CXLVI. PEACE’S EXPERIENCE OF THE INTERIOR OF NEWGATE…

CXLVI. PEACE’S EXPERIENCE OF THE INTERIOR OF NEWGATE

We left Charles in charge of a prison warder who ushered him into a vaulted apartment of a gloomy cheerless description, like most others in the prison.

Abutting out from this were several small rooms with baths in them, and Peace was told to perform the customary ablution.

This he knew from former experience to be the usual course of procedure; so he undressed without a moment’s hesitation, whereupon his clothes were taken by his attendant and carefully examined, and all prohibited articles were removed from the pockets.

An inventory of these things was taken, and our hero was informed that it was against the prison rules for him to retain possession of them; but that his wife or any of his friends, when they paid him a visit, might take them away, and “should you be fortunate enough to be acquitted,” observed the warder, “you can have them when you are discharged.”

Peace nodded significantly.

“Should I be fortunate enough,” he murmured to himself; “I fear there is not much chance of that. Well, you see, young man,” he said, aloud, “I don’t think there is much chance of my pulling through, ’cause, you see, the case is ugly against me.”

“I have nothing to do with that; you are sent here to await your trial, and are, of course, innocent till you are proved guilty,” observed the warder, who was evidently a kindly-disposed person.

Peace was informed that he could have the prison allowance of food, or order in what he required, under certain restrictions, from an eating-house on the opposite side of the Old Bailey, and that the money found upon him could be given to his relatives, who would be thereby enabled to pay for the choicest viands from the aforesaid cook-shop.

All this information was conveyed to him in the set phraseology invariably adopted by wardens when addressing prisoners in similar cases.

Peace was never at any time in his life a gourmand, and paid but little attention to the pleasures of the table. Nevertheless, he directed to have his meals furnished by the proprietor of the elegant restaurant outside the walls of the prison.

But this only lasted a few days. From what he could see of the prison fare it was sufficiently good for his purpose, being wholesome and passably good in flavour, so he dropped the Old Bailey restaurant, and contented with the food supplied by the City authorities.

After he had taken his bath, and had re-dressed himself he felt a little refreshed, and he was told to walk in front of his conductor.

He ascended a flight of iron stairs into a lofty hall with a glass roof like a railway station, and on either side of this were galleries one above the other, forming tiers with cells along each, the doors of which were all numbered; a number was shouted in a loud voice by his attendant, when a warder on the first flight told Peace to come up stairs; he obeyed, and was at once ushered into his cell, which he was told must be kept as clean as he then saw it――that it would be requisite to scrub it every day. His attention was then directed to a printed list of rules, with which he was to make himself acquainted.

All these formalities he had gone through on other occasions, but he did not choose to appear as if he knew anything about them; he was desirous of passing off as a green-hand, he had never been in Newgate before and none of the officials knew him――it was quite time enough for him to acknowledge that he had been convicted before upon the charge of burglary when he was recognised by other prison officials.

When the door of his cell was closed, and he found himself alone in his narrow prison-house his heart seemed to sink within him; there was no telling what might be the issue of this capture.

In any case, taking the most favourable view of it, he was certain to be sentenced to a long term of imprisonment.

This was but a natural consequence, and this he was prepared to undergo, but if by any chance he should be identified as the celebrated Charles Peace, of Sheffield and Banner-cross notoriety, his life would be forfeited.

“Oh,” he murmured, “there is that cursed woman who I have never trusted out of my sight since I first became acquainted with her. What will she do? Send me to the gallows, I expect. Oh, I wish I could see Bill Rawton; he’s the only man I can rely upon.”

After these observations he fell into a reverie; then he proceeded to examine his cell and its furniture. It was much the same as the others he had been shut up in.

It was a brick-arched apartment, about 12 ft. by 7 ft. There was the same description of wash-basin, the same flap table and wooden stool, the enamelled plate, tin mug, wooden spoon, and salt-box, he had been accustomed to in the earlier days of his prison life. At the sight of these old familiar objects his heart grew sick.

“Hang it all! I have been a fool,” he murmured. “I can see that plainly enough, now that it is too late.”

Oh, how he sighed for liberty at that supremely bitter moment!

The window of his cell was strongly barred and escape was impossible. He climbed up to this, and from it, through a small door, some 10 in. by 4 in., was just able to distinguish the roofs of the houses and the majestic dome of St. Paul’s.

The noise of the street traffic fell faintly on his ears, telling of the world outside――that dark receptacle of crime.

Then he heaved a profound sigh.

Should he ever again be mixing with the throng of passengers in the highways and byways of the great city?

It was a query that he could not very well answer; but even at this time hope did not entirely desert him. There might be some flaw in the indictment――some legal technicality which might be used in his favour. There was no telling――such things had occurred and might again.

Anyway he would hope for the best; as Mr. Micawber was wont to say, something might turn up.

He remained for a long time after this a prey to agonising thoughts――the leading subject of these being Mrs. Thompson whom he now more than ever mistrusted.

There was nobody now but his wife to keep watch and ward over her. It is true his friend Bill Rawton might use some little influence over the erratic woman, but then Bill knew nothing about the Bannercross murder, and he debated with himself if it was advisable even now to make the gipsy acquainted with all the circumstances attending upon that horrible crime.

If this were done, Rawton might desert him at a time when he most stood in need of his service.

He was anxious to drive the thoughts of his position from his mind, and so began to make an inspection of the door of his cell, the intricacies of which afforded a welcome relief by diverting his ideas from the misery of his situation.

He had, throughout his life, taken great interest in mechanical appliances, and, to say the truth, it was, after all, but a poor consolation to employ his thoughts upon the solid fastenings of his door, but it was better than suffering the canker worm to gnaw at his heart. In the wall itself adjoining the door, about two feet from the top, was a something he could not make out.

At first he was inclined to think it was a ventilator, but upon further examination he came to the conclusion that he was mistaken.

It was no ventilator. He touched it, and immediately heard a sharp click outside. This made him start for a moment.

A gong bell was sounded, the trap in the door flew open inwards, forming a little shelf, and a voice exclaimed――

“Now then, what do you want?”

Through the aperture Peace saw the face of a warder, not the one, however, who had shown him into the cell.

He did not know very well what answer to make, and the man outside, in a still more emphatic manner said――

“Can’t you say what you want? Speak, man.”

“Oh,” cried Peace, “I beg your pardon for disturbing you, but I should like to have some writing paper, pens, and ink, if it not against the rules.”

No reply was given to this request, but immediately the little trap closed with a click as suddenly as it had opened.

“I expect Mr. Warder is a bit riled,” murmured our hero. “Well, if he is I can’t help it.”

Presently he heard a key inserted in the lock, and the door was opened. Then the warder pointed to an inkstand, pen, and a sheet of writing paper, lying on the ground just outside the cell door.

“I am sure you are very kind, and I beg to thank you for this favour,” said our hero, in the softest voice possible.

“That will do,” cried the gaoler, closing the door after Peace had possessed himself of the writing materials.

“Ah, a man of few words,” murmured the prisoner. “They are most of ’em like that. The least said the soonest mended is their motto. However, he’s given me what I asked for. I’ll write a few lines to the old woman, but I must mind how I word the letter, for I suppose it will be carefully examined before it is permitted to leave the prison.”

He occupied himself in writing for some considerable time, and when the hour for bedtime arrived, he unfastened his hammock and retired to rest, sleeping soundly for the greater portion of the night.

At six o’clock in the morning he was roused by the clanging of a large bell, and he knew it was time to get up.

But before he had dressed, the door of his cell was thrown open by a warder, who passed on to make room for the deputy governor and another warder, who carried a book for taking notes of anything worthy of notice.

Peace knew all these formalities very well, and was, therefore, quite prepared for them.

He assumed a respectful manner for the nonce, and, to all appearance, he felt deeply the painful situation in which he found himself placed.

He bowed submissively to the deputy-governor, who took but little notice of the obeisance.

“Do you want to see the doctor?” inquired the prison official.

“No, sir; I am in pretty good health. There is nothing the matter with me, beyond the fact that I am, of course, in great anxiety of mind.”

“Just so. Then you don’t require medical advice?”

“No, sir.”

“Explain to him what he is required to do,” said the deputy-governor, turning on his heel.

Two brushes were handed to Peace, and he was informed they were to be used in polishing the floor of his cell. He was also shown all the other arrangements with which, however, it is needless to say, he was already very well acquainted, but he listened to the warder’s instructions complacently enough.

Every morning he had to go on his hands and knees and polish the cell floor as well as wash and scrub the table, stool, and bason, and every article in the room.

After breakfast――which was served through the little trap in the door, and which consisted of a pint of gruel and a piece of bread――he was told to prepare for chapel.

As we have, in a previous chapter, given a full detail of the proceedings in the chapel of a prison, it will not be necessary to repeat the same in this place.

It is certain, however, that in chapel and at other places in the gaol opportunities are afforded of prisoners conversing, and it is equally certain that “old lags,” on coming into contact with first offenders, delight in polluting their minds.

In due course the chaplain paid a visit to Peace. He was urbane and kind in his manner, asked the prisoner a variety of questions, and it is needless to say that Peace pretended to be contrite, and expressed his regret for having been led into error. He did not say he had been a criminal for the greater part of his life, but he assumed a sanctimonious air. But the chaplain of Newgate, although uniformly kind to those under his spiritual care, had too much penetration to be deceived by Peace’s hypocrisy.

No man could by possibility be more fitted for the office than this gentleman. Few men have the gift of dropping in a few words of seasonable advice, judiciously mingled with reproof, than this gentleman.

When Peace regained his cell, after the service was over, he received a visit from the governor duly attended, like any other commander-in-chief, by his aide-de-camp.

He regarded Peace with a scrutinising glance, and inquired if he wanted anything.

“I want to see my friends as soon as possible, and my solicitor to arrange for my defence,” said our hero.

“Very well, that is but natural. Write to them and you can have an interview on the next visiting day.”

“I have written,” cried Peace. “I hope the letter was sent off.”

“It was,” observed the governor, sententiously. “Anything else?”

“No, sir, I don’t think there is anything else, thank you.”

The governor retired.

His visits after this were singularly regular. He came, looked round, made one or two observations, and then departed.

Peace did not dare to ask if Robinson, whom he had shot, was progressing favourably or not, but this was a question he was most anxious about.

If the wounded policeman succumbed to the injuries he had received his assassin would expiate the crime he had committed on the scaffold.

One day he asked one of the warders if Robinson was still alive. The question was answered with a nod only, which signified that he was. This seemed to lift a load off Peace’s heart, and hope dawned again.

After the governor’s diurnal visit all the remanded prisoners were called out and marched off into a stone-paved yard surrounded by high brick walls.

Peace had the strongest possible objection to this arrangement.

He dreaded marching round, as, by so doing, he would run the risk of being detected, and his real identity would become known.

However, he was constrained to follow the instructions given him.

It was deemed necessary that prisoners should have exercise, and so there was no other course open to him than to comply with the usual regulations.

He had a good opportunity of looking at his fellow-prisoners.

They were of all grades of society, from the fraudulent merchant to the small boy who had been taught to pick pockets.

There were forgers, embezzling clerks, housebreakers, and villains of every conceivable type.

Peace glanced at them, protruding his lower jaw the while, and distorting his features in such a way as to render recognition difficult and almost impossible.

“What are you in for?” whispered a youth of the Artful Dodger species.

Peace made no answer.

“I say, old man,” observed the precocious youth aforesaid, “you let fly at a bobby――didn’t yer? S’help me taters, I wouldn’t be in your shoes.”

All this was said in a whisper, but it was loud enough for Peace to hear.

“Hold your tongue, yer fool,” cried another of the group, addressing himself to the pickpocket. “Can’t yer see as how the gentleman don’t like it?”

Round and round the yard in Indian file, some three yards apart, did the prisoners march for nearly an hour.

Two warders were there to keep order, and check any talking between the prisoners, but a few chance observations such as we have recorded did at times take place, despite the warders’ surveillance.

“Oh, strike me lucky, but the old un has a pretty mug of his own,” said the pickpocket, as he caught sight of Peace’s profile.

“Now then, no talking,” said one of the warders.

“I vasn’t a speakin’,” cried the pickpocket.

“It was you who spoke, and if you do it again I’ll report you,” said the prison official.

“Vell, all I sed vas, vat a beautiful old genelman I’ve got in front of me. There aint any harm in that, I s’pose.”

“You hold your tongue. Do you hear?”

“Yes, I hear. Vell I’m blest. A cove musn’t even open his mouth to get a breath of fresh air.”

“Silence.”

The pickpocket said no more, much to Peace’s relief, for the few chance observations he had already made naturally enough attracted the attention of most persons to our hero.

Presently a batch of persons emerged from a side door of the prison, and entered the yard.

They were detectives and warders from other prisons, and had come to take stock, and see if they could spot any “old friends.”

Peace walked round and round without appearing to be aware of the presence of the new comers, but he was most anxious, nevertheless.

As he passed along and came within full view of them, he did not recognise any face that was known to him in the group, and hoped, therefore, that it was all right as far as that day was concerned. Nevertheless, several recognitions did take place, for one man was called to the corner of the yard to undergo a closer scrutiny, while one of the prison officials compared a photograph he drew from his pocket with the features of the man in question, and there was no denying the “soft impeachment.”

[Sidenote: No. 80.]

The gentleman was known as an “old lag.” The acquaintances thus claimed are seldom cordially reciprocated, and in more than one instance Piper at the present moment was found to be identical with Jenkins, of Coldbath-fields, or White, of Holloway. Peace expected his turn to come.

It would, indeed, have been a sore trial if the visitors to the gaol discovered that Mr. Ward, of Blackheath, or Mr. Thompson, of Peckham, was identical with Mr. Charles Peace, of Sheffield; this is what he most dreaded, but it so chanced that on this day none of his friends, either in the “force” or in gaol were present at Newgate. So much the better for him――he had a respite for a while.

Those who were recognised stoutly protested that the warders or detectives were mistaken; they said they had never been in trouble before, and assumed such a virtuous tone of indignation as to somehow shake the faith of their accusers.

An old and astute detective told us that it was not so much the recognising the face and figure of the individual that they depended on in the first instance, as the fact that in nine cases out of ten an “old lag” would betray himself.

Artful as these men are they appear to lose presence of mind the moment the detectives come into the yard.

Those whom they are seeking seem to be but too well aware of the danger that awaits them, and they invariably try to look so perfectly innocent, and slink past in such a shuffling manner, that the chances are they are bound to be “spotted.”

