the beer when he said, "That is my allowance"—as far as I saw he seemed free from drink when he went upstairs.
By the JURY. When he put the things under his pillow he did not utter any threats—they were generally under his pillow—mother was in fear of her life; she wanted to sleep with me, but he would not have it—she knew the things were under the pillow, but she was in fear.
ALFRED HODSON . I am a labourer, and lodge at 24, Smith's Buildings; my room was opposite the prisoner's, on the same landing; some of the sons slept in the room with me—on 4th July I came home about half-past twelve—I went into the kitchen; Mrs. Bradshaw, Mrs. Wilde, and Maria were there; the prisoner was upstairs—I did not hear any conversation between the prisoner, Mrs. Wilde, and the deceased at that time—he went out, and returned about a quarter or twenty minutes past one—Mrs. Bradshaw and Mrs. Wilde had then gone out—I remarked to him about the weather—he said it did not matter to him about the weather, which way it was; it was pouring with rain at the time—he seemed quite sober—he went upstairs—I had dinner with Mrs. Bradshaw, Maria, and the little boy—I saw the prisoner come downstairs carrying a jug—Mrs. Bradshaw asked him if he would have any tea—he said, "No; I am going to get some water to sponge with; I don't mind a cup of tea presently "—he got the water and went upstairs—Mrs. Bradshaw told the boy to go up and ask him if he would have some tea, and he called down, "Tell your mother to bring it up "—Mrs. Bradshaw took it up—Maria went round the bend towards the stairs, and I heard her say, "What are you going to do now? "or something to that effect—I heard Mrs. Bradshaw call; I can't say whether it was "help" or "murder"—I ran out of the kitchen, and met Maria running down the stairs—she ran out first, and I followed her, and the door shut behind me—I ran up to the top, and met Constable Archer, and just as I was speaking to him the prisoner came along and said, "I am going down to Bermondsey Street to give myself up; I have just murdered the old woman"—the constable took him back to the house.
Cross-examined. I have known the prisoner four or five years—I and the four sons occupied the one room opposite the prisoner's—he always appeared all right with his eldest daughter—the sons and he were occasionally on bad terms; it was not the sons' fault if they did quarrel; the prisoner was repeatedly drunk—I have often seen him the worse for liquor—I can't say exactly raving like a madman or violent, but behaving very rough—I never noticed him saying something and then stopping in the middle in forgetfulness, and odd in manner—his manner on this day did not strike me as peculiar—he seemed no different to what he was at other times—if you spoke to him sometimes he would answer all right, and sometimes he would insult you without any cause; that did not strike me as odd, I was used to it, that was his habit—I never heard him called "Mad Bradshaw"—I had not seen much of him that week, I was out nearly all day; sometimes I came home to dinner in the middle of the day, but I did not see much of him—when he had anything to do he did it up in our bedroom; he was a good deal by himself upstairs doing work or sewing—I knew that he sometimes carried a chopper or razor; he carried the chopper in his leather belt with a hole in it; sometimes he would pawn it—he mostly carried the razor; he often carried the chopper
in his belt for some time past, for weeks, not for the last year, before that—I can't speak about the piece of iron or the file—he used the chopper in his business at the wharf.
Re-examined. This is the chopper, it was always brightly polished; he used to wear it up to about twelve months ago, up to the time he was working at the wharf—I cannot fix the time precisely when I last saw him wearing it.
By Mr. PURCELL. I could not say when he was last working; at the wharf, I saw him just after last Christmas, and he was not doing any work then—the razor he occasionally carried in his pocket; the last time I saw that was about a fortnight ago—it was such a razor as the one produced—I have seen him with a file like this, not carrying it, but using it in the yard or scraping his boots—when I say he would sometimes insult you, I mean he would speak off-hand, as if he did not care whether he spoke to you or not—he would say it did not matter a b----to him, or something like that; he would turn the thing away as indifferent to him.
ELIZA CHAPMAN: I am the wife of Stephen Chapman, a stoker; I live at 9, Victoria Place, Long Lane, which is the next turning to Smith's Buildings—I knew the prisoner and his wife—on Saturday, 4th July, about a quarter-past two, Maria Bradshaw came to my house—in consequence of what she said I went with her to her home—she knocked at the street door; we could not get any answer; she put her back to it and tried to force it open—we heard a breaking of glass in the front room downstairs—we stopped two or three minutes, and the prisoner then came and opened the door—Maria said, "Oh, father, what have you done? "—he said, "Oh, Maria, I have done it; I have had my revenge"—he then walked out of the house; Maria ran up the stairs, and I followed her into the front room, where I saw Mrs. Bradshaw lying on the floor, bleeding from wounds in the throat—she died about five minutes after—I came down with Maria, and stopped there till the prisoner came in with the constable.
Cross-examined. When I afterwards went into the front room downstairs I found the son's likeness was smashed and the glass was broken—I did not notice anything else damaged—they were neighbours of mine for about six months—I have heard the prisoner halloa to his children and his wife, but I never heard him quarrel with her or anybody; I have heard him act. like a madman; things that he said and the way he said them—I never noticed him the worse for drink—I did not see much of them.
Re-examined. I have known him act violently—he seemed to halloa in his talking; he would raise his voice and speak very loudly to the daughters and sons—he would halloa if the girl was doing anything for about five minutes—that has been almost all the time he has been next door; I have not heard him speak loudly to his wife, only to the boys and girls—I never heard him quarrel with his wife—when I have heard him speak loudly I have not seen him; I have always been indoors,
SARAH JANE GOUGH . I live at 26, Smith's Buildings, and am the wife of Charles (rough, a horsekeeper—on Saturday, 4th July, about a quarter-past two I heard a noise coming from 24—I heard the prisoner's voice and his wife's, but not what they said—I saw Maria come out of the
house—I went to the door of No. 24 and tried to open it, but could not—as I stood there I heard the prisoner say, "I told you I would do it"—some time after he opened the door—I did not see Maria then, or Mrs. Chapman—I did not hear glass breaking—Maria was with me—I heard the prisoner's voice coming from the first floor front, and I heard a fall as if from the same room—it was after that that the prisoner opened the door—he said, "I have done it, and I am going to Bermondsey station to give myself up," and he went in that direction—I did not notice whether he had a hat or cap on—I went in and went up to the first floor, and there saw Mrs. Bradshaw lying on the floor bleeding.
Cross-examined. When the prisoner came to the door he appeared to me more like a madman, he seemed to be wild and deranged; his eyes were pretty nigh out on his cheek bones, and he was saturated with blood—he spoke very mild, he did not shake; it was only his appearance, not his language, that seemed like a madman—I had only lived there about eight weeks—I have seen him with a parcel which I supposed to be his work.
Re-examined. He spoke quietly—the way he looked was like a madman—his hands were covered with blood, not his face—when a man is in a desperate bad temper he looks different from what he is when he is in an amiable temper; he looked very angry—I never saw Mrs. Chapman till after I came downstairs—I then saw her in the back kitchen.
ARTHUR LOCKHART (M 69). I am the warrant officer at Southwark Police-court—I produce a summons dated 29th June, taken out by Emma Bradshaw against Robert Bradshaw, for threats; it was returnable on 6th July—I served a copy of it on 3rd July on the wife, at 24, Smith's Buildings.
