PATRICK O'DONNELL.
19th November 1883
Reference Numbert18831119-75
VerdictGuilty > unknown
SentenceDeath

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75. PATRICK O'DONNELL (48) was indicted for the wilful murder of James Carey, on the high seas, within the jurisdiction of the Admiralty of England.

THE ATTORNEY-GENERAL (Sir HENRY JAMES) with MESSRS. POLAND and H.S.

WRIGHT Prosecuted; MESSRS. CHARLES RUSSELL, Q.C., and A.M.

SULLIVAN Defended.

JAMES PARISH . On Saturday, 28th July last, I sailed in the Melrose from Cape Town to Natal. I was employed as servant to three of the officers—on Sunday, the day after we sailed, I was in the second-class saloon, where my cabin is, at the bottom of the stairs in the fore part of the vessel (plan produced)—I was in the "peak," to the right of the cabin stairs, where the officers' servants and the steward slept, about 3.30 in the afternoon—I was in my own cabin and came out into the second-class saloon, on both sides of which there are berths with tables in the centre and settees—I saw the prisoner, his wife, and another passenger called James Power—the prisoner and his wife were sitting on the settee with their backs to the table and near the prisoner's berth on the left side of the saloon going aft—James Power (Carey) was standing at the corner of the prisoner's berth, and was about a yard from O'Donnell with his face towards him—the woman had her arm round the prisoner's neck and resting on his shoulder—I noticed O'Donnell pulling his arm round from his pocket and holding it towards the deceased—he fired at the deceased and hit him in the neck—Power turned round and called out "Oh! Maggie, I'm shot," and as he was staggering towards the bottom of the saloon, having got about two yards from him, the prisoner fired two more shots at him, hitting him in the back—the prisoner was only two yards from the deceased and remained in the same sitting position—I was standing about five yards from the prisoner—Mrs. Carey came out of her cabin and caught the deceased as he was falling—they both fell together—I rushed past the prisoner to the deceased, and put my finger in the wound of the neck to stop the bleeding, and remained there until the doctor came—as I passed the prisoner I saw him putting the pistol into his left side coat-pocket—Dr. Everett attended Carey, who died a quarter of an hour afterwards—about a quarter of an hour previously I saw them drinking together; that was about 3.30—after the shots were fired I picked up a bullet under the table in the saloon where the deceased died—it was about two yards from the spot where the shots were fired (The bullet was here produced)—that is the bullet—I noticed other persons in the saloon at the time, Carey's son, the boatswain Jones, and the little girl Carey—Jones was playing with the little girl at the bottom of the stairs—young Carey was also at the bottom of the stairs, but I did not notice him go anywhere.

Cross-examined by MR. RUSSELL. The whole matter occupied a very short space of time—I had time to interfere if I had so cared—I was about five yards from him—I did not attempt to interfere, I thought I might get shot myself—I did not rush forward to stop the prisoner, because I was afraid of being shot myself—he had his back to me—I was afraid he might shoot at me as I was passing—there was a storeroom next my cabin where drink was sold, but it did not open into the

cabin—I went into my cabin merely to make up my bunk and to pass the time—I remained in the cabin a quarter of an hour, and heard the first shot at about a quarter to 4—I was in the act of coming out of the cabin when I heard and saw the first shot fired—I was just outside, at the corner of the stairs—a man called Owen was in charge of the drinking bar, which was about two yards from my cabin door—I do not think Owen was present, and I believe he was not examined at the Cape.

By the COURT. There were two tables—the prisoner was sitting on the settee at the left-hand side of the first, the farthest from the stairs.

By MR. RUSSELL. I was called out of my cabin by one of the seamen to make tea for the officers, I do not know his name; otherwise I should not have come out till 4 o'clock, which was the ordinary time for tea—I was told that the officers wanted a cup of tea on the bridge earlier—there was nothing which caused me to loiter and look with any particularity at what O'Donnell and Carey were doing—I was coming out, and saw them as I looked down the saloon—I was outside my cabin when I heard the first shot. (The witness's deposition stated that he was about a pace from his cabin door when the shot was fired.) I cannot point out the positions on this plan, as it is not correct—O'Donnell held the pistol in his right hand; I am sure of that—his back was towards me, and he was looking towards his cabin—Carey was about a yard from him, lounging against the cabin—Mrs. O'Donnell was on the prisoner's left-hand side, nearest me, and she was sitting with her arm round O'Donnell's neck—that was the position when I saw the shot fired—Carey was lounging against the corner of the cabin—the boatswain Jones was at the bottom of the stairs, playing with the little girl, with his back towards the prisoner—I had not observed anything of O'Donnell or Carey during the day previous to the occasion—I saw them drinking together when I went into the cabin at about half-past 3—I did not see Mrs. Carey then present—there might have been other persons drinking besides Carey and O'Donnell, but I did not observe any one—I do not recollect Carey and O'Donnell coming on board the Melrose on the Saturday—Mrs. Carey's cabin was at the bottom of the saloon on the left-hand side—Carey slept in the steerage, being a third-class passenger, but the wife and children went second class—I do not know where Carey slept on the Saturday night—I do not know whether Carey, his wife, and O'Donnell had been on shore drinking on the Saturday—Mrs. Carey caught her husband just as he was falling on the deck—I cannot say whether she came out before the shots were fired—she was in her cabin when Carey exclaimed "Oh, Maggie, I'm shot"—the three shots might have been all fired before she came out, they were close one upon another—it was after the second and third shots that she came out—Carey called out after the first shot was fired—there never was more than about two yards between O'Donnell and Carey—O'Donnell took steady aim at the man—if O'Donnell had made one pace forward he could have struck him, if he had had a knife or a sword; he could not have struck him with his hand—Carey was facing him at the first shot; there was about a yard between them—Carey was a fine fellow, a fine man—I did not see O'Donnell take the pistol from his pocket, but I saw him drawing his hand from his pocket—Carey was looking at him, but I do not know whether he saw the pistol—Carey made no grab or any gesture to seize the pistol or O'Donnell—he was shot in the right-hand side of the neck, and when he was

struck he was leaning against the side of the cabin—I was never a soldier, and had only been about three or four months an officer's servant—before that I was a foreman at a soda-water works in Cape Town, but left because the work was slack—I am still in the employment—I did not see young Carey go to his mother's cabin at the time of the occurrence—to the best of my knowledge and observation I did not see him go to Mrs. Carey's cabin—I went on to Natal in the vessel—I do not know of my own knowledge that a pistol was found on young Carey—I did not see a pistol in young Carey's possession—it took about two days from Port Elizabeth to Natal.

Re-examined. Owen was not in the cabin so as to see what took place as far as I am aware—it is true as I have stated that I walked one pace from my cabin door when I heard the first shot, and I looked particularly at Carey—when the second shot was fired Carey had his back to the prisoner, and he staggered after the first shot—I did not see more than one pistol that day in the possession of any one—I did not hear a pistol fall on the floor—I cannot say whether or not young Carey went into his mother's cabin—I do not know where James Carey slept on Saturday night—as a steerage passenger Carey would occupy a cabin in common with other men.