But it must be understood that those who are in search of old acquaintances of this sort generally have a good survey of the prisoners, as they are marching round, from some dark window of the prison before they enter the yard. Thus the bearing and looks of the prisoners are undergoing a careful and rigid scrutiny when they are not aware of it.

On entering, the detectives note any change in their demeanour.

The new man, the green hand, is perfectly indifferent as to who sees him――indeed, in most cases, he does not even suspect what has brought the crowd of persons into the yard, his natural surmise being, if he reflects at all upon the subject, that they are mere loungers, who have been brought thither from mere idle curiosity.

But with the old hand the case is altogether different. He looks upon the detectives and all prison officials as his natural enemies, and he cannot preserve his usual equanimity when they make their appearance in the exercise-yard, and hence it is that in most cases the old hand, by some sudden or indiscreet movement, is pretty sure to betray himself.

Many culprits of this class would gladly avoid the customary exercise which is deemed requisite by the authorities to take, and Peace was one of this number; but to refuse would only cause them to be looked upon with suspicion, and would be attended with other evil consequences.

When the customary walk-round in the yard is concluded, the general practice at Newgate is for the prisoners to partake of the mid-day meal. This generally consists of a few potatoes or other sort of vegetables, a few ounces of meat, and a tolerably good supply of bread――the last-named is generally pretty good. Although it is made of coarse flour, still as a rule it is passable enough. When their meat is not included in the list of delicacies soup is given, which is made from the liquor of the meat on the preceding day.

As far as the meat is concerned, it may be good enough, though it consists of the coarsest and most inferior part of the animal, but if any care or attention was paid to the cookery of the beef or mutton it would be eatable.

But this is never done. Huge junks of beef are placed in a copper, unsalted, and boiled as rapidly as possible, and when turned out it presents the appearance of horse flesh. As a rule there is very little fat to it, and it presents a most objectionable appearance.

The English are not versed in the science of cookery, and have yet a great deal to learn from their Continental neighbours, but the beef at Newgate requires a very strong stomach to take to it kindly. This is the more surprising, seeing that the City gaol is under the superintendence of the Court of Aldermen and the Court of Common Council, and every member of these august bodies is supposed to have a great relish for the good things of this life.

It is true that they have a great abhorrence of evil-disposed persons who are indiscreet enough to commit acts which bring them under the ban of the law――such persons must be punished, and ought not to be pampered or fed upon the fat of the land during their temporary sojourn in the City prison. And, to say the truth, they certainly are not.

If the object is to make the meat as hard, unpalatable, and indigestible as possible, and at the same time to impart as little flavour and nourishment to the “soup,” the end is attained. But there is really no reason for this――with the same materials properly cooked excellent dinners could be furnished; as it is, the cooking is simply abominable――as bad as can possibly be.

It is to be hoped that a change will very shortly take place in the culinary department of Newgate, for it should be remembered that many persons are sent there who in the due course of time are proved to be innocent of the crimes with which they are charged.

Peace, however, never complained of the food which he partook of without a murmur, but there were others who made wry faces as the unsavoury mess was placed before them.

During the afternoon he was constrained to take another turn round the yard with his companions in misfortune, or, more properly speaking, crime.

On this occasion no detectives or warders paid a visit to the yard, and Peace, therefore, had no misgivings as far as that day was concerned. But he was, however, greatly relieved when he was conducted back to his cell. Anyway he would not be troubled to move out of it again till the following morning.

He was most anxious to see Bill Rawton or his wife. He had more confidence in the former and would much prefer having an interview with the gipsy, but he had already sent letters to both, and expected to see them on the next visiting day.

Certain days in the week are appointed for prisoners to have interviews with their friends or relatives. The friends of prisoners not convicted are allowed to come and see them and converse through wire gratings.

The rules in this respect are stringent enough, and many have declared that they are unnecessarily so. It certainly does appear hard upon an unconvicted person, that he or she should not be permitted to have any private conversation with friends or relatives. But such is the present regulation.

There are two gratings with a space of some three or four feet between them, in which space stands or sits a warder.

Any parcels of clothes or other not prohibited articles are passed first to the warder so that he may be satisfied that there are no contraband things among them, and then, after examination they are handed by him to the prisoner.

The visiting goes on for an hour. The prisoners, or such of them who have friends to see them, stand in a row against the railings with their friends opposite.

Everyone is talking at once to his own friend, and the consequence is that a noise and hubbub is kept up for the whole of the time, and all present are too interested in their own individual matters to heed what is going on between his neighbour and friend, and as far as the warders are concerned they look upon the scene with perfect apathy, and in most cases do not hear anything very distinctly; or, if they do, do not bother themselves with affairs which after all do not as a general rule in any way interest them.

Peace during his first few days’ incarceration in the gaol of Newgate had conducted himself in a discreet and proper manner. He was observant of the prison rules, assumed an air of passive resignation, and strove as best he could to impress everybody with the fact that he was a repentant sinner.

The hyprocrisy of this man was one of his leading characteristics. One morning, when the governor had paid him his accustomed diurnal visit, he expressed himself dissatisfied with the manner in which his cell was cleaned.

Peace assumed a tone of humility and said he was much pained at incurring his censure, but that he would be specially mindful of the timely warning, and take every care not to incur his censure again.

At the same time he expressed his thanks for the considerate manner he had been treated by the prison officials, whose kindness he should ever be grateful for.

It is said that a soft word turneth away wrath, and Peace after this was treated with the greatest possible kindness, conformable with the rules of the gaol; indeed he played his part so admirably that those about him were disposed to believe that he had fallen into error by some sudden or spasmodic influence which they were at a loss to account for.

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CXLVII. VISITING DAY AT NEWGATE

Peace had written a number of epistles to his friends. These, of course, had undergone the usual inspection, but there was nothing in the documents to compromise the writer.

On the contrary, although the language was neither grammatical nor refined, the letters themselves appeared to be those of a penitent and contrite man who bitterly regretted the error into which he had fallen.

The day at length arrived upon which Peace had the satisfaction of seeing his poor ill-used wife and Bill Rawton, the gipsy.

For the behoof of those who have never witnessed scenes of this description we will endeavour to give a graphic account of the interior of the gaol on one of these occasions.

On certain mornings, and at regular hours, small groups of woe-begone tearful girls may be seen in the Old Bailey, exchanging whispers with each other or treading their way silently through the throng of meat salesmen, City policemen, ticket porters, warehousemen, clerks, and shopboys, with which the busy place is full.

The girls look prematurely old and worn, and many of them have the unmistakable expression all noted criminals obtain, while the elder women may be divided into two classes――the callous and the crushed, and in the latter category may be included the wife of Charles Peace.

There is a world of misery behind the defiant as well as the tortured faces one sees here.

All pause at the steps leading up to the half door, behind which the head and shoulders of a stalwart man in uniform are seen, and after a moment’s parley they are admitted within.

The object of their journey is nearly accomplished now, for they are about to be allowed to see and converse with husbands, or lovers, with their brothers, or their sons.

These last are taking their prescribed amount of exercise in the prison yards, and it is from behind one of the gratings looking on these that they are permitted to gaze from a given distance upon and exchange words with their visitors.

Between the prisoners and their friends runs a passage of about a yard wide, with another set of iron bars fencing it off from the place where the women stand; so that between the visitors and the visited are two stout barriers and sufficient space to preclude the possibility of articles being handed from one to the other. There are no seats.

The prisoners are told to break out of the line of march, and permitted to advance to the grating of the yard in batches of three or four.

The women who have come to see them stand exactly opposite, within the prison, and all have to press their faces close to the bars to make hearing possible.

If a double set of wild-beast cages were planted in parallel lines, with the ironwork of each facing the others, but a yard or so apart――if the lions and tigers were pushing their noses eagerly at the barriers, as if trying to escape, and if a keeper or two were planted in the intervening space to watch, a fair imitation of Newgate gaol during visiting hours would be obtained.

The gloomy place has been vastly altered and improved during the last few years. Those who only remember its old dark wards, with their long line of oakum-pickers at work in the day time, who saw the condemned cell, say about the time Palmer had occupied it, or Bousfield endeavoured to commit suicide by throwing himself in its fire, would be amazed at the transformation effected in its interior.

Light iron staircases lead to airy galleries, out of which the various cells open, and from the lower floor of which the exercise grounds are gained. The condemned cell differs little now from that appropriated to ordinary prisoners, save that there is accommodation for the warders, whose duty it is to watch the wretch sentenced to die, and who never leave him until he falls from the gallows’ drop.

But our present business is with the exercise yards, and the interviews held between their bars. There is a ghastly resemblance between them and the playground of some strict school.

Pacing regularly round, a fixed space being maintained between each man or boy, and the rate of walking in each case the same, proceed the prisoners. It is their wicked, callous faces which make the school simile seem ghastly.

Dangerous beasts moving restlessly to and fro in a vast cage seems much nearer the mark, now that we are among them. Sordid common villainy, theft, forgery, assault, burglary, cutting and wounding, and passing bad money, make up the bulk of the offences with which the men before us stand charged.

A stout florid-faced man, who looks like a country farmer, and who is gesticulating violently through the bars to the cowed and crying little woman beyond them, is in on a charge of horse-stealing. He has been in prison before, and indeed was only out of it ten days when he was again apprehended. A muscular powerful man, he looks as if he would carry off a horse bodily, if necessary; and one wonders what the messages are he is impressing so earnestly on his poor little wife.

A warder is standing near enough to the twain to overhear their talk, but we are assured no effort is made to eavesdrop, the presence of a prison official being insisted on simply as a precautionary measure.

Next to the horse-dealer is a well-dressed young clerk, whose alleged offence is embeszlement. The elderly woman whose sobs reach us across the yard is his mother.

She seems to be pleading earnestly, and he to be half sullen, half ashamed, but finally to yield to her entreaties, whatever their purport may have been.

The third prisoner being visited is an older man, and the girl talking to him looks like his daughter.

Their interview is far calmer than that of the other two, and seems indeed of a business character; for some clean linen has been brought, and the man is actoally talking of the weather as we pass by――a proceeding which we thought a feint, but which, as we were reminded, was natural enough.

The three-quarters of an hour allotted to each interview is doubtless a very precious time.

It can only be had on particular days, and the strongest wish of those concerned must be to compress as many questions and answers into it as possible.

Fancy the painful excitement with which a man about to be tried for some serious crime must look forward to his promised talk with those whom he can trust to act for him outside.

The anxious thoughts, the doubts, the fears, the hopes which agitate him in the solitude of his cell are to all bear fruit in the momentous conversation he is permitted to hold.

The chances of the impending trial, his fate if convicted, the means to be raised for his defence, and the effect upon those dependent on him of his present state, have to be eagerly canvassed; and it is all important that not a moment should be lost.

But this very eagerness defeats itself. Just as it often happens, that when people meet after a long absence, and for a limited time, they fail to recall half the topics in which they are vitally interested, and on which they are anxious to compare notes――so with the imprisoned men before us and their friends.

In the other yards we visited men and women were absolutely staring at each other through the bars, in silence; though the latter had come on purpose to talk, and the former would be shut up again in a quarter of an hour.

In some cases it may have been the dumbness of despair which made them tongue-tied; but many seemed so nervously anxious to express all they had to say that they were unable to arrange their ideas sufficiently to give them articulate shape.

Some of the women treated the whole affair lightly, smirked at the warders, and looked boldly round; but these were the exceptions. The rule both in those waiting and those in communication with their male friends was absolute dejection.

Two other kinds of accomodation are provided for special visitors, both similar in character. The first is an enclosed closet in the centre of the principal corridor, and is for the attorneys; the second is for the prisoners who are Roman Catholics, and who are visited by their priest.

Both have glass sides and roof, and realise “the light closets,” upon which Clarissa laid much stress when describing the lodgings she had been entrapped into by Lovelace.

The advice to little children, “to be seen but not heard,” is rigidly enforced upon all people inside these two places.

They live, for the time being literally, in a glass-house, and every movement can be seen from almost any portion of the chamber or corridor in which they stand.

Both places were empty during our stay, the only visitors being the women pressing against the iron bars.

It is easy to fill up their vacancy, however; and all but impossible not to realise the scences which take place in the attorneys’ box, as well as the priests’.

There are seats here, and a resting-place for papers. It is, indeed, a small office under a glass case, and swept and garnished for the next tenants.

The futile attempts at deceit, the half confessions, the miserable equivocations as to the extent and circumstances of guilt on the one hand; the calm business tone, the remonstrances on the suicidal folly of concealment, the penetrating questions, the practised art with which the truth is wormed out, and the astute assurances of help from the professional advisers on the other, this place has heard.

If glass walls have ears like the neighbours of stone and brick, what strange stories could this little cramped cage reveal!

There are more women in the porter’s lodge, as we leave, tearful and miserable as the rest, and waiting their turn for interviews.

They, too, will be conducted to the iron barriers, and utter their broken conversation across the dismal yard of intervening space. The prison of Newgate is so obviously well managed, and the comforts――we had almost written the luxuries――of its inmates are so carefully secured, that its authorities have doubtless sufficient reasons for the rules under which the visits of prisoners’ friends may be paid and received.

Still, a vast majority of the inmates are “remand cases;” and as they are all sent elsewhere as soon as possible after conviction, it is difficult to repress a wish that some less restricted mode of communication could be allowed.

Although many of the evil faces we saw marching round were old prison hands, we presume that the law holds them innocent of the particular offences they are charged with, until it finds them guilty.

Again, it must occasionally happen that guiltless persons who have been committed for trial are detained here, and there is something repulsive in the absolutely penal character of the reception they have in each case to give their friends.

The reader will be able to understand from the foregoing description the most noticeable features of the visiting day at Newgate.

Upon the morning to which our history more immediately refers there were two persons among the throng of visitors outside the gate of the city prison――these being Mrs. Peace and Bandy-legged Bill, both of whom had presented themselves at the prison for the purpose of having an interview with the most celebrated burglar of modern times.

Bill had dressed himself in his best attire, and looked quite respectable.

His female companion was tearful, depressed, and appeared to be quite borne down.

When the prison door was thrown open, the motley throng of visitors passed into the entrance.

They were conducted to the place appointed for the visitors, and behind the bars they beheld the man of whom they were in search.

Peace appeared to be perfectly composed. His wife uttered a deep sigh as she reached the barrier which separated her from her husband.

A woman who stood next to her, and who was evidently a native of the “Emerald Isle,” set up a most dismal howl as she caught sight of a shock-headed urchin, who was, it afterwards transpired, her youngest son.