WILLIAM ARCHER (M 212). On Saturday, 4th July, between a quarter and half-past two I was proceeding up Long Lane when I received a communication from Hodson, inconsequence of which I stopped the prisoner; he was coming towards me—he said, "I have murdered my old woman; I have done it all right, to please everybody; I am going to Bermondsey Street Station to give myself up "—I took him back to 24, Smith's Buildings, and in the first floor front room I saw a woman lying on her back, with several wounds on her face and throat—Rickman, M 267, went up with me; I sent him for a doctor, and Dr. Martin returned with him the prisoner was in the room all the time—I took him into custody, and took him to the station; on the way he said, "If I had a chopper I would chop her head off "; he repeated that several times—I searched the room; I saw this razor and file lying on the floor close to the dead woman—the prisoner said, "There is the razor and file I did it with "—at the station, in answer to the charge, he said, "Quite right"—he seemed very much excited; I think he was sober.
Cross-examined. I had seen him before about the street, as I might see anyone else; I had never heard him called after as "Mad Bradshaw"—he repeated the expression, "I wish I had a chopper; I would have chopped her head off." more than once on the way to the station, and the other expression also.
WILLIAM RICKMAN (M 267). On 4th July I went to 24, Smith's Buildings, about half-past two, and there found the prisoner in the custody of last witness—I went for Dr. Martin, and on returning the prisoner was about to make a statement; I told him that what he said might be used
in evidence against him; he replied, "Quite right, I own to it; do a job properly and please everybody "—he seemed very excited, I think he was sober.
DAVID WILLIAMS (Inspector M). On 4th July I was in charge of the Police-station in Upper Grange Road, Bermondsey, when the prisoner was brought in by Archer, who handed me this razor and file; I then went with the constable to 24, Smith's Buildings, and there saw the woman lying dead in the first floor front; I returned to the station and charged the prisoner with the wilful murder of his wife—he said, "Quite right," which he repeated two or three times on his way to the cell—a constable searched him in my presence; when he took off his coat he was wearing this shirt, which had stains of blood on it, showing that he was not wearing his coat when he committed the murder, because it was stained quite up to his shoulders, and his hands were stained with blood.
FRANCIS JOSEPH CLIFTON MARTIN . I am a registered medical practitioner of 33, Bermondsey Square—about twenty minutes past two on the afternoon of 4th July I was called to 24, Smith's Buildings—I there saw the body of a woman lying on her back on the ground in the first floor front room, used as a bedroom; she was dead—I saw that she had several large cuts in the throat—I made a post-mortem examination the next day—on the right side of the throat I found a large cut about seven inches long and an inch and a half deep, extending from two and a half inches behind, and one or half below the right ear to the middle of the chin, three-quarters of an inch below the lip; the bone was exposed from the angle of the jaw to the middle of the chin—the jugular vein had been cut into, but not the carotid artery, it had cut open the pharynx and through the posterior half of the sterno muscles—the direction of the wound was from before, backwards, and downwards; it had cut into the bone, showing considerable force—on the left lower part of the chin were four superficial wounds about an inch and a half long and 1-16th of an inch deep, three deeper wounds on the left side, one immediately below the angle of the jaw; on the back of the left arm was a cut two and a half inches above the wrist, an inch and a quarter long and about an inch deep—all these wounds were such as could be inflicted by such a razor as the one produced—the immediate cause of death was the hemorrhage from the wound on the right side of the throat; that was a very grave wound, and must have been inflicted with considerable force—the other wounds were severe enough to cause death—I also observed some punctured wounds, two of them above and to the left of the navel, both penetrating the wall and coats of the stomach—there were also fourteen other punctured wounds, slight in character, on the trunk, arms, and legs—the two near the navel were serious enough to have caused death in a day or two, they perforated not only the abdominal wall, but the posterior parts, and had gone right through the stomach; such a weapon as this file would have caused them—my opinion was that the punctured wounds were inflicted first; they had gone through the clothes and the stays.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I have nothing to say to your worship, and I have no witnesses here."
The two following witnesses were, at MR. PURCELL'S request, put into the box by MR. MATHEWS, but were examined by MR. PURCELL.
was employed there between twelve and thirteen years, down to December, 1887—during the time he was working under me I observed something peculiar in his manner, he was peculiarly eccentric in his ways and manner generally; he would go about his work, and if you put a question to him, the way he would answer you, lie would take short steps and starts, and go from one place to another to do his work—he would draw himself up very close in a military and soldier-like fashion, and salute me very sharp, and say, "Right, right"—if I sent him from one part of the building to another with some men to do some work, in all probability he would start before the other men very quick, and then stop and turn round and make an expression to the men and say, "I could do half the b----work before you get there"—that peculiar behaviour was at all times, but he seemed a little more so at times; that was noticeable to the men who were working with him; ho used to be called by them "Mad Bradshaw "—he would be sober there, or we should not allow him in the building, but at times when I saw him more eccentric than at others I should say it was from the effects of drink over-night—I could not. say that he had the appearance of a heavy drinker—beyond these peculiarities he was peaceable, well-behaved workman; he did his work satisfactorily—I did not notice anything quarrelsome in his disposition. Cross-examined. He earned on an average from 28s. to 30s. a week; it varied—during the last five years he was there he was under ray charge, and I saw a good deal of him—he left because he lost time; he was discharged on that account in December, 1887; he had worked there continuously till then—I can't say that I ever saw him drunk—what I speak of as peculiar in his manner was that he had rather a military manner, he would stop and address you as such, and draw himself up in rather a military attitude and salute, and sometimes if I sent him to work I have noticed he would make a dead stop, and pull himself up to "attention "—I did not know that he had been in the militia seven years; I hoard so, I can't say that I knew it—ho was a very good workman, and did his work quite satisfactorily—ho mixed with the men; ho was a tea cooper—he would work with a weapon similar to this chopper—there was nothing to suggest that he was not right in his mind.
Re-examined. Militiamen are not uncommon among the men working in the docks.
EDWIN WILDING . I am quay foreman at Butler's Wharf—the prisoner has been employed there during the last four or five years, not regularly, casually, he would not lose less than throe months out of twelve—he has been under my observation while employed there; he would be with me nine months out of the year; I have noticed a peculiar manner about him on several occasions, walking about the quay in a soldier-like manner, and giving peppermint lozenges to people about the quay; in fact, he has offered me some—he would start box knocking, and would walk about the floor, and come back and say nothing to anybody, and start working again—he has made complaints to me about his daughters and sons—he has complained about his head; he asked me to let him go to the hospital-his conduct has been noticed by the men he worked with; he was called "Mad Bradshaw "—that was a common phrase about Butler's Wharf—that has gone on all the time he was employed there; he has been a quiet, peaceable man, not quarrelsome,
far from that, quite the other way, and a good workman—I have noticed his appearance as if recovering from the effects of drink—I saw him on the Saturday morning this happened, about ten; he was looking for work, he had nothing to do with us then, he looked rather shaky; I mean as to drink.