THOMAS JONES . I am boatswain on the Melrose, an English merchant ship carrying the English flag—she sailed from Cape Town on Saturday evening, July 28th, at 5 o'clock—between 3 and 4 on the Sunday afternoon she was on the high seas, 25 miles from Cape Blaise—I was in the second-class saloon at 3.30 that afternoon—the prisoner, Mrs. O'Donnell, and Carey were in the cabin sitting drinking together; Mrs. O'Donnell was on his right on a settee; a little girl of Power's five years old was playing with me at the bottom of the stairs leading from the deck—I then had my back towards Carey and O'Donnell and was near Parish's cabin—I heard the report of a shot, and slued round and saw Mrs. O'Donnell with her arm on the prisoner's shoulder—Carey staggered away and O'Donnell fired two other shots at him; the second shot hit him in the shoulder and the third in the small of the back—at the second shot he called out "Oh, Maggie, I am shot"—when the third shot was fired Carey was still on his feet, but was hanging over with his back towards O'Donnell, who held the pistol in his right hand—the prisoner put the revolver into his pocket, and I went to him, took the weapon from his pocket, and gave it to the second officer, Beecher—the prisoner did not say anything—I did not notice Mrs. Carey come from her cabin—I first saw her after I had taken the pistol from O'Donnell—she went to the prisoner, who held out his hand and said "Shake hands, Mrs. Carey; I did not do it"—I think he had her hand in his—Thomas Carey, the lad, was in the cabin, and before the first shot was fired he was standing at the bottom of the stairs, but after the shots were fired I did not notice what became of him—I had been in the cabin about ten minutes before the first shot was fired—I heard no quarrelling or exclamation between Carey and the prisoner—I had not noticed them for five or ten minutes—when I last saw them before the shot was fired they had called for drink, and if I am not mistaken Carey drank her health—I did not hear any loud talking, and did not see any pistol but that used by O'Donnell—this revolver (produced) is the one I took from O'Donnell

—two chambers were loaded and three had been discharged—the prisoner said nothing to me when I took the weapon from him.

Cross-examined by MR. RUSSELL. Up to the time the shot was fired there was nothing to draw my attention to the movements of O'Donnell and Carey more than to other persons on board—I believe they were drinking each other's healths—I did not mention that circumstance before—they were lifting their glasses as if drinking each other's health; their glasses went up together, but I did not hear them say anything—I had not noticed Mrs. Carey at all that morning in the saloon—the first thing that called my attention was the shot; I rushed aft after the second and third shots were fired; a crowd rushed down and there was a deal of confusion—as far as my observation goes I did not see young Carey go to his mother's berth—I did not see any other pistol but O'Donnell's, but I cannot say that one might not have been in the cabin—I did not notice Mrs. Carey till after the three shots were fired; she was then going up to O'Donnell—I saw young Carey in the saloon, but I did not notice him do anything or go anywhere—when I saw Carey staggering after the first shot he was in the middle of the cabin, about a yard from O'Donnell's berth, and nearly opposite where the prisoner was sitting—when I turned round after hearing the first shot Mrs. O'Donnell was standing with her hand on her husband's shoulder, and she remained so when the second and third shots were fired—just as the first shot was fired a passenger passed me and went on deck; I do not know his name and do not know him; he was examined at Port Elizabeth—I heard Mrs. Carey say at the Cape that O'Donnell said "I was sent to do it," but I am almost sure O'Donnell said "I did not do it"—I think young Carey said that O'Donnell said "I could not help it"—O'Donnell did hold out his hand to Mrs. Carey and say "Shake hands, Mrs. Carey," and she did—I had not noticed whether Carey or O'Donnell were excitable men—I did not hear Carey indulging in any abuse of the Government and the English—I did not hear Robert McHardy examined at Port Elizabeth.

Re-examined. The passenger who passed me did not see any of the shooting as far as I know—I did not see Mrs. Carey in the saloon at the time, and did not know when she came out of her berth—young Carey was in the saloon at the time of the shot, but I did not observe what became of him—I did not hear anything thrown or fall on the ground before the shot was fired, nor did I hear any angry words—it was about five yards from where I was playing with the child to where the prisoner was sitting.

THOMAS FRANCIS CAREY . I was 15 years of age last April—up to the beginning of July I had lived in Dublin—my father had been in prison some time before he left Dublin—on 4th July I went on board the Kinfauns Castle in London with six younger children and my mother—we all went in the name of Power, except one, who was called M'Kenna—on 6th July my father joined the vessel at Dartmouth—he also went by the name of Power, and we all went to the Cape of Good Hope—I saw the prisoner on the voyage; I think he came on board in London—he was accompanied by a young woman—I recollect arriving at the Cape on Friday, July 27th, and on the 28th we all went on board the Melrose as steerage passengers—my mother and sisters slept in the second-class cabin, and my father and three of us boys in the steerage—the steerage is all open—on Sunday afternoon I was in the second-class saloon—I

went down from deck at 3.30, and when I came down my father, Mr. Jones the boatswain, and my little sister were there, and O'Donnell was sitting on the settee, and Mrs. O'Donnell was sitting close to him—my father was standing at the corner of O'Donnell's berth; I was near the staircase, where Jones and my sister were—I had been about five minutes in the cabin before a shot was fired—during that time my father and O'Donnell were speaking together—I heard no high words between them—I saw the prisoner draw a revolver out of his pocket and fire at my father, and the cartridge, or a bullet, hit my father in the neck—he was standing and O'Donnell was sitting—I was near the staircase—when the bullet struck my father I think he did not speak, but I saw him stagger towards my mother's cabin at the end of the saloon on the left-hand side—I ran towards my mother's cabin to get my father's revolver—I went round the tables—my mother was in her cabin and I took the revolver from the bag produced—I had seen my father with a revolver when he came on board at Dartmouth, and I saw it when my father went on shore at Madeira, and when he came back he put it into the bag—I knew it was there because I afterwards saw my father and mother go to it to get money—I think it was on the bedstead—that was between Madeira and Cape Town—I knew the bag was in my mother's cabin, because I had taken it from the Kinfauns Castle myself—when I ran to the cabin I wanted to give the revolver to my father—it was unlocked and I took it out—there was only one pistol, and, to the best of my belief, this is the one produced—I then went back into the saloon—my mother had gone out before me—after I got out of the cabin O'Donnell fired the second shot—my father was running towards my mother, crying out "Oh, Maggie, I'm shot"—I then heard a third shot fired—my father was then in my mother's arms, standing with his back towards O'Donnell—I kept the pistol in my pocket—I did not give it to my father, because I saw he would not be able to use it—my father and mother fell together, and he died within a quarter of an hour afterwards—during the whole time I was in the cabin before the shot was fired I did not hear anything like a quarrel or see any struggle—I did not see my father with any pistol, I did not pick one up off the ground—I carried the pistol in my pocket until it was taken away from me, shortly after my father's death, by the second officer—there was a good deal of excitement at the time—I saw my mother go towards O'Donnell, who put out his hand and said "Shake hands, Mrs. Carey, your name is not Power," or something like that—I am not sure whether O'Donnell said "I was sent to do it" or "I had to do it"—I am not positive as to the words used—my mother, I believe, did not shake hands with the prisoner—Mrs. O'Donnell said "No matter, O'Donnell, you are no informer"—I had seen O'Donnell using a pistol on the voyage—he was shooting flying fish with it, but I cannot say whether it was the one with which he shot my father.