“Och, bad luck to the spalpeen as brought you to this!――bad luck to him the murtherin’ baste,” cried the woman. “It’s sorry that I am to see ye brought to this anyhow, but it aint no fault of yours. Oh, murder, but my heart is a breakin’, it’s all through that dirty blackguard, ‘Cakey.’”

Cakey was a London pickpocket of the most pronounced type, and he it was who had suborned the ill-fated young Irish lad and taught him to become a thief. (So his mother affirmed.)

She set up such a howl that the other prisoners could not hear what their relatives had to say.

“Now then, less noise there,” exclaimed one of the turnkeys. “Don’t be howling like that, woman.”

“Oh, bedad, it is meself as is the most miserable ’oman as ever broke the bread of life,” exclaimed Mrs. O’Grady, “and it is well for the likes of you to be bullyragging a poor broken-hearted mother. I’ve six childhre, and never a one av ’em iver done aught as they need be ashamed of――never a one, save my poor Dinnis, and may be he’s got into a bit o’ throuble through that lying, dirty scamp, “Cakey.”

Cakey, as he was termed, was the young gentleman who had made himself so obnoxious to Peace in the exercise yard.

“Hold your row, mother,” said one of the prisoners, “You aint everybody.”

“There now,” exclaimed Mrs. O’Grady. “It’s well for the likes of him to be thryin’ to stop the mouth of a fond and affectionats parent; but hold up your head, Dennis darlin’, and don’t be afther takin’ heed of the dirty spalpeen. Och, but it brings tears into my motherly eyes to see ye behind the bars.”

“Now, then, there’s quite enough of this,” exclaimed one of the warders. “You mustn’t make such a noise. If you are not more quiet, we shall have to turn you out.”

“An’ it’s turnin’ me out ye’d be afther――would it?” cried the woman.

“Yes, unless you behave yourself.”

“Oh, murdher, it’s the first time I was within the walls of a prison, and I hope it ’ill be the last. Maybe I don’t know how to behave mysel’, and am wrong entirely. Och, sure, now, I’ve been as well brought up, and that aint saying much, as ony av ye.”

After this outbreak the Irishwoman was a little more subdued, and conversed with her son in a lower tone.

“I’m sorry to see you in this pickle,” said Bill Rawton to Peace. “It’s a precious bad business.”

“It is,” returned our hero, “but I swear most solemnly that I never intended to do the bobby any harm. I was driven to it――in fact it appears to me to be almost like a dream. How is Sue?”

“She is pretty well,” returned his wife.

“Hark you,” said Peace, in a whisper; “both you and Bill must keep a sharp look-out――watch over her Do you understand?”

Both his visitors nodded.

“Good! so much the better, there is good raason for this.”

“She’s all right” observed Bill. “Don’t trouble yourself about that; she’s right enough.”

His wife at this time had decamped from the Evilina-road, but neither she nor Bill made him acquainted with this circumstance.

Peace hesitated a moment or two, and then said――

“She can come on the next visiting day. Poor soul, she means well, I believe, but there, when she’s had a drop of drink, she will let her tongue run nineteen to the dozen, she’ll want a deal of looking after――and you know as well as I do, that we’ve got a set of gossiping neighbours. What do you they say about me now?”

“Oh, they are all of them very kind and say they are sorry you’ve got into trouble and hope you’ll get through better than you expect.”

“I never intended to hurt the ‘bobby’;――I swear that. Nothing was further from my thoughts, but you see I was half mad at the time, and driven to it.”

“All I intended to do was to frighten him; but it’s of no use talking about that now; when a man’s in trouble people generally look at the worst side of the case.”

“Cheer up, old man, and don’t give way,” cried the gipsy, in a consolatory tone, “Let us hope the judge will look upon the matter in the right light, and deal mercifully with you. How about your defence?”

“I have seen my lawyer and shall be well defended.”

“Who will you have then?”

“Oh, one of the very best in the whole profession――Mr. Montague Williams.”

“Couldn’t have a better, I should say.”

“No; but, Lord bless me! what defence is there?”

Rawton looked down upon the ground, and shook his head.

“Not much,” said he.

“I make up my mind for a long lagging――that’s bound to follow as a natural consequence――and if the ‘bobby’ had died I should have had something worse.”

“Ah, but he has recovered――there is no doubt about that,” returned Bill, quietly.

Peace nodded significantly, and said, “So I hear.”

“Be thankful for that.”

“I am thankful.”

“And I say, Charlie,” whispered Rawton, as he put his face closer to the iron bars, “I saw Lorrie the day before yesterday.”

“Yes. What did she say?”

“Sends her love and all that sort of thing, and told me to let you know that if you needed it she would let you have what you want to pay the costs incurred for your defence.”

“Umph, it’s jolly good of her. Tell her I don’t want anything at present. I’ve got enough to last me till after the trial, but possibly I may avail myself of her offer after then. Ah, Bill, but they’ve got me pretty tight now. There aint much chance of slipping out of this――none whatever.”

A long conversation now took place between the prisoner and his wife. This chiefly related to the disposal of certain sums of money and domestic matters generally.

Mrs. Peace was tearful and broken down, but she strove to bear up against this new misfortune as best she could.

Peace had but little consideration for her. His thoughts were engaged upon his own terrible position.

While he was conversing with his wife, the woman O’Grady set up one of her wild howls again, and interrupted the conversation.

“Can’t you be quiet, woman?” said Peace. “A fellow is notable to hear himself speak.”

“Och, but it’s nearly mad that I am――I’ve seven childhre, and none on ’em iver did anything as they need be ashamed ov, barrin’ this poor lad, who has been brought into throuble through that dirty blackguard, Cakey, and bad luck to him.”

“I think you told us that before, missus,” suggested one of the other prisoners. “The story is a little old.”

“It’s ould――is it?”

“Well, I think so, but that don’t matter. Hold your row.”

The Irishwoman began uttering a series of anathemas against the speaker and lawless persons in general, when a turnkey took her by the elbow, and conducted her away from the scene, telling her, as he did so, that they had had quite enough of her for that day.

Everybody was greatly relieved when she had gone, and the conversation was carried on between the prisoners and their friends without any further interruption.

When the time had expired, accorded to visits of this character, Bill Rawton and Mrs. Peace took leave of our hero, and went sadly on their way home.

For the next few days Peace occupied himself in writing letters, and having interviews with his lawyer, for the purpose of preparing his defence.

Some of his letters were literary curiosities, and as a sample of them we give the reader a faithful verbatim copy of some he addressed to his friend, Mr. Brion.

We have, in the course of this work, made allusions to the inventions of the hero, and it has been pretty generally admitted by those who are competent judges that these were by no means of a contemptible character.

His partner in these inventions was a Mr. Brion, who was a near neighbour of Peace’s.

This person was under the full impression at the time that our hero was a respectable gentleman, who was possessed of independent means, and he was never more surprised in his life than when he learnt the real character of the man with whom he had been dealing.

After Peace’s conviction for the attempted burglary and attack on Police-constable Robinson, Mr. Brion, of Peckham, made the following statement:――

“The invention spoken of was for the raising of sunken ships; and for the purpose of having it patented, specifications were deposited in the names of Henry Brion, geographer, and Henry Thompson, gentleman.

“Becoming bold over their invention, they offered to the Admiralty to raise the ‘Eurydice’ and ‘Vanguard,’ and a similar proposal was made to the German Government in regard to the ‘Grosser Kurfurst.’ Peace was told by the Admiralty that outside assistance was unnecessary, and that the naval authorities could do their own work.

“Brion’s connection with Peace ended in an estrangement.

“One day Brion had fetched from Peace’s house one of the fittings which they had decided to use in their plan of operations, as he required it in order to satisfy a gentleman who was ready to advance £500 to carry out the experiment.

“While doing this Peace came into the house, and was very angry at what Brion had done, and on his going away said that he would settle the matter in a way that Brion did not dream of.

“Mrs. Thompson told Brion afterwards that, as he had put him out so, the wonder was that Peace had not shot him, and added that if Brion had come round to Peace’s house, as he asked him to do, Peace told her that he would have shot him.

“The convict had also told her that he could get into Brion’s house and despatch the whole of them.

“Brion saw nothing more of Peace until he received a letter from Newgate, which was couched in the following terms:――

“‘From John Ward, 1 D for trial, H.M. Prison. Newgate, Nov. 2, 1878.

“My dear Sir.――Mr. Brion,――I do not know how to write to you or what to say to you, for my heart is near broken, for I am nearly mad to think that I have got into this fearful mess, all with giving myself up to drinking; but O, Mr. Brion, do you have pity on me, do not you despise me, as my hone famery has don, for I do not know ware they are, for they have broken up there home and gon I do not know where. So O, my dear Sir, I must beg of you to have mercy upon me and come to see me.

“O do not say nay, for I now that when you do see me, and know what I am here for, you will weep for me; but I cannot tell you till I can see you, for I have something that I want you to do for me, that is for you to try and find out for me, for I do not know whare they are gon to.

“Give my love to Mrss. brion and to little fredey, but not disspse me now that I am in Prison, and for meary sakke write a letter back to me direct at once, to give hease to my trobel hart. I finish with my love to you all. I am yours recherd JOHN WARD. But do have mercy upon me and come to see me. You can see me heney week day from one till two o’clock, and inquire for John Ward for trial.’

“On November 2nd Brion went to Newgate and asked to see the writer of the letter. To his surprise he was shown his old acquaintance, Thompson.

“Peace said he was a wicked, dreadful man; that he had shot a policeman, but that he only did it as he was driven for money, and asked him (Brion) to come to the court and give him a character. The prisoner also asked him to call on a publican in Middlesex-street, Whitechapel, with whom he had had some dealings, and ask him to give him a character.

“This person, in reply to his request, said that a character would do Peace more harm than good.

“Other letters were received by Brion before the trial at the old Bailey.

“From John Ward, 1 D for trial, H.M. Prison, “Newgate, Nov. 4, 1878.

“‘O my dear Friends, Mr. and Mrs. Brion,――I know that you are full of trouble for me been such a nod fool to give way to drink and bring myself into this most fearful afarer; but do forgive me for writing to you and have Pity upon me; and do all you can for me, a moust wretched and miserbel man, that is not fiet to live nor dei, for I am not fiet to meet my God, and I am not fiet to live now that I have disgraced myself, but O do have Pity upon me, and do all you can for me, and I will Pray to God to re Pay you for it agane.

“‘Sir, if you have seen my Solictor, or seen Mr. Levy, or heard from or seen my wife, do be kind as to come and see me at once, for O, Sir, I have vely much thet I do want to see … bring me the stamps and envelops … you for, and it will do me much beter than you writing to me, so do be so kind and see to-morrow, the 5th, if you can do and if you have seen my wife or friends tell them to come and see me at once, for I must see them.

“I do also want to see Mr. Levy very much, if you will write and tel him. Sir do not let Doctor Sargent nor heney oughter frinds know of my drisgrase, I conclude with my best love to you all, but come and see me.

“‘Yours, “‘JOHN WARD.

“‘Dear Sir,――I think that the shesions will be on the 18th of Novem.

“‘Henry Brion, 22, Philip-road, Peckham-rye, S.E., London.’

“The third letter was as follows:――

“From John Ward, “for trial, H. M. Prison, Newgate.

“‘My dear Sir,――Mr. Brion, will you be so kind as to send me the directions of Mr. Nash, direct at once for I do want to suppine him to come on my trial to prove that I bougth my guitors of him, for the police have got them for to say that I stole them, but I bought them of him when I bought my ship of him. So do be so kind as to send me his directions this very day, and my dear sir you be so kind as to come and see me yourself on Monday, for I do want to see you Mr. Brion.――I am your an unhappy man, JOHN WARD.’”

It will be seen by these documents, that Peace was a very illiterate man, but it must be admitted, however, that, in conversing with him, he did not appear, from his conversation to be nearly so ignorant as he really was.

He had a very small amount of education, but he had natural gifts, and was, moreover, a hypocrite and deceiver of the most pronounced type.

Peace’s arrest caused much consternation in the house in the Evalina-road.

On the morning that Mr. Thompson was missing, there was trouble at No. 4. Mrs. Thompson went to Mrs. Long in great distress. The infatuated woman seemed to be fond of the wretch she had taken up with, despite all his ill-usage.

She said, however, at this time that she did not care anything about him, “if she only knew where he was.”

She took to advertising in the newspapers. These brought no response.

She found, on her return, that the old woman had gone away with the boy, and taken with her two boxes filled with valuables.

She instantly took precautions to secure the rest, which she stored away in her own name in a house at Peckham――all except the articles we have already described as having been left elsewhere.

She stayed with Mrs. Long, to whom she first told the story that her husband had gone off to America with another woman, and that she would never see him more.

Her stay extended over ten days, and then, chancing to get a hint somehow as to her husband’s whereabouts, she left, telling Mrs. Long that she should write and send her address.

Mrs. Long never heard from her afterwards, but believed in her still, and trusted in the information she had given us she might not do “the poor woman any evil turn.”

Two days after Peace disappeared, Mrs. Thompson went to Mrs. Cleaves, a greengrocer a few doors off, whose husband had identified some of the property, and asked her as a great favour to come into the house with her.

She said Mrs. Ward had gone as well as her husband, and there were several boxes, saying, “I am afraid to open them myself. I don’t know what he may have been up to. I can’t open them unless somebody will help me, because the old devil may have killed somebody, and have packed their bodies in these boxes.”

Mrs. Cleaves did not relish the ghastly suggestion, and declined to have anything to do with Mrs. Thompson’s boxes, which were ultimately obtained by the police, who had no scruples about searching the contents.

Mention was made at this time of a suspicious-looking crucible in the house in the Evalina-road. It was found, however, that Peace never made use of this. One of his “fences” had brought it to the house in the hope that arrangements might be made for reducing on the spot a large haul of goods to a concentrated shape.

But Mr. Peace preferred to dispose of his plunder in the rough, and did not care to set up a furnace, whose discovery would have been fatal.

He did once try melting silver in this crucible over an ordinary fire, but the attempt was a failure, and it was not renewed.

Peace was quite right when he observed that Mrs. Thompson required watching. But who was to undertake the task now that her lord and master was in durance vile?

Mrs. Peace became duly impressed with the fact “that the game was up” and she was not disposed to remain any longer in her old quarters at Peckham.

The consequence was, that Mrs. Thompson was left to fight her own battles in the best way she could. A description of this woman is given by a journalist, and it is a tolerably accurate one.