Cross-examined. I can't give the exact date when he was last employed at Butler's Wharf, but I think it was about a week before this happened—he had been employed there about four years from about the time he left Hayes' Wharf—during that time he was employed nine months out of twelve, receiving wages during that time from 30s. to 35s. a week—he did not work the week before this; I think he was along with me on colonial work; he might work a day now and then, working with others, about two hundred—for the last ten weeks he would work a day now and then; he worked as a tea cooper, but he was not particular; he would do anything, colonial work and that—I have never seen him drunk at work; we should not have allowed him there if he was—he was perfectly steady, and a good workman, far from being a lazy man—it was not only his military gait that struck me, I have had occasion to speak to him about other things; he would leave his hammer on the top of a box and go and walk about the floor, and then go on with his work again—that was the peculiarity I noticed—he has sometimes asked me to let him go to the hospital—I could not tell that he ever went, I could not follow him; he has brought a medicine bottle back—there was nothing at all dangerous about him, or in his mixing with other persons—I have seen him drunk, but not in business hours—I saw him on the morning of 4th July standing at the corner of the street; he passed the time of day with me, that was all; I thought he had been drinking—I was going for my holiday, and I was at Brighton when I heard of this—I should think it was ten weeks or three months ago when he was last employed by the week—he was always a casual man, not a permanent one—I think he did one day's work in the week of 4th July.
Re-examined. When he was regularly working he would be employed every day if he came to look after it—we don't employ men regularly; we take them from the gate—it was about ten minutes to ten when I saw him on the morning of 4th July—that would not be the time he would come to look for work—he would be there before that.
PHILIP FRANCIS GILBERT . I am surgeon to H. M. Prison at Holloway—in consequence of instructions I have had the prisoner under my special observation from the date of his admission there, Monday, 6th July—he has told me different things when I have been talking to him—he has not complained—he has told me that he suffered from headache, and from pressure on the top of the head, from humming, and bells ringing in his head at times—he told me that for the last few years he had been under the impression that his wife was unfaithful to him, but he had no proof of it; it was merely conjecture—he has been under my observation from 6th of July down to the 26th—during the whole of that time his conduct has been perfectly rational and quiet, and very well-behaved—I have seen nothing to indicate that he was insane; I consider him of sound mind—I believe him to be able to distinguish between right and wrong, and to know when he is doing wrong.
Cross-examined. I have gathered from his history that for years he has been drinking to excess—I have heard that he has been in Rotherhithe
Infirmary for gastritis—intemperance is very often the cause of gastritis; of course, I don't know what that was—he is a man of low type of intellect, impaired by intemperate habits—he is certainly not an intelligent man.
Re-examined. Gastritis might be the result of other causes than intemperance. GUILTY .— DEATH .
MESSRS. FORREST FULTON and HORACE AVORY Prosecuted.
CATHERINE KELLY . I am the wife of Thomas Kelly, and live at 10, Globe Street, Southwark, with the prisoner, who is my son—my husband is away—the deceased, Mary Tobin. was my sister—she lived at 2, Providence Place, eight or ten minutes' walk from me—the prisoner was at home on Sunday morning, 28th June—the deceased came in about a quarter-past twelve on Saturday night or Sunday morning with my little girl—my sister must have had a little to drink; she could not have been sober, or she would not have spoken to me as she did—the prisoner was very much the worse for drink—the deceased said my little girl had been in a fit, and the prisoner said, "A good job too if she was a corpse"—there was a wrangle, and I said to the deceased, "Come out"—I saw she was going too far with him, and he said, "Go out, go out"—I was making for the door when I saw him take a glass tumbler from the mantelpiece—I don't know whether ho threw it—we were jawing, and he said, "Leave me alone "—I went out, and when I came back I found my sister lying on the floor bleeding from her head—I helped her up—I did not see any blow struck—there was a saucepan in the room, but it never struck my sister—please don't press me, the prisoner is a good son, quiet and inoffensive—he was invalided from the army, and a little drop of drink upsets him; he was a teetotaler.
MICHAEL TOBIN . I am a waiter, and lived with my mother, Mary Ann Tobin, at 2, Providence Alley, Long Lane, Bermondsey—she was a widow, and got her living as a fur puller—the prisoner is my cousin—on Saturday night, 27th June, I saw my mother, about eight, at home brushing clothes—she was quite sober then and in her usual health—I went to bed shortly after twelve—afterwards my mother came in—I heard her growling—I got up and saw her sitting on the fender with her hand to her head; we lived in the same room—I spoke to her, find she answered—I fell asleep, and when I awoke she was lying on the floor; there was blood on her bosom and on her clothes—I thought she had had a little drink—I had not noticed that when she came in—I called Mrs. McCarthy, the landlady, and lifted my mother up and laid her on the bed and washed her head—she only just said, "Never mind "—I went round to my aunt, Mrs. Kelly, and found her sitting in bed crying—I spoke to her, and she pointed to an iron saucepan—I looked at it and found there was a piece out of the rim—while I was there the prisoner came in; this was close on nine in the morning—he was quite sober—he said, "Where is your mother, Mike?"—I said, "You had better go and see"—he said, "I will come down with you "—he said, "All I remember is picking up a glass"—I asked him if he remembered throwing the pot—he said, "No, I was drunk; I know it did not hit her "—we went together to our house and found mother in bed and very ill—I said,
"Now she is done for, Jim"—he said, "I will go and fetch a doctor "—I went out for a walk, and when I came back I found some people had removed her to the hospital—I met the prisoner outside the hospital, and said, "I want to see my mother"—he said, "Come on, then"—he said I should have to find out how it was done—I said, "You had better get out of the way, Jim"—he said, "I will Mike, and I will turn drink up"—we then parted, and I saw nothing more of him till he was in custody.
ELLEN McCARTHY . I live at 2, Providence Place—the deceased occupied a room there; I last saw her about eleven on Saturday night, 27th June—she was then sober, and was upstairs cleaning her room—next morning, about nine, the last witness called me up; I then found her on the bed with blood about her head and neck; she was not conscious—about three the same day I saw the prisoner in the room; I said, "I little thought you had done this, Jim"—he said, "I did it in drink, Ellen "—he and young Tobin went out, and I took the deceased to the hospital.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You got a cab for me and my husband to take her to the hospital; you first went and fetched the doctor—your aunt had the baby out on Saturday night between half-past six and seven; I don't know where she went.
LAURA SMITH . I am the wife of Peter Smith—the prisoner lived in our house with his mother—at midnight, on 27th June, I was aroused by the prisoner's sister, Mary Ann Kelly, coming into my room—as I went upstairs I met Mrs. Kelly and Mrs. Tobin coming down, Mrs. Tobin was bleeding from the head; I bathed her head in the back yard—Mrs. Kelly called out to her son, "Oh, Jim, Jim, what have you done to your aunt?"—he replied, "Why did not you let me alone? "—I did not see him; I heard his voice on the stairs—I did not see him till the Tuesday; I had then heard that his aunt had been removed to the hospital, and that she was dying; I told him so—he said, "I don't know what I done; I was very drunk," and he cried very much—he was sober then—there are three storeys to my house—I live in the parlour, the prisoner and his mother lived at the top.
MARY ANN KELLY . I am ten years old—the prisoner is my brother—on this Saturday night when I went home there was a disturbance—my aunt said I had had a fit—my brother said, "It would be a good job if she was a corpse "—then the two of them began having a row—I was frightened, and ran out when my brother jumped up—I did not see him do anything.
Cross-examined. I never saw you have a row before—you were always. good friends with your aunt.