Cross-examined by MR. RUSSELL. This is the fifth time I have appeared as a witness—I saw in the saloon at the time I heard the first shot, Mr. Jones, the prisoner, my father, Mrs. O'Donnell, and my little sister was playing with Jones—others might have been there—I cannot say whether Parish was present; he might have been—I said at Bow Street "At the time the pistol was drawn, my father could have seen Jones in the cabin, but not Parish, because Parish came out of his cabin when the shot was fired"—that is not true, but I did not understand the question

Mr. Sullivan put to me—I thought the question was if my father looked round while Mr. O'Donnell was drawing the revolver, and could he see Parish—I said that he could not, because Parish came out when the shot was fired—I cannot say whether that was a true answer—I did not see Parish out of his cabin, because my back was turned to him—the question I did not understand was about when Mr. O'Donnell drew the revolver; I have had time to think about it now—my little sister and Jones were at the bottom of the companion steps—I cannot say whether I was facing towards them, but I think I was looking towards the aft end of the saloon, towards my mother's cabin—I don't know whether their faces were towards me or not—I saw the prisoner lire the pistol, and I think it was with his left hand; his body would have hidden what he was doing if it was in his right hand—he might have drawn it with his right hand, but he fired, I think, with his left hand; I saw him draw it, but cannot tell with which hand—I do not recollect whether I swore at Port Elizabeth that he fired with his left hand—the moment the shot was fired I ran to my mother's berth—my mother was there, and she came out into the saloon just before me—when my father came on board at Dartmouth I first saw the pistol; he carried it in a revolver pocket behind on his hip—I heard that it was given him at Dublin, and he showed it to me—he took it ashore with him at Madeira—so far as I know no one knew up to then that my father was Carey—I never looked at the pistol to see if it was loaded, though I saw it once or twice; I should have known, for I had had one of my own, which I bought at Port Elizabeth—I saw the pistol between Madeira and the Cape, when my mother and father went to the bag to get some money—the bag contained money, papers, and the revolver—up to the time when we changed into the Melrose my mother and father berthed together, and, so far as I know, the bag was kept locked; down to July 29 it was generally kept locked; I saw it unlocked once or twice between Madeira and the Cape—we arrived at the Cape at 4 a.m. on July 27—the vessel was brought alongside about 6 a.m., and my father went on shore—he did not take the pistol with him on shore at the Cape, far he was asked at the Custom House if he had any firearms, and he laid "No"—one of the men at the yard told us that if he had any fire arms he would have to pay 10s., and if he denied it he would have to give the revolver up—the Melrose was close beside the Kinfauns Castle, and our things were carried on board in the afternoon—I carried the traps and bag which contained the revolver—I think I went on shore on Saturday, and I think I met Mrs. O'Donnell and the prisoner—I do not remember that my father, the prisoner, and Mrs. O'Donnell went up town on the Saturday drinking—we slept on board the Melrose that Saturday night—when I ran, after my father was shot, to the bag it was not locked—I did so because my mother could get the revolver out, and because I could open it whether it was locked or not; if you pulled the straps you could get your hand in—the carpenter on the Kinfauns Castle had to open it for my father one day—he did something with the key, and I saw aim pull this strap, and therefore I thought I could get the pistol out by putting in my hand—it was brought here after the murder—when the Magistrate required me to get out a cheque for 100l. I could not open it with the key, and the carpenter got a chisel and burst the lock—I could not get it by pulling the straps because it was at the

bottom among some papers—it was, in fact, open when I got the revolver out, but I could have got it if it had been locked—I cannot mention any one who saw me with the pistol in the saloon after my father was shot—I cannot remember the second officer asking me if I had one, but he searched me twice on that day on deck—he did not find the pistol on the first occasion, I had it in my trousers pocket—I do not remember telling him that I had not one—three minutes afterwards he searched me again—I did not hear the second officer, Beecher, told that I had the pistol; I saw a young man speaking to him, but he searched me again and took it from me—I told Beecher I wanted to get it out of my mother's way, and I told you I wanted to get it to give it to my father; both were true—I do not remember saying before to-day that my father put the pistol into the bag after Madeira, or that I had carried the bag from the Kinfauns Castle to the Melrose—I did not understand that I was asked whether my father took the pistol on shore with him—I said something like this at Port Elizabeth, that O'Donnell said to my mother, "I did not do it," and I said at Bow Street that he said, "I was sent to do it"—I knew that my mother had sworn that those were the words, and that was the reason I swore to them at Bow Street—I cannot really remember what the words were—my father and O'Donnell were great friends in the Kinfauns Castle—O'Donnell was to have stopped at the Cape, but my father said there was a better chance of work at Natal—while we were leaving Cape Town on Sunday some men came on the quay and pointed at my father, who was on deck—up to that time I do not know that any one had suspected that my father was Carey—my father asked me to see if the men were pointing at him—as to the shooting of my father, all three shots had not been fired when my mother got to the saloon; if it has been said that all three shots were fired before my mother came, that was not correct—I bought a pistol at Port Elizabeth, I paid 4s. for it; I flung it overboard as it was broken—we drove about at Port Elizabeth, my mother and myself, but I do not remember the driver's name—I don't remember someone saying, "You are a fine fellow, why did you not shoot O'Donnell when he shot your father?" and my replying that I ran to get it, but it was gone, my father had it—I do not remember reading that the prisoner said my father had a pistol—I do not remember that man (Walter Young).

Re-examined. My father, when shot, was laid on the table, and his pockets were turned out—I did not see anything taken out—he kept the pistol in his pocket for a day or two after leaving Madeira, and I afterwards saw it in the bag—I did not pick up any pistol on the saloon floor—my mother went to the bag and she got a fright; she thought the revolver was lost, or that somebody had taken it, because she did not see it, but I made her open the bag and showed it to her—when the first shot was fired by O'Donnell I ran to my mother's berth to get the pistol—I saw Parish in the saloon after my father was dead, but not till then—I said that Parish had come from his cabin after the first shot because I had read it in his evidence.

MARGARET CAREY . I left London on July 4 on the Kinfauns Castle with my children, and was joined by my husband at Dartmouth on the 6th—on the way not we made the acquaintance of the prisoner and a woman who passed as his wife—we became very friendly, and played at draughts and chatted together—at Cape Town we did not sleep on

shore, but were transferred to the Melrose on the Saturday of our arrival—the prisoner was to have stopped at the Cape, but he joined the Melrose for Natal—on the Sunday he was in the second-class saloon with his wife—my husband was on deck—the prisoner said to me "Where is Mr. Power?"—I said "On deck"—he said "You had better call him down"—my husband was called down, and came into the ✗on—the prisoner asked my husband to have a bottle of ale, and he said he was just coming down to have one—my husband took the baby from me and pnt it in our cabin; but it awoke, and I went to it—I went into the cabin, and in five or ten minutes I heard the first shot, which I thought was a ginger-beer bottle gone—before I went away I saw the men with ale before them—O'Donnell and his wife were on the settee, and my husband too—I heard a second shot—then I put down the baby and went out, and I heard a third shot, and my husband met me and fell into my arms, crying "Oh, Maggie, I am shot, O'Donnell has shot me"—my son rushed into my cabin as I was coming out—I saw my husband was bleeding from the side of his neck—he fell and I fell with him—I remember going up to the prisoner, upon whose shoulder the woman had her hand—I said "O'Donnell, did you shoot my husband?"—he said "Shake hands, Mrs. Carey; don't blame me; I was sent to do it"—the woman said "No matter, O'Donnell, you're no informer"—up to that time we had gone by the name of Power—up to the time I left the cabin my bag was there—I knew my husband had a revolver; but I had not seen it—I heard from the prisoner that he had sold a revolver in Cape Town for 3l. 10s.—this had come up in conversation.

