Chapter CLXVI…

Chapter CLXVI

THE CONDEMNED MAN VISITED AGAIN BY HIS RELATIVES――PEACE CONFIRMS HIS CONFESSION.

On Friday, Nov. 21st, Peace was again visited in Armley by his wife, Mrs. Hannah Peace, Willie Ward, his son, and Mr. and Mrs. Bolsover, his daughter and son-in-law.

Though this visit was intended to be kept a secret from any but the prison and other officials, this object, very much to their annoyance, was defeated.

At the Normanton station they were discovered by a couple of reporters, and on their arrival at the Leeds station they were met by several others.

Taking shelter in a cab from their persistent attentions, they drove to Mr. Watson’s, the solicitor engaged to draw up Peace’s deed of gift, and then proceeded to the Town Hall, to get the necessary order of admission to the gaol.

There they had to wait for a couple of hours in consequence of the absence of the clerk to the visiting justices, who had ultimately to be sent for.

Two visits were made by them to the gaol during the day, for there was much business to transact, and this was the last occasion upon which it could be done.

When the relatives arrived at Armley on the first occasion, and reached the cell of the condemned man, they found him in a somewhat perturbed state.

He had got hold of the notion that the authorities were endeavouring to prevent his relations from seeing him, and he was determined that they should not be excluded from visiting him.

He was assured that he was labouring under a misapprehension, and that the relatives who had any claim to see him should be admitted. He thereupon became calm and expresssd regret that he had been so hasty.

Peace then conversed for some time about his “deed of gift,” and the disposition of his property. He told them that on the previous day Mr. Brion came to see him and spent nearly three hours with him.

He obtained from Mr. Brion a list of the articles retained by him, and which belonged to Peace, and a promise that they should be given up to the proper owner of them.

He also assigned to Mr. Brion the right to make use of three inventions that he had discovered, if they should be worth following up.

Having made the necessary arrangements for the completion of certain legal documents, the visitors left and returned to Leeds to again consult a legal gentleman.

In the afternoon they returned to Armley, and had another long interview with Peace. They found him――as they had found him during previous visits――calm and collected, and prepared to reply to any questions put to him. A number of subjects were referred to.

The chief of them was as to his remarkable confession that he murdered Police-constable Cock at Whalley Range, on the night of the 1st August, 1876.

He was told that a portion of the public had received the statement with considerable incredulity, that some persons would not believe that he had made any such confession, and others that if he had made it he had done it to throw discredit on the police, and that it was still untrue.

He repeated that he had made such a confession, and that he had prepared plans of the locality where the murder occurred.

The plans and the confession he had, he said, placed in the hands of the governor, by whom they had been forwarded to the proper authorities. In due course, he said, it would be seen whether or not he had not made such a confession.

Of course his relatives needed no confirmation of the statement at his hands. They knew perfectly well that he had made such a confession, and, what was more, it was no news to them.

It is true Peace never had a confederate in his work, but he could not do without a confidant. There is perhaps not a crime of any consequence that he had committed that he did not make known to some one.

He, however, exercised great discretion in the choice of his friends, and while he had his liberty he did not suffer anything at their hands.

He had not been back from Manchester among his friends long before he dropped hints that during his absence he had “done the biggest thing in his life.”

Months went on, and one day when in a more than usually confiding state of mind, he told a relative the whole story; and it differed in no particular from the story he told in the condemned cell.

He said then that when he heard that the Dysons had taken out a warrant against him he went to Manchester.

He had not been there many days when he put up the house of Mr. Gatrix, at Whalley Range, intending to work it at night.

He went there before twelve o’clock, and it was he whom Mr. Simpson saw cross the road. He did not think the police were watching him when he went in at the gate, but before he got up to the house of Mr. Gatrix, he heard Police-constable Beanland following him.

He turned back towards the road, and jumped over the wall close to where Police-constable Cock was standing.

That officer tried to capture him, and as he would not keep back with the first shot he fired again, and hit him in the chest.

Attracted by the reports of his revolver he heard people coming in both directions, and to escape he jumped over the wall again into the grounds of Mr. Gatrix, and went through them past the place where the Habrons lived, and escaped without anyone having seen him.

The next day he heard of the arrest of the three Habrons, and he followed the course of the proceedings taken against them with the deepest interest.

On one occasion, when speaking of the murder to a relative at Hull, he said he was truly sorry for the young Habron who was sentenced to death, and subsequently let off with penal servitude for life, and said if he could get him his liberty, without sacrificing his own, he would do so.

At one time the crime appeared to weigh so heavily upon him that he declared he would draw plans of the place, showing precisely the spot where the murder was committed, and trscing the course of his flight from it, and forward them to the authorities, with a full statement of the facts, but withholding his name.

He thought, perhaps, that would lead to inquiry, and to the liberation of Habron. He did not carry out his intention at the time, and subsequently he said he should abandon it; but if he ever did get into trouble, one of his first acts would be to try to prove the innocence of Habron.

Peace did get into trouble, and a few days after he had himself been sentenced to death he bethought him of his determination.

He knew there was no prospect of a reprieve being obtained in his case; he knew that, say what he would, no further harm could come upon him; and he therefore set to work upon his plans and his confession, that he might do tardy justice to the young man he had so grievously wronged.

On Monday the Mrs. Peace visited him in his cell he was engaged upon the plans, and a hint was quite sufficient to let her know what he was doing.

When Mrs. Bolsover was with him on Wednesday he had completed his work――done, he said, all that lay in his power to secure the liberation of Habron; a load seemed taken off his mind, and he conversed with her freely on the subject.

He begged of her not to let this additional proof of his baseness trouble either her or the rest of his family, and said if there was anything more that he could do to prove his own guilt and Habron’s innocence, he would gladly do it.

To the Rev. J. H. Littlewood, Vicar of Darnall, he told the same story, and when the subject was referred to, Peace adhered to all he had previously said upon it, and declared that he had spoken nothing with respect to it but the most naked truth.

There is no foundation whatever for the story that Peace had spoken about a crime committed by him seven or eight years before, or that he persisted in saying it was as long since he shot the policeman at Manchester.

The fact is that at that time Peace was in penal servitude doing the penitent business and winning a “ticket of leave.”

Peace, during his last days, frequently expressed the hope that he would be able to walk to the scaffold.

On this matter he seemed exceedingly anxious; for, courageous as he undoubtedly was, he imagined that if he had to be carried it would look as if he was a coward.

The impression of one who saw him at the time was that he was suffering from partial paralysis of the lower extremities――a result, it might be, of his terrible leap from the train on his way to Sheffield.

His general health had somewhat improved.

He had, from the very moment of his conviction, regarded his speedy death as inevitable, and now that the time was rapidly approaching he showed no fear, nor gave any indication that he was not to meet the last act of justice with composure.

The stealing of the portrait, by Gainsborough, of the Duchess of Devonshire will be fresh in the minds of many of our readers.

It will be remembered that the picture, which was valued at ten thousand guineas, was very cleverly cut from its frame one night, and that since then no tidings whatever have been obtained as to its whereabouts.

The robbery looked like such a one as Peace would commit――it was so cleverly managed, and the thief left no trace behind.

It is not unnatural, therefore, that he should have been regarded as the thief, and we believe he had been seen on the subject by two or three gentlemen interested in the matter.

Peace stated that he did not steal the picture, nor did he know where it then was.

He had also been seen or written to regarding some valuable lace which was stolen some time before, and very urgent requests have been made to him to say where it now is.

But notorious as Peace is for his many burglaries and his successful way of “working” them, there are other burglars besides himself, and it is not surprising therefore that he knows nothing of the lace.

Peace had no actual accomplices; but he found a ready means of disposing of the booty which fell into his hands. The receivers, however, whoever they are, were not likely to suffer by any confession from Peace as to their whereabouts.

We understand that pressure had been put upon him――we suppose by the authorities――to induce him to say where he disposed of his plunder. But he had steadfastly refused to say.

When pressed on this point, his answer had generally been, that if any man were in prison on his account he would now do his best to get him out, but that he was the last man to be the means of getting anybody else into trouble.

The receivers, therefore, are safe so far as Peace was concerned; but we should have thought that Mrs. Thompson could have told all that the police wanted to know.

It may be, though, that Peace didn’t tell her all, and that there were some things which he considered it wise to keep to himself.

During the course of an interview, Peace gave his relatives some excellent advice as to their future conduct, and expressed an earnest hope that they would all meet in heaven.

One of his relatives thereupon remarked that the Rev. Dr. Potter, of Sheffield, had preached a sermon about him, in which he said that “all hope for his (Peace’s) salvation was gone for ever.”

Peace replied, “Well, Dr. Potter might think so, but it’s not my opinion.” He moreover said that he was confident of his forgiveness and acceptance. Bad and base as he had been, he was yet able to look to his end with confidence and hope.

Peace had always had an objection to having his portrait taken, and it will be remembered how indignant he became at the Sheffield Police-court when he fancied that he was being sketched.

At Newgate, though, he had been compelled to submit to the unwelcome attentions of the prison photographer. This was before he was identified, and the portrait represents him with his lower jaw very much protruded.

A copy of the portrait falling into the hands of the London Stereoscopic Company, it had been multiplied in immense quantities and circulated all over the country.

This had, somehow or other, come to Peace’s knowledge, and he wrote a letter to the Governor of Newgate Prison, complaining that he should have allowed his portrait to have been so made use of.

The power which he possessed of protruding his lower jaw seemed to have been a comparatively recent accomplishment. About ten months previously he broke off a couple of teeth.

The jagged stumps bothered him a good deal, and it was whilst working his jaws about to reduce the stumps to something like a level surface that he discovered he could so protrude his under jaw as to almost completely alter the expression of his face.

Upon making this discovery he told his relatives that it would stand him in good stead if he ever got into trouble, as he should be able to deceive the police as to his identity.

That he was firmly convinced of this was evident from the fact from the time of his apprehension at Blackheath until he was identified in Newgate he protruded his jaw in the manner shown in the photograph.

As soon as he was identified and found that the game was up, he abandoned this mode of disguise, and his face assumed its normal expression.

There was no use Mrs. Thompson endeavouring to see Peace, and she might as well have retired from the hopeless task. The fact was, Peace did not want to see her.

It might be that he had discovered by this time that she it was who had first informed the police authorities who it was that Robinson had apprehended at Blackheath.

During the interview with his relatives he was told that Mrs. Thompson had caused a letter to be written to the Home Secretary, asking for an order of admission to see him.

Peace at once replied that he did not wish to see her, and that the Home Secretary’s permission would be useless, inasmuch as he would have to be consulted, and that his permission would most certainly not be given.

The Leeds Central News reporter said:――

“About two o’clock on Friday, Hannah Peace, Wm. Ward, and Mr. and Mrs. Bolsover obtained permits from the Visiting Committee to see the condemned man for the last time.

“The nephew, Thomas Neil, also applied for a permit, but he was refused. On obtaining the orders or permits the party proceeded in a cab from the Town Hall to Armley Gaol.

“They were accompanied by a clerk of Mr. Alfred Watson, solicitor, who was to see that certain papers were signed by Peace. Among the papers in question was a new will and another deed of gift. The object of the visit was to induce Peace to make a new settlement of his affairs, and to take farewell of him. The interview was of nearly three hours’ duration.

“During it Peace gave directions for the disposal of his affairs, and the conversation was for the most part entirely connected with private matters.

“A wish was expressed that Peace should not see Mrs. Thompson, but nothing further was said on that score. The parties then said good-bye, but the leave-taking could not be called a sorrowful one. Mrs. Bolsover was the only one that really appeared deeply affected at saying farewell.

“The relations of Peace subsequently drove to the office of Mr. Watson, solicitor, in order that he might draw up certain legal documents defining their respective interests in the property.”

A Manchester correspondent wrote:――

“Although the police at Manchester are still without any official information on the subject of Peace’s alleged confession of the Whalley Range murder, there is no abatement of the public anxiety in the matter.

“If Peace has really declared himself the murderer, the fact will be a great relief to a great portion of the public in the neighbourhood, for there has always been a strong feeling of doubt about the guilt of young Habron, who is now undergoing his commuted sentence.

“This feeling was expressed soon after the conviction in two petitions for a reprieve, one of which was signed by eight thousand persons, as many signing it probably because of the doubt there was in the case as on account of the convict’s youth.

“The report that Peace gave an entertainment in a Wesleyan School, Hulme Hall-lane, Manchester, in August, 1876, is officially denied, but there seems to be no doubt that he was in the city in that month and a series of burglaries committed in the neighbourhood about that time are now attributed to him.”

STILL ANOTHER LETTER TO THE CONVICT FROM MRS. THOMPSON.

The Central News reporter at Leeds telegraphed the following correspondence as having taken place:――

“Leeds Railway Station, G. N. “9.15 p.m., 20th Feb., 1879.

“To Mrs. Thompson.

“I have been to-day and seen Charles Peace, and he has expressed a great wish to have your address, so that he can communicate with you. Will you, therefore, please write to him at once. I send this to you by ――――, whom I have just met, and who has promised me to hand it to you.――Yours &c.,

“HY. T. BRION.”

Mrs. Thompson at once forwarded the following letter to Peace:――

“21st February, 1879.

“My Own Dear Jack.――I have received information from Mr. Brion that you have not altogether forgotten me, and that you don’t utterly despise and hate your poor Sue. Oh, Jack, for the love of mercy, as you hope for that mercy which is given to all those who truly repent, do, my Jack, let me come to see you, if only once more. You know in your heart that you ought to see me, your own Sue.

“John, I have not betrayed you. Little do you know how I have suffered, and how I was threatened and tormented. I was only obeying that which you have over and over again told me, to save myself, as I could not do you good. Had I not have opened my mouth, I should now have been in prison like you――two of us instead of one――and that could have done you no good. Darling Jack, do write me asking me to come and see you. Never mind what the people in this world say.

“I can say many things. Darling, don’t judge me wrongly, as you know your trouble has made me an altered and different woman. Oh, do take that to heart. I am living here in private lodgings so as to be near you. Now darling, I must and shall be near you. Oh! for all the love you bear me, do let me see you once more upon this earth. Do write me to my solicitor, for if I give my address it will get through the papers, and I am talked about enough I will tell you where I stay when I see you. God in heaven bless you, and give you strength, is the every thought now of your unhappy Sue. John, write me quickly. Good bless you from my heart.――Yours, SUE.”

“Friday.

“Darling,――Since writing you the enclosed, a letter from Mr. Brion has been sent to me, telling me that you want to see me. Oh, John, I am so happy to think this is true. This will be taken to the gaol by the person who met Mr. Brion at the station and was kind enough to give me the message. Do, pet, write at once. The bearer will wait for your letter asking me to come, and when I receive it shall come at once. I will tell you where I am staying when I see you.

“Your Own SUE.”

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CLXVII. THE CONVICT’S CONFESSION

The Sheffield Daily Telegraph gave the following as the full text of Peace’s confessions to the Rev. Dr. Littlewood, vicar of Darnall:――

When Mr. Littlewood entered the cell he saluted the convict according to the custom he followed when he was chaplain at Wakefield Prison――“Well, my old friend Peace, how are you to-day?”

Peace looked up at him with a wistful glance, and replied, “I am only very poorly, sir,” and then, after averting his face, as if to hide the emotion upon it, he turned round and added, “but I am exceedingly pleased to see you.” Mr. Littlewood said, “I should have been much more gratified, Peace, to have visited you under different circumstances. This is a very sad errand for me to have to attend upon you in such an awful position.”

The convict shook his head and slightly moaned. “But I assure you,” added Mr. Littlewood “that there is at least one person in the world who has deep sympathy with you.”

Peace seemed a little surprised at this, and after some hesitation he asked, as Mr. Littlewood paused, “Who is that?” Mr. Littlewood looked at him intently, and as their eyes met for a moment he added, “It is myself.”

Peace seemed overpowered, muttered the words “I deeply thank you,” and burst into tears. He remained sobbing for a considerable time, his body quivering, his lips moving as if he was muttering something, and altogether he appeared remarkably moved.

That remark, Mr. Littlewood says, made the criminal as humble as a child.

“I wanted to see you,” said Peace after a few moments, to unburden my mind to you. I know I am about to die, and I want to take from my conscience some things which weigh heavy upon it, but before I begin I want to ask you――do you believe I am anxious to speak the truth, and nothing but the truth?” He paused for a minute, and Mr. Littlewood also waited.

Peace then resumed: “I know, sir, I am about to meet my God. I know that He will hear all that I now say in my cell, and that He will require me to give an account not only of what I have done, but of what I am now telling you. Do you believe me?”