THOMAS DIVELL (Sergeant M). I and Gentle arrested the prisoner at 10, Globe Street, on the 2nd July, at eleven at night—I said we were police officers, and were going to take him into custody for causing the death of his aunt on the Saturday before—he said, "My mother told me on Sunday morning that I had done so-and-so to my aunt last night"—the mother was in the room at this time, and she said, "My son took up something, I don't know what it was, and struck my poor sister, who is dead "—on the way to the station he said, "If I have done the crime I shall have to stand by it. "
told everybody else I did it; now where is the pot? "—she replied, "I don't know, Jim. "
HERBERT DANIEL . I am a registered medical practitioner, and house surgeon at Guy's Hospital—the deceased, Mary Tobin, was admitted there on Sunday afternoon, the 28th June—she was rather in a dazed condition, as if suffering from the combined effects of drink and head injury—she was able to walk—she had a scalp-wound on the left side, it went down to the bone—it was a contused wound—there was a good deal of bruising—she remained in an unconscious condition till 2nd July, when she died—I made a post-mortem—the cause of death was extravasation of blood and laceration of the brain tissue on the right side of the base of the brain—that was the result of the injury—that might have been caused either by a heavy blow or a fall—I rather gave preference to a fall, because of the extensive injury to the brain tissue; I thought the weight of the body was more likely to cause that than a blow—a fall from a blow would have done it; it was the result of considerable violence—there were no other bruises and no fracture; it could not have been caused by a tumbler.
The prisoner, in his defence, stated that he was very much in drink, and was quite ignorant of having injured the deceased.
He received a good character.
GUILTY — Four Months' Hard Labour,
MESSRS. C. F. GILL and ELDRIDGE Prosecuted; and MR. GEOGHEGAN Defended,
JOHN SHORT . I am a carman, and live at 2, Wallis Cottages, Garrett Lane, Wandsworth—on the evening of 11th July, about a quarter or twenty minutes past eight, I was outside the Halfway House—I saw Edward Wharton buy a peck of peas off a costermonger's barrow—the prisoner was there with another young man named Whit year—they came up and asked Wharton if he was going to stand some beer—he said, "No"—Whityear said, "We will treat you if you like"—he said, "No, I don't want a treat; I don't live in Garrett Lane now, I live in Rose Fields," and he struck Whityear in the face—Whityear took off his coat, and they had a stand-up fight—Wharton knocked him down; as he was getting up from the ground, before he was properly on his legs, the deceased went to strike him again, and the prisoner stepped forward and gave the deceased a blow in the neck or face—I could not say which; I was standing behind them—it was a hardish blow, and the deceased fell off the kerb into the main road on the back part of his head—he never spoke afterwards—he was taken into the public-house, and I saw him dead there.
Cross-examined. All three of them were the worse for drink—the disturbance began by chaffing the deceased about his buying peas, he being a gardener—they said they grew better peas than he did—he lost his temper, and struck Whityear in the face—no one else took any share in the fight.
out to see what was the matter—I saw the deceased having a fight with Whityear—Whityear was knocked down—I saw the prisoner strike Wharton in the face—it was a well directed very hard blow—it knocked Wharton right off his feet on the back of his head in the road—he never moved afterwards—I picked him up, and afterwards a doctor came.
Cross-examined. I did not see the beginning of the disturbance; the noise attracted me—when I came out I saw about half a dozen people fighting—the deceased was standing close to the kerb on the pavement; the blow knocked him into the middle of the road.
Cross-examined. I saw Whityear and the deceased fighting; the prisoner was about two yards away from them; there was a general scrimmage of half a dozen persons, and sides were taken—I saw a man attempt to strike the prisoner with a pipe—the deceased was slightly the worse for drink.
Re-examined. I think it was after the man had fallen that somebody tried to strike the prisoner—I did not see anyone do so before that; I think it was a friend of the deceased.
STANLEY CLIVE PHILLIPS . I am a registered medical practitioner—on the night of 11th July, about nine, I was called to the Half way House—I found the deceased lying on the side of the pavement, unconscious; he was carried inside, and died within two or three minutes—I saw a slight abrasion on the left cheek and-outside the left ear; also a slight bruise on the posterior temple region, a slight swelling, and a scalp wound over the swelling on the back part of the head—I made a post-mortem on the 13th—after removing the skull-cap there was extensive hemorrhage over the surface of the brain; the base of the skull was fractured, and there was laceration of the blood vessels—that was the cause of death—the fracture would be caused by the man falling backwards on a hard surface.
Cross-examined. The body was that of a well-grown powerful man, of middle age.
GUILTY. Recommended to mercy. He received an excellent character.— Discharged on his own recognisance.
MR. HORACE AVORY Prosecuted.
The prisoner had surrendered himself on a charge of arson committed on 21st April, 1886. There was no evidence beyond his confession, and it was proved that he was subject to delusion
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Recorder.
EDGAR WILLIAM CUNDY . I am a money-lender at 152, Westminster Bridge Road—on 26th July, 1889, the prisoner applied to me for an advance; he filled in this form of application, stating that the amount required was
£30, to be repaid in equal monthly instalments; security offered, furniture at The Laurels, 19, Stonebridge Park, Willesden; he described himself as a paper factor, and signed the application "Thomas William Jackson "—he filled up this other document, consisting of questions and answers; to the question asking if the furniture was absolutely his own property the answer given is absolutely"; to the question whether any of the furniture or musical instruments were on hire and if so, from whom was it hired, the answer is, "Piano Moore and Moore,; and to the question what was the amount of his debts and liabilities, the answer is, "Owes none; about £5 for rates"—I asked him whether he owed anything for rates, and the answer he gave was £5—before advancing the money he made this statutory declaration, and signed it in my presence.(This declared that all the furniture and effects at the address given were absolutely his own, and were not charged or encumbered, and that he had full power to absolutely sell the same)—I then advanced him £30 on the security of that furniture under this agreement D, which was not intended to be registered as a bill of sale—from time to time the prisoner paid off some sums on that loan—on 1st August he applied for a further advance of £30, and he had that as a dear advance on 9th August on documents in similar form, repeating the same allegations; a statutory declaration was made in the same form again, and the money was advanced under a similar agreement—on 31st January, 1890, there was a further advance of £35; I deducted from that the balance owing on the first loan of 26th July—he made a declaration and agreement in the same form—on 8th August, 1890, I made a further advance of £80—a balance was then taken between us, and he paid off the remainder of the second and third loans, and he received the balance—that advance was made on this bill of sale in the regular form which he signed in my presence, "Thomas William Jackson"; by it he assigns in ordinary form the whole of this furniture to me—he has since paid £27 19s. 6d. off the £80—at the time the bill of sale was made the furniture was at 33, Church Road, Richmond—I knew the prisoner had removed there—he is still described as a paper agent in the bill of sale—I never saw the furniture; I sent my manager—I knew the prisoner afterwards removed to Clapham—in consequence of information 1 received, I charged him.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I have been a money-lender five or six years—I advance money generally by cheques, which are proof of the advances, and I take no receipts—I take either a bill of sale or promissory note as security—of these three documents one is a bill of sale and three are hiring agreements—I first used bills of sale, and then I thought hiring agreements would do; but when I found they would not I went back to bills of sale—these hiring agreements are on printed forms; my solicitor drew up the draft—I have many other such agreements—I keep for the purpose printed forms, which set out that it is a purchase by me of the furniture detailed in the schedule in the first place, and then a hiring of the goods by you—I certainly thought at the time that I had bought the goods in the schedule; I intended to do so—I sent to take an inventory of them; I never saw them. (Mr. AVORY stated that the legal effect of these hiring agreements had been decided by the Court of Appear and that in consequence of that decision the use of them had been discontinued.—my clerk filled in the schedule—the cheques are endorsed; you received the
money for them—on 26th July I sent my clerk to the bank with the cheque, and he brought back the money, and the whole £30 was handed to you—on 9th August you had the £30 in full—on 31st January you paid me back £10, and had £25 out of the £35 advance—on 8th August, 1890, you paid me £40 15s., the balance of the second and third loans, and received in cash for the bill of sale £39 5s.—I cannot identify the furniture.