Cross-examined. I do not remember that man (Walter Young) at Port Elizabeth—I did not drive about much in Port Elizabeth, only when Mr. Wyles seut for me—I drove about Port Elizabeth, but it was not that man who drove me—several men drove me—I knew that O'Donnell was going on to Natal with my husband instead of stopping at the Cape—they chummed together on the voyage—it was said there would be a better chance of work at Natal than at the Cape—I had not seen the revolver up to the time of the examinations before the Magistrate—I do not remember going to the bag and thinking the pistol was missing—I do not remember my son or any one else taking it out of the bag from under some papers until I saw it at Port Elizabeth; that I am positive about—it was not a bag in which I kept anything of my own—I had some money which I gave to my husband, and he put it into the bag; also some pencils and studs—the key was broken, and the carpenter assisted to get the bag open—this was at Cape Town—when we wanted money we had very little occasion to go to the bag—on one occasion my husband opened the bag on the Melrose—he told me he had borrowed some money from the men he was with, and the bag was out of order and he could not open it—I am not quite sure whether it was on board the Kinfauns Castle or the Melrose—the carpenter of the Kinfauns Castle opened the bag by putting the key to rights—when they were shifting from the Kinfauns Castle to the Melrose the bag and basket and other things were taken on board—I could not say positively that I took the bag on board—I took the things inte the cabin with me, but I do not know who took them on the Kinfauns Castle—I really cannot remember whether I took the bag on board or not—I took a

lot of parcels with me—I heard my husband and O'Donnell calling for drink—I had not seen more drink on that occasion than usual—my child was ailing in some way and I went to look after him—the sound like a soda-water bottle did not attract my attention—I then heard the second shot, and the third one was fired just as I went out, and he fell into my arms—he was rushing into the cabin—my son was in the saloon when the second and third shots were fired—I was coming out when I heard the third shot, and extending my arms to him.

By the COURT. The third shot was fired as he was rushing into the saloon—I did not go on shore at Cape Town, excepting in the night, about 5 or 6 o'clock—we were going to a theatre—that was Friday.

By MR. RUSSELL. When I got to the theatre I found it shut—I was with O'Donnell, my husband, and four of my children—my husband went out after dinner on the Saturday for a short time—we had dinner at 12 o'clock—when he went ashore he had with him the eldest boy and the little girl—I do not remember how long he was away, but I think he returned about 4 or 5 o'clock—he was, as far as I know, up town during the interval; at all events he was not in the ship—I am pretty clear in my recollection—they went to see about the town—O'Donnell made some statement to me with reference to the sale by him of a revolver—I do not remember whether this was said in answer to any question put to him by my husband—I know he used the words, and he said he bought it a year ago for that money, but I do not remember how the conversation began—I cannot remember the conversation; I have often tried to bring it to my mind, but I cannot do so.

NATHAN MARKS . I live at Cape Town, and am a hotel-keeper—I left Cape Town in the ship Melrose on 28th July for Port Elizabeth—when I went on board I saw James Power and the prisoner there—I was informed on board that Power was James Carey, on the Saturday before starting—on the Sunday afternoon after dinner I was sitting on the hatchway reading an English newspaper—Carey came and spoke to me, and asked me to lend him the newspaper, which I did—while he was looking at the newspaper his boy came up and spoke to him, and Carey left me and went downstairs—I afterwards followed him into the saloon—I went to get some beer, but I could not get it—when I went down I saw O'Donnell in the cabin—I heard a shot about half an hour after I went down—O'Donnell was sitting on the settee at the corner, near the companion steps—Carey and the prisoner were sitting about a yard from the steps—Carey was sitting by the side of the prisoner; a young woman was sitting a little way off—I saw one of the crew playing with the child—his boy was at the farther end of the cabin—I did not hear the words Carey and O'Donnell said, but I saw them talking together—O'Donnell was very quiet—I was up at the hatchway—when I was downstairs they were talking together in a quiet tone—I did not see anything like a quarrel between them—when I could not obtain the beer I went down for it—I then went upstairs and sat upon the hatchway, which was open, and I could see down into the cabin—I was waiting to see the beer come out—O'Donnell was very quiet—I saw Carey talking in a very high state—he was going on as if he was laying down the law, or something of that kind, and he had his hand in this way (describing)—I could not hear what was said—he was sitting down by the side of O'Donnell—about 10 minutes after I heard the report of a pistol, and, looking below, I saw

O'Donnell lowering his hand—I looked over the hatchway, and saw Carey making way towards his cabin—I then saw the motion of O'Donnell's hand up—I could not exactly discern the pistol, although I saw the smoke of it—I believe it was his left hand that was up—I did not see anything in Carey's hand—after the second shot was fired I ran down below, and while I was going down I heard a third shot—when I heard the second shot O'Donnell was sitting down on the corner of the settee, and the young woman was hugging him round the neck—Carey was standing up, looking towards the crew, with his face round, at the time of the first shot, a short distance from the foot of the ladder—I saw no violence on Carey's part—on my seeing the second shot fired Carey was making towards his cabin, going away from O'Donnell—I did not see the third shot fired; it was fired as I was going downstairs—when I got into the cabin I saw Carey fall on the deck at the end of the settee, by Mrs. O'Donnell—I saw Mrs. Carey too—I saw young Carey at the time; he was running about awfully excited—when I was looking through I saw him run into the cabin, and I saw Mrs. Carey come out—after Carey fell I rushed up on deck, went towards the galley, and asked one of the crew if he knew where the captain was—I went down below, and I was standing at the foot of the stairs—Mrs. Carey left the body and came in a grieving and frantic way, with her hands clasped, towards O'Donnell, and said "O'Donnell, why did you shoot my husband?"—O'Donnell put his hands out towards Mrs. Carey, and said "I could not help it, Mrs. Carey"—I then went to Mrs. Carey and drew her away from him, and said "You had better come away from him"—some few minutes after that O'Donnell was put in irons and handcuffed by the captain's orders—O'Donnell never made a complaint to me of an attack on him by Carey.

Cross-examined. After he made the statement to Mrs. Carey he seemed very horror-stricken, and looked dazed, as if he was in liquor; he looked bewildered—there was no difficulty in getting O'Donnell handcuffed, but there was a difficulty in getting the poor girl away from him—after he was handcuffed he was silent—Schofield told me that Power was in truth James Carey—I had not been on the Kinfauns Castle—the Argus paper, published at the Cape, was shown to me—it had been shown all over the boat—I went down at first to try and get some beer, and not being a saloon passenger I was not entitled to go below for it—I therefore went and sat near the skylights, which in fine weather were left open—I did not know at first what O'Donnell had in his hand, but from seeing smoke and hearing the report I thought it must be a pistol—I saw O'Donnell raise his hand, but did not see a pistol in Carey a hand—it was only by hearing the report and seeing the smoke that I thought it was a pistol—when I looked down into the saloon Carey and O'Donnell were sitting together about 10 minutes before the first shot was fired; O'Donnell was apparently quiet, and Carey was talking in a very high state, as if he were laying down the law—he was making gestures, and talking in a very confidential way—from the settee on which O'Donnell was sitting to the side of the cabin which opened into the hatch the distance was not more than about a yard—before the first shot was fired, Carey, who was not more than a yard from O'Donnell, was seated on the settee on the starboard side, and Carey was standing against the side or partition of the saloon—Carey was sitting originally side by side with O'Donnell on the settee—he got up and stood against the partition, and turned round

towards the companion side of the saloon—O'Donnell did not alter his position at that time—Carey was standing, and O'Donnell was sitting down, facing him.