Mr. Littlewood intimated that he would, but Peace did not seem satisfied with this, and pressing his face as close to the grating as he could, he said earnestly, “I do assure you, sir, I want to utter nothing but the truth and the whole truth in everything I say.”

The convict paused again, and repeated the question in a firmer tone, as if he was determined not to proceed until he was assured that Mr. Littlewood had thorough confidence that he desired to speak the truth.

Mr. Littlewood looked at him carefully, observed his manner very closely, and states that from his experience as a prison chaplain in Wakefield, having had to do with criminals of the deepest dye for many years, his own conviction was that the convict really was in earnest, and as sincere as any man could be.

Peace waited during all this trying time until Mr. Littlewood at last said, “Yes, Peace, I believe you are sincere, and desire to speak the truth. No matter how bad you are or have been, I cannot conceive it possible that any human being in your terrible position could deliberately lie and confirm those lies, knowing that your Creator and Judge is conscious of all you say, and that you will have to give an account of all you utter.”

Peace seemed relieved at what Mr. Littlewood said, and after waiting a little he said, “You know, sir, I have nothing to gain and nothing to lose in my present position. I know I shall be hanged next Tuesday. I desire to be hanged. I do not want to linger out my life in penal servitude. I would rather end my days on Tuesday than have that dreadful looking forward to all those years, but I do want as far as I can to atone in some measure for the past by telling all I know to some one in whom I have confidence,” and he added, looking up earnestly into Mr. Littlewood’s eyes, “I have perfect confidence in you.”

Proceeding, Peace said, “I am exceeding grieved and repentant for all my past life, and if I could only undo anything I have done, or make amends for it in any possible way I would”――and he spoke very firmly, “I would suffer my body as I now stand to be cut in pieces inch by inch.” He then turned again to Mr. Littlewood, evidently to see what effect his words had upon him, and as the rev. gentleman made no response he asked him again, sharply and firmly, but yet somewhat pleadingly, “Do you really think, sir, I am speaking the truth?”

Mr. Littlewood again assured him that he believed him, and then Peace continued, in lower and mournful tones: “I feel, sir,” and he raised his hands wearily, “I feel, sir, that I am too bad either to live or to die, and having this feeling I cannot think that either you or anyone else will believe me, and that is the reason why I ask you so much to try and be assured that you do not think I am telling lies. I call my God to witness that all I am saying and wish to say shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

Mr. Littlewood says that at this moment Peace talked with all the earnestness of a judge, and repeated these words with a deliberate solemnity which greatly impressed him. As he spoke he turned not only to Mr. Littlewood, but motioned also towards the warders, as if he were invoking God in the presence of them as witnesses. He was not at all excited, but spoke most rationally and coherently.

“Well, now, sir,” said Peace, evidently reassured by Mr. Littlewood’s belief in him, “in the first place I understand that you have still the impression that I stole the clock from your day-schools.” He waited for an answer.

“Well,” said Mr. Littlewood, “I have that impression.”

“I thought you had,” replied Peace, “and this has caused me much grief and pain, for I can assure you I have so much respect for you personally that I would rather have given you a clock, and much more besides, than have taken it.” Then he added, “At the time your clock was stolen I had reason for suspecting that it was taken by some colliers whom I knew.”

Peace stopped again. Mr. Littlewood thought he was going to mention the names of the colliers, but he did not, and as the rev. gentleman was not disposed to follow that subject up, thinking it was too trifling compared with the others that were to follow, it was about to be dropped, when the convict turned to him again sharply, and earnestly asked, “Do you now believe that I have spoken the truth in denying that I took your clock, and will you leave me to-day, fully believing that I am innocent of doing that?”

Mr. Littlewood looked at him again, to confirm his own conclusion, and paused for some few moments, as if deliberating what he should reply.

The convict watched him keenly all the time, and seemed rather uneasy at the answer about to be made, but in the end Mr. Littlewood said, “Peace, I am convinced that you did not take the clock. I cannot believe that you dare deny it now in your position, if you really did.”

The convict looked immensely relieved, and burst into tears afresh, and it was some time before he was able to proceed. He next abruptly said――

“Now, Mr. Littlewood, about the Bannercross murder. I want first to say solemnly before you in the sight of these men, and in the hearing of God, that several witnesses grossly perjured themselves. Brassington and Mrs. Padmore were two. They have grossly perjured themselves, but I freely and fully forgive them, and hope to meet them in Heaven. You may ask me what their perjury was. Well, they swore that they heard me threaten Mrs. Dyson. That was a lie. I call God to witness that I never did threaten Mrs. Dyson. I tell you, sir, that Mrs. Dyson and I were on such intimate terms that I could not have done so. It would not have suited my purpose to have quarrelled with or threatened Mrs. Dyson.”

Here the convict made use of language expressive of his familiarities with Mrs. Dyson which we cannot reproduce in print, but, if true, confirms all that has been alleged on that delicate subject. Without another word he then burst out:

“And now about Whalley Range.”

Mr. Littlewood was a little anxious to keep him on the Bannercross murder for a little time, but Peace would have his own way, and he went on.

“I was in Manchester in 1876, and I was there to ‘work’ some house. I went to a place called Whalley Range. I had ‘spotted’ a house there which I thought I could get into without much trouble. I was always respectably dressed. I made a point of dressing respectably because I knew the police never think of suspecting one who appears in good clothes.

“In this way I have thrown the police off their guard many a time. I walked through the streets of Manchester, and occasionally went between policemen who were all the time exercising their brains as to the burglar who had ‘done’ some houses there. On my way to the house that night I passed two policemen on the road. I may tell you I did not go to any house by accident.

“I always went some days, sometimes weeks, before, carefully examining all the surroundings, and then, having ‘spotted’ a likely house, I studied the neighbourhood, both as to the means of getting in and as to getting away. There were some grounds about that house, and my object was to get into these grounds in the dark, and wait a convenient time for getting into the house.

“I missed the policemen, and for a moment I thought they had not suspected me, and had not come my way. I must have been mistaken. I walked into the grounds through the gate, and before I was able to begin to ‘work’ I heard a rustling and a step behind me. Looking back I saw a policeman, whose figure was the same as one of the two I passed on the road, coming into the grounds. He had evidently seen me, urned back and followed.

“I saw I could do no work that night, and then doubled to elude him. For a moment I succeeded, and taking a favourable chance, I endeavoured to make my escape. As quickly as I could I jumped on the wall, and as I was dropping down, and had cleared the premises, I almost fell into the arms of a second policeman, who must have been planted in the expectation that I would escape that way.

“This policeman――I did not know his name――made a grab at me. My blood was up, because I was nettled that I had been disturbed, having ‘spotted’ that house for a long time and determined to do it――so I told him, ‘You stand back, or I’ll shoot you.’ He didn’t stand back, but came on, and I stepped back a few yards and fired wide at him purposely to frighten him that I might get away.

“And now, sir, I want to tell you, and I want you to believe me, that I always made it a rule during the whole of my career never to take life if I could avoid it.”

The convict said this very earnestly, and looked at Mr. Littlewood as if he expected a further reassurance of his faith in him on that score.

“Yes, sir,” he repeated, “whether you believe me or not, I never wanted to take human life. I never wanted to murder anybody. I only wanted to do what I came to do and get away, but it does seem odd, after all, that in the end I should have to be hanged for having taken life――the very thing I always endeavoured to avoid. I have never willingly or knowingly hurt a living creature. I would not even hurt an animal, much less a man.

“That is why I tell you, sir, that I fired wide on him, but the policeman, like most Manchester policemen, was a determined man. They are a very obstinate lot, these Manchester policemen. He was no doubt as determined as I was myself, and you know that when I am put to it I can do that which very few men can do.

“After I fired wide at him――and it was all the work of a few moments, sir――I noticed that he had seized his staff, which was in his pocket, and was rushing at me and about to strike me. I saw I had no time to lose if I wanted to get away at all that night. I then fired the second time, and I assure you again that then I had no intention of killing him.

“All I wanted to do was to disable the arm which carried the staff, and in order that I might get away. But instead of that he came on to seize me, and we had a scuffle together. I could not take as careful an aim as I would have done, and the bullet missed the arm, struck him in the breast, and he fell. I know no more. I got away, which was all I wanted.”

Peace then rested for a little, and afterwards proceeded.

“I left Manchester and went to Hull. Some time afterwards I saw it announced in the papers that certain men had been taken into custody for the murder of this policeman. This greatly interested me. I always had a liking to be present at trials, as the public no doubt know by this time, and I determined to be present at this trial.

“I left Hull for Manchester, not telling my family where I had gone, and attended the assizes at Manchester for two days, and heard the youngest of the brothers, as I was told they were, sentenced to death. The sentence was afterwards commuted to penal servitude for life.

“Now, sir, some people will say that I was a hardened wretch for allowing an innocent man to suffer for my guilt, for the crime of which I was guilty, but what man would have given himself up under such circumstances, knowing as I did that I should certainly be hanged for the crime?

“But now that I am going to forfeit my own life, and feel that I have nothing to gain by further secrecy, I think it is right in the sight of God and man to clear this young man, who is entirely innocent of the crime.

“That man was sentenced to death the day before I shot Mr. Dyson. I did not intend――I really did not intend――to kill this policeman, but only to disable him, and then to get away myself, and I call God to witness that his life was taken by me unintentionally.

“I came to Sheffield the night after the trial, and went to Bannercross in the evening. There is a low wall at the back of the house where the Dysons lived, which is one of the houses in the terrace called Bannercross-terrace.

“I wanted to see Mrs. Dyson. I stood on the low wall at the back of the house. I knew the house very well, both front and back, and I knew that the bedroom was to the back.

“While I was standing I noticed a light in the bedroom. The blind was up, and I could see plainly Mrs. Dyson carrying a candle and moving about the room.

“I watched her for some time, and I then saw that she was putting her boy to bed. I then ‘flipped my fingers’――and the convict imitated the action to Mr. Littlewood――and gave a sort of subdued whistle to attract the attention of Mrs. Dyson, as I had often done before at other places.

“I had not long to wait. Mrs. Dyson came downstairs――she had evidently heard the signal, and knew I was there――and in response to my call she came out and passed out to the closet. I then got down off the wall into the yard, and went towards the closet.

“I was with her there some time. You may ask what I wanted to do with her there. Well, I did not want to do what people think. I went simply for the purpose of begging her to induce her husband to withdraw the warrant which had been issued against me.

“I was tired of being hunted about, not being able to go and come as I liked. I only wanted the warrant withdrawn. That was my only object, and if I had got that done I should have gone away again.

“Mrs. Dyson became very noisy and defiant, used fearful language and threats against me, and I got angry. Taking my revolver out of my pocket, I held it up in her face, and said, ‘Now, you be careful what you are saying to me. You know me of old, and know what I can do. You know that I am not a man to be talked to in that way. If there is one man who will not be trifled with by you or anybody else, it is Charles Peace.’

“She did not take warning, but continued to use threats against, me, and angered me. I tried to keep as cool as I could. While these loud and angry words were going on Mr. Dyson hastily made his appearance. As soon as I saw Mr. Dyson I immediately started down the passage which leads to the main road. I was not sharp enough.

“Mr. Dyson seized me before I could get past him. I told him to stand back and let me go, but he did not, and I then fired one barrel of my revolver wide at him to frighten him, expecting that he would then loose me and that I should get off. I assure you I purposely fired wide.

“I was so near to him I could have shot him dead at the first shot, but I purposely fired wide and the bullet hit the gable end of the house. Mr. Dyson kept his hold of me, struggled with me, and at last was about to get the better of me. He got hold of the arm to which I had strapped my revolver, which I always did, and I then knew I had not a moment to spare.

“I made a desperate effort, wrenched the arm from him, and fired again.

“It was a life and death struggle, Mr. Littlewood, but even then I did not intend to shoot Mr. Dyson. This you must remember――my blood was up. I had been angry at what that woman had said to me.

“I had only come to ask that which I thought I should get, and I would have gone away and not troubled them again; but, then, with Mr. Dyson struggling with me, and having fired off one shot, I knew if I was captured it would mean transportation for life.

“That made me determined to get off somehow. I fired again, as I told you, but with no intention of killing him. I saw Dyson fall. I did not know where he was hit, nor had any idea that it was such a wound as would prove fatal.

“All that was in my head at the time was to get away, and if he had not so obstinately prevented me I should have got away.

“I assure you, sir, that I never did intend, either there or anywhere else, to take a man’s life; but I was determined that I should not be caught at that time, as the result, knowing what I had done before, would have been worse even than had I stayed under the warrant.

“After firing the first shot I knew then how serious it was; and, whatever was sworn to at the trial, I tell you that we had a scuffle, that it was a life and death struggle, and for a time Dyson had the best of it.

“With my revolver I could have shot him dead at the first, but I did not do so, and when I next fired I could not calculate my aim owing to the excitement. If I had been able to do so I should simply have disabled him and got away.

“After Dyson fell I rushed into the middle of the road, and stood there for some moments. I hesitated as to what I should do. I felt disposed at first to go back and assist Dyson up, not thinking that he was wounded fatally; but I was labouring under great agitation, a number of people were gathering about. I heard them moving and rushing, and at last I decided to fly.

“I jumped over the wall on the other side of the road, and as I did so a packet of letters fell from my pocket just as I was jumping down over the fence.

“It is not true that I deliberately left these letters as a plot against Mrs. Dyson.

“They fell from my pocket. It is not likely that I should leave any letters about to show where I had gone.

“I call God to witness, sir, that I did not kill Mr. Dyson intentionally, and I most solemnly swear that in shooting at him I did not intend to murder him.

“Mrs. Dyson committed the grossest perjury in saying that no struggle between Dyson and myself took place. There was a fearful struggle, and she saw it.

“I want to be assured, Mr. Littlewood, that you really believe what I say. I tell you that if anyone thinks he will see that I never intended murder when I went to Bannercross.

“If I had meant to murder Mr. and Mrs. Dyson, or either of them, I knew the place well enough. All I had got to do was to go to the door, walk in, and shoot them both as they were sitting.

“And do you think, sir, if I had gone there to murder Dyson, that I should have allowed myself to be seen by so many persons? No, I would have gone about it in another way altogether.

“Of course I took Mr. Dyson’s life as it turned out, but I did not go there with the intention of doing it.

“It was as unintentional a thing as ever was done, and it would not have been done if it had not been that I was interrupted in trying to get Mrs. Dyson to speak to her husband to withdraw that warrant, and if Mr. Dyson had not been so determined to get me into trouble and to prevent me getting away.

“Now, sir, will you tell me your candid opinion of Mrs. Dyson? I know what they say, but I would like to know what you think of her.”

The Rev. Mr. Littlewood was not much disposed to state to the convict, as probably he would be to anyone, his candid opinion of Mrs. Dyson, but Peace insisted, and after a good deal of wavering and hesitation Mr. Littlewood answered him. His answer, of course, has nothing to do with this story.

Peace seemed slightly assured after hearing what Mr. Littlewood had said, and a little later, after resting himself, he added:

“During my life I have never once attempted to take life wilfully. I did not mean to take the life either of the Manchester policeman or of Mr. Dyson. Instead of taking life my object has been to save life.

“I have fired many a hundred barrels at people to frighten them, and I did succeed in frightening them, and in getting away after I had done what I came to do.

“Where they have lost their lives has been when they have roused me, struggled with me, and prevented me getting away, and even then it has been in a scuffle and never intentionally. Of course I have used threats that I would shoot them, but that was only meant to frighten them also.

“My great mistake, sir, and I can see it now as my end approaches, has been this――in all my career I have used ball cartridge. I can now see that in using ball cartridge I did wrong. I ought to have used blank cartridge; then I would not have taken life.

“If I had been captured after firing with blank cartridge in the face of anyone, I should have been able to say when I was taken that it was blank cartridge, and the worst thing that could have been done to me would only have been penal servitude. If I had to do it again I should not use ball cartridge.

“Now, sir, I am very anxious that this man who was committed at Manchester should be set at liberty, for God knows that he is innocent; and in order to prove that I took that man’s life I want to tell you something.

“If they will take the bullet which they extracted from his body and examine it and weigh it they will find it was such a one as I was in the habit of using, and would fit my revolver.

“I shot him with the same revolver that I shot Mr. Dyson. In both Dyson’s and the Manchester case one reason why fatal wounds were inflicted was, I tell you, because of the struggle, not knowing exactly what I did or the way the bullet would go. My revolver is a peculiar one.”

Peace proceeded to describe technically as to its being a self-acting needle revolver, but Mr. Littlewood did not follow him so closely as to be able to reproduce his description. He gave Mr. Littlewood to understand that the revolver being self-acting he had no control over it after the first shot.