EDWARD LAW . I am valuer to Mr. Cundy—I took an inventory of the furniture at 19, Stonebridge Park—in August, 1890, I went to Church Road, Richmond, and saw the same furniture—this is my book containing the inventory—afterwards, in this year, I think about May, I went to 24, The Chase, Clapham Common, where the prisoner was then living, and saw the same furniture that I had seen before at Willesden and Richmond—I saw the prisoner's wife there, I do not think I saw him—I put a man in possession, and then I took him out, I thought it would be best to give the prisoner a chance of settling with the office—I went again, and found the place locked up; no one answered the door, and. apparently no one was in the house; I heard a dog barking—in consequence of inquiries I made, I went to the Tower Famishing Company, and received information from them—I have since been to Rugg's Furniture Depository at Clapham, and I have recognised there some furniture which is contained in this inventory and in documents V and W—I have also been to Taylor's Furniture Depository—I there saw the furniture mentioned in this document—I also identified the furniture pledged with Attenborough as having been contained in the inventory.
Cross-examined. I produce one inventory for all four transactions—I did not see your furniture before 26th July, 1889; it was later in the year when I first went to your house—I did not take the inventory in the first place; another witness took it; I only went and checked it afterwards—I did not take this inventory of August, 1889; I took no inventory in 1889—I think I first checked the inventory in December, 1890—it was correct—I knew nothing of the transactions till then—I saw the furniture in your house at Willesden and at Richmond, and have identified it with the furniture named in the schedule—the schedules are all dated before December, 1890, when I first saw it.
Re-examined. I went to 19, Stonebridge Park, Willesden, and saw the prisoner living there, and saw his furniture on 28th January, 1889, and I went to his place at Richmond in 1890, and saw the same furniture.
JOHN AUGUSTUS MORGAN ROBERTSON . I am an accountant, at Stockwell now—I was in Mr. Cundy's employment, and left him in February, 1890—I was present on 26th July, 1889, when the prisoner borrowed money of him—I went to Willesden and took an inventory of the furniture, which is embodied in the form of a schedule to the agreement of 26th July—the prisoner signed that schedule—I saw the prisoner again in August, 1889, when the second advance was made; I went to Willesden and saw the furniture there again; the furniture in the two schedules, D and F, is the same; they are copies; but the second contains bedroom furniture not in the first.
Cross-examined. The inventories I made are in the books in the office—they were copied on to the schedules, and signed by you.
present when he signed an agreement for the hire of certain furniture from our company on 11th March, 1887; I witnessed it—it contained a schedule in the ordinary form, that the furniture is to belong to us till all instalments are paid—on 28th January, 1889, I was present when the prisoner hired more furniture of the company; that agreement also contains a schedule; I cannot identify the furniture contained in it.
HENRY ALGERNON BOTHON . I am in the service of the Tower Furnishing Company—I saw the prisoner when he hired furniture of the company—I have since seen him from time to time at the company's offices—I know he moved to Richmond, and afterwards to Clapham—we had it duly noted in our ledger—in July, 1889, he had not paid off all the insstalments due under these agreements, nor has he up to now; the company claim the furniture under the agreements—on 20th August, 1890, I saw in Perry's Gazette a notice that he had given a bill of sale; I had a letter written to him, and on the 21st he came in answer to the letter—I sent a clerk to him with the Gazette, and I walked up and heard what was said—the Gazette was shown to him; he was asked, "What does this mean: a bill of sale registered against Thomas William Jackson? "—he said, "It was not I that gave the bill of sale at all, it was my brother"—the names being different I did not listen to any more—we knew him by the name of Thomas Absolom Carew Jackson.
Cross-examined. I cannot identify the furniture in these schedules—I will swear you did not say, "Do you think it is my brother?"—what was said was in my hearing, not to me—I produce the accounts—the first agreement was in October, 1886—the first payment was in December, 1886, and the last on February 10th, 1891—on the first hiring agreement in 1886 you paid £79; on the agreement dated 2nd March, 1887, £58 18s.; on the agreement with the Tower Furnishing Company, of January, you have paid £2 9s.—the first agreement in 1886 was for £265 10s., to be repaid by monthly payments of £10, and should have been cleared off in 1888; it took from December, 1886, to November, 1890, to pay off the £79—we placed the matter in Messrs Chadwick's hands to collect from time to time—the agreement of March, 1887, was for £74 17s., to be repaid in monthly instalments of £2 5s., which should have taken about thirty months: £58 18s. has been paid.
Re-examined. The prisoner signed his name, Thomas A. C. Jackson, to the agreements.
HENRY WILLIAM PALMER . I am an auctioneer and managing clerk to Messrs. Chadwick—I went to Rugg's and Taylor's Depositories, taking this schedule and inventory with me, and I recognised there some of the furniture described in these lists, and identified it with that supplied by the Tower Furnishing Company, for whom I acted—I have tried to collect certain instalments from the prisoner, I have collected some—the furniture at Taylor's had been pledged with Attenborough's.
Cross-examined. The goods I saw answered the description in the schedule, and I knew them by the character, style, and make—I am sure the things described were what I saw, and I have since had them delivered up to me under the company's claim, and I have sold them—I had not seen the furniture before; we took possession of it several times.
Re-examined. Rugg delivered up the furniture to us, and I have sold it by auction; Attenborough is keeping his till this trial is over.
—on 7th February, 1891, I went to 24, The Chase, Clapham Common, to value some furniture the prisoner wished to dispose of—I saw him there—I purchased a walnut suite for £8; it is set out in this list V—I took it to our depository—the prisoner signed this document in my presence. (This was signed" Thomas Jackson" and certified that there was no bill of sale of any hind on the goods purchased, and that they were his own property absolutely.)—on 16th March, 1891, I bought some more furniture of him for £5—they are the goods in the list W—he made a similar declaration that there was no bill of sale on them—we have since given up that furniture to Messrs. Chadwick, who claimed it on behalf of the Tower Furnishing Company.
Cross-examined, We were advised to give it up as it was their property—you sold the furniture to us on the condition that you had the power to buy it back at the end of three months.
ALFRED TIMBERLAKE . I am a collector to the London and Provincial Furnishing Company, Tottenham Court Road—on 24th January, 1889, the prisoner had some furniture on hire from the company—this is the agreement, with the schedule of the furniture—it is signed "Thomas Jackson"—in July, 1889, and in August, 1890, the instalments had not all been paid—about February, 1891, I saw the prisoner at 24, The Chase, Clapham Common, for the purpose of getting some money, and I told him we should remove the goods under our agreement if he did not pay—he said things had been very bad, and he would send some money on—afterwards I went to Rugg's Depository, and there I saw some of the furniture mentioned in this agreement.
JOSEPH LEOPOLD BERNSTEIN . I am manager of the London and Provincial Furnishing Company—on 24th January, 1889, the prisoner had some furniture on hire—he gave the address 19, Stonebridge Park, "Willesden, and described himself as an advertising agent—he signed this agreement in my presence; money is still due under it.