“I was privileged yesterday,” says he, “to see Mrs. Thompson, the lady who has been so intimately identified with the convict Charles Peace. Mrs. Thompson is a woman of gaunt stature, wizened features, and altogether the very antithesis of the saucy Mrs. Dyson, for whom Peace seemed to have formed such a consuming passion.

“This preference for two women of such opposite appearance may be taken, I presume, as an instance of the happy impartiality of Mr. Peace in his loves. Possibly Mrs. Thompson may owe some of her present uncomeliness to her experience while under the protection of the burglar. That she has undergone much suffering I think certain, from the hard and leather-looking hue of her shrunken face.

“There is an abiding distrust lurking in her cold, restless eyes, which is confirmed by the twitching of her fingers as she speaks to you.

“There are moments when Mrs. Thompson thaws, as it were, when the curiously Mephistophelian mouth, the corners of which curl upwards instead of downwards, with a sharp precision of ominous intent, loses somewhat of its rigidity.

“That is when Mrs. Thompson is face to face with the whiskey bottle. It is then the lady becomes communicative.

“She croons over her connection with ‘Charley,’ referring to the criminal in terms of admiration and horror combined. It is quite erroneous to say, as some papers have done, that Mrs. Thompson was educated at a boarding school, and is a woman of culture.

“To use her own words ‘No, sir, as I was I am. I have brothers and sisters――that is true. But myself, all I can say of myself is, that I disgraced them.’ The woman seems to have money, but she appears to be oppressed by a dread that ‘Charley’ Peace will escape and cut her throat.”

Mr. Brion was certainly hardly dealt by. In the first place he had been greatly deceived by the hero of this work, and in the end he had lost a considerable amount of time in rendering assistance to the Government in the prosecution of the Bannercross murderer, and had no adequate compensation for the same.

A writer for the press gives the following faithful account of his visit to Mr. Peace’s “friend” at Peckham:――

“How Peace came to live at Peckham is a story which has not yet been told, and, I suspect, will not be known unless it is told by Peace himself or by another party whom I called upon yesterday, and who, I suspect, could say a great deal if he could be induced to say it.

“This gentleman, who occupies a good house in a leading road, was a great friend of Peace’s. The people say that he and Peace were ‘always together.’

“Considering Peace’s manner of life, that is more than I can receive as gospel; but it is certainly a fact that this gentleman was more in Peace’s company than any other person in Peckham. My interview with him was not very encouraging.

“A sharp-witted Peckham boy, who acted as my guide in showing me the residences of the people whose names I had on a card to visit, pointed to the street in which the house was situated, and said, ‘You will easily find it; it is the only house on that side where the lower windows are frosted, to prevent people looking in.’

“The boy added that the windows were frosted after this gentleman began to be seen a good deal in Peace’s company. Sometimes he went and visited Peace at 5, East-terrace, and sometimes Peace came and visited him.

“With the exception of Mrs. S. Smith, who let the house to Peace, the latter kept himself very ‘reserved’ so far as his neighbours were concerned, and as the neighbours thought that the Thompsons――as they called themselves――were well-to-do people, considerably above their station――they did not like to intrude themselves upon the new comers’ notice.

“The house of this gentleman is a better one than that occupied by Peace, and is in a more pretentious road. There is an apartment underneath the level of the roadway, with a large open window, and it was this window which was ‘frosted.’

“I saw no other window on the road treated in that fashion. Of course it may have been done simply to prevent prying people from looking in, though none of the neighbours seem to have thought it necessary to take similar precautions.

“Three knocks with the knocker failed to elicit any answer, and I was leaving to try my luck elsewhere, when a comely-looking lady put her head out. Happening to look back at the time, I noticed her, and returned.

“She kept me standing at the door for some time, but eventually, on my telling her as much of my business as I thought it prudent to mention, she asked me in, adding, as she showed me into a parlour, ‘I don’t think he will tell you anything about that.’

“She closed the door, and left me to myself. The parlour, I had been told, was mainly furnished with articles from Peace’s house.

“I sat down in one of the chairs belonging to the walnut suite which had adorned Peace’s parlour, and here I may say that if the walnut suite is a fair sample of the ‘luxurious furnishings” at 5, East-terrace, you must not suppose that there was anything very palatial about the place.

“In fact, the longer I inquire into this man’s establishment the glory of it seemeth to fade away. The suite is a fairly good one, covered with rep, in green and gold stripes, considerably faded by wear――such a suite as the esteemed auctioneer over the way from your office would knock down any day for fifteen or sixteen guineas, and think he had done fairly well for the seller, and not badly for the buyer.

“In the room was also a harmonium, on which ‘Mr. Thompson,’ ‘Mrs. Thompson,’ and the boy ‘Ward’――of whom more anon――used to play sacred and other music.

“It is a fair-looking instrument, worth perhaps a ten-pound note. There are other nick-nacks which had also been obtained from Peace’s establishment.

“While I had been using my eyes in this way a conversation had been conducted in undertones in another room.

“The wife was evidently telling the husband who I was. Then the door opened and there came close up to me a little man, wearing spectacles, through which he peered at me, with his small keen eyes, rather curiously, and ‘took me in’ from head to foot.

“After he had finished his examination he retired to a chair in the corner. The wife stood by his side, and he pointed me to a seat near the window.

“‘What’s your name?’ he asked me abruptly.

“‘Had I not better tell you my business first?’ I replied.

“‘Your name, sir, your address, and your occupation?――if you please.’

“I told him my name.

“‘Have you your card?’

“I handed him my card, which he carefully examined, then looked at me carefully as if to see if he could detect any discrepancy between the name on the card and the person who presented it.

“‘Now, sir, what do you want?’

“I soon told him what I wanted.

“‘You knew Peace very well, did you not?’

“‘I knew Mr. Thompson; but before I say any more let me tell you that I have been before the authorities, and expressly cautioned not to say anything to anybody. They have heard my story, and if I am wanted they know where to find me.’

“‘Oh, I didn’t know you were going to be a witness?’

“‘I did not say I was going to be a witness. The Greenwich police have asked me what I know, and I may tell you have warned me against saying any more. I must decline to give any information which may be used――――’

“Here the wife interrupted, ‘You have said quite enough; don’t say any more.’

“The husband drew up abruptly. I told him he had quite mistaken my mission.

“I had been informed that he was more in Mr. Thompson’s house than anybody else, that he had frequently had Mr. Thompson at his house; that Mrs. Thompson and Mrs. Ward had also been there, and that I simply wanted to know what kind of people they were, and how they lived, and was not anxious to know anything about the Blackheath business.’

“‘Before I say any more,’ he answered, ‘I must ask you to promise me as a particular favour that you will not mention my name in any way.’

“‘Well,’ I said, ‘your name has been hinted at already. You have been spoken of as Mr. B――――, and I expect the Peckham people know very well now who Mr. B―――― is.’

“He did not seem pleased at this information, and was about to tell me something more, when his wife again put the drag on, and kept it on all the time I was in the room.

“‘You were working with Mr. Thompson on a patent for raising sunken ships――were you not?’

“‘I must decline to answer any questions about that.’

“‘Well, but that is a matter about which there is nothing to be gained by reticence. In fact, I know you have got that model in your house now, and that it is enclosed in a box like a plate-chest. I should really, as a mere matter of curiosity, like to have a look at it.’

“It was no use. He entrenched himself behind his spectacles, the wife assisted him to hold the fort of his lips, and nothing further could I obtain from him.

[Sidenote: NO. 81.]

“If it had not been for that excellent lady, I think ‘Mr. B――――’ would have been induced to tell something which has not yet been made public, though he was evidently very anxious not to say anything which could in anyway connect him any further with the ‘Thompsons.’

“As I was leaving I tried a parting shot.

“Mrs. Thompson when she left promised to write to you, stating where she could be found. You have had a letter, I am told. There is now no doubt that Mrs. Thompson is merely wanted as a witness. There can be no harm in saying if you have had that letter.”

Mr. B―――― was about to speak, but his good wife was before him, and with her ‘don’t say any more――you have said too much already’――a point which I politely disputed with her――‘Mr. B――――’ shook his head, and I left the interesting couple.

“Someone has said that a woman can’t keep a secret, and an old cynic offered a reward for the first female who could be found capable of holding her tongue.

“I want the address of the gentleman, for I can conscientiously claim the reward.

“I have found in the person of my friend, Mrs. B――――, a lady who can not only hold her own tongue, but that of her husband also.

“I left that house with mingled respect for the excellent good wife, and disappointment that she did not happen, at the time I called, to be out taking a five o’clock tea with some estimable neighbours in the region of Evalina-road, or anywhere else except in her own house and by her husband’s side.

“I am convinced that this gentleman and his wife could have told me a great deal as to Peace’s life at home, and perhaps something about his life abroad, which he may have guessed at or picked up in his frequent interviews with his friends the Thompsons, of No. 5, East-terrace.”

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CXLVIII. THE TRIAL OF CHARLES PEACE FOR BURGLARY

The days and nights passed slowly and sadly enough with Charles Peace during the brief interval between his committal and trial.

Take whatever view he would of the case he could not see any gleam of sunshine and hope for the future. It was not possible for any intelligent jury, after hearing the overwhelming evidence which would be brought forward for the prosecution, to return any other verdict than that of guilty upon the charge or charges preferred against the ill-fated man.

Peace, despite his sanguine temperament, was forcibly impressed with this fact. He whined and moaned and declared himself to be an ill-used man.

His relatives and friends had deserted him in the hour of extreme need――so he averred. It was the way of the world, he added, and there was therefore no reason to be surprised at a circumstance, which, to say the truth, was one of almost daily occurrence.

He confessed that he had been greatly to blame, that under the influence of drink and excitement he had committed a most unwarrantable act of violence, but was at the same time truly thankful that the life of the gallant police officer had not been sacrificed. This was one of the greatest consolations he had in the hour of trouble and suffering.

He affected to be so contrite, and assumed such a virtuous tone, that those about him were half disposed to believe he had been led into crime by a sudden impulse: nevertheless the facts were dead against him, and a heavy sentence would be sure to follow conviction.

As the sessions drew nigh Peace became additionally nervous and anxious. He wrote off to several of his friends.

So long as a man is in prison before trial and condemnation he has no work of any sort to do beyond the cleaning of his own cell and utensils.

Books are allowed him, and writing materials, as before observed. Whatever a man writes is inspected and read by the governor, and every sheet of paper is counted, and has to be accounted for.

This course is adopted so that prisoners may be prevented from writing letters to their friends outside without undergoing the inspection of the governor.

The rule is an arbitrary one, and it does not seem to be altogether just. They have no right to be placed under such rigid surveillance before they are proved guilty.

About 420,000 persons in the course of a year pass through the hands of the police in England and Wales. Of these, about 275,000 are convicted, some summarily, others after trial by jury, the former being seventeen times as numerous as the latter.

The great majority of these mean nothing but the slightest punishments, generally fines; but about 70,000 are sentenced to imprisonment. Of these, 6000 in round numbers are children under sixteen years of age, nearly 1000 of whom are committed to reformatories for most of the remainder the cellular prisons probably furnish sufficient correction.

Of the adults rather more than 2000 are sentenced to penal servitude.

Of the 420,000 persons apprehended by the police more than 80,000 are either known or suspected to be criminals by trade, and from 50,000 to 60,000 are known to be living in total idleness and vice.

This is, of course, a terrible state of things, but as yet no remedy has been found to repress crime in the metropolis or elsewhere.

Peace was a criminal of the most irreclaimable, daring, and desperate order, but this was not known to the authorities at――for a certainty――the time of his arrest, but it afterwards became sufficiently manifest.

At length the day arrived on which Peace was to be tried.

He was in close converse with his lawyer on the preceding day, and was informed that Mr. Montague Williams would conduct the defence.

The legal gentleman did not tell his client that the case was in every way a hopeless one, but bade him keep up his spirits and hope for the best.

Before the court was duly opened, barristers and solicitors were to be seen ascending the staircase, ducking mysteriously into ante-rooms, and it was evident enough that there was to be a sort of legal field day.

In the several robing-rooms counsel were dressing like other actors for their parts.

The judge was arraying himself in his robes of office, and everybody appeared to be engaged on some important business.

A court of justice is built everywhere much in the same fashion――a throne for the judge, benches right and left for the sheriff and municipal authorities, boxes on each side for the juries, separate pews for the warder and clerk of the court, convenient seats for the barristers. Then there is the witness-box, the dock, and benches piled tier over tier for the convenience of the spectators, and, as a matter of course, the ventilation is radically bad.

There is also a stone hall outside in which clients congregate till their turn comes on, and witness-rooms.

In addition to this, British witnesses seem to possess an inexhaustible supply of sandwiches in brown paper, and ardent spirits in old medicine bottles: upon these they feed incessantly, partly to kill time, and partly to fortify their moral courage, which they know will soon be tried in public as severely as the integrity of the prisoners.

Up and down a passage which leads to the jury-room and to the private entrances into the court, one may see the attorneys in their Sunday shabby-genteel, and in great bustle and importance, running backwards and forwards, now halting to confab with gentlemen who are relations of the prisoners, or are subpœnaed witnesses――now with the barristers who wear stereotyped smiles upon their faces, as if law life was a pleasant dream.

The judge entered the court and the usual formulæ had to be gone through. The benches appointed for the use of barristers were tolerably well filled.

The first case to be tried was a charge of embezzlement. It did not occupy a great space of time, as it was as clear as the sun at noon-day――that is on days that luminary does condescend to shine.

Peace was anxiously waiting his turn with two other fellow-prisoners. To his ineffable disgust one of these was the lad “Cakey,” as he was termed, who had so annoyed him in the exercise-yard. He was charged with picking pockets, in the practice of which he was an adept.

“Strike me lucky,” said the audacious young ruffian. “I hopes as how they won’t keep us waiting long――don’t you?”

“Mind your own business,” returned Peace.

“Vell, there aint no call to be humpy about the matter. I spoke civilly enough――didn’t I?”

“You are too fast for my book,” said Peace. “You’re like a sheep’s head――all jaw.”

“Oh, carry me out and bury me dacent, but you’re as good as a play, you are, and no flies,” said the pickpocket. “Blest if you couldn’t make a fortin’ as a mummer; but I say, old man, I ’xpect you’ll get it rather ’ot. What made yer fire yer pop-gun at a ‘bobby,’ eh?”

“Mind your own business, and don’t interfere with me.”

“Vell, I’m sorry for yer, and I hopes as how――――”

“Hold your tongue, you fool,” interrupted our hero. “You’ll have enough to do to prove your innocence, I’m thinking.”