“I have drawn plans,” continued Peace, “showing the place where the murder was done. I have furnished all the full particulars I have remembered. All this I have done in order that I may clear this innocent man, and unburden my own conscience of the crime before I go to the scaffold, when it will be too late. These plans and particulars I have handed to the governor, and he has told me that he has forwarded it to the Home Secretary.”

“What was your object, said Mr. Littlewood, “in telling me all about this murder?”

“Well, sir,” said Peace, “I want you to be an additional witness to my confession that I am now making to you that I did commit it.”

“Do you want me to take any steps in the matter to bring this man’s innocence out?”

“No,” replied Peace, “not necessarily. But the fact of my having given this statement to you may be of some service to the young man when I am done with. And now, sir, after my poor body is done with I want to be entirely forgotten by everybody; and after my execution I hope my name will never again be mentioned.”

“I also beg that you will use your influence in Darnall in preventing the people from persecuting the dear members of my family. They could not help anything I have done. They could not prevent it. They had not the slightest control over me in any possible way. They have no more to do with all my crimes than the greatest stranger in the land.

“Give my kind remembrances to the different people in Darnall whom I knew. Say to them, sir, that I hope they will be warned by my fate. Wish them good-bye, and tell them that Charles Peace, bad as he is, has still the hope that all of us may meet again in heaven.

“I hope God will give me strength to go like a hero to the scaffold. I do not say this, sir, in any sort of bravado. I do not mean a hero such as some persons will understand when they read this. I mean such a hero as my God might wish me to be. I feel sensible of my position. I feel penitent for all my crimes. I feel in speaking to you that one foot is on the scaffold, and I tell you, sir, before God and before men, that I am deeply grieved for all I have done. I would atone for it to the utmost of my power, and I shall endeavour to die bravely.”

A long pause took place. Peace seemed somewhat exhausted, and looked wearied, worn, and anxious.

Mr. Littlewood then touched him upon a very delicate subject which he had determined to broach before he left Darnall. This was on the point of disclosing the names of the receivers who had taken his goods.

“I want you,” he said to the convict, “to do me one favour. Will you grant it?”

“I will grant it if I can,” replied Peace.

“Well,” said Mr. Littlewood, “in the first place, I want you to be submissive and prepared for your great change. You say that you will do anything you can to atone to those you have wronged, and to make reparation for your wasted life.”

“I do say so,” said Peace; “I am most anxious to do so.”

“Well,” said Mr. Littlewood, “I can’t point you out a way in which you can atone in a great measure to society for what you have done. Your disclosure about the Manchester murder is an act of justice, but there is a wider act due to society upon whom you have preyed. It is due to society still further that you reveal the names of those who have received your stolen goods.

“I have no hesitation in saying that such a disclosure would be greatly to your benefit in the sight of God. You could either make it to me or to anyone you think proper, but it is only your due to society to do it, and you have the best reason in the world for doing it, for you may attribute your present position in a great measure to those persons who have been in the habit of receiving your plunder.”

Mr. Littlewood proceeded, “You know you would not have stolen sealskin jackets, silver plate, gold watches, diamond rings, and all those other things if you had not been able to dispose of them. They would have been really of no value to you unless you could have turned them into money. You committed a great injustice to society, and now I ask you to do an act of justice to society, and I ask you to do it as well for your own sake.”

“Well, but you see, sir,” replied Peace, with great emphasis, “I have always been a man, and I mean to be a man to the end. You know, sir, the public generally look on this kind of thing in the same light as you do. It is quite a mistake. I suppose you mean to say, sir, that if there were no receivers there would be no stealers?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Littlewood; “that is what I say and what I think.”

“Well, then,” replied Peace, “I assure you, sir, that the impression is wrong. Supposing I have taken rings, containing diamonds or other brilliants, directly I have got them in my possession I have taken the gems from the gold, and then no one can swear to them in any court of justice.

“I always did that quickly. I sometimes did it on the night I got possession of the plunder, and before I went to bed. Then I had a crucible in which I melted down the gold and silver into small ingots, and disposed of them by simple weight.”

[Sidenote: No. 96.]

“Well, but, Peace,” said Mr. Littlewood, “it seems to me your reply is not a sufficient reason for refusing to give up the names of the receivers of stolen property. If you would do so it would raise you considerably in the estimation of all respectable citizens, and confer an incalculable boon upon this country.”

Peace made no response, and Mr. Littlewood continued: “You know, what you say about diamonds and gold and silver may be all true. I don’t dispute with you on that point, but you could not melt down sealskin jackets and things of that kind.”

Peace still refused to make any response, and the subject eventually had to be dropped, as he seemed determined on the point.

[The reason Peace did not give the names may be stated here. His property was believed to be in the hands of receivers, and the law of felon’s property is now altered. At one time when a felon was hanged all his property was forfeited to the Crown. The law has since taken a more merciful view of the convict’s family, and permits the felon to will his property as he pleases. Of course there will no doubt be certain restrictions in the event of the property being identified as the proceeds of burglaries, but a person of Peace’s habits would take care that his most valuable property was promptly realised and placed where it could be obtained. It is therefore more than probable that the reason we have stated is the correct explanation――that in the event of his disclosing the names of the receivers they would have cleared out and carried away all the booty, so that the family whom Peace seems disposed to benefit at the last would have received nothing.]

Passing from this subject Peace said to Mr. Littlewood, “Now, sir, may I ask you a favour?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Littlewood, “you may.”

“I want you, sir, to preach a special sermon over my case, but I do not want it to be preached till after my execution. I want you to hold me up to the people of Darnall and to the world――to hold me and my career up as a beacon, that all who see may avoid my example. I want all who have known me to have me stated exactly as I am, that in the end my death may not be altogether without service to society.

“You know, sir, that the public of Darnall have nothing to say against me. They will certify to this fact――that I was respected by them. And they had no reason to think otherwise. I never did any of them any harm all the time I was there.”

Mr. Littlewood told him that he could not quite see his way to preach a special sermon about his case, particularly as he had already expressed the wish that after he was executed his name should never be mentioned, but Peace held to this point. Eventually, however, Mr. Littlewood was enabled to pass on to some other subject.

“Now, sir,” continued Peace, “I think I have told you all I have to say, and I want before you go that you should do me another thing. I should like you to hear me pray.”

Mr. Littlewood assented, and Peace, turning to the warders, desired them to help him out of his chair that he might kneel down by his bedside. He also commanded them to kneel down. Mr. Littlewood also knelt close to the grating.

The convict then commenced a long and earnest prayer of nearly twenty minutes’ duration. He prayed with great fervency and fluency. First of all he prayed for himself, and asked God for Christ’s sake to blot out all his trangressions, and implored that his sins might be washed away in the blood of Jesus, and invoked the Holy Spirit to cleanse and purify his heart.

He referred to each member of his family, and prayed for them with equal earnestness.

From thence he went on to pray for those whom he had wronged, and interjected there a special prayer for Mr. Littlewood and his family, whom he hoped God would greatly bless and prosper.

He then prayed for society generally, all classes of the community, and one special part of his prayer powerfully impressed his hearers.

In a lower tone of voice and with subdued earnestness he prayed most devoutly for those two poor souls he had launched into eternity without any warning or any time to be prepared for their great change.

He prayed that he might meet them before God, and that God would forgive him for such a wicked act, that they might meet in His presence, and he obtain full forgiveness for his crimes, and that thus meeting and recognising each other they might forgive and forget all that had happened on earth, and enjoy the fulness of God’s presence for evermore.

Before Mr. Littlewood left Peace said, “I could like to ask you one thing, sir. Do you think it would be necessary for my own welfare that I should see Mrs. Dyson personally, and ask her forgiveness for shooting her husband?”

Mr. Littlewood had understood that Mrs. Dyson had gone away, although she really did not leave till the next day, and he told the convict that Mrs. Dyson had left, adding――

“What you want, Peace, above all things, is the forgiveness not of any human being, but the forgiveness of your Maker; and to that, with my last words to you, I want to direct your attention.”

The convict looked perfectly satisfied, and asked Mr. Littlewood to engage in prayer, which he did Mr. Littlewood’s prayer was frequently interrupted by fervent responses on the part of Peace.

“Oh, God,” he cried, “answer this prayer! Have mercy upon me.” And he cried and sobbed incessantly.

Though his face was buried in the bed-clothes, the sound of his sobbing was painful to hear, while his whole body quivered with emotion.

The scene was most affecting, and can never be forgotten by Mr. Littlewood or the warders who were present.

On rising from his knees Mr. Littlewood asked for a Bible and Prayer Book, which were handed to him by the warders.

Mr. Littlewood reminded Peace that the day of his execution would be Shrove Tuesday, and the day following that Ash Wednesday, the first day in Lent. He pointed out the peculiar appropriateness of various passages in the Prayer Book, particularly the well-known words of the Communion Service commencing “Let us therefore return unto Him who is the merciful receiver of all true penitent sinners, assuring ourselves that He is ready to receive us, and most willing to pardon us, if we come unto Him with faithful repentance, if we submit ourselves unto Him,” &c.

He also directed his attention to the introductory sentences of morning and evening prayer, the Confession and the Absolution, as well as the seven Penitential Psalms, the beautiful words of which might almost have been written to meet the case of a great sinner like the condemned criminal crouching behind his prison bars.

The convict seemed pleased at Mr. Littlewood’s attention, and glad to have anything to occupy his mind. He asked the reverend gentleman to turn the leaves down at these passages that he might ponder over them in his cell.

As Mr. Littlewood was preparing to leave, Peace, with tears in his eyes, said, “I suppose, sir, we shall never meet again in this world. I pray God to bless you, and all your family, and I pray we may meet again in heaven.”

Then taking the left hand of the warder, who, at the same time, took Mr. Littlewood’s right hand, the two parted, the visitor leaving the cell deeply affected by the interview, while the miserable being he had left was lifted wearily back into his bed, where he turned his face to the wall and wept.

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Chapter CLXVIII

AFFECTING FAREWELL LETTERS &C., FROM PEACE TO HIS WIFE AND FAMILY.

Peace, for a criminal, was a voluminous letter-writer, and after he had been sentenced to death no restriction whatever was placed upon his writing proclivities, and he indulged them to the full. When weary of writing himself, he enlisted the assistance of one of his warders, who penned at his dictation.

More than a week previous to his execution, Peace conceived the notion of writing a farewell letter to his wife, to each of his children and relatives, and to some of his friends, and of handing them to the chaplain when he was on the scaffold that he might post them for him.

He employed his time in writing or dictating these letters, and in a few days he had sixteen completed. He then handed them to the chaplain, who posted them as requested.

The following letters were addressed by Peace to his relatives:――

“From C. Peace. H. M. Prison, Leeds, Feb. 25, 1879.

“My Dear Dear Wife I have been A bace bad man to thee for many years O Dear if I had taken thy advice may years ago this would not have befallen me I need not ask for thy forgiveness for I know that thow hast already forgiven me for all I have done to them and my Dear I do not only forgive thee but I forgive all Persons for I have not any ill feeling against any Living Person. O my Dear wife I do pray to Almighty God for thee and I do hope that he will prosper thee in all thy doings and bring them to the kingdom of Heaven at the last where I hope that thou wilt meet me at the last. So O My Dear Lass do not forget that our next meeting Place I hope will be in heaven. So do not forget to Prepare thy self to come.

“My Dear wife I do send you the coppy of some verses that I made when our Dear little John Died and I was at Woking Prison (Nov. 26, 1871, John died)

“They told me gently he was dead My Dar and lovely child They led me to the lonely grave Whear lay my Darling boy

When they laid thee in this silent grave I was A convict bound But now I am free to meet and pray On this thy sacred ground

Great God in Pity look on me And take my life away And turn my body cold as clay And lay me with My boy

But hark me thinks I hear a voice It is my lovely child Hark me thinks I hear him say I am not fit to die

Thou chides me well My once loved one And tells me what I am I am not to live or die I am such a wretched man

So lay and Sleep My once Loved one And I will live and Pray So fare thee well My Darling boy I’ll meet thee in the sky

“O My Dear Wife how can I say good bye to thee for ever but I must say it so.

“Good bye Good bye and may my God bless and bring thee to heaven at the last. Good bye for I am gone there.”

Later on Peace wrote a second letter to his wife, as follows:――

“From Charles Peace “H. M. Prison Leeds Tuesday Febe 25, 1879 to My Dear Wife

“I think that this is a true view of how I stand in this world in the first Place my sentence was Life and with me having ben three in Penerservitue I could not having got my freedom aney more so that I should have to die a misserbel death in Prison at the end. I mite have lived 20 year or more and have died in Prison at the last So my Dear wife I do think that me and you and my children hought to think that it will be for the best of my blessed Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ will hear my Prayers and for give me my sins and receive my Poor Soul into the Kingdom of Heaven. So think of this and tray to meet me thear oll you my Dear frinds I am husband and farther.

“CHARLES PEACE. “God bless you all.”

On Tuesday morning after the convict had breakfasted he had a few minutes to spare before being introduced to Marwood, and he employed them in writing the following letters――the last he wrote:――

“From Leeds. “H. M. Prison thuesday feb. 25, 1879.

“O my Dear wife and famerly I tel you this Grat Joy that I could not tel you yesterday for I could not I have not no fear now for it is all ded up as to ware I am going to I am going to Heaven or to the place ware the good go to that die in the Lord to wate in the Place appointed by God for the good to waite until the resurrection of the dead go do not forget our meeting Place is in Heaven so do come at the last and you will find me thear this letter is wrote 25 minits be fore I do die so I must know say good bye to all so good bye and God bless you all for I am gon to heaven.

“CHARLES PEACE.

To his wife he also sent a very beautifully illuminated card. In the centre of a floral wreath was the following:――“The Lord bless thee, and help thee: The Lord make His face to shine for ever upon thee, and be gracious unto thee: The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee, and give thee peace.”

On the back of the card the condemned man wrote:――

“My Dear Wife this was sent to me bye a Lady from Hull and as she wishes to me I do wish to thee My Dear wife so good bye for I am gone to Heaven.

“CHARLES PEACE.”

He also sent her a quarto copy of “The Old, Old Story.” It was in two parts――(1) The Story Wanted; (2) The Story Told; with the author’s music. On the last page he had written:――

“My Dear Wife, This was sent from London from a Lady at a prayer meeting, where prayers were offered up for me at Eaton-square, London, for to bring before thy poor husband’s face his Saviour, finding him a poor lost sinner, and to bring him to his fold, where I also hope thou wilt be brought.

“CHARLES PEACE.”

LETTER, &C., TO HIS DAUGHTER.

The following is a copy of the convict’s letter to his daughter.

“From Charles Peace H M Prison Leeds “tuesday feb 25 1879

“O My Dear Jane Ann, My Dear child I send thee this letter from the scaffold, so O my Dear child do act up to it all through thy Life so that thou may bring thy Soul to the Kingdom of Heaven at the last ware I hope that thou will meet Me never to Part from Me no more, So My Dear child do above all things in this world Pray earnestly and continually to that only Great and Powerful God who will bless and Protect thee through Life and bring thee to Heaven at the last so my Dear Dear child Let me beg of thee not to fret for me no more then thou can help for it will do no one any good to fret so.

“My Dear child the Darling of my heart I am now compeled to say to thee for ever and ever Farewell for in a few moments time I shall be dead.

“So may the Lord Bless thee and thy baby and prosper you both and bring you to the Kingdom of Heaven at the last good bye good bye and God bless you――Your Farther,

“CHARLES PEACE.

“Good bye good bye I am gone to Heaven.”

To Mrs. Bolsover he also sent a photograph, representing the crucifixion, and underneath, in the same handwriting as on the other photograph, is the following; “This man has done nothing amiss. He was wounded for our trangressions.” On the back of the card, Peace wrote:――

“For Jane Ann.――My dear child, this was sent from London from a Lady at the prayer meeting in Eaton-square for to bring before thy poor father’s face his dying Saviour that died to save him from his sins. And My Dear Child I hope it will bring thee from thine.――To My Dear Child.

“Good bye, for I am gone.”

LETTER, &C., TO WILLIE WARD.

To his stepson, Willie Ward, Peace sent the following letter. Those sent to his wife and daughter were in his own handwriting; the first part of the following letter was written at his dictation:――

“From Charles Peace. “H.M. Prison, Leeds, Tuesday, Feb. 25, 1879.