Cross-examined. Nobody witnessed the agreement—you have paid £69 3s., I believe—the receipts, which are printed only, say "On account of furniture—this agreement has not been the subject of a legal decision since I have been in the firm, four or five years—Mr. Roberts brought an action against us lately, to recover damages for improperly seizing furniture acquired under a hire and purchase agreement—he introduced an agreement similar to us; the verdict was against us for £65.
Re-examined. There were other points in connection with the case—it turned on a question of debt; we had seized the furniture.
HERBERT ATTENBOROUGH . I am a pawnbroker, at 81, Walworth Road—this pawn-ticket relates to furniture at Taylor's Depository, on which we advanced £6, 20th March, 1891, to the prisoner in the name of Henry Maxwell, 31, Southampton Street, Strand—the Tower Furnishing Company have since claimed it—it was at Taylor's Depository when the prisoner applied for the advance on it.
Cross-examined. We have not delivered it up—you signed this declaration that it was yours—I have not given them up, because there is a double claim on them.
ALFRED NICHOLLS (Detective L). I arrested the prisoner on 16th April on a warrant, which I read to him; it was for obtaining £80 on a fraudulent bill of sale—he said, "I did not expect they would do this "—on the way to the station he said, "In June, 1890, I made an agreement
with the Tower Furnishing Company, that for services I was to render with reference to a director, I was to receive the sum of £300 in the autumn of that year; and it was during that interval, whilst waiting to receive the money, and being in want of ready money, that I gave the bill of sale on the goods, intending to pay it back out of the £300 that the company owes me "—I searched him at the station, and found a contract note for furniture pledged at Attenborough's, 81, Walworth Road, a receipt for £3 on the London and Provincial Furniture Company, another receipt for furniture at Taylor's Depository, and a receipt for a quarter's rent, at 24, The Chase, Clapham Common, and a number of pawn-tickets relating to clothing—I asked the prisoner if the furniture pledged at Attenborough's belonged to the Tower Furnishing Company—he said, "Yes," but that the receipt from the London and Provincial Company related to another transaction.
Cross-examined. I read the evidence I have just given to you at the police-station after putting it down—I gave the evidence at the Police-court—you did not tell me the bill of sale was invalid—you told me you received £38, and that that was not the full amount of the consideration money of the bill of sale.
The prisoner, in his defence, contended that all the documents were illegal; that he believed the furniture was his, and that he had no intention to defraud.
The Prisoner called
HENRY LOVETT . I am a solicitor—I brought an action against you in December, 1888, on account of the Tower Company, for instalments due; judgment was given against you in default—the money was paid during a period of some months.
ROBERT AUGUSTUS PANSHAW (Re-examined by the prisoner). This letter of 30th June, 1890, is authentic; it was given to you, and is to the effect that in consideration of your being able to induce Mr. Andrew Walker, of the Bovril Company, to join a company we were connected with, you were to have £300 on the company going to allotment—no services had been rendered at that time; you had procured Mr. Walker to go on optionally; you had not fulfilled your part; you had to wait till the company went to allotment—I put his name on the prospectus; I did not use the prospectus to procure money; it was a confidential prospectus, used for the purpose of underwriting—the names of the directors were put into the prospectus after the letter was given to you—you had nothing else to do to earn the money, except wait till the company wont to allotment—the two gentlemen whose names I put on the prospectus remained on the board optionally for four months; they gave me no reason for going off—I do not know that you were responsible for his withdrawal—I paid him no money—we did not seize the furniture, because we were giving you advertisements at the time, and I knew your employer very well; and by sueing you we could attach your commission.
GUILTY .— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
There were other indictments against the prisoner.
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted.
HENRIETTA WOODHOUSE . I live at 4, Trinity Place, Borough—I am a widow—I used to live with the prisoner as his wife up to May—on the evening of 13th July I went on an errand with Mrs. Rattenborough—the prisoner came up to me and. said, "I thought you were going to bed"—I said I did but I could not sleep, and I got up again—we three walked together the length of the street, and when we got to the corner of Swan Street he struck me on the face with his right hand—I fell against the railings—he then put his left arm round my neck—he had something bright and sharp in his right hand; it struck me in the throat—I Could not see what it was—I ran screaming—the prisoner walked down Cole Street—I saw a constable, and told him, and he took me to the station.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. The Inspector asked me if I saw anything in prisoner's hand, and I said yes—I stopped all Sunday night with you—you slept on a couch and I sat in a chair, to save my life—I did not ask you to marry me, nor did you say you could not because my husband was alive—I said I would never live-with you again—I don't know that my husband is alive—the policeman has the earring that I wore on this night; the earring did not break and cut my neck when you put your arm round me—I was not friends with you since May—I was obliged to seem so—you said you would, kill me if I did not go along with you.
JULIA RATTENBOROUGH . I am the wife of George Rattenborough, of 2, Mercia Court, Crediton Place—I know the prosecutrix and the prisoner—I was with her on 13th July when the prisoner rushed out of Cole Street and said, "I thought you were going to bed"—she said she was going with me on an errand—I left them at the corner—I came back in about two minutes, and the three of us walked through Cole Street to Swan Corner, when the prisoner struck her on the side of the face with his fist—he then put his left arm round her neck, and in his right hand I saw something very bright, and Mrs. Woodhouse bleeding very much—I saw him go in that fashion (a blow)—she struggled and ran away—the prisoner ran up Cole Street.
JOHN RYE . I live at 3, Swan Place, Borough—I know the prisoner by sight—I saw him and the prosecutrix at the corner of Cole Street, and saw him strike her with his fist; she fell against the railings—he then put his left arm round her neck and drew a sharp instrument across her throat—she. put her handkerchief up to her neck; I saw a out there—she screamed and ran down Swan Place, and he walked down Cole Street.
Cross-examined. You had the razor in your right hand—I did not see where you took it from—I saw the earring break and fall down by the side of the, railing—I did not absolutely see the razor, it was a thick instrument.
CHARLES BOSLEY (Sergeant M 22). I received information from the prosecutrix's son, and took the prisoner onto custody—he said, "Oh," and laughed when I told him the charge—on the way to the station he said, "You need not lead me, I will go "—the charge was read to him at the station, he made; no answer to it—I searched him, but found no instrument upon him; that was about three-quarters of an hour after the offence was committed
detailed the circumstances—I then told him lie would be charged with attempted murder—he said, "Why, I am living with her"—I said, "She says she wants to get rid of you"—he said, "Well, I was there last night "—she said, "Yes, I allowed you to stop, to save my life"—he said nothing further—the vest he had on had spots of blood on it, but I don't think they had reference to this case—he said, "Do you know what that is?"—I said, "Yes, blood," but it was inside.
Cross-examined. I saw your head; it had a wound, that had occurred a few days previously; you had a card from Guy's Hospital.
THOMAS EVANS . I am surgeon to the M Division—I examined the prosecutrix on the evening of the 13th—I found an incised wound on the upper and left side of the neck, an inch and a half long and about a quarter of an inch deep; it was not dangerous, it might be caused by a razor—I don't think it could have been caused by this earring (produced).
Prisoner's Statement: "I had no razor; the earring is the thing that must have cut her. If I had meant to do her any harm I could have done it while I was at her place. "
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding. — Six Months' Hard Labour.