“Vell, now, we agree this once. I’m of the same ’pinion. They’ll be down upon me as dead as a hammer. I’ll lay yer half a bull that they give me two ‘stretch.’ I mek up my mind to that there, but you――vell, I don’t know how it ’ill go vith you, old un; but yer had a pretty smart tussle with yer bobby――didn’t you?”

“Let the gentleman be,” said the other prisoner, who, like “Cakey,” was hardly out of his teens. “Yer sees as how he don’t like it. I’m ashamed on yer. This isn’t a time for chaff――is it?”

“I don’t know that it is, but it’s better than sitting like a set of mutes――aint it? It’s enough to give a fellow the hump to be sitting still a waitin’ to be placed in the dock.”

The conversation, if it could be so termed, was brought to a close by a man coming in and saying to the young pickpocket――

“Now then, this way.”

Cakey was placed in the dock. The trial did not last half an hour. He was found guilty, and sentenced to eighteen months’ imprisonment.

He considered the sentence a most lenient one, and left the court in better spirits than he had entered it. He found Peace in the passage when he was returning to the gaol.

“Vat do yer think, guv’nor? Only eighteen months. There’s for you――I’ve lost my half bull.”

Peace was too much wrapped up in his own thoughts to take any heed of the playful youth who was addressing him.

His case was the next, and as he was placed in the dock he glanced furtively round the court.

The first face he recognised was that of Robinson, the policeman, then his glance fell upon several others that were familiar to him, but he did not see any of his Sheffield friends. “So much the better,” murmured he.

Mr. Poland was engaged in earnest conversation with a police-inspector, while Mr. Douglas Straight was scanning some papers before him.

Peace was conscious that he was an object of interest, for he saw that the eyes of many persons were upon him.

He endeavoured to put on a look of humility and dejection, hoping thereby to excite sympathy.

He glanced at the jury to see if they looked mercifully disposed or otherwise. One or two jurors struck him as being hard-featured men, who were bent upon doing their duty fearlessly.

It was on the morning of Tuesday the 19th of November, 1878, on which this trial took place. It was of course an eventful day in the history of our hero.

The case was tried at the Central Criminal Court, before Mr. Justice Hawkins, John Ward alias Charles Peace aged sixty (he was so put down, although he had not reached that age by three years) who was described as a sailor, was indicted for a burglary in the dwelling-house of James Alexander Burness, and stealing therefrom a quantity of plate, the property of the aforesaid James Alexander Burness.

He was charged also with feloniously shooting at Edward Robinson, a police constable, with intent to murder him.

Mr. Poland and Mr. Douglas Straight conducted the prosecution for the Treasury.

The prisoner was defended by Mr. Montagu Williams and Mr. Austin Metcalfe.

There was a dead silence when the case came on, and a number of persons from Greenwich, Blackheath, and elsewhere, who had been suffering from the depredations of burglars, were present at the trial; and, in addition to these, in an obscure corner sat, unobserved by Peace, Aveline’s husband and Lady Marvlynn.

The indictment proceeded with was the charge of shooting at the constable.

Edward Robinson was then examined. He said: On the morning of the 10th of October I was on duty at Blackheath in the avenue leading from St. John’s-park, the back of the residence of Mr. Burness. I noticed the flickering of a light in Mr. Burness’s drawing-room, and this excited my suspicion, and I procured the assistance of another constable named Girling. The light continued to move about the house, and I was assisted by Girling on to the wall. At this time a sergeant named Brown came up, and he went to the front of the house and I heard the bell ring, when the light was extinguished immediately, and the prisoner jumped out of the drawing-room window to the lawn. When I saw him in the act of running away I followed him, and he turned round and pointed a revolver at my head, and said, “Keep back; keep off, or by ―――― I will shoot you.” I said to him, “you had better not,” and he immediately fired three chambers of a revolver at my head. Two shots passed over my head and the third by the side of my head. I made a rush at him and he fired a fourth shot, when I closed with him and struck him on the face with my left hand. The prisoner then said, “You ――――, I will settle you this time!” and then fired a fifth shot, which wounded me in the right arm. I seized the prisoner then, and threw him down, when the prisoner exclaimed, “You ――――, I will give you something else!” and tried to put his hand in his pocket. I struggled with him and got the revolver from him, and struck him several blows with it. I held him down till Sergeant Brown came up and he was then secured. The revolver was strapped round his wrist. I began to feel faint from loss of blood at this time, and handed the prisoner over to Sergeant Brown and Girling.

Charles Brown, a sergeant of police, proved that he heard the shots fired and the cries for assistance, and said that when he went to the spot he found Robinson lying above the prisoner with a six-chambered revolver in his hand, but it was strapped round the prisoner’s arm. On the prisoner he found a silver flask, a banker’s cheque-book, and a letter-case, which were afterwards identified by Mr. Burness, and a small crowbar.

William Girling, the other policeman, confirmed the testimony of the previous witnesses as to the five shots being fired, and he also said that he heard the prisoner say that he only did it to frighten him. On the prisoner he found an auger, a jemmy, a gimlet, and other housebreaking implements. The prisoner attempted to get away after he had apprehended him, but he hit him with his staff.

Mr. Bonny, an inspector of the R Division, proved that he examined Mr. Burness’s house and found that several places had been broken open with a jemmy.

The prisoner refused to give his name and address, and when he was asked for them, he replied, “Find out.”

Sarah Selina Cooper, servant to Mr. Burness, proved that she found a bullet in the drawing-room on the morning after the occurrence.

Mr. Montagu Williams, on behalf of the prisoner, entreated the jury, in the first place, not to allow any prejudice that might have been created in their minds by what they had read about the number of burglaries that had been committed in this neighbourhood to operate against the prisoner, but to be guided solely by the evidence relating to the particular charge. He said that his case was that the prisoner did not intend to murder the constable, but that all he desired was to get away; and he argued that the facts were of a character that tended to support this view of the case.

The jury, after a very short deliberation, found the prisoner guilty upon the first count of the indictment, which charged him with discharging the revolver at the constable with intent to murder him. The jury, at the same time, desired to express their admiration of the courageous conduct of the constable, and expressed a hope that he would receive some reward for the way in which he had acted. The foreman of the jury handed in a written paper to that effect.

Mr. Justice Hawkins: I am not surprised, gentlemen, that you should have made this representation, for the constable has certainly behaved in a very gallant manner.

Mr. Poland said that probably his lordship would like to hear something of the previous history of the prisoner.

Mr. Justice Hawkins said he should be glad to receive any information that could be given to him respecting the prisoner.

Inspector Bonny then stated that at the prisoner’s house at Sheffield there was found a large quantity of property, and in twenty-six cases property had been identified by the owners as the produce of different burglaries. The necessary legal proofs were not present in court, but they could be produced on the following morning.

Mr. Justice Hawkins said he did not think it was necessary to postpone passing judgment, as he thought the court was already in possession of sufficient information to leave no doubt as to what course should be taken.

Mr. Read, the deputy clerk of arraigns, then put the usual formal question to the prisoner whether he had anything to say why judgment should not be pronounced upon him.

The prisoner, in reply, said: Yes; I have this to say, my lord, I have not been fairly dealt with: and I declare before God that I never had the intention to kill the prosecutor, and all I meant to do was to frighten him, in order that I might get away. If I had had the intention to kill him I could easily have done it, but I never had that intention. I declare I did not fire five shots――I only fired four, and I think I can show you, my lord, now. I can prove that only four shots were fired. If your lordship will look at the pistol, you will see that it goes off very easily, and the sixth barrel went off of its own accord after I was taken into custody. At the time the fifth shot was fired the constable had hold of my arm, and the pistol went off quite by accident. The prisoner then exclaimed with great earnestness, “I really did not know that the pistol was loaded, and I hope, my lord, that you will have mercy on me. I feel that I have disgraced myself. I am not fit either to live or die. I am not prepared to meet my God, but still I feel that my career has been made to appear much worse than it really is. Oh, my lord, do have mercy on me; do give me one chance of repenting and of preparing myself to meet my God. Do, my lord, have mercy on me; and I assure you that you shall never repent it. As you hope for mercy yourself at the hands of the great God, do have mercy on me, and give me a chance of redeeming my character and preparing myself to meet my God. I pray and beseech you to have mercy on me.”

The prisoner delivered this speech in a calm and earnest tone of voice, and at the conclusion he appeared to be quite overcome by his feelings.

Mr. Justice Hawkins then, addressing the prisoner, said: John Ward, the jury have found you “Guilty,” upon the most irresistible evidence, of having fired this pistol five times at the constable with intent to murder him, and I must say that I entirely concur in that verdict, and I do not believe that any other would, upon consideration, have been satisfactory to themselves. You were detected in the act of committing a burglary in the house of a gentleman, and, putting altogether aside what may have been your conduct on other occasions, the circumstances of this particular case are quite sufficient to prove to my mind that you are an accomplished burglar, and that you went to this house determined to rob by fair means if you could, but armed in such a manner that you were also determined to resort to foul means if necessary to escape detection. You have asserted that you only fired the pistol at the constable in order to frighten him, that thus you might be enabled to make your escape. I do not believe you. The shot was fired at his head, and but that he was guarding his head at the time with his arm he would have received the shot upon it, and if that had been the case death would probably have been the result, and you would at this moment probably be receiving a sentence of death. I do not consider it at all necessary to make any inquiry into your antecedents; the facts before me are quite sufficient to show that you are an accomplished burglar, and a man who would not hesitate to commit murder in carrying out that object. Notwithstanding your age, therefore, I feel that I should fail in my duty to the public if I did not pass upon you the extreme sentence of the law for the offence of which you have been convicted, which is that you be kept in penal servitude for the rest of your natural life.

The prisoner appeared to be panic-stricken at the sentence. He uttered a series of moans, and fell into the arms of the warders in attendance, in a state of perfect prostration.

Whether his emotion was real or not it is not easy to say, but certainly on this occasion Peace completely broke down.

He had not for a moment contemplated having so severe a sentence passed on him, and he afterwards said it was a shame, and a most cruel merciless punishment.

At this moment all his bravado forsook him, and his despair and anguish were pitiful to behold.

Radically bad as the man was there were a few persons among the spectators who pitied him and thought him hardly dealt by.

This is invariably the case. No matter how great the criminal, or how many heinous offences he may have been guilty of, misplaced sympathy is sure to follow his sentence.

Lady Marvlynn and Sir J. Battershall were greatly moved when the sentence was passed upon the prisoner.

Her ladyship, from her own personal experience, knew the brutal nature of the man. Nevertheless, she was much affected at the issue of the proceedings.

“Miserable wretch!” she ejaculated. “I should have thought six, or ten years at the most, would have sufficed in a case of this sort, but of course Mr. Justice Hawkins is, I suppose, the best judge.”

“I don’t think it would be possible to find a better,” returned her companion. “I confess I cannot myself see any palliation, any reasonable excuse, for the crime of which he has been found guilty upon the clearest evidence.”

“No, I suppose there is none,” returned Lady Marvlynn; “but still penal servitude for life! Why it is almost worse than death.”

“If Robinson had succumbed to his injuries there would have been but one course left――his murderer would have to suffer the extreme penalty of the law. You do not duly consider the matter, my lady.”

“I hope I do. But the Lady Aveline, this will be sad news for her.”

“Sad!” exclaimed the baronet. “I do not see how that can be.”

“Ah, I know she will be sorry to hear of his untimely fate.”

“Really, Lady Marvlynn, you surprise me. I have yet to learn that my wife has any sympathy for ruffians of this type.”

“I don’t say she has sympathy, but she possesses the inestimable quality of mercy――which blesses him that gives, and him that takes――and she has a feeling heart. That you know.”

“Oh, most certainly. No man knows it better. Still I cannot for the life of me understand why you and Aveline are so wrapped up in this man.”

“You will not be surprised when you know all.”

The baronet made no further remark, but seemed lost in a reverie.

Peace, who was completely overcome, had to be carried out of court.

Mr. Justice Hawkins then directed the prosecutor, Robinson, to stand forward, and, addressing him, said: The jury have expressed their admiration at the bravery you have displayed in this matter, and have also expressed a wish that you should receive some reward. In the first place, I hand to you the paper on which the jury have expressed their opinion of your conduct, in order that you may keep it and refer to it in after life, and that it may be an incentive to future good conduct. I quite concur in the opinion of the jury with regard to the manner in which you have acted on this occasion, and I think the country ought to be proud of you and of the force to which you belong, and I have great pleasure in ordering you a reward of £25 for your gallant conduct.

The prosecutor thanked his lordship, and the proceedings then terminated.

When Peace returned to Newgate after his sentence he immediately came under another class, and his real imprisonment began.

He moaned and groaned as if in deep pain, and there is but little doubt as to his sufferings at this time.

He was conducted downstairs to the same floor as the baths; he made no observation, but was evidently in a state of prostration, but he did manage with assistance to reach that part of the City prison where another painful ceremony had to be gone through.

The garments he had on he was no longer permitted to wear.

They had to be exchanged for those of a convict. Never again was he destined to wear the clothes of a free man.

He had been previously told that whatever clothes he wore would be forfeited.

They were not of much value, it is true, for, at the time of his capture, he was encased in his shabby long-tailed coat, as represented in the illustration on the front page of the preceding number.

This valuable garment, together with his low-crowned hat and other articles that completed his suit, were forfeited to the Crown――doubtlessly have been preserved as relics of the most daring burglar of modern times.

He heaved a profound sigh, which seemed to come from the bottom of his heart, when he was arrayed in the convict garb, with which, however, he was but too familiar.

After he had shuffled into his new attire, he was told to select from a bundle of dirty, greasy-looking things what was supposed to be a woollen cap of the Scotch-bound type; he chose one which appeared to fit him the best, and then the painful ceremony was over.

“I’ve been cruelly used,” he ejaculated. “The sentence was a most unjust one. I never intended to hurt the bobby. I’ll take my solemn oath that nothing was further from my thoughts. But my friends will not see me thus wronged without making an effort on my behalf. They will send a petition to the Home Office.”

“Well that can be done, of course,” observed one of the warders, who felt some commiseration for the wretched man.

“It must be done.”

“Time enough for that.”

“Penal servitude for life. It’s scandalous.”

The warders were not disposed to continue the conversation; so they marched their prisoner off to his cell.

Peace found he had to mount higher in the world, to the top landing, and he was located on the north side of the wall, he hitherto having been on the south.

The first thing that struck him on entering his new abode was the smell of tar――good, wholesome, honest tar. He had been described in the indictment as a sailor. Why or wherefore was not clearly made manifest.