“My dear Son,

“I now write to you my last dying wishes and request, that you will take a warning by poor me, and live happy and comfortable with your dear mother. I have handed this to my chaplain when upon the scaffold, and a moment before I die. Oh, let me beg of you in my last moments to give yourself to God, to try and walk in the narrow path that leadeth to eternal life. And may the Great God in His mercy pardon all your sins. And may we all meet in the end at the Right Hand in Glory. I have sincerely prayed to the Great and all powerful God to forgive me all my sins as I freely forgive all who may have sinned against me that those few lines may have their desired effect upon you and that we may all meet in Heaven is the Dying Prayer of your dying father.

“My Dear boy do do all that is wright in the sight of God and man and do not forgate that we have fixed upon our meeting place to be Heaven so I must say good bye good bye and may God bless thee My boy.

“Good bye good bye I am gone.”

To his son he also sent a photograph of a painting representing our Saviour as the Good Shepherd. He has a crown of thorns on his head; no shoes on his feet; in His right hand He has the shepherd’s crook, and on His left shoulder He carries a lamb, with which He is returning from the wilderness to the fold. Underneath, written in capitals, is the following:――“The Son of Man is come to seek and to save that which was lost.” On the back of the card Peace wrote:――

“My Dear Child this was sent from London from a Lady at a Prayer meeting where Prayers was offered up for me at Eaton-square, London, for to bring before thy poor father’s face his Saviour finding him a lost sinner and to bring him to his fold and I also hope my son that he will bring thee to his fold.

“For William Peace good bye my Dear son for I am gone there.”

LETTERS TO HIS SON-IN-LAW.

The latter part of the following letter only is in the handwriting of the convict:――

“From Charles Peace. “H.M. Prison, Leeds, Tuesday, 25th Feb., 1875.

“My dear son Bolsover.――This is my last letter here upon earth. Let me beg of you to take my dreadful end as a warning. May it be the cause of your leading a godly, righteous, and sober life, so that, in the end you may obtain life everlasting. It is the last advice I can ever give to you, for when you receive this I shall be dead. This is handed to the chaplain upon the scaffold for you. May it have its desired effect upon you. I wish you prosperity. May you escape all the accidents to which your profession endangers you. May you live a long and happy life, and at the last, when you are put in the balance, God grant that you may not be found wanting, but that we may all meet at His right hand in glory, there to part no more, is the dying prayer of your poor father, Charles Peace.

“So I must say Good bye good bye and may God bless thee for I am gone to Heaven. Good bye.

“CHARLES PEACE.”

LETTER FROM MRS. THOMPSON.

“Tuesday, Feb. 10, 1879.

“Dear Charley,――Why is it, after all my anxiety and trouble to come to see you after your especial desire to see me, and your letter yesterday, asking me to come at once, and now you don’t see me? What have I done to not merit to see you? You have turned to me in all your troubles since I have known you. Is it because your relations have been? They had the first chance. Or were your feelings too much overcome. I pity you much. I sincerely thank you for your second letter you sent by the governor to read to me. I do forgive you all as you ask me, as I hope to be forgiven. I shall for ever cherish the small scrap of paper torn from your long letter which the governor so kindly gave me in Armley Gaol. As you blame me for all that is being done, in regard to letters and in the papers, let me tell you I am not to blame. How could I have information that you had written to Hannah and Bolsover? You know, dearest, they are no friends of mine, and it is best known to themselves if they were unkindly treated when they came to my house. Had I have been in their position, I would not have come; but that is past. You cannot leave this world without seeing me again. You know I have been faithful and true to you if I have other faults. Now one word――clear your conscience of everything before it is too late.”

Across this letter was written the following lines, said to have been Peace’s own composition:――

“And while his heart O can the heart grow cold? False ones, the tales that in this world are told Swell in his voice. He knows not where to end, Like one discouraging an absent friend.”

On an enclosure addressed to Governor Keene was written “Please give the enclosed to my poor John.”

The convict, absurd as it seems, was of a poetical turn, and he was very fond of reading and reciting poetry. Indeed, he had a weakness for versification, and had in his time written many a jingling rhyme. One of his favourite compositions that he was wont to declaim began with the lines:――

“Lion-hearted I’ve lived, And when my time comes Lion-hearted I’ll die.”

When news of Peace’s arrest, reached the inmates of the house at 5, Evelina-road, Peckham, the Dyson letters, so called, were given by Mrs. Thompson to Willie Ward to burn. Both Hannah Peace and the woman Thompson were in a terrible flutter, as the house contained things that would get them into trouble should the police search the premises. The letters entrusted to Willie Ward were with two or three exceptions all burned, the women foolishly thinking their existence might tend to the incrimination of Peace. This fact was well known to the detectives, it is said. The letters in question destroyed, in whosoever’s handwriting they were, are stated to have contained requests for money, and their contents were not such as could have been written by a pure-minded person.

The Central News special correspondent at Leeds wrote that Mrs. Thompson had again made her appearance in Leeds. She was seen at the Post-office. She asserted her faith that she would see Peace before he died. She again wrote to him, as follows:――

“15th Feb., 1879. “To the Governor of Armley Gaol.

“Sir,-Will you kindly oblige me by giving the enclosed to Charles Peace?――Yours, &c., S. THOMPSON.”

The following was the enclosure:――

“To Charles Peace, Armley Gaol, Leeds. “Saturday, Feb 15, 1879.

“My own dear Jack,――What do you mean by turning against me――I who have cared for you? What must I believe? Hannah is admitted to see you as your wife, and you have most solemnly swore to me that she was not. When you and I went to Hull you told her you would and should marry me, as I alone should be your wife, as you could not part with me. Oh, why am I to suffer like this? It is killing me. I am prevented from seeing you, and am pointed at in the streets, ‘Here comes Mrs. Thompson.’ Have I deserved this? You would not have gone out had you have taken my advice upon the 9th of October [the date of his arrest.] It is most terrible that I am not allowed to see you. All your people are doing all they can to prevent me doing so. The magistrates’ committee say I cannot unless you ask for me. John, darling, I must see you once again upon this earth. Darling, remember the last time I saw you. You turned back a second time to kiss me. Oh, I do upon my knees implore of you to see me. I am watched and hunted to death. Is this not fearful? I do not imagine this, this time eight months ago, that I should have gained such notoriety in the world’s history. John, do write me under cover to my solicitor. This is killing me. I have not a friend to whom I can turn upon earth. I cannot write more, for my heart is well-nigh broken. What must I, what shall I do? God bless you.

“Yours SUE.

“Oh, you have spoken harshly to me many times, but, then, when your temper has cooled down, you have come to me. John, Charley, let me see you. I freely forgive you what you ask me in your last letter. I cannot write more. Do ask to see me, John.

“Your own, SUE.”

A letter was sent by Mrs. Thompson’s solicitor, to the Home Secretary, on 13th Feb., which after stating the result of Mrs. Thompson’s application to the Leeds Justices, states certain particulars as a reason why Mrs. Thompson should be allowed an interview with the convict. It is understood that the request had been refused by Mr. Cross.

PEACE AND HIS INVENTION.

The “Central News” special reporter at Leeds said the convict pointedly denied, that Mr. Brion ever knew or learned anything in respect of the invention for raising sunken vessels, except what he (Peace) imparted to him. He charged Mr. Brion with ingratitude in the matter, and said that when that individual first received a hint of the plan, he did not rest content until he had got possession of all the details of the invention. Peace’s method for raising sunken ships was to close their hatchways, ports, and any large leaks, and to force air into the hold, a simple trap or valve allowing the water to escape as the air was forced in. He purchased a small model steamer, and having taken out the engines and boilers, altered her to suit his purpose, and attached one of his valves and India-rubber tubing connnected wiih an air pump to the deck. A wooden tank about 7 feet long, 3 or 4 feet wide, and the same in depth was made, and this was filled with water in order to enable Peace to carry on his experiments. The model boat was also on several occasions sunk to the bottom of the Thames, and raised again by Peace’s apparatus, a select party of his own and Mr. Brion’s friends being present to witness these experiments.

VISIT OF MR. BRION TO THE CONVICT.

The “Central News” special reporter at Leeds telegraphed on Thursday: Mr. Brion, of 22, Philip-road, Peckham Rye, arrived in Leeds to-day about two o’clock. He went to the Town Hall, where he was at once provided with a pass admitting him to see Peace. He immediately took a cab and drove to the gaol, which he reached about half past two o’clock. On entering, he saw Mr. Keene, the governor, who took him to Peace’s cell. The greeting between the two men was not over-cordial. Mr. Brion told him the object of his visit was to get a renewal of the statement that he (Brion knew nothing about Peace, the convict’s past career, or that he was other than what he represented himself to be, namely, a retired gentleman.) Peace said that such was the case, and he called those present to witness that Mr. Brion knew nothing about his doings; and the sole cause of the frequent visits to his house was in connection with the invention of raising sunken ships. Peace then asked a number of questions in respect to the Evelina-road house, and what disposition had been made of the effects therein. Mr. Brion told him that so far as he knew everything had been carried off and disposed of, Mrs. Thompson and Hannah having divided the proceeds. He also expressed himself as willing to turn over to anyone whom Peace should name all the plans and papers belonging to him in his possession. This appeared to please Peace, and he became more communicative. He said he was prepared to meet his fate, and that he should send letters from the scaffold to many of his relatives and friends. He professed the greatest esteem for Mr. Brion, and bade him good bye with a considerable show of feeling, saying that the latter should hear from him again. Mr. Brion returned to London by the ten o’clock train.

LETTER TO MR. GOODLAD.

Peace was a staunch friend as well as an implacable enemy. Two of his oldest friends were Mr. George Goodlad and Mr. Cragg, and he was much disappointed when he was informed that they could not be permitted to see him at Armley. He promised to write to them both, and he kept his word, Amongst the batch of letters handed to the chaplain on Tuesday morning was the following:――

“From Charles Peace H.M. prison. Leeds, Tuesday, 25th February, 1879.

“My dear friend George Goodlad, I send you this letter from the scaffold. It is handed to my chaplain when upon the scaffold to send to you. So I hope you will take A. warning from my most fearful fate. You and me have known each other A great number of years, you choose An honest industrious way through life, but I choose the one of dishonesty, villainy, and sin. So my dear friend do take a warning by me for the remainder of your life. I die with the hope that God as heard my prayers and forgiven my many sins, and that in a few moments I may be at his right hand in glory, where I hope we shall all meet at the last Great day. That God may bless and prosper you and your dear Wife and Son and the workmen in your shop and all enquiring friends is the dying prayer of

“Yours CHARLES PEACE.

“Good-bye and bless you all Good bye.

“Mr. George Goodlad, pianist at Milners Concert rooms, and picture gallery off West-bar, Sheffield.”

PEACE PREPARES HIS OWN FUNERAL CARD.

At the interview that Peace had with his wife he told her he would prepare a funeral card commemorative of his own death. He said he would endeavour to have it ready to give her when she paid the final visit to his cell. He reminded her of the monument at home, made by himself, and said if she liked she might put it on that.

When he came to do the card he found that his eyesight had failed him; that his hand had somewhat forgot its cunning; and he was unable to complete it. It is the half-finished design of a tombstone, with a floral wreath across the top. In the centre is the following:――

IN MEMORY OF CHARLES PEACE, WHO WAS EXECUTED IN ARMLEY PRISON, TUESDAY, FEB. 25, 1879. AGE 47. FOR THAT I DON BUT NEVER INTENDED――

The lettering is in capitals, and occupies about half the card. On the other half the convict intended to have written some lines, but he was unable to do so. He gave it to his wife on Monday, with expressions of regret that he had not been able to complete it.

LETTER TO PEACE FROM AN OLD CONVICT.

The following letter was sent to Peace, and by him handed over to his family on Monday. The original had the signature of the writer in full:――

“Saturday morning, ½ past 1 o’clock.

“My Dear Friend,――You will I trust Pardon Me for Breaking in and Intruding upon you Now at this Most Awfull and Most Solemn time――Most awfull Because you and Me are about to Leave――I may if it be the Will of God Leave this Earthly Tabernacle off before you (this Perishing world for Ever――Luke 21.33), But we Must Both Stand before the Judgement Seat of Christ Dear Friend Your position is fearful Here――But what will it be then. How Shall we appear Before the Judgement Seat of Christ――For I too Dear Friend have a fellow Creatures Life then to answere for and it may be More than One――my Life and yours here as indeed been a Life of Sin and crime O that it had been Otherwise――But We Can Do Nothing――or Recall the Past――But Blessed be God He Has Shewed both you and Me a Way of Escaping all Bitter torments for the future――Yes only one Way John 14 ch 6 v 3 ch 14 to 18 verses Isaiah 1-18 57 ch 15 v 66 ch 2 verse Matthew 11.23 Psalm 146.3 verse Matthew 10.23――Ah My Dear Friend Many there are that Shew a Cold Shoulder to us Now May God have Compassion and Shew them Mercy for Jesus Christ’s Sake――Yes our friends or Most of them in the time of trouble Desert us――But there is a friend that Sticketh Closer than a Brother Proverbs 18.24 and He that Best of all Friends has told me and you to call upon Him in the time of trouble and He will Deliver us――I beg of you Dear Friend to Listen to the Chaplin May God Reward and Bless his Endeavours to bring you to understand your Position――these few Remaining Days I beseach you to Spend in Prayer――and in the Reading of Gods Most Holy Ward――I have indeed found very Great Comfort by Reading that Sacred Volume after asking our Heavenly Fathers forgiveness of the Past――and to open My Eyes to the Blessed truths Contained therein――and I have found in times Past in a Prison Cell that Peace which the World Cannot Give――twenty five years of My Past Life have I spent in Prison――But to be with you Now Dear Friend I would very Gladly Spend five years more――Shall I tell you why Dear Friend Because you and Me are by ourselves Lost――But Jesus Christ Says I came to Seek and to Save that which was Lost――only trust Him He will Save you――Have faith in God. May the Almighty and Merciful God forgive all Our Sins and Grant You and Me a Place in his Kingdom at the Right Hand of Jesus Christ our only Mediator and Advocate is the Ernest Prayer of Your Friend

“W. O.

“Mile End Road London.

“Farewell Dear Friend I do so much want to Me you in Heaven. Do Come Mercys Door is open for us and Gods hand is Stretched out Still.”

FROM A LITTLE GIRL.

The following is a copy of another letter sent to Peace, and on it he wrote, “this was sent to me bye a little girl”:――

“Jesus Christ says He came ‘to seek and to save that which was lost.’ ‘I came not to call the righteous but sinners to repentance.’ When he was dying he prayed for those who killed Him. ‘Father forgive them, for they know not what they do,’ and now Jesus, Our Lord is in Heaven praying to God for you. He died on the cross for you, because he loves you and ‘wills not the death of a sinner but rather that all should come unto him and have Everlasting Life.

“Oh, don’t think you are too great a sinner for Jesus to save. He is ready and willing ‘to save to the uttermost all who come to him.’ He is longing for you now to believe in Him, and be safe for ever. He has promised ‘Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out,’ and all you have to do is to repent and ask God to forgive your sins for Christ’s sake. We have no need of doing that; we have all sinned and grieved our loving Saviour many times.

“Then think of what follows after this life. Everlasting bliss and happiness with Jesus. But if you refuse to come and be washed in the Blood of the Lamb it is awful to think of what follows――an everlasting pain in hell with devils and damned spirits where ‘the worm dieth not and the fire is not quenched.’

“Oh, don’t let such an awful fate be yours――you can prevent it if you will. When Jesus is ready now, this minute, to save you, why do you delay?

“What keeps you back?

“A man in the Bible wanted to be saved, but he did not know how to say a long prayer, so he just said, ‘Lord, have mercy upon me;’ and God heard him and answered his prayer. Oh, may God help you, and may you be able to really believe that Jesus loves you, and is waiting to save you.

“We will all pray for you that for our Saviour’s sake you may be saved, and we shall then meet you in heaven with Jesus.

“February 10th, 1879.”

TELEGRAM FROM IRELAND.

On the 22nd inst. the convict received the following telegram from “M. J., Londonderry, to Charles Peace, Armley Prison, Leeds. Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved. He is able also to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by Him.”

When the telegram was handed to Peace he read it, and said――“This is from Kate Dyson’s sister. Her initials are ‘M. J.,’ and I’ll be bound she has sent it.” The message seemed to give him a good deal of pleasure; but the impression is that he was wrong as to where it came from.

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CLXIX. SKETCH OF THE CONVICT’S CAREER

The life of the hero of this work was, as already indicated, full of strange incidents, which have been duly chronicled during the progress of this history. We subjoin a brief epitome of his career:――

“His father, who started in business as a shoemaker, after a wandering life spent at fairs and wakes, was residing in Nursery-street, Sheffield, on the 14th of May, 1832, the day when Charles Peace was born.