JAMES MASON CHAMPNEYS . I keep the Dulwich Wood House Tavern, Sydenham Hill—on Friday night, 19th June, I closed the house about a quarter-past twelve, and went to bed about a quarter to one, leaving all secure—about half-past four in the morning I was awoke by a noise downstairs—I listened, and afterwards got out of bed and lifted my window looking out into the garden, and I saw the prisoner and another man in the garden—the other man had a bag—I had known them before—the prisoner had been in the house once or twice in the course of Friday, and he had been in before that—I had seen him as a customer for a twelvemonth—he came perhaps once in six months—I should not think he came to the house more than three or four times in a twelvemonth—I called out, and they ran away—this was about ten minutes to five—I then went down and examined the premises—I found the bar shutters and the window partly down—some boxes of cigars had been taken down from the shelves and emptied; I missed about 150—in the summer-house in the garden I found two bottles of spirits, my property—they had not been opened—I saw a ladder close to the bar window where they had got in—my sons got up and searched with me—I found this knife in the bar; it does not belong to me—I went outside and spoke to a constable—I picked up these two pieces of matches.
By the JURY. I saw the prisoner's face fully; when I called out they turned round and faced me—I swear positively he is the man.
WILLIAM REED (Sergeant P). From information received I took the prisoner into custody between eleven and twelve on Saturday morning, 20th June, close to the prosecutor's house—I was with another officer—before that I saw the prisoner in Wells Road, and when he got to the house he turned and looked at the bar window, which had been opened—at that time the landlord's son spoke to me; the prisoner had then disappeared; we searched about, and afterwards found him by the tavern,
and took him into custody—I told him I should take him into-custody for committing a burglary, with another man, at Dulwich Wood Tavern that morning—he said, "I am innocent; I have not been near the house; does the landlord say he see me?"—I said, "Yes; he says you were in the bar yesterday afternoon with another man, and did not leave till about half-past five; and about half-past four this morning he says he saw you go from the same window down the path, the other man carrying a sack"—he said, "I was in bed at that time; I went home at five last night, and did not go out again till a man came to speak to me about four this morning; I did not go out till ten; my wife will say the same; I also saw Mr. Duff the same morning"—I afterwards saw his wife—I afterwards told the prisoner that his wife said he was at home at eight the night before, but she could not and would not like to say he was at home all night or not—he said, "That is all right; of course you did not tell her what time the burglary took place, and that you were police officers"—I said, "No, I did not; I told her what you asked me to inquire about, and that we were policemen"—the prisoner lives about ten minutes' walk from the prosecutor; walking leisurely—I afterwards took off the prisoner's boots, which I produce; they are considerably worn, the soles are pretty well gone—I found footmarks in the garden at the place pointed out to me by the prosecutor, where he saw the two men get over the fence, also at the bottom of the garden—I took the boots there and made impressions on each side of the footprints, and found they were similar—the left boot has a hole-in it, and that impression corresponded with the footprint—I afterwards examined the premises, and found the entry had been effected by placing a ladder against the bar window, which was left unfastened, and by crawling in at the top and forcing the shutter down, which was fastened in the centre by a screw—the footmarks were in the private part of the garden.
Cross-examined. I lost sight of you as you turned the corner; at first we were about to make a rush at you, but missed you, and then after searching the garden we found you coming out of the side; there is a urinal there—I found the footmarks of two persons—the mould was dry. Re-examined. I searched the prisoner and found five matches on him, similar to those produced by the prosecutor—there were dirty fingermarks on each.
JOSEPH FULLER (Detective P). I assisted in taking the prisoner—on the way to the station he pointed out a man named Horn, and said, "That man can prove where I was last night; ask him what he knows about me"—I afterwards saw Horn, and told the prisoner the result of my conversation with him—I said, "Horn says you were in the Dulwich Wood Tavern at 7.30 last night "—the prisoner said, "It is false"—at the prisoner's request I saw the man Duff, and after seeing him I said to the prisoner, "I have seen Duff, and he denies being with you at eight this morning"—the prisoner said, "I did not say I saw Duff this morning; I said I saw Dick Whittingdon "—I am sure he did say he saw Duff at eight on Friday morning—another officer was with me at the time.
The prisoner handed in a written defence, stating that he had been at work as a carpenter for Messrs. Dove, builders, and had been with a man named Duff looking for work on the day in question; that he returned home about half-past eight, and did not go out till ten the next morning.
EMMA. TAYLOR . I am married, and live at 19, Fir Street, Upper Sydenham—the prisoner lived in the game house—on Friday night, 19th June, I saw: him about half-past seven, or from that till eight, in: the house—that was the last I saw of him that night; and about half-past four in the morning I heard my husband call him, and I heard him' answer, "I shall not get up this morning, having nothing to go to"—I was not at home when he left that morning—I left home at half-past eight to go go work.
Cross-examined. The prisoner is a carpenter—he gets up of a morning as his work requires—he never goes out so early as half-past four—he was out of employment at this time; he had been doing a little off and on—I think he had a little job the week previous—it was at the time of the lock-out in London—my husband called him to wake him up—he was not always called so early; sometimes he was, and sometimes my husband would forget.
GEORGE TAYLOR . I am the husband of the last witness—on Friday, 19th June, I saw the prisoner at home about nine, and he never went out before eight in the morning; I called him at half-past four, and he said ho was not going to get up, he had got nowhere to go.
Cross-examined. I have part of the house; the prisoner lives upstairs and I live down—I am a labourer; I am not always in regular work—I was mowing at this time—I went to work-at-half-past four or soon after—I was in bed when the prisoner came home—no one lives in the house but ourselves and the prisoner and his wife and children—we have a back door and a front door—the rent of the house is 7s. 6d. a week.
NOT GUILTY .
TOM BLAKE (V 370). On 14th July, at 4.15 a.m., I was in Leathwaite Road, Battersea, and a gentleman called my attention to 131, Wakehurst Road—I went there and saw through the window the two prisoners in the front parlour—it was quite daylight—I went to "the front, and the next door neighbour, who called me, went to the back—the prisoners both came to the window and saw me; Buckingham stood at the window quite two seconds, and then went to the back of the house and over the garden wall—the gentleman told me which way they had gone, and I ran and saw Buckingham getting over a wall—I lost sight of him, but I can swear he is the man—Searle was handed over to me.
ROBERT KNIGHT . I am an engineer, of 131, Wakehurst Road, Wandsworth Common—on 11th July I went to Sheerness, leaving my house locked up—on the 14th I received a telegram, came to town, and found my house in charge of the police—the scullery door was broken, and I saw chisel marks on it, and on the window—all the doors inside the house had been forced except two, which was not necessary, as they got in by another door—all the articles were taken out of the drawers, which had been forced—these articles (produced) belong to me, and were safe in the drawers, when I left; they were lying on a bed.
GEORGE FELLOWS (Detective V). On 15th July I went with Mr. Knight to his house—an entrance had been effected by the back kitchen door by forcing the box—the parlour door had been forced—a gentleman in the
same road handed me this jemmy, which corresponds exactly with the marks on the doors, drawers, and boxes—on the following Tuesday, about 2.30 a.m., I saw Buckingham in Earlsfield Road, which is about a mile from Wakehurst Road—when he got close to me he started running; we pursued him and caught him; he said, "What is the matter now? What have I done?"—I told him he would be charged with a man already in custody for burglary at 131, Wakehurst Road; he said he did not know where it was—I took him to the station; he was placed with six others, and Blake picked him out—the Inspector read the change; he made no reply.
WILLIAM STEPHENS (D 186). On 15th July, about 2.30 a.m., I was in Earlsfield Road with Fellows, standing in a gateway, and as soon as Buckingham came near us he ran as hard as he could—we chased him 150 yards, and I caught him by his coat.