By the COURT. One was sitting and one was standing, but Carey's face was looking towards the companion ladder—it was some few minutes when I saw Carey get up and speak in a high state—it might be 7, or 8, or 10 minutes—when I heard the second shot Carey was staggering away—I then rushed out, and on my way down I heard the third shot—I swear O'Donnell said to Mrs. Carey "I could not help it"—she was in awful grief, and directly I saw him come towards her I went up.

Re-examined. Schofield and I were standing together examining our paper, and he said "Do you see that fellow there?" pointing towards Carey—I said "Yes"—he said "That is Carey the informer"—I hardly believed it—he was then playing with one of the children—when he turned his face round I recognised him by the portraits—Carey's face was looking towards the companion ladder, where the boatswain was playing with his child—I should think this was 5 or 10 minutes before the first shot was fired—when I looked after the first shot was fired he was staggering towards his cabin sideways—when he was looking towards his child it was after the time I saw him laying down the law—he was standing then, and quiet—that was some time before the shot was fired—from that time to the time of hearing the shot I did not see anything approaching a disturbance between the two men.

ROBERT THOMAS CUBITT . I live at King's Arms Street, North Walsham, Norfolk—I assist my father, an ironmonger—I and my brother, Frank Cubitt, were passengers on board the Kinfauns Castle, going to the Cape—I saw Carey and O'Donnell together on board during the voyage—I did not know until my arrival at the Cape that James Power was James Carey—they appeared to be on friendly terms—we arrived at Cape Town on Friday, 27th July, and I stayed there, and put up at the White House Hotel—on the afternoon the Melrose left, which was on Saturday, I went into a wine and beershop, and the keeper of the shop made a statement to me in relation to James Carey—he gave me this document with a likeness of Carey. (This was a supplement given away with the "Weekly Freeman" of May 5; in one corner was "He swears in his victims" in another corner, "Look to the man in the grey suit," in another "He informs," and in another corner, "Crown witness," with a portrait of James Carey in the centre.) I recognised that likeness as representing James Power, the man on board—I went with my brother to the docks from which the Melrose was to start—my brother has since died—I saw O'Donnell standing on the docks at the side near the Melrose—I said to him "Have you seen the portrait of Carey?"—I produced it, and showed it to him—he said "I will shoot him"—he asked me for it, and I think he put it in his pocket—he went on board the Melrose, and I believe she sailed about a quarter of an hour after the interview referred to—I did not go on to Port Elizabeth—I remained some time at the Cape with my brother—I then returned to this country—I met with an accident in an explosion that took place a few weeks ago—I have lately given this information.

Cross-examined. I heard of Carey's death very soon after it occurred, when I was at Cape Town—I did not know of any inquiry being held at Port Elizabeth while I was there—I afterwards learnt that there had been one—I put myself in communication with the solicitors representing

the prosecution after I got home in October—I knew as far back as July when I should probably get back to this country—I stayed three weeks at the Cape—I should have stayed longer if there had been a favourable opportunity in business—I made up my mind to come back again three weeks after I had been there—that would be about August—I did not then make any communication to the solicitors—I did not then communicate with the officials here, until they sent for me, which, I should think, was about a fortnight after I had got home—I think the Cape authorities saw my brother at Cape Town, where he died—as far as I observed the prisoner was a quiet, peaceable man, of few words—he was rather popular on board with the steerage and second-class passengers, and was a civil-spoken man—I did not see much of Carey—I should say he was rather excitable—I do not know of a man named McHardy being on board the Kinfauns Castle—I had not seen Carey in liquor or drinking, or heard him indulge in abuse of any people or person—I had very little to do with him, I had more to do with the prisoner—I have seen him use his revolver in the presence of the passengers, when he has fired at birds and fish—I heard Carey pretty freely discussed at the Cape, and abused—when the prisoner said that he would shoot him it was in a pleasant manner, smiling at the time, and when I heard of Carey's death I did not attribute any moment to those words.

Re-examined. My brother was with me when the words were spoken—after my arrival home in this country I found my brother had made a communication to the Cape authorities, who had communicated with the authorities here.

RICHARD EDWARE BEECHER . I was the second officer of the Melrose on sunday, the 29th July—in the afternoon I was officer of the watch, and was on the bridge when I heard a shot fired—that was about a quarter to 4 o'clock—I at once got off the bridge and went down into the second saloon—before I got into the saloon I heard two more shots—there was a longer interval between the first and second shots than there was between the second and third—I heard the two second shots as I was going along the deck—when I got into the saloon I saw the prisoner sitting on the stern side of the cabin, on the settee—the boatswain was with him—I went up and laid hold of him by the right wrist first from behind—I saw the boatswain take a pistol from the left side pocket of his coat—the boatswain handed me a pistol like this (produced)—on looking at it I found three of the chambers had been recently discharged and two loaded—we did not find any more arms upon the prisoner; we found a knife or something like that, but nothing of any consequence—I saw a cartridge some time after in the bath-room—I took it out of his waistcoat-pocket—the prisoner had been in the bath-room for some time—he was taken there—it was a similar cartridge to this—it appeared to fit the small revolver—I did not try it—it struck me it would fit it—I did not see Carey till I went along the table—I saw him there, injured—I saw Mrs. Carey first there—I saw young Carey afterwards—from what I heard I felt young Carey some short time afterwards on deck—I found on him a pistol similar to that produced—it is an English pistol, which is commonly described as a "bull-dog" pistol—I asked young Carey what he was going to do with it—I took it down immediately and gave it to the purser—when I caught hold of him, which I did rather roughly, and was taking the pistol away, he said "Do not be frightened, I am not going

to hurt any one"—afterwards I saw the prisoner's box in his cabin, which was examined—Captain Ross was there when it was done.