“The lad was sent to school in the town, but did not make much progress, and revealed a strong taste for constructing various articles rather than for learning.

“On leaving school he went to work at a rolling mill, and was there crippled in the leg by a piece of heated steel. In 1853, when a young man, he had gained great proficiency as a performer on the violin, and in company with a number of amateur theatricals, appeared at Worksop as ‘The Modern Paganini.’

“At this time, notwithstanding his lameness, he excelled in physical exercises, and was so courageous that he once seized an enraged bull-dog, and beat it until the animal was stunned.

“His first robbery was committed at Mount View, in Sheffield, and for that offence he was sent to gaol for a month. On his liberation he began to associate with thieves, and soon became notorious as a portico robber.

“In 1854 he broke into three gentlemen’s residences at Sheffield, gaining admittance by climbing the portico, and carried off large quantities of jewellery.

“Caught again, he was tried and sentenced to four years’ penal servitude. Having served that term, he resumed his old life of fiddling and thieving, and in the course of his strolling met Hannah Ward, whom he is alleged to have married.

“Soon after his marriage he went to Manchester, and whilst committing a burglary at Rusholme, on the 11th of August, 1859, was captured, after a desperate resistance, and again sentenced to penal servitude, this time to six years.

“In the summer of 1864, however, he was again free, and commenced business in Sheffield; but it did not flourish, and he returned to Manchester, where he got into trouble about another burglary, and was sent into penal servitude for a further term of ten years.

“In prison he was mixed up in a mutiny, flogged, and then sent to Gibraltar. But his sentence was commuted to six years, and on the 9th of August, 1872, he returned once more to Sheffield, where for some time he worked industriously as a picture-framer, and lived apparently a most exemplary life, sending his children to the Sunday school.

“About this time his hand was injured by a pistol shot, one of his fingers being blown off; but the injury did not materially interfere with his business, which he continued on his removal to Darnall.

“Whilst living in Britannia-road there, he met the Dyson’s; forced himself upon their society; pryed into their affairs, and made himself so objectionable that Mr. Dyson wrote on one of his visiting cards, ‘Charles Peace is requested not to interfere with my family,’ and threw it into Peace’s garden.

“Peace was furious; he sought out Mr. Dyson, tried to trip him up by the heels, and the same night, confronting Mrs. Dyson, revolver in hand, threatened to blow out her brains and her husband’s too. A warrant was taken out against him; he escaped to Hull, but returned to Sheffield again on the 25th of October, 1876, when he threatened to annoy Mrs. Dyson ‘wherever she went.’

“On that day the Dysons had removed from Darnall to Bannercross, specially to escape his disagreeable visits; but Peace followed them there, and meeting Mr. Dyson near his new abode took out his revolver with the intention of shooting him at that time if Mr. Dyson had offered to molest him.

“Peace returned to Hull, and turned his wife and family out of doors because his daughter ventured to bring up the name of Mrs. Dyson in conversation. He then wandered to Manchester, and back again to Sheffield, where, on the night of the 28th of November, 1876, he alleges that he had another interview with Mrs. Dyson.

“The next morning, the 29th, he visited his mother, and later in the day had an interview with the Rev. E. Newman, at Ecclesall Vicarage, to whom he told a most extraordinary story of his wrongs, and accused the Dysons of destroying his home happiness.

“The same night, shortly after eight o’clock, Peace shot Mr. Dyson. He concealed himself in the yard behind the house at Bannercross, and watched Mrs. Dyson go into a closet. When she opened the door he stood before her with a revolver in his hand, and said, ‘Speak, or I’ll fire.’

“The woman, greatly terrified, gave a loud shriek, and, stepping back into the closet, slammed the door, which she closed. Mr. Dyson immediately came out of the house, and Mrs. Dyson hearing his footsteps left the closet, and saw her husband follow Peace across the passage. Suddenly she saw the man turn and fire at her husband.

“Mr. Dyson, a powerful man, 6 feet 6 inches in height, was undeterred by the shot, and still pursued Peace, who, on reaching the steps at the end of the passage, again faced round, fired his revolver, and Mr. Dyson fell, shot in the left temple, the bullet penetrating to the brain.

“‘Murder! you villain――you have shot my husband!’ shouted Mrs. Dyson, who was found by the neighbours supporting her husband’s head. Peace escaped across the fields, and Mr. Dyson died two hours afterwards. Although not certain as to the result of his firing, Peace felt it necessary to get out of the way as soon as possible, and, cutting across the country, he arrived at another suburb of the town.

“In the meantime he slipped an indiarubber band over his head, confining his long white beard closely under his chin, and, putting on a muffler, gave himself the appearance of a man with a short beard.

“Taking a cab, he rode into the centre of the town, and, after bidding good-bye to his mother and a brother, he walked to Attercliffe-road station and went to Rotherham. From another station he went on to York the same evening, and a day or two afterwards turned up at Hull, where his wife was keeping an eating-house.

“No sooner had he entered than the detectives came up to inquire for him. He hastily ran upstairs, and, getting out of a bedroom window, climbed up a spout and got upon the roof.

“When the coast was clear he returned and had dinner, but was again forced to fly to the roof by another visit from the detectives. He escaped at dark, and then assumed that disguise which first deceived his relatives and subsequently enabled him to elude the vigilance of some of the cleverest detectives in the country.

“Finding the police were on his track he left Hull in a roundabout way, and wandered about the country for nearly six weeks. Once he travelled with a police-sergeant, and fraternised with him in the train.

“On another occasion he ostentatiously read to a police officer the bill offering a reward of £100 for his capture. Early in January he turned up at Nottingham, and, taking lodgings in a low quarter of the town, he commenced burglarious operations.

“It was here that he formed the acquaintance of Mrs. Thompson, and after living with her for a short time in Nottingham they went to Hull, and lodged in the house of a police sergeant. Whilst in Hull Peace made considerable stir, and on two occasions was very nearly caught.

“His first ‘work’ was on a Saturday night. He had broken into a villa residence, and collected a number of articles of value, when the front door opened, and two ladies and two gentlemen entered. He hastened to the first landing, and found to his surprise that the people were coming upstairs. He took energetic measures.

“Drawing his revolver, he fired over the balustrade into the ceiling, and the people, frightened out of their wits, fell downstairs, and Peace escaped through the garden. One of the gentlemen pursued him, but was fired at by Peace, who got safely away.

“On another occasion Peace was stopped by a policeman as he was leaving a house with some booty. The constable asked Peace what he was doing there, and Peace immediately fired at him. The officer fled precipitately, and Peace again got away. Shortly afterwards, finding a constable drunk on his beat, Peace entered six houses in one row, and finished a successful season by a large robbery of plate at the house of Mr. Ansell, a member of the Town Council.

“Returning to Nottingham, he committed several daring robberies, the last of which was a most successful silk robbery, and for the detection of the thief in which case a reward of £50 was offered.

“The police got a clue, and going to the place where he was staying, found Peace and Mrs. Thompson in bed.

“Peace told the officer that he was a hawker, and offered to show him his licence if he would go down stairs. No sooner, however, had the officer left the room than Peace escaped through the window, and subsequently went back with Mrs. Thompson to Hull.

“Peace next moved to London, and took a miserable room in Stangate-street, Lambeth. Here he was ostensibly carrying on the business of a dealer in musical instruments, but it was at this period that his most successful burglaries were committed.

“Breaking into a villa at Denmark-hill, he found a large safe in one of the lower rooms, but not being an expert at opening safes, he went upstairs into the master’s bedroom and took his keys out of his trousers pockets as they lay on the bed.

“He took from the safe all the family plate, and obtained for it in Petticoat-lane no less than £250. Soon afterwards he realised £200 by a burglary at Southampton. The greater part of this was in money and the remainder in Bank of England notes. Subsequently he removed to Greenwich, and brought Hannah Peace, his reputed wife, and her son Willie Ward, to live with him.

“Hannah Peace and Mrs. Thompson soon quarrelled, and the family removed to Peckham, where they lived in good style at No. 5, Evalina-road. This was a pretty little villa standing in its own grounds. There were two entrances to the premises――a small gateway leading to the front steps and a carriage entrance.

“The front door opened into a moderate-sized hall, and a large drawing-room communicated by means of folding doors, with a spacious sitting-room behind. The house was well furnished throughout, and, indeed, at the time that Peace took it he must have been possessed of a considerable amount of ready money.

“In the drawing-room were a number of nicknacks, and in the different rooms there were several good pianos and violins. Peace made a number of improvements to the outside of the house, and the ‘Thompsons’ came to be regarded by the residents as their ‘carriage neighbours.’

“Here Peace set up a pony and trap, and in the afternoon he used to ride out and mark the houses which he thought likely for ‘business.’ At night he would go out and enter the houses, and the pony and trap, which was waiting for him somewhere in the neighbourhood, was driven home at a most furious pace, the proceeds of the burglaries being concealed in the cart.

“It is believed that here he did some good business, but in spite of the fact that he had two women and a young man living with him very little is known of his actual operations. He had some trouble with the women. Mrs. Thompson drank, and Mrs. Peace was jealous, but Peace had no fear of treachery, and he continued most successfully his burglarious career.

“He received regular visits from the receiver of stolen goods, who used to take back good bargains from Evalina-road. At one time Peace endeavoured to melt down the plate he obtained to render its disposal more easy, but this attempt he soon gave up as likely to attract the attention of the neighbours.

“Thus he lived until the 10th October last year, when he was so pluckily captured by Police-constable Robinson. The officer detected him in a burglary in the house of Mr. Burness, at St. John’s Park, Blackheath, and, calling the assistance of two other officers, a most determined and prompt effort was made to capture the man who had terrified South East London by his nocturnal robberies, and brought down a storm of reprobation upon the police.

[Sidenote: No. 97.]

“Robinson saw him leaving the house and chased him across the garden. Peace drew a revolver and fired five times, the last shot wounding the officer severely in the elbow, but Robinson stuck to his man, and the other officers coming he was secured.

“The news of his arrest soon reached his people in Evelina-road, and the house was stripped of almost everything in a few days. Furniture was sold, and the proceeds of burglaries were removed to Nottingham and Sheffield.

“Then Mrs. Thompson, under pressure, informed the police who their prisoner really was, and whilst the London officers were congratulating themselves on having caught a most successful burglar, the Sheffield police were equally satisfied that the Bannercross murderer was in custody.

“An officer was despatched to America to find Mrs. Dyson, the widow of the murdered man, and before he returned, Peace, Under the alias of John Ward, had been sentenced to penal servitude for life for the attack on Robinson. No time was lost in bringing Peace to trial for the graver offence, and on the 17th January he was taken to Sheffield for his preliminary examination.

“He was remanded on this occasion, and he was being taken from Pentonville to Sheffield on the following Wednesday when he made that daring attempt to escape or to commit suicide. He was being conveyed to Sheffield under the charge of two warders, and whilst the train was running at the rate of fifty miles an hour between Retford and Sheffield, Peace suddenly jumped out of the window.

“One of the warders dashed forward and seized him by one foot as he almost flew through the window. He thus had but insecure hold of the convict, who appeared to be almost mad with rage that his attempt had been foiled, and struggled wildly to escape from the officer’s grasp.

“With his left leg he savagely kicked the officer’s hands, and with his manacled hands grasped the footboard and endeavoured to free his right foot. The other warder, in the meantime, was unable to get to the window, and Peace’s boot coming off, he fell on the footboard of the carriage with his head, and bounded off that into the up line.

“The train was stopped after running about a mile, and Peace was found lying insensible where he fell. He had received a severe wound at the back of the head, and was so much shaken that he could not be brought before the magistrates that day, and was remanded.

“On the following day a note was found upon him containing the words:――‘Bury me at Darnall. God bless you all. C. Peace.’ This, he said, he wrote in Pentonville, because finding that he could not escape he had determined to commit suicide.

“He was sent for trial at the Leeds Assizes, and was then sentenced to death after trial before Mr. Justice Lopes. After his removal to the condemned cell he had paid great attention to the administrations of the chaplain, and was described as having been really penitent and resigned to his fate.

“He also carried on a voluminous correspondence, letters frequently passing between him and his family and Mrs. Thompson. The latter, after having handed him over to justice, most persistently sought an interview with him, but was not allowed by the authorities to see him.

“One of the most extraordinary events in connection with Peace’s career was his confesssion of the Whalley Range murder. A young man, named Habron, was then undergoing penal servitude for the crime, which Peace stated he himself committed.

“The murder occurred on the 1st of August, 1876. It was at the time when Peace had the Sheffield warrant hanging over him. He had packed up his housebreaking implements, and left Sheffield for Hull and Manchester in July.

“Arriving in Manchester he committed several burglaries, and on the night of the 1st of August, he went to the house of Mr. Gatrix, at West Point, Whalley Range, to break into it.

“As he was going towards the house he was seen by Mr. Simpson, a law student, and police-constables Cock and Beanland.

“Peace, followed by Beanland, crossed the grounds, and, jumping over a wall into the street, alighted close against Police-constable Cock, who was watching there.

“The officer tried to arrest him, and Peace fired to frighten him; but Cock endeavoured to apprehend him. Peace then shot the constable in the chest, and escaped before the arrival of Beanland, who remained in the grounds seeking the burglar. Three brothers named Habron, who were employed at a market gardener’s near, were suspected of the murder, and two of them, John and William, were committed for trial.

“At the Assizes, which took place on the 27th and 28th of Nov., William Habron was found guilty, and sentenced to death, but John was acquitted. A petition was got up on behalf of William Habron, and his sentence was commuted to penal servitude for life. Not long afterwards Peace, under a pledge of secrecy, told his relatives what he had done, and expressed a wish that he could get the young man liberated without implicating himself.

“A few days after he had been sentenced to death at Leeds for the murder of Mr. Dyson, he drew plans showing the locality at West Point, Whalley Range, indicated the spot where the murder was committed, and also wrote a confession of the crime. His plans and confession were forwarded to the Home Office. Peace had a final interview with his brother Daniel and various other relatives on Saturday.

“Though physically prostrate, and suffering much from emotion, the convict expressed himself as prepared to meet his fate, and earnestly enjoined his friends to lead religious and virtuous lives.”

As a supplement to the above we add the following details of Peace’s early crimes.

“Having recovered from the two years’ illness caused by his accident at Kelham Rolling Mills, he had been in the service of Mr. Edward Smith, and had after that become, under the tuition of one Bethley, a player on the violin at public-houses.

“There is a tradition that soon after this, having had a quarrel with his sister, he slept out, in an empty house, was caught, and got a month’s imprisonment therefor.

“Whether this be so or not, the next glimpse we get of him is making a highly promising commencement in his future profession. He was charged at the Sheffield Sessions on Saturday, Dec. 13, 1851, along with George Campbell, with breaking into the house of Mrs. Catherine Ward, Mount View, [the mother of the then Mayor of Sheffield] and stealing two pistols, a mahogany box, a bullet mould, and other articles. An entrance had apparently been effected by climbing upon the balcony and opening the bedroom window.

“The only property missing was a case containing Mrs. Ward’s jewels, a case containing a brace of rifle pistols, and a silk dress. The prisoners were afterwards found dealing with the pistols; Campbell was discharged, while Peace, who received a good character for honesty from his late employer, got one month’s imprisonment.

“This robbery shows how closely Peace adhered to the modus operandi adopted thus early, and it fixes his then age (19).

“A CROP OF BURGLARIES IN 1854――FOUR YEARS’ PENAL SERVITUDE.

“During the subsequent years 1852-3-4, he was continuing his musical services at public-houses, and becoming familiar with company no better than it should be.

“In the autumn of 1854 he was carrying on a daring game of house robbery, and from a report in the papers it appeared that on the 13th of October, 1854, Charles Peace, Mary Ann Niel, his sister, and Emma James were placed in the dock of the Town Hall to answer several charges of felony.

“James had offered a pair of boots in pledge at the shop of Messrs. Wright, Westbar, and on her being detained on suspicion, Peace came forward and claimed the boots, and was given into custody.

“In Peace’s mother’s house in Bailey-field, there was found a large quantity of jewellery and wearing apparel (including crape shawls, silk dresses, &c.), the proceeds of robberies effected at the residences of H. E. Hoole, Esq., Crookes Moor House; R. Stuart, Esq., Brincliffe Edge; Mr. G. F. Platt, Priory Villa, Sharrow-lane; and Mr. Brown, Broomhall-street.

“The houses of all these parties had been robbed by effecting an entrance through the bedroom windows in the evening before the windows were closed and fastened for the night. At Mr. Hoole’s the thief had climbed the portico, and from Mr. Stuart’s a good deal of jewellery had been stolen.