SAMUEL CLARK . I live at 129, Wakehurst Road, which is next door to No. 131—I know Mr. Knight, and was keeping an eye on his house while he was away at the seaside—on this Tuesday morning about 4.30 I was in bed and heard a noise next door—I got up, went to the front of the house, looked under the Venetian blinds, and saw a man pass from the front to the back room—I cannot say who it was—I saw Blake, and held my hand up—after a conversation with him I went through my house to the back, and saw two men come out of the door opposite my door—I could see their hats, but could not see their faces distinctly—I now know that one of them was Searle.
Witnesses for Buckingham,
JOHN BUCKINGHAM . I am the prisoner's father—he lives with me at Pendennis House, Buckhurst Road—on 14th July I came home at 8.30 p.m., and wanted my son to do something for me, but I was told he had gone to bed, as he was not very well—I did not see him—I went into his room at six o'clock next morning and saw him in bed.
AGNES BUCKINGHAM . I am the prisoners sister, and live with my father, the last witness—on Tuesday, 14th July, I went in to the Prisoner's room to call him at a quarter before five, and saw him in bed—I did not see him go to bed.
Cross-examined. I am Searle's cousin.
BUCKINGHAM— GUILTY *†.— Twelve Month' Hard Labour. SEARLE— Four Months' Hard Labour.
MR. LYNE Prosecuted.
FEANCIS PIKE (B 511). On 16th June, about a quarter to two a.m., I was on duty in Gordon Road, Battersea Road, and saw the prisoner come under a lamp-post and pull something like this (a jemmy) from his sleeve; he then went back and joined the other two at the door of a house, and I heard something click—the prisoner then left them at the door, and came under the lamp-post, buttoned up his coat, and looked up Battersea Park right and left—they could not see me—I heard some one coming, and they all three left and went on the opposite side of the road—I walked to the end of Warrener Gardens, turned my light on, and
another constable came and got into the same position as I was in first—the prisoner came straight across the road to the same door, picked up the jemmy, and had another try, and it went click again—No. 237 went to the bottom of Park Road by my instructions—the men found they could not get in at that door, and they all walked down the road—I followed them and signalled—I saw the prisoner put his arm over some palings of a garden, and then they got away—No. 236 took the prisoner in custody, and we had a struggle in the road—he kicked me in the knee and got away, leaving his coat in my hands—I found this wedge (produced) about the middle of the door of the house, where it closes.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I heard the click after you came back, but you did it yourself the first time—I saw you all three go away together—I saw nothing thrown away, but I saw you put your hand over the palings.
NATHAN LEE (Police Inspector v). From information I received I went to the garden referred to and found this jemmy—I found marks on the door, such as would be produced by this jemmy; it fitted it exactly.
FREDRICK MILWARD (V 236). On 18th June, at 1.45, I saw the light of Pike's lamp, and went to Gordon Road—I kept observation for a few minutes, and saw the prisoner come into Battersea Park Road; he looked each way to see if he could see anyone coming, and then went back and joined the other men who were standing at the side door of the Park Tavern—he picked up something from the doorstep, and I heard the door click—I then went through Gordon Road and Austin Road, and saw Pike's bight—I went up the road, and met the prisoners half way—I drew my truncheon, and told them to stop or I should strike them—I met three men; one of them said, "What is this for? "We have done nothing "—I took the prisoner, and the other constable took the other two—on the way to the station the prisoner became very violent, put his feet between mine, and attempted to throw me—the others got away.
Cross-examined. I did not catch you when I saw you forcing the door, because there was a possibility of your getting away—I was thirty-five yards from you.
JOSEPH REDHOUSE . I keep the Grove Tavern, Battersea Park Road—on June 18th I was called up by the police, and went down and let the Inspector in—I examined the door, and found marks corresponding with this jemmy.
Prisoners Defence. The constables could not get the right one, and they determined to take someone, and took me. One witness says he saw me forcing the door at the time the constable says he saw me standing at the corner.
GUILTY . He then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction of housebreaking and larceny at the South London Sessions on October 14th, 1889, in the name of William Sullivan, having then been previously convicted.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. ROOTH Prosecuted.
Brunswick Street, Stamford Street—on 28th June, about half-past eleven, I was close to where I live in Stamford Street, at the top of Cornwall Road; I was perfectly sober—just as I was going to put my foot on the kerb, three or four young fellows who were together surrounded and got hold of me by the throat, and pulled me to the ground, and tried to steal my watch and chain—the prisoner was the man that got hold of me by the throat, and put his knees into my stomach—the prisoner assisted to get me on the ground; he helped the others to knock me down—he hit me in the ribs when I was on the ground; the prisoner put his knee into my stomach, and got one hand on my throat, and took my watch and chain out of my pocket with the other hand—I had marks on my throat; I did not look at my ribs—the men were disturbed by a South-Western Railway detective, and ran away—I followed the prisoner through Salutation Place, and caught him at the bottom of Thames Street—he threw my watch away—I saw my chain in his hand; it was in seven or eight pieces—as I followed him across Cornwall Road into Church Terrace, after he had come back through Salutation Place, he said to me, "If you give me your name and address I will do another deal, and pay you for your chain; you have got your watch back, you picked it up"—I did pick it up—I saw a constable a quarter of an hour after it happened, and gave the prisoner in charge—the chain was picked up at the end of Thames Street—these are my watch and chain.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. The glass of the watch is not broken—you threw it in the road; I cannot say why it did not break—I stopped to pick my watch up at the bottom of Thames Street—I gave it to the Inspector—I did not give it to him to secure a witness—I caught you.
Re-examined. The prisoner threw the watch away twenty yards from where he knocked me down.
JAMES MCGOVAN (London and South-Western Railway Constable). At a quarter to twelve p.m. on Sunday, 28th June, I was in Cornwall Road on my way home, and saw a crowd of people, and received information—I saw the prisoner running through Salutation Place, and the prosecutor and two or three after him—I stopped the prisoner, and at the same time Jenner seized him by the arm—he was accused of the theft; he made no reply—a man gave me a watch and part of the chain, which I placed in my pocket—I assisted the constable to the station, where the prisoner was charged; he made no reply there.
CHARLES JENNER (L 66). About a quarter to twelve on 28th June I was in Waterloo Road on duty; a communication was made to me, in consequence of which I went to Cornwall Road, and then to Thames Street, where I received information—I went to Salutation Place and arrested the prisoner—the prosecutor gave him into custody and charged him; he made no reply—I took him to the station; he made no reply to the charge there.
Cross-examined. You were walking through the passage with McGovan—you were half-way through when I apprehended you—McGovan had not hold of you, but was following a few paces behind you, just about to catch you; the three of you were walking.
court I saw the prisoner running, and afterwards he ceased running; Jenner did not see him till he had ceased running.
The prisoner, in his defence, denied any knowledge of the matter, and said he was walking along when the prosecutor seized and charged him.
GUILTY . He then PLEADED GUILTY* to a conviction of felony in September, 1890.— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
MR. FULTON stated that since the prisoner's committal he had married the prosecutrix.— Discharged on recognisances.
MR. PAUL TAYLOR Prosecuted, and MR. DUTTON Defended.
The prisoner received a good character.
NOT GUILTY .
The COURT informed the prisoner that he was discharged without a stain on his character.
ADJOURNED TO MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 14TH, 1891.