Cross-examined. I could not say I found in his box a galvanic battery; when I first saw the box the chief officer was going to take it out, and I said "Take care, it may be something dangerous," and he took it out and opened it a little bit, and did not like to open it any more—there were a lot of things inside, machinery stuff—I held it at arm's length and took it to the captain's cabin, and the doctor said he would not open it—we did not try to open it again, and we put our ears to it, and we were all rather frightened, so we tied it to the end of a rope and threw it overboard—I have heard since that it was a battery used for the prisoner's hand—there is something the matter with his left hand, I think—I cannot say what—I could see that it was smaller than the other one—the Melrose steers from the bridge—the skylight of the second cabin is right below the lower bridge, if you stand amidships—there is a hatch between the companion and the skylight—the main hatch is something like 10 feet long—I was on the bridge when I heard the first shot—I heard the other two shots when I was going towards the cabin, between the time I left the bridge and reached the cabin-door—there was a momentary interval between the first and second shots, and then the second and third shots came quicker—it was from a passenger that I had the information that the boy had a pistol—I cannot recollect whether I asked young Carey if he had a pistol—I think he must have denied having a pistol, and I searched him—I did not find one, and I turned to the passenger who asserted that the boy had one—I asked the boy then, I think, if he had a pistol, and I think he denied it; but I felt him down again, and then found one on him—I asked him why he had it, and he said something about his being afraid that his mother might do some hurt to some one with it—after that I asked him why he did not shoot O'Donnell, and the boy said "Perhaps I should not have shot O'Donnell; but I might have shot you or the captain," meaning that he might have shot us by accident—I have often spoken to him since about his having the pistol, and he has always given the same reason—I may have said that this revolver was a six-chambered revolver, but that must have been a mistake of mine, and that it was loaded only in five chambers—I saw it loaded in five chambers—I looked at it hastily, for a minute—I had handed it to the purser, and as a result of that look at it I said it was a six-chambered revolver.

Re-examined. The Melrose is a colonial boat, and does not come to this country—she is between 500 and 600 tons—I did not know before I came over that any question was raised as to the identity of the pistol—I do not suppose it was in my possession a minute—it looked just like the one produced—whatever pistol it was, I saw one in the hands of Inspector Cherry which I believe to be the same—I assume all the things were given to Cherry by the purser in the captain's cabin at Port Elizabeth on the following day—there were two pistols amongst them—at the time the pistol was taken from young Carey I thought there were six chambers, when I just glanced at it, and that one was empty—I said so when I was examined before the Magistrate, and also at Port Elizabeth, I believe—I have no reason to believe that statement was incorrect, except that this pistol (produced) has only five chambers—I gave the pistol that I took from him to Mr. Gundry, the purser; he is at the

Cape—Weeks and Co., of Dublin, made the pistol—the maker's name on that pistol which was taken from O'Donnell is "Martin" or "Marlin, Newhaven, Connecticut"—the boy denied that he had a pistol with him—when I heard the first shot I was standing on the lower bridge—I went as fast as I could off the deck—I had left the bridge when I heard the second shot—I had moved about a couple of yards lower down on the deck between the first and second shots—it would take about three seconds to get down from the bridge to the deck—before I heard the second shot I had got on to the deck towards the ladder leading to the saloon—there were about seven or eight steps to the ladder.

JAMES ROSE . I am master of the steamship Melrose, one of Donald Currie and Co.'s vessels, and I produce the certificate of registration relating to that vessel (The document was handed in)—the ship was built in Greenock and registered in London—on Sunday, 29th July, about a quarter to 4, when on the high seas, I was sent for into the second saloon cabin and found the prisoner and a young woman with him—I saw a man whom I knew as James Power lying down on the deck, and Mr. Parish attending to him—Power was bleeding very much in the neck—there was no surgeon attached to the ship, but there was a Dr. Everitt on board, and he was sent for to attend to him—he died in about a quarter of an hour—I ordered the prisoner to be put in irons and secured, and afterwards went into the cabin and found a sea-trunk there; the name on it was "O'Donnell" or "McDonnell"—it was searched, and an old revolver in a leather belt was found—it was an old-fashioned pistol—there was also a small tin case of cartridges, which appeared to belong to the revolver—I saw the things that were taken out of the trunk and the electrical machine thrown overboard—on the arrival of the vessel at Port Elizabeth the matter was at once reported to the authorities—Inspector Cherry came on board, and O'Donnell was then given into his custody—Carey's body was taken on shore in the police boat, the same boat as the prisoner—the sea trunk and its contents were also put in the boat, and sent the following day to the Customs, who took charge of it—the vessel was about 25 miles south of Cape St. Blaize, in latitude 33 or 34, and longitude 54 or 55.

Cross-examined. I personally superintended the search of the prisoner's luggage which consisted of clothes and this small box and pistol and some ammunition belonging to the pistol—the sea trunk was one of those American trunks—the name "O'Donnell" or "McDonnell," I am not certain which, was on it—the trunk is in the possession of the authorities—when it was sent on shore it was lashed up with a rope.

Re-examined. There were some papers with his luggage, which were put into the box—it was lashed up by Inspector Cherry, and the room sealed up.

JOHN CHERRY . I am Chief Inspector of Police at Port Elizabeth—on Monday, 30th July, I had some information which caused me to go on board the Melrose, which arrived there on that day—I took the prisoner into custody, and took him ashore with the body of the deceased—I received on board these two pistols (produced) from the purser—I believe Captain Rose was present, and Beecher—three chambers of the American pistol were discharged, and the two cartridges with which it was loaded I took out on receiving it—I also received this bullet, which appears to have been discharged (produced)—I believe this was

picked up in the cabin—it would fit the smaller pistol of the two—I afterwards received at the Custom House a box marked "P. O'D." on one end, and on the other end "P. O'Donnell"—it was lashed up when I received it—I took possession of its contents—there was this purse (produced) and a small bag which was in the purse, and contained a silver dollar and some small coin, also a picture of Carey in the purse—I also found this extract from a newspaper—there were some different papers and photographs and a naturalisation paper—I heard the prisoner make this statement at Port Elizabeth. (Read: "I am not guilty of murder; what I did was in self-defence. Mr. Carey pulled the revolver out of his right-hand pocket. I snatched it out of his hand.—Patrick O'Donnell, by his mark.") The statement was made at the conclusion of the case—the prisoner was represented by Mr. O'Brien, who cross-examined the witnesses.

Cross-examined. Mr. Beecher's statement at Bow Street about this pistol that was taken from young Carey was that it was a six-chambered one, with one of the chambers empty—all five chambers were loaded—I took the cartridges out—the proceedings at Port Elizabeth are similar to what they are here.

FREDERICK ENSOR . I am district surgeon at Port Elizabeth—on Monday, 30th July, I saw the body of a man being carried through the streets at Port Elizabeth—Inspector Cherry and Dr. Everitt were there—the next day I saw the body at the new gaol—on Tuesday morning I made a post-mortem examination in the presence of Dr. Everitt, who died shortly after—I found the body presented three bullet wounds—the one in the neck was about the centre of the windpipe, a little to the left—it passed under the superficial muscle of the neck, wounding a large vein in its transit—it cut the collar of his jacket—the other two wounds were at the back—one was on a level with the upper border of the shoulder-blade, about three inches from the spine—the second bullet wound was at the lower angle of the shoulder blade, some distance from the spine—I found that the upper bullet had cut through the second rib behind, and had wounded the upper part of the lung, and made its way out at the chest, between the fourth and fifth rib, and had lodged immediately under the nipple, from which I removed it—this is the bullet (produced)—the second bullet in the back had wounded the lower part of the lung, gone through the diaphragm, traversed the stomach, which was half full of food, and nearly cut the left kidney in two, wounding the large blood-vessels—there was a considerable quantity of blood in the left pleura, and the abdomen contained a large quantity of blood, staining the intestines—after a minute search I could not find the bullet—it was lost in the pelvis or the back—Mrs. Carey and her son afterwards saw the body, and I attended the funeral—the fatal wound was the third one—they were all serious.