“The prisoners were clearly proved to have been in possession of this property. The defence raised does not place in a very amiable light the affection subsisting between the sister and that brother, who used to avenge the wrongs she sustained at her husband’s hands. Each accused the other of being the culprit.

“At the sessions at Doncaster (October, 20, 1854), Peace (who was undefended) said that a watchmaker named Bethley in Division-street, had kept his sister (Niel) for some years, and she had had three children by him. Bethley, not having given her any money lately, sent the jewellery and a bundle of wearing apparel by him to her, instead of money. Peace was sentenced to four years’ penal servitude, and the female prisoners each to six months’ imprisonment.

“Peace was described in the calendar at that time as being twenty-two years of age. The mention of Bethley’s name will remind our readers that he was the person who instructed Peace in the art of violin playing, and Mrs. Niel’s connection with the case does not shed much lustre on the family annals. She died we may add by way of completing her history, on the 2nd April, 1859, age 33.

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CLXX. PEACE’S EXTRAORDINARY CAREER

“There is an old Yorkshire saying, ‘When it is dangerous to speak the truth, it is wisdom to say nothing,’ and that would appear to have been the motto which Charles Peace adopted during the last four or five years of his life.

“We are enabled to continue the narrative, not for the guidance of any who may read it, but as a warning The fact that Peace has now to answer the capital charge is of itself sufficient evidence of the gradations downwards which the pursuit of crime involves.

“The singular episodes in the career of the criminal are stranger even than many a highly imaginative novelist could have portrayed.

“The police have been acquainted with many of them for months, and have been puzzled by them.

“The narratives are obtained from a private source of a perfectly reliable character, and are given accordingly.

“In the course of recent inquiries allusion has been made to certain letters which were addressed to Mrs. Dyson by the prisoner. These letters had upon them the Hamburg postmark, showing they had been posted there.

“From that it was argued that Peace had been living in that town, but the man never left the country excepting once――when sent to Gibraltar. He gave the letters to a captain to post in Hamburg, and his instructions were faithfully carried out.

“That Peace had committed a great number of burglaries and impudent feats of housebreaking there can be no doubt, but his most daring ones have certainly been completed in the metropolis, and during recent years.

“Three-fourths of the thefts which he has committed in this way have been between six and eight o’clock in the evening, and but very few of them after midnight.

“Now that he has been found out to have been the sole perpetrator of some of the robberies, reference to the police books proves the statement as to the hours when these were done to be correct.

“One night Peace repaired to a house in Greenwich, his object being to ‘borrow’ some jewellery which he knew to be in one of the bedrooms. It was the dwelling of a rich man, and when he reached the second story window at the back he for the first time in his life became acquainted with the use of a patent window fastener. When he had raised the sash about two inches he found it was prevented from going any further upwards by two brass nobs which protruded from the woodwork.

“In addition to that there was another apparatus which prevented him from moving the sash back again――it was locked. He was very much annoyed with this contrivance, but being of a resolute turn of mind he repaired to the same house in a night or two afterwards and took another course, certainly an extraordinarily bold one.

“He took the window frames out bodily, in the same manner as is often done for the removal of furniture in and out of the houses, and entered the house that way. The booty he secured on that occasion was exceedingly valuable.

“There is no doubt that Peace was well prepared for anyone should they endeavour to effect his capture, and there can be no more ample proof of this than the reception he gave Police-constable Robinson. It is believed, however, that had he known there were other members of the police force about besides Robinson, the latter would have had a sorry time of it.

“Whatever is stated to the contrary, Peace was undoubtedly a ‘dead shot’ when he meant it. He has fired over the heads of many people who have disturbed him in his operations.

“On one occasion, in London, he broken into a gentleman’s house, and had gathered together a number of valuables.

“This was when the family were at dinner below. To his chagrin, a lacquey entered the room, stared at him for a moment, and then, as if divining his purpose, bolted down the stairs.

“Peace got through the window by which he had entered, passed to the roof of an outbuilding, and dropped into the back yard. But the footman, for he was no other, had given the alarm to his master, and the latter, with presence of mind, had run to the kennel and unchaned a large mastiff dog.

“The animal at once dashed towards Peace, but was shot dead on the spot by the intruder, the bullet entering its forehead, and the gentleman and his servant retreated indoors.

“On another occasion lights wore observed through the upper windows of a house by the police on beat, who suspected that a burglar was at work in the upper rooms.

“The officers made their dispositions, and were confident that they had the depredator completely boxed. But the officers had ‘reckoned without their host.’

“It was not a burglar of the ordinary stamp with whom they had to deal, but one who had gone through nearly every phase of life which it is possible for one who follows ‘the profession’ to experience.

“An alarm was raised, when, luckily for Peace, it proved that the occupants of the house were an old man and woman and the servant.

“He took good care they did not see him, but quickly made his way into the garret. The constables were admitted after some little demur, and a thorough search took place, but no intruder could be found. Still there was the fact that strange lights had been seen in the place, and the kitchen window had been broken open.

“One of the constables, however, raised the garret window, and on looking through saw a man sitting on the slates. He seemed determined to follow, and commenced to do so, but he found that he had no foothold, for the roof was of pantiles. Peace had slipped off his boots and left them on the roof.

“In great haste he scrambled away. His left foot came in contact with one of the broken tiles, and he cut it exceedingly severely. He got on some outbuilding, dropped into a garden, and escaped. He did not recover from his injuries, however, for some weeks after.

“On two separate occasions after the murder Peace was within a few yards of the clutches of the Hull detectives when they were actually in search of him.

“He had taken up his temporary quarters in a house there, and they must have suspected that he was lurking somewhere about it, for one day two detectives entered. He was in the back kitchen; so he quietly went upstairs and into the garret.

“The lower rooms were looked into, and also the bedrooms, but there were no suspicious appearances, and the search was not proceeded with. On that occasion Peace was interrupted whilst in the enjoyment of a basin of soup.

“Shortly after that the detectives again visited the same place, for they still thought they might find some clue to him in the town which he had previously lived in. When they entered the front door Peace was again in the kitchen half stripped, washing himself at the sink. He had scarcely time to reach the top of the stairs before they were at the bottom of them, and he ‘made’ straight for the garret――this time to the roof also.

“He must have considered himself hardly pressed, for after going along the slates he got into another house through the window, and explained his presence in that condition to the wondering woman who occupied the house, by representing that the police were after him ‘because he had deserted his family.’

“He said that he had only done it a week or so before through necessity, but had now got work, and intended to fetch his wife and the little ones. He was then allowed to remain in the house for the rest of the day――for this took place at noon.

“The detectives once more retired, after a fruitless search, and without the slightest knowledge that they had been so near to the one they wanted. That night had they apprehended a person who was dressed in female clothing, and who booked from Hull to Manchester, they would have caught Charles Peace, for it was disguised in this way that he effected his escape on that occasion from the town.

“From thence he went to Manchester, and afterwards to Nottingham. He was fruitful in his resources whenever danger was pressing, and, it will be seen, as cunning as he possibly could be.

“He had ‘nerve,’ however, and a run of good luck in almost all his proceedings.

“There was no doubt that the police were on a good track when they watched Hull closely, and though it may seem easy to say, ‘They might have seen,’ when the secret is known, they were not aware that they had nearly had the one they sought securely in their hand.”

PEACE’S CAPTOR.

The proposed testimonial to Police-constable Robinson, the officer who captured Peace, prospered very satisfactorily. Subscriptions were received at the “Royal Hotel,” Haymarket; the “Star,” High-street; the “Exchange,” Exchange-street; the “Elephant,” Norfolk-street; “Bull’s Head,” Sheffield-moor; “Old Star Vaults,” Old Haymarket; “Royal Hotel,” Highfield; “Little Angel,” Westbar; “Hen and Chickens,” Castle-greeen; “Queen,” Sheaf-street.

Mr. George Dawson, a local phrenologist, sent the following letter:――

“Those who have or have not had the satisfaction to see Charles Peace are naturally desirous of seeing the man who was chiefly instrumental in capturing the great rascal, and who had so narrow an escape from being murdered by him.

“As many have asked me if I had seen him, the following brief sketch may be interesting:――Mr. Robinson is a good-looking, quiet, pleasant genial fellow, not unlike the Prince of Wales――has his type of features. He is rather florid, with light brown hair and beard. He is very finely developed physically, plump and muscular, with sufficient of adipose tissue to make him round in form and easy in manner.

“The bony and fibrous systems are less high in him than the vital and muscular. He is about 39 or 40 in. round the chest, 5 ft. 7½ in. high. He looks only a little man, but I am told he weighs 13 stone. He has a small head, measuring 21½ about, and his brain is mostly developed in the practical and observing and the moral faculties.

“He is quite firm and independent, but lacks self-esteem; has no desire or ability to show off――is very retiring. He is steady, cool, and rather harmonious, but has only moderate destructiveness and combativeness. Hence he is mild, kindly, and genial, the ‘knotty’ and ‘quarrelsome’ points being weak.

“He would hurt even a burglar only in self-defence. He is in almost every respect――bodily and mentally――the very opposite of Peace, though this is not the time to give a phrenological description of that gentleman. Sheffielders are pleased with the captor of their chief ruffian――and he is pleased with the heartiness and kindliness of Sheffielders.”

EXTRAORDINARY COMMUNICATIONS.

Running away from Bannercross on the night of the murder, Peace accidentally or intentionally dropped a small bundle of notes and letters.

These were mentioned in the court of the proceedings at the trial, and they formed the subject of much of Mr. Clegg’s cross-examination in court. It is contended by Peace thet they were written to him by Mrs. Dyson. Mrs. Dyson, however, swears positively that they were not written by her, and that she never saw them until they were shown to her some time after they were found.

The theory of the prosecution was that the whole of the notes and letters were written by Peace for his own purpose. What those purposes were, of course can only be imagined.

It may have been to get Mrs. Dyson into his power. The notes were of an extraordinary character. Most of them were written in pencil on scraps of paper. As doubless this correspondence will be read with considerable interest, we give it in its entirety, following the spelling and other eccentricities of the writer:――

“Things are very bad for peple told him everything so the say you cat pick out for D. Do keep quiet, and don’t let anyone see you. Money send me some.

“Send me a drink. I am nearly dead.

“be quick * * you * * he is out now.

“he is out now so be quick fanny as * * * let us have a look at you.

“Will you send me a shilling or two and a drope and keep very quiet, be quick.

“Give it to me up in the garret but don’t talk for fear he is not going only his sister is coming, love to all.

“I will write you a note when I can perhaps to-morrow. You can give me something as a present if you like but I dont want to be covetous and take them from your wife and daughter.

“Mrs. Norton is raising hell about what I * * * * Could you settle it and send me a print that is I have and * * * * her to let me have a pint.

… he is gone out come now for I must have a drink.

“After he is going out I won’t go if I can help it so see for Janey.

“I have just run out of writing paper excuse the envelope. Many thanks for my book, don’t mind framing the picture, let them have it without, as I have nothing to say in the matter. I will thank your wife as soon as I get a chance to see her for her kind present, tell her so, with my love. I was very sorry to hear your quarling, hope it is all settled now――and * * * * having to hear the readings you should be quiet. You have a good wife, be kind to her. This was written yesterday, but could not see you.

“He won’t say when he is going. Not to-day anyhow he is not very well. I will write you when I have a chance and put you in the work * * * *

“He only went for tobacco and he has not been out. I shall tell you when he does. You must not say I am Dr. when I am not for I don’t thank you for you form that opinion. I shall go to Ireland if you don’t be―――― I am washing to-day, so he won’t be out perhaps. Get me paper. Love.

“If you have a note for me send now while he is out, but you must not venture for he is watching, and you cant be too careful, hope your foot is better, he went to Sheffi yesterday but I could not see you anywhere were you out love to Ja.

“Have you got your handkerchief I lost mine * * pocket hank and gloves * * * * thanks for this money * * * must be careful and not show anything or I will let you starve.

“I think I will go by 9 o’clock now, you must not go by train, go by trem because he will go down with me don’t let him see anything. Meet me in the Wicker hope nothing will turn up to prevent it. Love to Janey.

“If you are not at home Janey will give you this do be careful you will get yourself into trouble about the empty house dont come until I tell you there is a man over the wall says he will give you hell now I tell you this as a friend so as you may be on the look out for your familyes.

“How well you never told that man. I looked at you out of the window. You left me to find out for myself, and would not put me on my guard, as I do yo you. Hope you won’t omit again. Don’t talk to Willie much, or give him any halfpegs. * * * * Don’t be a fool. It looks as if you want people to know the way you and――――if you are not more careful we will have to say quits. I have told you not to say anything until * * * *

“Saturday Afternoon.

“I write you these few lines to thank you for all your kindness which I shall never forget from you and your wife she is a very good one does she know you are to give me the things or not how can you keep them concealed one thing I would wish you to do is to frame his mothers photo and send it in with my music book if you please do it when he is in. Many thanks for your kind advice I hope I shall benefit by it. I shall try to do right by everyone if I can and shall always look on you as a friend, good bye I have not much time, burn this when you read it.

“Dear sir,――Are you at home or not, for I can’t see you. I looked for you yesterday, when I went to Sheffield, but could not see you, and don’t like to send if you are not in, because I know Janey have not seen you all day; but he has not been out. You are getting very with old Ned; don’t blab anything to him, for it will be all over. Never speak of me. I will not send this till I know you are at home. Hope you are well, and don’t fret; but I will give you the wink when the coast is clear; but you must not take notice till I tell you or you will make a mess of it, because he is always on the look out. Don’t know when he will go out again, but will sure tell you. Love to G―――― b――――, burn this.

OTHER MURDERS BY PEACE.

The Sheffield Telegraph stated:――“‘Peace has committed many murders; he has done more than two, yes many!’

“Such were the words which fell from the lips of one who was placed in close communication with the convict, and who occupies a position which entitles his utterance to the fullest credence. We may go further and say that there is ample testimony that Peace has indeed pursued a career even more bloodstained than has yet been made known to the public, and that could he have been prevailed upon to state the whole of the fouler crimes that he has committed, there would indeed be a category so revolting that the community would scarcely believe such outrages could have been perpetrated, and the chief actor in them have escaped so long.

“He has not alone taken human life, in order to escape arrest, but he has taken it that he might effect robbery. Peace had accomplices in these deeds. There are those living who know, not only of their execution, but also of the planning of them, and have had a hand in the foul transaction.

“A statement like the foregoing is startling, but we have good grounds for saying that subsequent events will prove the truthfulness of them. It is also stated on high authority that more than one person is in prison suffering for the misdeeds of this man.

“We announced on the 11th instant that Peace had told his family on the previous day that one young man had already served seven years in penal servitude, having been respited after being condemned to death for wilful murder.

“We are told that Peace still holds to the statement, and says he will give such evidence as will clear the man. He gives further a strong intimation that he himself did the deed. The murder was committed at the close of 1871 or in 1872.

“We are also informed that on one occasion Peace premeditated a jewellery robbery in Chelsea, and that in order to carry it out he associated himself with a female paramour, who obeyed his instructions. This woman of set purpose sought the friendship of the jeweller, and became intimate with him, and on the night of the burglary assisted the chief actor in it.

“The jeweller offered a resistance, and was murdered, no person ever being convicted of the crime. The authorities are already using every means at their disposal for the discovery of Peace’s principal movements during the past three years, and the recovery of some of the property stolen might lead to results of enormous consequence as affecting this revelation. There is now proof in hand that it was not with the bullet alone that Peace sent some of his victims on their last journey.

“It will be remembered that, when he was finally captured, a large knife was found in his possession, but on that occasion he never had the opportunity of using it. However, information has been given that on another occasion, whilst he was engaged in committing a robbery, he was surprised by a man, when he drew a knife from the pocket where he always kept it and stabbed his would-be captor.

“After that he gave the poor fellow a heavy downward blow with the weapon, and inflicted a wound from which the bowels protruded, and which ultimately caused the death of the victim. We have ground for stating also that more than one of his victims has been thrown into the Thames, although the murders have not taken place on its banks, if near to them.

“The convict has made use of certain expressions which leave no doubt that the worst part of his criminal career dates more than ten years back, probably fifteen, and though he is reticent on this point, it is believed that one of the greatest reasons for his disquietude of mind is the knowledge that more than one has suffered innocently because of his misdeeds.

“He has yet to state, should he carry out the intentions he has expressed, whether or not anyone has suffered on the gallows for murder done by him, and from the peculiar manner in which he has dealt with this subject it is feared that such is the case.