It is true that he had been on board ship once or twice during his chequered career, but he could not lay claim to being much of a sailor, but he soon found out that his long days of comparative idleness had come to an end.

The smell of the tar gave him a gentle hint of the agreeable process of oakum-picking, this being one of the occupations prison authorities had invented for the amusement of the prisoners under their charge.

The cell was an exact counterpart of the one he had left, except that the dust from the oakum had taken off a good deal of the brilliant cleanliness of the floor and walls.

He was most miserable, and found it impossible to regard his new sphere of occupation with complacency. He had passed through a terrible ordeal, had hoped against hope, but now the terrible reality came upon him with redoubled force.

His worst fears became an actual reality: he was a convict, and would remain so to the end of his life. He slept but little during the night――when he thought of his sentence he shuddered. He tossed restlessly in his hammock, groaned and gnashed his teeth.

“A life!” he ejaculated. “It’s too bad――a burning shame.”

Then he thought of getting his friends to send in a memorial to the Home Office, praying for a commutation of the severe sentence passed upon him.

He clung to this hope even as a drowning man is said to cling to a straw.

The next morning, while he was cleaning his cell, three pieces of junk or old rope that had been part of the standing rigging of some old ship were flung into his cell, with an intimation that he would have a “fiddle” presently.

“Umph!” he ejaculated, “here’s some of their cursed stuff. I know what that means――aching fingers and endless toil.”

He was perfectly correct in this conjecture.

After some little time a warder he had never seen before, except at a distance, entered his narrow prison-house, and told him that he would have to pick four pounds of oakum every day while he was in Newgate, or else his allowance of food would run short.

“Oh, I dare say,” replied Peace. “Then I shall have to go on short commons, ’cause you see I shan’t be able to do the quantity you require.”

“That’s no business of mine,” returned the warder; “I don’t make the rules. All I have to do is to see that they are carried out.”

“Much obliged to you for your information,” exclaimed the prisoner; “I’ve been cruelly used.”

“I’ve nothing to do with that,” said the warder, slamming the door of the cell.

“A set of merciless wretches,” ejaculated Peace. “I know the ways of them but too well.”

He sat down on his stool, and buried his face in his hands.

After he had devoured his breakfast the taskmaster-warder paid him a visit, bringing with him the “fiddle,” on which he was to play a tune called “Four pounds of oakum a day.”

It consisted of nothing but a rope and a long crooked nail. He showed Peace how to break up the block of junk, and to divide the strands of the rope.

There was, however, but little necessity for the warder to enter into a description of the work, since the prisoner he was instructing knew the odious business pretty well from his previous experience in the ways of prison life.

However, he affected to be a novice, and listened to all the warder had to say, apparently paying the greatest attention to his instructions.

The four pounds did not look so much after all, but when pulled to pieces and divided into strands, it seemed to grow wonderfully in size, and Peace knew the amount of labour required to pick it.

He made a wry face and groaned, but did not complain.

When the strands were all divided his instructor showed him how to pull them to pieces.

Peace set to work, being perfectly well assured that the task must be got through. He soon found out――as others had done before him――that oakum-picking made his fingers and thumbs sore and painful; nevertheless he persevered――the task seemed to be an interminable one.

When he saw how little progress he had made in the first hour his heart seemed to sink, and he remembered the many miserable and lonely hours he had passed in convict prisons.

He was on the side of the gaol nearest to Newgate-street. His cell was on the top floor and the window was open, so that he now heard much plainer the noise of the street traffic, which spoke to him of the outside world.

There was something consolatory in even hearing the sounds of the passing vehicles as they rumbled along in one of the great thoroughfares of the busy city.

At chapel next morning he with others, who had been tried at the same sessions, were marched into a cage under the women’s gallery, and locked in. Once a day only were they exercised out of doors, and this took place in a much smaller yard than he had walked in before his conviction.

This was a matter of no very great importance; one yard was as good as another to him.

He bore up as best he could, hoping that sooner or later he might succeed in getting a commutation of his sentence. This hope, however, was never destined to be realised.

Every morning the quantum of “junk” was served out, and in the evening the taskmaster came round with weights and scales to take each man’s oakum.

There was no cheating in respect to the requisite quantity of oakum on these occasions.

The prisoner who had picked his full allowance was permitted to have the remainder of his time to himself for the rest of the day; but it was sharp work for the best of them to get through the four pounds of oakum.

Many now found it impossible to get through that quantity. Some could not do as much as two pounds, although they worked from morning till nine o’clock at night.

The old “lags,” who were well used to the work, were, in most cases, able to do their quantum.

About three or four days after his sentence, a warder entered Peace’s cell with another prisoner, to crop and shave him.

Peace knew this ceremony had to be gone through, and was, therefore, in no way surprised at the appearance of his new visitors.

He begged to be allowed to shave himself, but this request was refused; so he sat himself down, and submitted himself to the operator, who was a regular bungler.

He, however, managed to effect a clean scrape, after which Peace’s hair was clipped to about half an inch long. He had not much hair on his head at this time, but what there was had to be reduced to the regular length.

The person who performed the operation was very loquacious; most members of the hair-dressing fraternity usually are so, and Peace’s barber was confidential and communicative. He affected to commiserate with our hero, and deprecated in the strongest terms the severity of the sentence passed upon him.

He also told Peace that he (the barber) had done a “lagging” before, and that he was doing a six years’ “stretch” at the present time.

This playful conversation was not interrupted by the warder in attendance, who looked on as the operation was performed, and occasionally indulged in a smile as some pertinent remark fell from the lips of the perruquier.

After the shaving and cropping the barber wished Peace good-bye, bade him keep his spirits up, and hope for the best.

What that best was he did not say, but he tripped merrily out of the cell, with a nod to its occupant, and once more our hero found himself alone.

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

CXLIX. THE TROUBLES OF MRS. PEACE

After Peace’s arrest, trial, and conviction, the house in the Evalina-road was no longer a home for his miserable partner.

Mrs. Peace and the woman Thompson could not agree, and this, in addition to other circumstances, caused Mrs. Peace to make a precipitate retreat from the neighbourhood of Peckham, and Mrs. Thompson was left to pursue her own erratic course.

There was no help for this. It was not at all likely that the two women would agree in the absence of their master.

Mrs. Peace left Peckham, and at once proceeded to Hull, and from thence to Sheffield. But the police were actively engaged in ferreting out every scrap of information which might lead to the detection of other crimes committed by our hero.

As a natural consequence his miserable partner was suspected, and after some searching inquiries she was arrested and taken before the sitting magistrates at Sheffield, as will be seen from the following report:――

At the Sheffield Town Hall, yesterday, before the Mayor (Ald. Mappin) and W. E. Laycock, Esq., Hannah Peace, a respectably-dressed woman, 58 years of age, of No. 4, Hazel-road, Darnall, the wife of Charles Peace, picture-frame dealer, who murdered Mr. Arthur Dyson, engineer, at Banner Cross-terrace, on the 29th November, 1876, was brought up under circumstances which are at present exciting unusual interest.

The charge against her was that of being an accomplice in the recent Blackheath burglaries, on the ground that certain articles of property found at the house where she is living had been identified as part of the booty obtained at Blackheath.

Prisoner seems a fairly respectable, well-dressed woman, and appeared to feel her position acutely, looking very nervous and uneasy, and occasionally sobbing. She was accommodated with a seat in the dock.

The property includes several parcels of jewellery, a silk dress, two watches, and a patent clock. Mrs. Peace was charged with stealing the property, or of having received it knowing it to have been stolen. A number of persons crowded into the court during the few minutes the case was being heard.

The Chief Constable said: The prisoner has been apprehended on suspicion of having stolen property or with having received it knowing it to have been stolen. I shall put a witness in the box, and after his examination I shall have to ask for a remand for a week.

Henry Phillips said: I am Inspector of the Metropolitan police, attached to the Criminal Investigation Department, and stationed at Greenwich. There have recently been a considerable number of burglaries committed in the neighbourhood of Greenwich and Blackheath. At one of the houses that was burglariously broken into information was given as to a silk dress though I cannot swear to the colour. A little mantelpiece clock was stolen bearing the inscription “Waterbury Clock Company. Patented Sept. 11, 1877,” and the stolen clock in every respect corresponds, I believe, with this clock. Some other houses were broken into, and property, corresponding with some of that now produced, was stolen. I believe if a remand is granted I shall be able to get further evidence.

Mr. Robinson (to prisoner): Do you wish to ask any questions now?

Prisoner (sobbing): I have not received them knowing them to have been stolen; no, I have not.

Inspector Twibell said: I went with the last witness to the house of the prisoner, who is living at Attercliffe, yesterday. I found in her house and in her possession the property now produced.

The Bench: All of it?

The Chief Constable: Yes, and a great deal more.

Mr. Robinson again asked the prisoner if she had any questions to ask.

Prisoner: I do say that I did not know they had been stolen.

The Chief Constable (to the Bench): I have now to ask that the prisoner may be remanded for a week.

The prisoner was accordingly remanded for a week.

Early in the afternoon Inspector Phillips, taking with him the stolen property, returned to London.

From inquiries made by our reporter it has been ascertained that Hannah Peace has resided for a considerable period at Hull.

About a month ago, however, she came to Darnall, to be present at the confinement of her daughter, who resides with her husband at 4, Hazel-road, Britannia-road.

Although the house is stated to be in the road, it is really in a court some distance from the thoroughfare――the middle one of a row of seven.

Mrs. Peace brought with her to Sheffield a large box, which she stated contained her wearing apparel and a few “odds and ends.”

She gave it out that she had been obliged to break her Hull home up on account of the persistent attentions of the police, who “dogged” her in every direction, and made her life a burden.

The “odds and ends” she brought with her are likely to get her into serious trouble unless she can explain how they included goods which originally belonged to persons in the neighbourhood of Blackheath.

During the time Mrs. Peace has been resident at her daughter’s house she has not, as many persons supposed, kept within doors so as to avoid being noticed. On the contrary, she has moved about and freely conversed with her neighbours, who were greatly surprised when the police apprehended her.

The opinion of the neighbours is generally favourable to Mrs. Peace. People are loth to believe that she was the person to connive at the crime with which she is at present charged. They all bear testimony to her good character so far as they could tell.

The daughter and her husband appear respectable people, and have resided at their present address for several years.

After further examination at Sheffield, Mrs. Peace was ultimately sent to London, and on Saturday, Dec. 7th, 1878, she appeared at Bow-street, before Mr. Flowers.

The following is a report of her first examination in London:――

Hannah Peace, wife of Charles Peace, the Blackheath burglar, now undergoing penal servitude for the attempt on the life of a police-constable while in the execution of his duty, was brought up on remand granted by the justices of Sheffield, charged with stealing or otherwise receiving a clock the property of Mrs. Dadson, of 5, Kidbrook-terrace, Blackheath, part of the proceeds of a burglary committed on the 2nd of August. The clock produced in court, was found by the inspector at Darnall, near Sheffield.

Henry Phillips, inspector of the R Division of the Greenwich police, having been duly sworn, said the prisoner, Hannah Peace, had been remanded by the justices at Sheffield several times for her supposed connection with the burglaries committed in Blackheath by her husband, and was, on Friday, finally remanded to London. A small mantel-piece clock had been stolen on the 2nd of August last, from the house of Mrs. Dadson, of 5, Kidbrook-terrace, Blackheath, and corresponded in all respects with one found at prisoner’s house, on the 7th November at Darnall, near Sheffield, when he searched it in company with Inspector Twibell. The depositions producted were taken at Sheffield.

Miss Elizabeth Marian Collison Dadson, daughter of Mrs. Mary Campbell Dadson, widow, of No. 5, Kidbrook-terrace, Blackheath, deposed that the clock produced was her mother’s property, and was first missed on the morning of the 3rd of August. The house had been forcibly entered on the night previous――August 2nd.

Mr. Flowers: I shall remand the case till this day week. Prisoner, have you anything to say?

Mrs. Peace, who had been accommodated with a seat during the two or three minutes she was in court, then rose, and in a trembling voice, said: I did not steal the clock, nor did I know that it was stolen. I have no question to ask.

She was then removed from the dock.

There can be but little doubt as to her being a woman “more sinned against than sinning,” but the fact of her being the wife of Charles Peace brought her under the ban of the law, and for a long time she was in the depths of trouble, not very well knowing the nature of the charges that were to be brought against her.

It is hardly possible to estimate the anxiety and sufferings the guilty acts of a man like Peace entail upon innocent persons.

When we say innocent persons, we include his unhappy wife, for, despite the array of evidence brought against her, the police failed to prove her complicity in the crimes committed by her husband.

It will be seen by the following report of her second examination that the learned gentleman engaged for the prosecution strove to prove that the ill-fated Mrs. Peace had been guilty of acts which were in themselves most suspicious, if not absolutely criminating.

BLACKHEATH BURGLARIES.――THE EXAMINATION OF MRS. PEACE.

At the Bow-street Police-court, London, on Saturday, before Mr. Vaughan, Hannah Peace, aged fifty-eight, believed to be the wife of the celebrated Charles Peace, burglar and alleged murderer, was brought up in custody on remand, charged with stealing and receiving a clock and a quantity of other articles, which it is alleged are the proceeds of numerous burglaries committed by her supposed husband.

Mr. Poland, barrister, instructed by Mr. Pollard, the solicitor to the Treasury, appeared for the prosecution. Mr. Walter Beard (Messrs. Beard and Son, solicitors, Basinghall-street, E.C.) was instructed for the defence.