Cross-examined. The first wound probably was enough to cause death unless active surgical aid was available—the first bullet entered between what is commonly called Adam's apple and the base of the throat—that is a little to the right of what is commonly called the throttle of the throat—the bullet came out by this big muscle on the neck, under the oblique muscle, cutting the collar of the coat—it was nearly horizontal (The witness pointed out the positions of the wounds)—the second bullet entered about the left shoulder—it cut through the rib opposite—it lodged in the breast,

in the nipple; you could feel it with your finger—it was oblique from above downwards—the nipple is lower than the second rib behind—the third was by the point of the shoulder blade, about the same distance from the spine—it entered and went through the lower part of the lung, through the large muscle separating the chest from the belly, and through the stomach, and then it was diverted by some means, and passed down into the kidney, cutting the big blood-vessels, and was lost somewhere in the contents of the belly or the muscles of the spine—the direction would be from above, downwards—the wound in the neck was about horizontal—I think it is possible the wound in the neck might have been delivered by a man who was firing with his elbow at his side, seated, and the man at whom he was firing might be a man of 5 feet 10 inches in height standing up, but I do not think the other two could have been—I think the man who was shot might have been standing up as to two of them—it entered the throat, and came out a little more at the side, in a horizontal line—a man who fired with his elbow at his side, or a man who fired seated, and the man at whom he fired being 5 feet 10 inches high, would cause the wound inflicted in the neck to be horizontal—the bullet might have been diverted from an oblique course by a tendon, or the side of the windpipe, or a muscle—I made a minute examination, but did not find anything to suggest that there was anything to cause a diversion of the bullet—I examined the prisoner in gaol at Port Elizabeth, and found his left arm was limited in its movements at the elbow joints by an old injury—the muscles of the hand were wasted, and the little finger was contracted—the left hand and arm were very much disabled—the palm of the right hand was hard and horny, like the hand of a man accustomed to hard, muscular work—he could hold things in his left hand in a clumsy way—the elbow was injured in childhood—that was the prisoner's statement—the wasted condition of the forearm was due to the straining in lifting a heavy packet of hay, and a good deal of the waste would be attributable to the enforced disuse of the arm—I made an examination of Carey, and found that he was a powerful man about 5 feet 10 inches in height, heavy bones and strong muscles, big square shoulders; in fact a big-boned man—he was a corpulent man, well nourished, and in a healthy condition compared to the prisoner—he was a much more powerful man—there was no comparison between them.

Re-examined. I have had a good deal of experience of shooting cases, both in the size of pistol balls and rifle balls; and it is my experience that a bullet often takes a very erratic course and is diverted by a very slight obstacle, I could not predict the exact course it would take—as to Carey staggering and bending as he walked, that would not make any difference in the opinion I formed that the man who shot him must be standing up—the prisoner had a perfect use of his right hand, he could not fire so rapidly with his left hand as his right—he had not sufficient free movement to use the pistol with his left hand—it is rather difficult sometimes in excitement to hit an object although it might be close.

JOHN MALLAM . I am Superintendent of Police in Dublin—I was aware of the intention of Carey to leave the country—he was sent away—I gave him a revolver in Kilmainham Gaol on 3rd July—I obtained that from Charles Weeks, of Essex Quay, Dublin.

Cross-examined. I knew James Carey very well, and was present at the trial which followed the Phoenix Park murders—Carey was a

muscular man, a big man about 5 feet 10 inches in height—there were several investigations made before the Magistrates, before Carey appeared to give evidence against Curley, Kelly, and Brady—it was a little later than the 19th January that I heard of the part he took in the Phoenix Park murders—I heard him state that he had gone there to act the part of "setter" or "pointer" as to Mr. Burke who was murdered, and that he looked at his watch in order to get on the car and time an alibi—I also took down in writing that he said to Curley, Kelly, and Brady, and a man called Mullet, "Mind the man with the grey suit"—that was before he was examined as a witness—I heard him state that he afterwards went to a meeting, when a resolution was passed expressing sympathy with the relations of the murdered men and their abhorrence of the crime—I heard him say that he was connected with several attempts on Mr. Forster's life—I cannot say why the Crown dealt with Carey as they did—so far as I know he never received a pardon—my impression of him was that he was very excitable—I do not know of my own knowledge that he was affecting to be a very religious man, but generally rumour had it—he stated so—the night he was arrested he told me as one reason why he could not be in a particular place, that he was attending some religious service—I did not hear after arrangements were made for his leaving the country or before, of his abusing the Government—he did not complain to me—complaints did not come to me officially to my knowledge—from my knowledge of Carey, when he left my custody and control he was a desperate man utterly regardless of human life—he expressed regret at the murder of Lord Frederick Cavendish, but not any one else—he said it was not a murder but that it was only a "removal" that was justifiable, that it was removing tyrants—he bandied with Counsel in that strain—I do not remember the particular expression, that it was not the slightest crime to remove Mr. Burke—it appeared by his admissions and evidence that he was the man who swore in and pledged the murderers by whom the murders were committed—some of these men were of superior position and class to his own—James Mullet and Dan Curley were his equals—Mullet was not tried for murder—I heard Carey say that he suggested the knives which had been the instruments of the murders in Phoenix Park should be sent to the Exhibition in Dublin—he did not complain to me of the money he got from the Government.

Re-examined. The murders in which it was supposed he was implicated were of a political character—when he spoke of murder being no crime, he was speaking of "removing tyrants," representing the English Government, or persons connected with the Government—he at all times took great care to prevent himself being detected, and he was very chary of his own life—I never knew him to commit a daring open murder for which I could arrest him he gave evidence against his fellows in crime, and thereby escaped being tried, and probably executed—I take it for granted that was his reason—all he said and did was so execrated by the Irish people that I had to take care to protect him from their violence, and that was the reason for his removal from Dublin.

RICHARD EDWARD BEECHER (Recalled). When I went down into the saloon it was not dark; it was rather dark going down from the daylight—it was not getting dusk; it was bright sunlight on the bridge, but going down into the saloon made it appear dark—the skylights were open; the sides were left up for the purpose of ventilation.

JOHN CHERRY (Re-examined). When I had charge of the prisoner on board the ship, he asked me if he could see the little girl; that was the way in which he spoke of her—he said so long as she was landed there he did not care—he said he did not want her to be carried on.

Cross-examined. I am a married man—I do not, as a rule, speak of my wife as little girl or little woman.

DR. ENSOR (Re-examined). When I made the post-mortem examination the whole face was swelled up from the beginning of decomposition, and on the chin were some black marks; powder grains I took them to be—the usual marks that unignited powder grains would make, as if the pistol had exploded against him; as if it was some grains of powder unexploded—I thought the pistol must have been thrust into his face—I think the two men must hive been close together.

The following witness was called for the defence:

WALTER YOUNG . I am a cab proprietor at Port Elizabeth—I always drive my own cab—I was born in that division—some time in August last I was engaged by the steward of the Melrose to drive some persons from the Court House—that was the first fare I had from there—I think I should know the man again—I don't think I have seen him since; he had rather a peculiar sort of nose—he engaged me to drive Mrs. Carey and one of the boys, Thomas Francis, or two of the boys—I won't be sure whether there were two of the boys in the cab—I drove them to Penfold's at Park Drive, he is a hairdresser—I took them there to see the rooms—I heard the steward mention the name when she got in—I left them there—I saw them afterwards—I drove them very often; I mean Mrs. Carey and Thomas Francis; he was always with her—I only took her on one occasion alone—they paid me; sometimes Penfold paid me—I think he paid me on two or three occasions—there is a water fountain about 10 paces in the rear of our cabstand—I remember one day meeting Thomas Francis at that place; I went to get a drink of water, and he came and took the mug out of my hand before I took it from the lion's mouth, and I said to him "You are a fine fellow; why did you not shoot O'Donnell when he shot your father?"—he said "I had not the revolver, but I went for to get it in the cabin, and when I got there it was gone, because my father had it"—I said "It is a bad job, quite likely you will have to go to England, if you had shot him there might be no more about it"—this was alter the inquiry before the Magistrate at Port Elizabeth—I spoke of this on the cabstand among all the cabmen.