“It is thought also that the convict will throw some light on several tragedies in which he had not been personally concerned, but of which he has had a guilty knowledge. Should he do so――and it is a certainty he can if he likes――more tales of horror will be revealed, and some who are at liberty now will have to succumb to their merited fate.

“Allusion was made to the fact that Peace had accomplices in his crimes, and that they had a guilty knowledge of murder and of robberies which he committed. He has, however, gone even further.

“This week he made use of these extraordinary words: ‘Yes, it was known what I was doing and what I have done, and before I die I will tell something and prove it too, which will show who knew.

“‘Before I die I will make a revelation which will show what one man is, and it will place in the dock a man who occupies a far higher post than ever Micklejohn or Druscovitoh did. Palmer never did anything like it.’

“Beyond the facts above recorded, we have further ground for saying that Peace was concerned in the Portland-street murder, London, when it will be remembered that a French lady, named Madame Riel, was found lying in a cupboard in her house having had her brains half knocked out. The unfortunate woman had also a thick rope entwined round her neck.

“The murder had been committed in the coal cellar, and the lady had been dragged upstairs to the cupboard, where her body lay all day, until it was found by her daughter and others.

“The cook, a Frenchwoman, absconded to Paris with some of Madame Riel’s diamonds, and was apprehended in St. Denis by Druscovitch, the London detective, and some of the French gendarmerie.

“It then transpired that she had not committed the murder of her mistress alone, but was helped by more than one.

“Before the day of his execution, it is confidently believed that he will make such disclosures as will throw even the above revolting confessions into the shade.”

The Manchester Evening News is responsible for the following story, which, whatever may be said of the facts it narrates, either does not relate to Peace, or is altogether mistaken as to time. Four years ago Peace, as is perfectly well known, was living in Scotland-street, whence, in the beginning of 1875, he removed to Darnall.

We have previously stated that when the transference of his picture-frame making business from Kenyon-alley to West-street proved a failure, he and his family went to live in Manchester, but that was in 1866, and he had not been there a fortnight before he was caught robbing a house, and was sentenced to eight years’ penal servitude:――

“As our readers are well aware, Charles Peace, the man condemned to death for the Bannercross murder, on more than one occasion plied his many vocations in Manchester and the neighbourhood. From inquiries made in Levenshulme, it transpires that the notorious criminal resided in that pleasant suburb about four years ago.

“He stayed there only three months, and after he left the many freaks he committed gradually faded from the memory of the local residents. However, not many days ago a policeman took a photograph of Peace to the locality, and many tradesmen at once recognised him as the man who had formerly lived amongst them. In fact, he had for the time been quite a favourite in the district, and was well known to most of the inhabitants.

“He rented a small detached house called ‘Olave Cottage,’ in Rushford Park, which he had fairly well furnished. He gave his name as ‘Mr. Thompson,’ and he was accompanied by a woman who is supposed to be Mrs. Peace.

“He was never idle and always had some project on foot. He was constantly painting his cottage, and he took such trouble with the work that the neighbours took it for granted that he meant to remain there at least for some years.

“He was very affable and obliging to everybody, and was, until he decamped without paying his accounts, a great favourite with the tradesmen. To ladies he was especially polite and attentive. To every woman he met in a shop, he said, ‘good morning’ in the most agreeable tones, but usually accompanied his attentions by a wink at the shopman. He obtained considerable notoriety by his skill in contorting his features and assuming the appearance of a cripple. Subsequently he was known to have been the ‘Burnage Bogie,’ an apparition that had scared many people in Burnage-lane, and made numerous folks afraid to use that thoroughfare after nightfall.

At the same time it is somewhat novel to learn that he was never suspected of committing any robbery, nor has it been proved that he gave effect to his thieving propensity in the neighbourhood. If he did carry on any ‘business’ of that nature he certainly was never mistrusted on that ground, and even now not the slightest accusation is made against him on that score.

“Ostensibly he earned his livelihood as an acrobat, and was, we are informed, engaged at the Abbey Hey Grounds. In this capacity he was considered to be exceedingly clever, and our informant assures us that he could throw fifty-six pound weights about like pounds of sugar. He likewise performed publicly on the violin, and was regarded by the frequenters of the grounds as an able musician.

“As we have said, he was much esteemed whilst he lived as Levenshulme, owing chiefly to his unbounded spirits and his witticisms. He was respected as an honest, straightforward man, and no one anticipated that he would disappear so suddenly without paying sundry bills, and least of all was it thought that he would turn out to be one of the most remarkable criminals with which this country has become acquainted for many years.”

PEACE’S AGE.

One of the most curious things about the personality of Peace is the conflict between his appearance and his age. He has been almost invariably spoken of as an old man, and no one seeing him could for a moment suppose that the age we have previously given, on the authority of the police notice issued after the Bannercross affair, is the correct one. That notice spoke of him as then forty-six years of age, but as looking ten years older. We have reason to believe that he is even now (two years afterwards) only forty-six, and will not be forty-seven until May next. He was born on the 14th of May, 1832, and it may, perhaps, be a convenience if we give the cardinal points of his career in brief chronological form:――

1832. May 14.――Born in Nursery-street. 1846. ” Injured at Kelham Mills. ” to 1848.――Two years’ illness. 1848 to 1851.――Employed by Mr. Edward Smith and in learning to play the violin. 1851. Oct. 26.――Robs Mrs. Ward’s house. ” Dec. 13.――Sentenced to one month’s imprisonment; age nineteen. ” to 1854.――Playing the violin at publichouses, &c. 1854. Sep. 7.――Robs Crookesmoor House. ” Sep. 20.――Robs Mr. Stuart’s house, Brincliffe, and many similar robberies about the same time. 1854. Oct. 20 } to } Four year’s penal servitude; age 22. 1858. } 1858 or 1859.――Marries Hannah Ward. 1859 Nov. 29 } Daughter, Jane Ann, born. or 30.} 1859. Aug. 11,} to } Penal servitude; age 27. 1864, June. } 1864 to 1866.――Picture-frame maker in Kenyon-alley and West-street. 1866. Dec. 3, } to } Penal servitude; age 34. 1872, Aug. 8. } 1872 to 1875.――Picture-frame maker, in Brocco and Scotland-street. 1875, to Aug.,} Picture-frame maker at Darnall. 1876. } 1876. Aug. to } Provision shopkeeper, in Hull. Nov. } 1876. Nov. 14.――Leaves Hull suddenly. 1876. Nov. 29.――Shoots Mr. Dyson. 1876 to 1878.――Committing constant robberies at Nottingham, Hull, Lambeth, Greenwich, and Peckham. 1878. Oct. 10.――Captured by Police-constable Robinson while committing a burglary; gives name of John Ward. ” Nov. 6.――Identified in Newgate as Charles Peace. ” Nov. 19.――Penal servitude for life; age forty-six. 1879. Jan. 22.――Attempts to commit suicide by leaping from train. ” Jan. 24.――Committed for trial on a charge of wilful murder.

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CLXXI. EVENTS BEFORE THE EXECUTION――LETTER FROM THE HABRONS

On Monday, February 24th, Mrs. Peace, Willie Ward, and Mr. and Mrs. Bolsover went to Leeds and had a final interview with Peace in his condemned cell in Armley Gaol.

It was their intention when they went on Friday to have taken their leave of him for ever in this world; but he begged of them to come again on Monday, so that they might be the last of his relatives he would see before he was executed, and they promised him that they would do so.

They left Sheffield by the 10.50 train, and on arriving at Leeds they went to the Town Hall, where they found the orders ready for them to admit them to Armley. They got there soon after one o’clock, and after waiting for a short time they were conducted to the cell of the condemned man.

Peace was up and sitting at his little table writing a letter. He appeared better and more cheerful than he had been, although he complained of being very weak, and of suffering much pain, especially in his head.

When the chief warder conducted the party into the barred portion of the cell he called out, “Visitors, Peace!” The convict looked round and gave them a smile of recognition.

The two warders, who were in the cell with him, lifted him up――one taking hold of each arm, and then his chair was removed so close to the bars that when Peace was placed in it again he was able to rest his hand upon them.

Two chairs were then placed for the accommodation of Mrs. Peace and Mrs. Bolsover, and the two men were allowed to occupy the little seat that is always there. These were attentions that had not been shown to visitors on former occasions.

Peace was the first to speak, and beginning with his wife he addressed each by name, and asked how they were. Seeing that they were scarcely able to suppress their feelings, and to reply to him, he told them he hoped they would restrain their grief, or it would upset him. At present he said he felt very happy, and he did not want to be disturbed.

He then informed them that Messrs. Ford and Warren, solicitors, had been instructed to prepare another will and deed of gift, and that everything necessary had now been done to ensure their obtaining possession of whatever property he had.

They would now have no difficulty in claiming all he had possessed wherever they found it.

He next told them that Mr. Brion had been to see him, and had acknowledged to having in his custody their drawing-room suite, the model boat and case, cockatoo and cage, and that he would give them up to whoever might be legally entitled to receive them.

The chaplain and the warders had heard that statement and would corroborate it if necessary.

The goods were made over to Willie and Mrs. Bolsover, and he told them what he should like each to have; and how they were to proceed to recover the things.

While conversing on this point reference was made to Mrs. Thompson, and Peace said he wished her well, but he was afraid she was going the wrong road. It was his belief that the best that could be done for her would be to place her in a prison or a reformatory for a short time, so as to break her off her intense craving for drink. He was afraid she would make away with herself.

On one occasion, when living at Peckham, Mrs. Thompson attempted to strangle herself, and Peace then told her he “would rather die on the scaffold than live the life they were living.” He now said he little thought when he made that remark that he should die on the scaffold.

Speaking of the articles he possessed when he was at Peckham, he said there was his small monument which was missing, the larger monument they had now at Darnall, the model boat, and his fiddle walking stick――four of about as well made and curious things as could be seen anywhere.

The fiddle is a hollow bamboo cane, to which a tail piece, bridge, and screws can be attached, and then it can be played upon. Peace has played upon it many a time.

He told his friends if they could collect these four articles and have them exhibited at some music-hall in Sheffield as curiosities which had belonged to him, they might make money out of them.

Peace then alluded to the interview he had with the Rev. Mr. Littlewood, vicar of Darnall, and said he believed he had convinced that gentleman that it was really not him that stole the clock from Darnall schoolroom.

Mr. Littlewood had written to him for information about robberies which had been committed at Darnall and the neighbourhood, and he had replied to him, telling him that he never did a robbery at Darnall, Hardsworth, or any other place nearer than Sheffield.

Mr. Brion had asked him to send him a letter from the scaffold, and he had promised to do so, but he had not then had time to write it.

He said for several days he had done nothing else but write to his relatives and friends. He had got nearly all the letters ready, and he intended to take them with him to the scaffold.

“You know,” he said, “my hands will be fastened behind me before I leave my cell, but I shall hold the letters, and when I reach the scaffold I shall ask the chaplain to take them out of my hand and to post them to you.”

At this stage of the interview the sound of men hammering reached the cell. Peace listened for a moment, and then said, “That’s a noise that would make some men fall on the floor! I hear they are working at my own scaffold. I have heard them before this morning.”

The chief warder made answer, “You are mistaken, Peace; it is nothing of the sort.”

Peace: No I am not. I have not worked so long with wood without knowing the sound of deals; and they don’t have deals inside a prison for anything else than for scaffolds. I have heard them knocking the nails in, and I am sure I am right.

But (continued he), it does not matter much; it makes no difference to me. I should like to see my own coffin, and my own grave. It would not make the slightest difference to me, because I am prepared. I only look upon the scaffold as a short cut to Heaven. Alluding to the manner in which he would be buried, he said: I shall be thrown into my grave like a dog; but it won’t matter; it will only be my poor body that will be there. My soul, I believe, will be in Heaven.

Peace then told his friends that he had received a letter from the father and mother of young William Habron, who was undergoing a sentence of penal servitude for life, for the murder of Police-constable Cock, asking him if he really had made a confession, and whether there was any probability of their son returning home to them.

Peace said he had written back to them at Manchester telling them that he had made a full confession of the murder, had drawn plans of the place where it occurred, and had sent them to the Home Secretary. He further told them that if their son had justice done to him he would be set at liberty.

Indeed he had no doubt that he would he restored to them.

He said he had asked the father and mother to forgive him for the great wrong he had done them, and had begged of them to ask their son when he came home to forgive him as well. He should be dead then; but he hoped to have the forgiveness of them all.

Since he had confessed to the crime he had been much happier than he was before; and he hoped his confession would be believed.

Suddenly arousing himself the convict said, “I have a good thing to tell you;” and he proceeded to relate the following remarkable incident:――

He said, “You have often heard ministers and others speak of the value of a soul and what sacrifices they would make to be the means of the conversion of one soul. I believe that, base and bad as I am, I have been the means of the conversion of one man. It occurred when I was brought down from Pentonville to Sheffield on the first occasion to be tried.

“There was a traveller to Manchester in the same train, and when we reached Sheffield he left his carriage and came out of mere curiosity to see me taken by the warders from the train to the cab.

“He went back to his carriage very much impressed with what he had seen of me and heard about me, and began to think about his own past life, and where such a life was likely to lead him. He could not shake off the feelings that had taken possession of him; he began to pray, and has since become a Christian.

“He has written to the chaplain, telling him all the story, and assuring him that through me he had believed, and had found salvation. He asked the chaplain if the prison rules would allow of it, to bring his letter and read it to me, and he has done so.

“Who would have thought,” repeated Peace, “that a bad, base man as I am should have been the means of the conversion of anybody? There is just that one good thing I have done, at any rate.”

Peace then told them that he had received letters from several persons whose houses he had robbed, telling him that they forgave him, and that they were praying for him.

The recollection of such unexpected kindness seemed to quite overpower the convict, and he displayed more feeling than he had done throughout.

[Sidenote: No. 98.]

Commencing with his daughter, he asked each separately whether there was anything either wanted to ask him or to say to him. They were too much overcome to reply to him for a while; but presently Mrs. Peace said they had plenty to say to him, but not then.

He begged of her not to break down, and reminded her that that was the last time she would have an opportunity of speaking to him on this side of the grave.

He again asked her what she wished to say, and she reminded him that when there before he promised to pray with them when they came that day. He replied, “So I will.”

The warders assisted him to kneel, and his friends knelt with him, and more than half an hour he prayed with them. He remembered each of them separately, and was especially earnest in his petitions for the little babe that his daughter had with her.

He then prayed for young Habron, and asked that his innocence might be proved; and he prayed for Habron’s father and mother.

With a choking voice, almost drowned by the sobs of his relatives, he prayed for the two men he had murdered, and for the relatives they had left behind; and, in conclusion, he prayed long and earnestly for himself that his sins might be forgiven him, and that he might meet them all in heaven.

There was not much more conversation when Peace and his friends rose from their knees, and then came the moment when the final separation had to take place.

For the first time since he was sentenced to death Peace was allowed to shake hands with his family.

Taking the hand of each in turn he held it for several minutes while he blessed them, and prayed for them, and then kissed their hands.

When he saw the great distress of his wife and children, he broke down himself, and the last few moments they were altogether were truly sorrowful moments for them all.

Then they were conducted from the cell, and the interview, which had lasted nearly three hours, terminated.

The relatives came away with the belief that Peace had committed no other great crimes, or he would have confessed them.

FINAL INTERVIEW WITH HIS BROTHER AND OTHER RELATIVES.

On Saturday, Dan Peace, his wife, John Peace, and Ellen Peace, their son and daughter, and Tom Neil, a relative, had their final interview with him in Armley Gaol.

Cheerful, and apparently unconcerned at his fate hitherto, the condemned man, knowing that he was speaking to his brother and those who accompanied him for the last time, lost his old buoyancy of spirits, and, although he did not seem at all alarmed at the end awaiting him, appeared very much depressed in mind, and manifested considerable emotion.

His brother, Dan Peace, and the other relatives mentioned, were with him nearly two hours. The invitation was extended also to Mary Ann Neil, but she was not present at the gaol, as she did not arrive in Leeds in time for the interview.

The party had been specially invited by Peace, so that he could bid them farewell. They found the convict lying down, but as soon as he saw his brother, and the rest of the party, he struggled to raise himself to a sitting posture.

Finding it difficult to do this, he asked the warders to raise him.

The two warders, each getting on one side of the condemned man, took him by the arms, and lifted him up. So weak was he that even this alteration of position seemed to exhaust him, and, according to his brother Dan, he was “a pale, wretched, haggard man altogether,” almost feeble as a child.