Mr. Poland, in proceeding to open the case on behalf of the prosecution, said in this case the prisoner is charged before you in the name of Hannah Peace with stealing and receiving a quantity of property, the proceeds of a number of burglaries which have been committed in various parts of London. It appears that a man, who was tried at the last sessions at the Central Criminal Court by the name of John Ward, alias Charles Peace, was sentenced to penal servitude for life for shooting at a constable, with intent to murder him, on the 10th of October last; and he was then in the act of committing a burglary at Blackheath. Now, sir, there is no question whatever that we are in a condition to show that that man undoubtedly was a professional burglar; that he was in the habit of going about to different parts of London, particularly Blackheath, committing burglaries, and taking from houses where these offences were committed valuable property, and disposing of it for his own advantage. The police, of course, endeavoured to find out what had become of the property, and where this man had been living, and they somehow discovered that he had been living at No. 5, East-terrace, Evalina-road, Nunhead, which is in the parish of Peckham, since May, 1878, in the name of John Thompson, and with a woman――a woman, I think, of about thirty years of age――who lived with him as Mrs. Thompson. In the same house the prisoner also lived, and she was then passing, I believe, by the name of Mrs. Ward; and there was also a young man living there who was called Willie Ward, and he was stated to be the son of the prisoner, or, as she was called, Mrs. Ward. This man (Peace) having been arrested on the 10th October, of course he did not go home that night or the following morning. The persons living in that house must have known that he had been arrested, and the prisoner appears on that day to have removed three boxes, with the assistance of a railway porter, to the Nunhead station, and then to the King’s-cross station, and these boxes were taken down to Nottingham. At Nottingham she went, I believe, to a house occupied by some relations of the woman who was passing as the wife of this man, but they, I think, declined to allow these boxes to be brought there, and we find that on the following day, the 12th October, the prisoner went with some portion of the property to No. 4, Hazel-road, Darnall, which is three miles from Sheffield. At that place her son-in-law and daughter lived, a man of the name of John Bolsover, who is a working collier. On Nov. 6th the police went to Bolsover’s house at Darnall, and searched the place, and there found a quantity of property, which I shall be able to show you was the proceeds of some of these burglaries. On the 14th of November they made a further search, and found other property. The prisoner, when she was taken into custody, stated that she had received various things, but she did not know that they were stolen. She admitted that she had removed the things, and she stated also that she was the wife of the man who had been living [Sidenote: No. 82.] at No. 5, East-terrace, Evalinaroad. When she stated that she was his wife, she was at once asked where she was married, but up to the present time she had not stated where the ceremony was performed.

The prisoner: Yes, sir, I have.

Mr. Poland: According to my instructions she has not stated to the police where she was married. She has given no date; she has produced no certificate. I think she stated that the certificate has been burned. So far as I am at present in a condition to deal with the case from the inquiries made by the police, they cannot ascertain that she is married. What I propose to do, with your sanction, is to prove the arrest and search of the premises, the taking of the house at Peckham, the removal of the boxes, and the identity of some of the property. Then I shall be able to show you on a future occasion by calling other witnesses that there were found at the cottage to which these boxes were removed near Sheffield, the proceeds of some ten or twelve burglaries.

Inspector Phillips then said, in answer to questions proposed by Mr. Poland: I am one of the inspectors of the Metropolitan police force. On the 10th October, a man was captured at Blackheath, in the act of committing a burglary. Ultimately he gave the name of John Ward, and he was committed for trial as John Ward for shooting at a policeman and for burglary at a house in St. John’s Park, Blackheath. On Nov. 5th I went down to Sheffield, and on the 6th I went to Darnall, to the house No. 4, Hazel-road. That is about three miles from Sheffield. John Bolsover, a labourer and working collier, lives there. His wife was there on the occasion when I called, and also the prisoner.

Mr. Poland: Was it stated that Mrs. Bolsover was the daughter of the prisoner?

The witness: Yes.

What name was the prisoner living there in?

Mrs. Ward, I think. She was generally known there, I believe, as Mrs. Peace; but I am not quite clear upon the matter.

Was there anybody else in the house?

There was a boy, who was called Willie. He is about twenty years of age.

Did you understand that he was the son of the prisoner?

Yes. He addressed her as “mother.”

You saw the prisoner, and what did you say to her?

I had some conversation with her first without telling her who I was. I looked round the room and saw a clock standing upon the chest of drawers, which I knew from the description. I told her I knew the clock to have been stolen from Blackheath. The prisoner replied, “I did not know it was stolen. A tall woman gave it to me five weeks ago.” I then proceeded upstairs, and said I would make further search.

Before that time had you said anything to her as to who she was?

I said, “Do you know where your husband is. Has he been here?” She replied, “No.” Then I said, “I will tell you where he is. He is in Newgate Prison, on a charge of burglary and shooting at a constable.” She said, “Oh dear! What trouble that man has brought me into, to be sure! He seems to be my ruin everywhere I go.” I then searched the top room in company with another officer, and found a large quantity of property.

What did you do in reference to this property?

I took it into my possession. After I had got the prisoner to leave the house I told her she would be charged with stealing this property, and receiving it knowing it to have been feloniously procured.

Mr. Poland: Did she say anything in your presence as to whether she was Peace’s wife?

Witness: I have a slight recollection of asking her for her marriage certificate and of her saying that she was married at St. George’s Church, Sheffield. I said, “Have you got a marriage certificate to show me?” She said, “No I have not; the old man burned it.”

Mr. Samuel Smith, builder, said: I live at 68, Rhyde Villas, St. Mary’s-road, Peckham. About the latter end of May I was at East-terrace, Evelina-road, Peckham. I remember a party of four persons calling there. The prisoner was one of them. I knew her as Mrs. Ward. She gave that name. Two of the other persons were known as Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, and the other one of the party was a young man they called Willie. The man known as Mr. Thompson spoke to me, and asked to look over the house, but it was too late in the evening for that. He asked me the rent, which I told him was £30 a year; and subsequently I let the premises to him. The woman I knew as Mrs. Thompson was a younger woman than the prisoner; a little over thirty I should think.

I believe you asked Mr. Thompson on that occasion for some reference?

I did, and he then asked me to go and see where he was living in Greenwich, which I did.

Where was he living at Greenwich? Do you recollect?

I do not recollect the name of the street. The house at Greenwich was a respectable house, and I saw prisoner there. The place was respectably furnished, and that satisfied me. I went to the house many times afterwards, and I know from having visited at the place that the man and woman known as Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, and the woman known as Mrs. Ward, and the boy Willie, were living there. Rent was paid me up to Michaelmas. I have got possession of the house now. I heard some time after Thompson had disappeared that a man, who was believed to be him, had been taken into custody.

Thomas Pickering, a porter employed at the Nunhead station on the London, Chatham, and Dover Railway, said: On the 11th October, in consequence of a message I received from another porter, I went to No. 5, East-terrace, Evelina-road, which is about three minutes’ walk from the Nunhead station. When I got to the house I saw an old lady. I could not swear that the prisoner was the lady. It would be a person of about the same age. She asked me to take three boxes to the Nunhead station and label them for King’s Cross. I went into the house, got the boxes and put them on my barrow. The old lady told me to send the boxes by the five minutes to six train and she would be there. I took them to the station and labelled them for the Great Northern Railway terminus at King’s Cross. I did not notice any name or address upon the boxes. After I had taken them to the station the old lady came. She went away by the five minutes to six train that evening.

Examination continued: I have seen a box at the Bow-street Police-station. It resembles the box I brought from the house in the Evelina-road, to the Nunhead station. The other two boxes were similar. I did not know the old lady before, and have not seen her since until to-day.

Selina Karcher said: I am housekeeper and lady’s maid to Mrs. Wood, Sunnyside, Leigham Court-road, Streatham. I was so engaged on the 20th August. When I went to bed on that date the house was all safe, but next morning, when I came down, I found that the house had been broken into. From the house I missed a number of things, including a plate basket, a silk dress trimmed with velvet, belonging to my mistress, Mrs. Kathleen, the wife of Mr. Mark Wood. The value of the silver missed was about £30, and the silk and velvet dress, which was a very valuable one, was also worth £30.

Elizabeth Mary Ann Collinson Dadson was next called, and reiterated her statement in reference to the clock taken from Kidbrook-terrace, Blackheath.

Louisa Newman said: I live at Richmond Lodge, Honor Oak-road, Forest Hill, and I am cook in the service of Mr. Charles Perry. On the 5th of August the placa was secured for the night, with the exception of the back drawing-room window, which was accidentally left unfastened. Next morning I went into the back drawing-room at about half-past eleven, and found that there were missing several ornaments, amongst other things a tortoise-shell casket and a red cornelian casket. These articles were produced by Inspector Phillips, and are the property of my master. A silver inkstand, a silver goblet, and a flask were also taken, and I believe that the total value of the things abstracted was between £30 and £40.

The prisoner was remanded.

Hannah Peace was brought before Mr. Vaughan, at Bow-street, London, on Wednesday, for the purpose of being formally remanded.

It is definitely understood that Charles Peace will remain in Newgate until the authorities are prepared to proceed with the charge against him of the murder of Mr. Dyson at Banner Cross.

The investigation of the police have revealed the fact of his participation in no fewer than forty-five burglaries, for the most part committed in London, but extending over an area which includes Hull, Manchester, Sheffield, Market Harborough, and Southsea.

It would appear, however, that on the next examination the magistrate thought there was sufficient evidence to send the case for trial.

COMMITTAL OF MRS. PEACE.

At the Bow-street Police-court, on Wednesday, December 18th, 1878, before Mr. Vaughan, the woman who alleges that she is Hannah Peace, the wife of Charles Peace, the burglar, was brought up on remand charged with feloniously stealing and receiving a number of articles purloined by her alleged husband in the commission of burglaries in the neighbourhood of London, and in various parts of the country.

Mr. Poland said that since the adjournment every effort had been made to ascertain whether the prisoner was or was not married. All the evidence went to show that the prisoner was not the wife of Peace. She was living with him as Mrs. Ward, the boy Willie was living there as his nephew; and Mrs. Thompson lived there as his wife, though she was not his wife, and there was evidence that Mr. Thompson used to speak of Mrs. Thompson as his wife.

Emma, wife of William Gardner Shapley, said I live at Seymour Lodge, Peckham Rye. On Monday, the 23rd September, at eleven o’clock in the evening, I discovered that my house had been entered and a quantity of property taken away. A side door had been left open. I missed wearing apparel of the value of £25. I identify some pocket handkerchiefs, a night dress, a pair of slippers, two scarfs, and a pair of silk stockings, which are produced.

Eliza Macdonald said: I live at 16, Kidbrooke Villas, Blackheath, and am housekeeper to Mrs. Sarah Bowcher. On the 10th August, at about ten o’clock at night, the house was fastened up in the usual way and I went to bed, leaving it safe. Next morning I found that the breakfast room window had been broken open and the house entered, and I missed a number of articles from the house. I identify the tablecloth and the silver pickle fork, now produced, as the property of my mistress. I also missed silver spoons and a butter knife.

Mr. Frederick Hanley said: In September I was living at Arbutus Lodge, Denmark-hill. At that time I was at Brighton, when I heard that my house had been broken into and a number of things stolen. I returned in the ordinary course at the expiration of my holiday, and I found that two dessert knives and forks and a pair of cornelian bracelets had been stolen. From one of the drawers £30 in gold and silver had been taken, and I also missed a set of diamond studs, a diamond ring, and a variety of other rings, of the value, I should think, altogether of £50.

Louisa Tweed, parlour-maid to Mr. Walter Robert Tidd, Upper Denmark-hill, Camberwell, said: On the 18th September, at a quarter to twelve at night, I discovered that Mr. Tidd’s bedroom window was open. It had been forced from the outside and the catch broken. I missed a plate-basket, with the plate, both silver and electro, five silver bangles, and a brooch, engraved with a crest and motto.

A quantity of electro-plate was produced to the witness, which she identified as the property of her master. The silver articles stolen were all missing from the property recovered. Witness then identified six table spoons, twelve dessert spoons, twelve forks, eleven teaspoons, one cheese scoop, and a jam spoon.

Inspector Henry Phillips said: The property belonging to Celia Korcher, which was identified on the last occasion, I found at Bolsover’s house, at Darnall, on the 9th November; also the clock belonging to Miss Dadson; and the caskets, identified by the witness Newman on the last occasion. The velvet table cover, also identified by Miss Newman, was found by Inspector Bonney. The property identified by Mr. Shapley was found at Bolsover’s house on the occasion of the second visit, on the 14th November, with the exception of a chemise, which was found at Nottingham. The table cloth shown to Macdonald was found at Darnall, on the 14th November; the pickle fork came from Nottingham. The property identified by Mr. Hawley was found at Darnall, on the 6th November. The plate identified by Louisa Tweed was found at Nottingham.

Inspector John Bonney, R Division, said: On 5th November I went to Nottingham, No. 11, North-street. I found there a small red box, which had the appearance of having been nailed down, but was open when I saw it. The house was tenanted by a Mrs. Gresham. I took all the things out of the box and brought them to London. The property which had been found at Nottingham was identified by the various witnesses. The red box he found at the house of a Mr. Brion, 22, Philip-road, Peckham Rye.

Inspector John Pinder Twibell, of the Sheffield police, said: On Wednesday, November 6th, I assisted Phillips in searching Bolsover’s house, and saw the things found. After the search and removal of the property we went away for a short time, but afterwards returned. Bolsover was present the second time. I said to him, “We have found a large quantity of property in your house, which we have good reason to believe is stolen. There is a clock which Inspector Phillips identifies as part of the proceeds of a burglary at Blackheath. How do you account for this property being in your house?” He replied, “I know nothing about it.” I said, “It is here, and you will have to account for it.” The prisoner then said, “I brought the clock with me from Hull about five weeks ago.” I said, “How do you account for it? It is stolen.” She said, “A tall woman brought it to me. I do not know the woman. She said another woman had sent it for me. The other property was in my house nearly two years ago.”

Mr. Poland: Has she given any information to you about her marriage?

Witness: Yes; she said she was married at St. George’s Church, Sheffield, the year before her daughter was born. Her daughter is nineteen years of age. She could not fix the date other than in that way. I have not searched the register of St. George’s Church.

William Bolsover, No. 4, Hazel-road, Darnall, said: I am a miner by trade. I have known prisoner for about five years as Mrs. Peace. She was living with Charles Peace, who told me his real name was Charles Frederick Peace. They lived together as man and wife, and they had a young woman living with them, who was known as Jane Ann Peace, their daughter. There was also a lad named Willie Ward, who, I understood, was a son of Mrs. Peace by a former marriage. On the 8th January I married Jane Ann Peace, at Hull. Peace was not there at the time of the marriage. Mrs. Peace, previously to that, had kept a chandler’s shop at Hull. I did not know where Peace then was. He was not at Hull. On Whit Monday I came with my wife to London, and went to No. 4, Evelina-road, Nunhead. My wife was married in the name of Jane Ann Peace, not in the name of Ward. The man whom I had known in Sheffield as Peace I found was living as Mr. Thompson. He came to meet us at the King’s Cross Station with a woman (now in court), who passed for Mrs. Thompson. Mrs. Peace was living there in the name of Mrs. Ward, and Willie Ward was also there. On one Friday he gave me some money and I returned home. Willie Ward and the prisoner usually took their meals together, and I had mine with Mrs. Thompson. On 11th October Willie Ward came to my house at Darnall, bringing with him a concertina box and fiddle case. On the 12th the prisoner came to my house. I did not expect her. She had not written to say that she was coming. She told me that she had left a large box at the Sheffield station, and that a man whom she supposed was her husband had been apprehended. She stayed with me. On the Monday I and the lad Willie went to the Sheffield station, and fetched away the box, which was very heavy, on a truck. Willie and I brought it to the house. It was afterwards taken away by the police. Willie afterwards brought another trunk from the Darnall station to my house. After the opening of the boxes I saw things in the house which I had not seen until after the boxes were brought there. Amongst other things, a silk dress which has been shown to one of the witnesses was brought to my house. I had previously seen it at Hull in October.