Cross-examined by the ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I have one cab and four horses—I employ a groom to look after my stable—I could not say how many times I have driven Mrs. Carey and the lad; a great many; I suppose about a dozen or fifteen times—Mrs. Carey has spoken to me and I to her; I knew her very well by sight—she has asked me how my wife, Mrs. Young, was, when I have taken her and left her at Penfold's; not since I came to London—when I came into Court yesterday I knew her in a moment—I know no reason why she should not know me, or the boy either—I was panic-struck to think she should forget me in so short a time—I had never been to this country before—I came on purpose to give my evidence—I have no friends in this country or in Ireland—my father came from Kent and my mother from some part of Oxford I think—the investigation at Port Elizabeth created a good deal of excitement and was very

much talked about—I heard that young Carey had been examined in the Court—there are newspapers published at Port Elizabeth—I am no scholar—I could not talk about it to anybody, because I only heard what they spoke to; I listened and heard the conversation—I did not know that a pistol was in the possession of young Carey; I never heard that before the conversation with him—I did not know that he had a pistol—I merely asked him why he did not shoot O'Donnell—I did not know whether he had a pistol; I heard that he had a pistol; I heard people saying that he had a pistol—I did not know that he had—I did not hear from anybody whether he had a pistol or not—quite likely he had; I don't know for what purpose—I thought he might have got one quietly, or something of that sort; I could not say where he might get it from—I had not heard that there was a pistol near him to be obtained from any one; it was a mere guess of mine—if he had not had a pistol he could not have shot him; that is an evident case—I had not heard what he had said at the Court.

By the COURT. When I said to him "Why did you not shoot O'Donnell?" he said he had not the pistol, the revolver—he said "I had not the pistol"—he said "I had not had a pistol"—I am not aware that there is a difference—I think it was a pistol—I won't say whether I said just now a or the—what he said was "I had not a pistol, but I went for a pistol in the cabin; I went to get a pistol, to get the pistol, a pistol"—he said he went to the cabin for a pistol, and when he got there it was gone, his father had it—I don't know what I meant by saying "If you had shot him you would have heard no more about it"—it was just merely in conversation, in chaff like; I did not think it would come to anything; it was just merely as talk—I thought if anybody was to shoot my father I should take the law into my own hands—I don't know whether he ought to have shot him—that was my view if he had anything to do it with.

By the ATTORNEY-GENERAL. There is a Mr. O'Brien, a solicitor, in Port Elizabeth—I just merely told Mr. O'Brien what conversation took place between me and the boy, when he asked me—I did not go to him; he sent for me; that was on the Saturday the Northern Castle left—I left on Monday, 5th November, and the boat left on the Saturday—I had often seen Mr. O'Brien before—I had not mentioned a word to him before the Saturday night—I have driven him home to his meals—I knew he was the solicitor defending O'Donnell—we all had a turn in driving him—I never mentioned this conversation to him before the Saturday before the vessel sailed for England—this murder was talked about a great deal at Port Elizabeth—there were lots of passengers in the steamer I came by—there were a few from the Bay—I don't know who was connected with this case—there was a woman on board, Mrs. O'Donnell; she came with me in the boat—she did not land with me; I don't know where she got off; I got off in London—she got off before me; I don't know the place; it was a big city; it was not in London; it was in England; I think it was two days before I came here, I am not sure—I did not go on board at Port Elizabeth; I got on board at Cape Town—I don't know where Mrs. O'Donnell came on board; I saw her when the vessel had been out two or three days—I went to Cape Town to join the vessel—the vessel left Port Elizabeth at 4 o'clock on Saturday afternoon, and Mr. O'Brien sent for me at 7 o'clock on Saturday night, after coming from hunting—the vessel sailed before I left—I never knew of

coming to England till then—people have spoken when I have been talking about this pistol, "Perhaps you will have to go to England"—I had seen Mrs. O'Donnell in Port Elizabeth—I never drove her about; she never drove in cabs—I saw her walking in the street—I don't think I had seen her shortly before the vessel sailed—I took a letter up to where she was stopping from Mr. O'Brien's office; no, not from his office, I got it in Market Square.

Re-examined. I am 32 years of age—I was born in South Africa. at a place called Gampier River—I am not of Irish connections, I belong to the Church of England—I have no connection whatever with any Irish party or people—I never lived in any other place than Port Elizabeth—I am known by everybody there—I have carried on business as a cabdriver about 15 years—I was driving for a master 10 or 11 years, Mr. Kingsley—he is dead—he was a cab proprietor and had an hotel, the George and Dragon—when I saved a little money I bought a cab and horse of my own—I am married and have children—we have a cab stand where we stand—Mr. O'Brien has employed me the same as others; first come, first serve—Penfold let lodgings to Mrs. Carey; I could not say who engaged them—I remember the inquiry before the Magistrate at Port Elizabeth; I heard the matter talked about—when I said to young Carey "You are a fine fellow, why did not you shoot O'Donnell when he shot your father?" I said it in chaff—I spoke of this to my friends on the cab stand several times—I never volunteered to make this statement to Mr. O'Brien or anybody else on the part of the prisoner—I was sent for when I was in Market Square on my cab-box—Lyon, a cabman, came for me; he had been out with Mr. O'Brien and the Magistrate hunting, and when he dame back he told me that Mr. O'Brien wanted me—they were out hunting and he brought them home—they went out in the cab to shoot birds; we call that hunting there—that was on the Saturday, the same day the steamer left—she left about 4 o'clock—I got the message in the evening very late; it was dark, and I drove in my cab up to Mr. O'Brien's; up to that time I had no idea that I should have to come here to give evidence—I did not know what Mr. O'Brien wanted to see me for—I made a statement to him; he did not take it down in writing on the Saturday, he did on the Monday morning—he told me to come to his house and tell him, and then he took it down.

In the coune of MR. RUSSELL'S speech for the defence, he proposed to state in detail what he was instructed was the prisoner's account of the transaction in question. The ATTORNEY-GENERAL objected, as it was in effect making the Counsel in the ease himself a witness. MR. RUSSELL referred to Reg. v. Weston, tried before Lord Chief Justice Cockburn, and Reg. v. Lefroy, before Lord Chief Justice Coleridge, in support of the course he was pursuing.

MR. JUSTICE DENMAN considered the point so important, in view of the difference of opinion that existed on the subject, that if the objection was pressed he should reserve it for the opinion of the Court for the Consideration of Crown Cases Reserved. Under the circumstances, the ATTORNEY-GENERAL, rather than that should be done, withdrew the objection, and MR. RUSSELL was allowed to make the statement.

GUILTY .— DEATH .


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