Eliza Bellfitt, wife of Robert Bellfitt, Great Freeman-street, Nottingham, said: On the 5th November I was living at 11, North-street, Nottingham. Inspector Bonny called upon me there. The woman known as Mrs. Thompson is a sister of mine. About the second week in October, Mrs. Thompson and the prisoner called at my house. Mrs. Thompson introduced the prisoner as Mrs. Ward. They had no boxes with them. They wanted to stay all night, but I had no accommodation for them. Mrs. Ward and Mrs. Thompson both said they were in trouble. When they left I accompanied them to the station. Mrs. Ward went to the station to get a large oval box, which was very heavy, and which they took away with them. The prisoner afterwards gave me a ticket relating to two other boxes belonging to Mrs. Thompson. Mrs. Thompson asked me to take these boxes to my house. In regard to the red box Mrs. Ward particularly requested that I should take care of it for her, as it was a family relic, and, moreover, contained her property. She promised to call for it the week afterwards. The other box――the black box――she said belonged to Mrs. Thompson. Mrs. Ward then went to Sheffield, taking the large oval box with her. After she had gone I took the two boxes from the cloak-room to my house. About a fortnight afterwards Mrs. Ward called again, and said she wanted some of the things out of the red box. She opened the box and took them out. She went away, again, leaving the box in my care. She took a paper parcel out of the red box and left it with me. It was sealed up. Mrs. Thompson left a table cover; and afterwards came and took her box away, and I kept the small red box and the parcel until the visit of Inspector Bonney on the 6th Nov. Mr. Bonney took out some small pieces of silver――I do not know what they were――and some other things. About a week after that I received some letters from Mr. Brion. Mrs. Brion afterwards called, and I gave her the sealed paper parcel. In December, in consequence of a letter I received from Mrs. Thompson, I sent the small red box by rail to Mr. Brion’s.

Cross-examined: I have only known my sister in the name of Mrs. Thompson――never as Mrs. Ward. Her maiden name was Grey.

Is your sister, Mrs. Thompson, in custody?

She is not in custody.

Where is she?

She is in this court.

Henry Forsey Brion said: I am a geographical engineer, and live at No. 22, Philip-road, Peckham Rye. On Sunday, the 19th of May, I called at No. 5, Evalina-road, Nunhead. I went into the breakfast-room. I there saw Mr. Thompson, Mrs. Thompson, Mrs. Ward, and Willie, whom afterwards I found to be William Ward. Mr. Thompson said to Mrs. Thompson, “Suey, will you fetch the child down for this gentleman to see,” alluding to a child which had been injured. As she was on the point of leaving the room, while Mrs. Ward and Willie were present, Mr. Thompson said, pointing to Mrs. Thompson, or as he called her Suey, “That is my wife.”

The prisoner was then charged in the usual form by the learned magistrate, and in answer to it she said――

“I am his wife, and whatever I did I did through complete compulsion.”

The prisoner was then committed for trial.

Mrs. Peace was at this time plunged into a vortex of troubles, and doubtless she bitterly regretted having allied herself with so heartless and unscrupulous a miscreant.

Fain would we pass over in silence the troubles and perplexities with which she found herself surrounded, but it is requisite for the continuity of the story of “the Life of Charles Peace” that we are constrained to record all those events and circumstance which throw a light upon his dark doings and sinful career. His unhappy wife, as we have already intimated was committed to Newgate, and on Tuesday, January the 14th, 1879, Hannah Peace, aged fifty-eight, alleged to be the wife of Charles Peace, the notorious burglar, was indicted at the Old Bailey, London, before Mr. Commissioner Kerr, with feloniously receiving, in the county of Surrey, seven pocket-handkerchief, one nightdress, one pair of slippers, two scarves, and one pair of silk stockings, the property of the wife of Mr. William Gardner Shapley, Seymour Lodge, Peckham Rye, on the night of the 23rd September.

Several other indictments charged her with stealing divers other articles of property; and she was further indicted for harbouring the man Peace.

Mr. Douglas Straight and Mr. Tickell, instructed by Mr. Polland, solicitor to the Treasury, appeared for the prosecution; Mr. Forrest Fulton, instructed by Mr. Walter Beard, for the defence.

Mr. Straight said the case was one of some peculiarity. If a woman were married to a man, the law assumed that any offence like the present with which the prisoner was indicted was committed under his coercion. There was, however, another element in this case which had to be considered――viz., whether there was such independent action on the part of the prisoner, in respect to the disposal of the stolen property, as would lead to the conclusion that the prisoner was to be held criminally responsible. The prisoner was indicted in the name of Hannah Peace, and answered to the indictment in that name. The responsibility, he contended, was thrown upon her to make out the marriage. Mr. Straight proceeded to detail the circumstances of the robbery at Mr. Shapley’s, and the course adopted by the prisoner in removing all the property from the house in the Evalina-road, after her husband had been taken into custody, and he remarked that there could be very little doubt that the property so removed by the prisoner was that which was afterwards found. They had made every possible inquiry, and could find no trace of a marriage having taken place.

Inspector Henry Phillips was then examined by Mr. Tickell, and said: In November last a man, named Charles Peace, was convicted of burglary and shooting at a constable with intent to murder. On the 5th November I went to a house, No. 4, Hazel-road, Darnall, when I saw Mrs. Peace, a young man, named Bolsover, who is her son-in-law, and his wife. On entering the house I saw a quantity of property which I knew, from the description, to have been stolen. I was accompanied by Inspector Twibell, of Sheffield. I said that the property on the floor had been stolen, and proceeded to take charge of it. The prisoner said, in reference to a clock belonging to Mrs. Dadson, “I did not know that it was stolen. A tall woman gave it to me about five weeks ago.” I told her that Peace had been convicted, to which she replied, “He has been a great trouble to me. He seems to harass my life out wherever I go.” I afterwards searched the house, and in the top room I found a silk dress, a set of studs, identified by Mr. Wood, two bracelets, some knives and forks, and other property, belonging to Mr. Hanley, Mr. Perry, Mr. Allen, Mr. Andred, and others. Inspector Twibell was about to open a box, when the prisoner said, “I know what you want; I will give it you.” She thereupon handed to the officer a parcel containing about forty pieces of plate, the majority of which has been identified. The prisoner was taken before the magistrates, and afterwards brought to London. On the 14th of November I again visited the house, when I found two sealskin jackets and the property identified by Mrs. Shapley. On the first occasion she gave the name of Hannah Peace, and said that she was married at St. George’s Church, Sheffield, or rather her son said so in her presence. I brought one of the boxes up to London, and showed it to a witness named Pickering, and to Mrs. Bellfitt, of Nottingham. When she said she had been married, I asked her for her certificate, which she said the “old man” had burned some time before.

Evidence was then given as to the robberies that had taken place and in recognition of stolen property.

Mr. Samuel Smith, builder, Peckham, said that in May, a Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, a Mrs. Ward, and a boy, who was called Willie Ward, called upon him in reference to the letting of the house, No. 5, Evalina-road, Peckham. Having satisfied himself of the respectability of these people by going to their residence at Greenwich, he let the house to them. In October, he found that the house had been deserted, and entering by the back way he took possession.

Mr. Henry Forsey Brion, geographical engineer and constructor of relievo maps, living at 22, Philip-road, Peckham, said that, on the 19th of May last he went to Peace’s house in the Evalina-road. In the breakfast room he saw Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, and the former, pointing to the latter, said “That is my wife.” The prisoner, who was present, made no remark. Between the months of May and August he constantly visited at the house. Mr. and Mrs. Thompson appeared to be living as man and wife. In consequence of a communication he received from Peace, in the name of John Ward, witness on the 1st of November called at Newgate to see the writer of the letter, in whom he at once recognised Mr. Thompson. He was previously asked if he knew anything of the prisoner, and declared that he knew neither the handwriting nor the name in the letter. Between May and August they came to witness’s house on one occasion. The woman known as Mrs. Thompson was introduced as the wife of Mr. Thompson, and Mrs. Ward was known by that name. In consequence of a communication, witness wrote to a Mrs. Bellfitt at Nottingham, and received from her a small red box.

Robert Mapleson, warder in Newgate, deposed to the interview in Newgate between Mr. Brion and Peace.

Thomas Pickering, porter, in the service of the London, Chatham, and Dover Railway Company, at the Nunhead Station, deposed to taking three boxes to the station on the night of the 11th October, by the direction of the prisoner.

Eliza Bellfitt, wife of Robert Bellfitt, Great Freeman-street, Nottingham, said that in November last she was living at No. 11, North-street, in that town. She recollected the visit of Inspector Bonney on the 6th November. Previously to that Mrs. Thompson, who was her sister, had come to her premises accompanied by the prisoner.

The witness was here admonished by the prisoner (who stood up for a moment for the purpose of being identified) to speak the truth.

Examination continued: They arrived between one and two o’clock in the morning, Mrs. Thompson introduced the prisoner as Mrs. Ward, and asked if they could stay all night, but they could not be accommodated. They said they were in trouble, but did not mention the nature of it. They stayed until four or five o’clock in the morning, and took their departure by an early train. Witness accompanied them to the station, where Mrs. Ward, having obtained a large box, gave her a ticket relating to two others. The box was put into the van. Witness had since seen the box at Bow-street; it was like the one which the prisoner had with her on the night in question. Prisoner asked that the boxes might be taken to the house of witness, who complied. One of them was a small red box, which the prisoner said was a family relic, and she would call for it. Mrs. Ward went to Sheffield, and witness removed the two boxes from the cloak room. About a fortnight afterwards Mrs. Ward returned, and said she wanted some of the things out of the red box, which, when she went away, she again left in the care of witness. There was also a paper parcel, of which she was requested to take charge. She afterwards gave up the red box and the parcel to Inspector Bonney, who took out some plate and a tablecloth. She subsequently received a letter from Mr. Brion, and on the 25th November handed the parcel to Mrs. Brion. On the 3rd December, in consequence of another letter she received, she took the small red box to the house of Mrs. Brion, 22, Philip-road.

Mr. Fulton: What has become of Mrs. Thompson? Is she within the precincts of the court?

She is not, I think.

How often have you seen her since this woman was first given in charge for receiving these goods?

Once.

By Mr. Straight: I knew her when she was living with Peace under the name of Thompson.

Mrs. Alice Brion, the wife of a former witness, said: On the 25th November I went to the house of Mrs. Bellfitt. I received the parcel produced and handed it to the police.

Mr. Fulton: Is Mrs. Thompson living with you?

Witness: Mrs. Thompson has been living with me.

Since Peace was taken into custody?

She has been.

But did you know, previously to that, that Mrs. Thompson had been living with Peace as his wife?

I understood she was Mrs. Thompson.

Have you ever seen this unfortunate woman on any occasion?

Whom do you mean?

I mean the prisoner. Let her stand up.

Yes, on many occasions.

What position did she occupy in the house?

The position of a lodger upstairs. She had two rooms besides a back kitchen.

And Mr. and Mrs. Thompson occupied the rest of the house as man and wife?

That is so.

Wm. Bolsover, 4, Hazel-road, Darnall, near Sheffield, said: I knew the prisoner when she was living at Darnall with Peace and her daughter. I was married to the latter at Hull on 8th January, 1878. Peace was not present. On Whit Monday I came to London, and stayed with Peace at the house in Evalina-road for eight or nine days. Peace was living with a woman who was known as Mrs. Thompson, in the name of Thompson. Mrs. Ward and the boy Willie had their meals alone, and Mr. and Mrs. Thompson in another part of the house. On the 12th October the prisoner came to my house and stated that she saw by the papers that a man whom she imagined to be her husband had been taken into custody. I took her in, and afterwards fetched her luggage from Sheffield.

Cross-examined: I have known Mr. and Mrs. Peace for some time, and believed them to be man and wife. Their daughter had, I understood, lived with them from infancy.

John P. Twibell, police inspector, Sheffield, said he assisted Philips in searching Bolsover’s house. Between the 6th of November and the 14th witness was told by the prisoner that she was married at St. George’s Church, Sheffield, in the name of Hannah Ward to Charles Peace, the year before her daughter was born. She was unable to fix the date in any other way. The witnesses of the marriage were, she said, John and Sarah Clarke, who are both dead.

This was the case for the prosecution.

Mr. Fulton submitted that there was no case to go to the jury. Peace and the prisoner had, it was evident, far many years lived together as man and wife, and their daughter was married in the name of Peace. He further pointed out that the prisoner had given minute facts in reference to her marriage, and also gave the names of the witnesses. These being dead, the onus was, he contended, upon the prosecution to make some inquiries.

Mr. Commissioner Kerr then retired to consult with Sir Henry Hawkins, whose opinion, he announced on returning into court, very closely agreed with his own, viz., that a marriage in this case might be assumed. That was to say, there was very much stronger presumptive evidence of a marriage between this woman and the man Peace than there was to the contrary.

After some discussion the jury resolved to give the prisoner the benefit of the doubt, and accordingly found that she is the wife of Peace.

No further contention being made on behalf of the prosecution, the jury, by the direction of the learned Commissioner, returned a verdict of acquittal against the prisoner on all counts.

Mrs. Peace had passed through a terrible ordeal. There were many who averred that she had had a narrow escape, but in justice to this unhappy woman it is but fair to state that there was in reality no legal evidence to warrant the jury in finding a verdict of guilty.

It is quite true that she had been connected with the most determined and cunning burglar of the day, but it does not necessarily follow that she was his accomplice.

On the contrary, the whole tenour of his lawless course would indicate that both the women were mere cyphers in his establishment in the Evalina-road.

No doubt they were cognisant of the fact that he was a burglar, but they were powerless. Any attempt to turn him from his sinful course would have brought down upon them the unmeasured wrath of their tyrannical lord and master.

After Mrs. Peace’s acquittal she lost no time in taking her departure from the metropolis.

She arrived in Sheffield on the Tuesday night by the 8.44 Great Northern express, and proceeded to Darnall at 9.5.

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