In answer to his brother, who asked, “How are you?” he replied, “I am very, very ill, and very, very weak.” And in the opinion of his relatives he certainly spoke the truth, for they affirm that he was very much weaker than he had ever previously appeared.

His head was still bandaged, and he told them that although the authorities were taking every possible care of him it seemed impossible to stop the discharge from his wound, and that he felt very weak and depressed in consequence.

Suffering much physically, and the subject of much mental depression, he nevertheless made a great effort to welcome his brother and relatives cordially.

“I am very glad to see you,” he said, and then remarked that he had also invited two friends――George Goodlad, and Arthur Cragg――to see him.

Being asked why they were not present, he said he had discovered that none but his own relatives could be admitted to the gaol.

He regretted this very much, and said he had got into some little trouble by persisting in asking to see these two friends.

He admitted now, however, that he had really no right to expect their admission; yet, at the same time he stated that he was very, very sorry he should not be allowed to see them; and, whilst speaking about his acquaintance with them, and the improbability of meeting them again on this side the grave, betrayed great emotion. “Give them my kind love,” he said, “and tell them that I hope God will bless them, and that I shall meet them in heaven.”

During the interview he became utterly exhausted, and was compelled to cease from speaking altogether for a few minutes; and even when he was able to converse, it was in such a low tone that his words were almost inaudible to his friends, although they were only a few feet away from him.

Dan said he understood that his brother was going to send them all a farewell letter. Peace replied that it was his intention to do so.

He was going to write several letters, take them to the scaffold with him, and on arriving there he should seal them up and hand them to the chaplain, with the request that he would gratify him by sending them to his friends by as early a post as he could after the execution was over.

He hoped, he said, that the letters would be delivered by the same evening’s post, and then his relatives would have, before the day was over, his last thoughts about them.

The convict then went on to speak about his execution, mentioning details that made some of his relatives shudder, and all of them to grow sad.

He said: I am to die precisely at eight o’clock――so you will know when it is all over with me. After I am dead they will hold an inquest on my body, and I shall be buried, I expect about four o’clock in the afternoon.

Here he paused for a few minutes, partly because he seemed to be exhausted, and partly because he was overcome by his own feelings.

His relatives, seeing the distressed state he was in, broke down utterly, and for some little time there was nothing to be heard but their sobs.

Peace was the first to recover himself, and going on to speak of what would be done on Tuesday, he said: I shall be buried in my clothes, just as I am. They might, however, change my shirt, or something like that.

Then, again giving way and betraying more feeling than could possibly have been expected in a man who had led the life he had led, and committed the crimes to which he had confessed, he said: I shall be thrown into my grave, and there will be no service read over me; no sermon preached; nothing of that sort.

He again seemed exhausted and stopped speaking, and his relatives could only look at him and weep.

Peace after awhile aroused himself again, and alluding to the men he had murdered and the robberies he had committed, he said: I wish it was in my power to restore them to life, and to replace all the property I have stolen; but, he added, that can never be.

His relatives asked him if he had any wish that they could carry out, or anything that they could do to please him?

Peace replied with more animation than he had shown so far during the interview: Yes, there is one thing you can do, and I wish you would do it.

I want you on the day of my execution to go to the cemetery and plant a flower or a little tree on my mother’s grave and on another grave that he named, and then when you see them think of me, and where I am, and where I am buried.

His relatives promised him that his wish in this respect should be gratified, and he seemed much pleased.

Peace, referring again to his execution, said he did hope he should have strength to walk to the scaffold, but he was afraid he should not be able to do so――he was so very weak.

Dan replied: Yes; I should like thee to be able to walk. Stand it like a man!

Peace answered with much show of feeling――Dan, thee knows I shall do that if I can.

Dan afterwards asked him why he jumped out of the train when coming from London to Sheffield; and he repeated what he had said before, that he wanted to commit suicide.

He said he neither wanted to spend his life in prison and then die there; nor to pass through what he had had to pass through since. He thought if he had killed himself then he might have been buried amongst his friends at Darnall.

Much of the convict’s conversation during the interview was on religious topics. He said he wished he could speak to all his friends, and then he would entreat them never to enter a public-house, or to gamble, or go to handicaps.

He made a personal appeal to Dan, and begged of him to change his mode of life and to become a good man; or as he put it “to become religious.” In this strain he talked for a long time; at intervals resting from sheer exhaustion, and then going on again.

Much of what he said, however, they could not hear, he spoke in so low a tone of voice. He made no further reference to either of the murders he had committed.

When the time came for the interview to terminate not only the condemned man, but Dan and all his friends were much affected, and as may be imagined the final farewell was a very sorrowful scene.

His last utterances to them were kind remembrances to George Goodlad and Cragg, and a promise that he would write to them both.

The relatives left the cell, feeling that they had indeed taken leave of a “poor, wretched, haggard man.”

As the party were returning from Armley to Leeds they were accosted by Mrs. Brion and Mrs. Thompson who were urgent in their inquiries as to what had passed between them and “Dear Jack.”

Dan, we understand, took no notice of them; but the others conversed with the two women a short time. They were much impressed with Mrs. Thompson, and greatly astonished that she should ever have taken up with a man like him.

PEACE AS A PUBLIC PERFORMER.

An Ashton-under-Lyne correspondent telegraphs:――It is a well-known fact that Peace on more than one occasion plied his many vocations in Manchester and the neighbouring towns.

From inquiries made in Levenshulme it transpires that the notorious criminal resided in that suburb about four years ago.

He stayed there only four months, and after he left the local residents thought little more about him.

A day or two ago, however, a policeman took a photograph of Peace to the locality, and many tradesmen at once recognised the portrait as that of the man who had formerly lived among them, and for a time had been quite a favourite in the district.

He rented a small detached house called Olive-cottage, in Rushford-road Park, which he fairly well furnished.

He gave his name as Thompson, and he was accompanied by a woman supposed to have been Mrs. Peace.

He was never idle, and always had some project on foot. He was constantly painting his cottage, and took such trouble with the work that the neighbours took it for granted that he meant to remain there for some years.

He was very affable and obliging to everybody, and was, until he decamped without paying his accounts, a great favourite with the tradesmen.

To ladies he was especially polite and attentive, indeed almost too much so, for if he met a woman in a shop he would say “Good morning” in an agreeable tone, but usually accompanied his salutation by a wink at the shopman.

He obtained considerable notoriety by his skill in contorting his features and assuming the appearance of a cripple. Subsequently he was known to have been the “Burnage bogie,” an apparition that had scared many people in Burnage-lane, and made folks afraid to use the thoroughfare after nightfall.

At the same time it is remarkable that he was never suspected of committing any robbery, nor has it been proved that he gave effect to his thievish prospensity in the neighbourhood.

Ostensibly he earned his livelihood as an acrobat, and was engaged at the Abbey Hey Park in this capacity.

He was considered exceedingly clever, and it is stated that he could throw half-hundred weights about like pounds of sugar.

He likewise performed publicly on the violin, and was regarded by frequenters of the grounds as an able musician.

A Bristol gentleman who was staying with Mr. Plimsoll, M.P., at the time Peace called upon him to submit plans for raising sunken vessels, said that these plans were introduced as a grand scheme for raising the “Vanguard,” “Captain,” and “Eurydice.”

The stranger wished Mr. Plimsoll to introduce him to the First Lord of the Admiralty, and Mr. Samuda and Mr. Reed.

Mr. Plimsoll declined, desiring him, if he wished to communicate further with him, to do so in writing through his visitor from Bristol.

That gentleman afterwards received letters asking to be supplied with the names of the owners of any sunken vessels in the Bristol Channel or on the western coastline.

The writer was informed of the wreck on the Hook Sands of a Greek brig, for which the owner wanted £50. He thereupon asked Mr. Plimsoll’s Bristol friend to pay the £50, assuring him that the money would be refunded; but, as may be supposed, asked in vain.

The Ashton-under-Lyne correspondent of the Central News wrote:――“From inquiries made in Levenshulme it transpires that Peace, about four years ago, came to reside in that place, but stayed only three months.

“He had been forgotten, but several of the inhabitants, on seeing a portrait of the convict a day or two ago, recognised in him their neighbour, Mr. Thompson, who resided in a small detached house called Olive-cottage, in Rushford-road Park.

“He lived with a woman who is supposed to have been Mrs. Peace, and, being always affable and obliging, was a great favourite until he decamped without paying his accounts.

“He was never suspected of robbery, but in consequence of fancied apparations the people of the neighbourhood were afraid to use the thoroughfare close to his house after dark. He ostensibly earned his livelihood as an acrobat, and was considered extremely clever in this direction.”

Peace’s will was drawn by Deputy-Sheriff Ford, member of a local firm of solicitors.

It extended to but four or five lines, and bequeathe property to Hannah Ward, or Peace, his wife.

The text was not to be published until the day of his execution. In regard to the former will he made bequeathing everything to Mrs. Thompson, the latter’s sister, it is said, burnt the document.

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CLXXII. THE EXECUTION OF CHARLES PEACE

On Tuesday, Feb. 25th, 1879, Peace was executed within the walls of Armley Gaol, Leeds, at eight o’clock in the morning. The convict had a short sleep just after eleven o’clock the night before. At half-past eleven the Governor of the Gaol (Mr. Keene) visited him and remained with him until twenty minutes past one. Immediately after the Governor left, the chaplain, the Rev. O. Cookson, came.

As Peace seemed drowsy and inclined for sleep, the chaplain retired. At two o’clock Peace slept calmly and soundly until a quarter to six next morning, when the chaplain again joined him.

Shortly afterwards he breakfasted, and was able to take a hearty meal of toast, bacon, and eggs and tea.

He had eaten well all throughout, especially during the previous few days, and had apparently become much stronger.

Between seven and eight o’clock a number of people began to assemble outside the prison walls. At first their numbers were not large, but as eight o’clock neared their strength increased largely.

The reporters arrived about seven o’clock; only four were present. They were conducted by two warders from the entrance office to the scaffold, which was erected on the west side of the prison, in an angle of the hospital, which stands apart from the prison.

Up to that time the morning had been clear and fair, but about ten minutes to eight there was a slight fall of snow, which did not last long. At a quarter to eight the prison bell began to toll, and continued tolling until a quarter past eight.

The scaffold was only within view from the western end of the corridor, at the other extremity of which the condemned cell is situated. The prisoners in this part of the prison were removed to another part of the building, in order that they might not witness the execution.

About five minutes to eight o’clock a procession emerged into the yard, taking a winding course to the prison wall to the scaffold.

First came the Under-Sheriff, Mr. Gray, and the governor of the gaol, Mr. Keene, bearing rods of office, then followed the chaplain in his canonicals, reading the Burial Service, but he selected passages from the Scriptures which form the usual service at the gaol on such occasions. Immediately behind Mr. Cookson came the prisoner. He was supported by two warders, and behind came Marwood.

As at the trial, he was dressed in yellowish drab, the Pentonville convict suit. His arms were pinioned. His step was weak and feeble, but he required less support than could have been anticipated.

There was no sign of terror or breaking down. He was very pale, but in his general appearance little altered from that which he presented when in the dock on his trial.

If anything, he looked in better health than at that time. Instead of looking on the ground and gazing vacantly, he peered round, as if looking for someone. The object of that was, perhaps, explained by what took place afterwards. The procession was brought up by six or eight warders.

Beyond the persons already enumerated and Mr. Price, the prison surgeon, no one else was present. The prisoner ascended the scaffold with a comparatively firm tread, although he had to be assisted up the steps. He was placed upon the drop with his head forward towards the spectators.

Whilst Marwood was tying his feet, the chaplain continued reading selected portions of the Scripture. The prisoner also kept repeating, “God, have mercy upon me! Christ, have mercy on me!”

As Marwood, who stood behind the culprit, was preparing the cap to pull over his face, the convict evinced slight signs of irritation at the unexpected haste, and again signified his wish to speak.

A brief space was accordingly allowed; and looking round amongst the small company before him, he addressed them in a clear, firm voice, the tones of which must have been heard outside the prison walls. He said――

“You gentlemen reporters, I wish you to notice the few words I am going to say. You know what my life has been. It has been base; and had I wished to ask the world, after you have seen my death, what man could die as I die if he did not die in the fear of the Lord.

“Tell all my friends that I feel sure that they sincerely forgive me, and that I am going into the Kingdom of Heaven, or else to that place prepared for us to rest until the day of judgment.

“I have no enemies that I feel to have on this earth. I wish all my enemies, or those that would be so, I wish them well; I wish them to come to the Kingdom of Heaven at last.

“And now, to one and all, I say, good-bye; Heaven bless you, and may you all come to the Kingdom of Heaven at last. Amen.

“Say that my last respects is to my dear children and to their dear mother. I hope that no paper will disgrace itself by taunting them and jeering them on my account, but will have mercy upon them. God bless you, my children; my children each good-bye, and Heaven bless you. Good-bye and Amen.”

After the convict had thus delivered himself, Marwood drew the white cap over his face; and, whilst this was being done, Peace turned his head slightly towards the executioner, and said――

“I should like to have a drink. Have you a cup of water you could give me?”

No attention was paid to this request, and Marwood proceeded with his duty.

From beneath the cap, however, the voice of the culprit was again heard: “May I not have a drink?” and again, as the rope was being adjusted to his neck, he exclaimed: “Oh! that’s too tight.”

The voice of the chaplain was then heard saying: “In the midst of life we are in death. Of whom may we seek succour but of Thee, O Lord, who for our sins are justly displeased?”

Then was uttered the commendation: “Into thy hands, O Lord, we commend this soul, now about to depart from the body. Lord Jesus receive his spirit. Amen.”

As those words were being uttered Marwood stepped forward and drew the bolt. The drop fell and the body disappeared. There was a distinct thud, but not the slightest quivering of the rope, and Mr. Price, the surgeon, said death must have been instantaneous.

The drop was 9 ft. 4 in. long. It was about four minutes past eight when the execution took place, and the black flag was immediately hoisted from the prison tower as an indication to the crowd outside that all was over.

Those who had been much with Peace during the last few days said that the speech from the scaffold was not altogether unexpected by them, because the convict was a man who talked much.

What he said during the previous few days was fully in keeping with what he said on the scaffold, and they believed what he said, and died penitent.

No confession was handed to any of the prison officials, and they had nothing to communicate except what had already been mentioned in the public press relating to the Whalley Range murder, the documents relative to which had been forwarded to the Home Office.

ANOTHER ACCOUNT.

The Press Association correspondent gave the following account:――One of the most extraordinary criminals reaped his well-merited reward at the hands of the common hangman at Armley gaol.

It is unnecessary to name the culprit, for the name of Peace has been before the public every morning for two or three months.

When on his trial, and as the curtain lifted from his life, he has gloated over his exploits, and notwithstanding his profession of penitence, few would doubt that if he had been left free he would have pursued the same murderous course.

There was a mingling with wonder and horror that a man who robbed houses two or three times a night, and for months successively in the districts where he prowled around as burglar, should have escaped the police; should have carried off his booty and sold it; should have passed as a respectable man in the neighbourhoods where he lived, and even palmed himself off as one interested in science.

Touching appeals to the reporters from the scaffold and the whining imploring way in which he begged Marwood to wait a bit when the noose was being adjusted, showed that he was wanting in courage.

One can hardly conceive that any man could really pity that monster of iniquity, who had lived in robbery through his life, and who had not scrupled, when interfered with in his nefarious deeds, to use his revolver in shooting down whomsoever he might chance to encounter.

He shot the policeman at Blackheath, he shot Constable Cock, at Manchester, and actually attended the trial and conviction of another man for the murder, whose sentence, however, was providentially commuted, and shortly after this he shot Mr. Dyson in as cold-blooded a murder as has ever been revealed, and, further, he was guilty of attempting to slur with dishonour the wife of the man he murdered. After his conviction he was removed from Wakefield to Armley gaol for greater security. The prison was considered by Lieutenant-Colonel Jebb, inspector of prisons, as the best and most substantial of its kind in the kingdom. It lies to the west of Leeds, about a mile and a half from the chief seat of the cloth trade. It is an imposing castellated stone structure, and its walls and towers are blackened with smoke from the neighbouring chimneys.

Standing on the crest of a ridge overlooking the valley of the Aire, it has at its base the Midland and Great Northern lines, and the Aire flowing sluggishly along, and viewed from its front or eastern side Leeds assumes a horseshoe shape, with its smoky chimneys, and to the north-west lies to the famous Kirkstall Abbey.

The prison is a conspicuous object for many miles around. It is worked on the silent system, and each prisoner has his or her work to do at the invisible results of the crank, or in making cocoa-matting, or in picking oakum.

It has four wings, which radiate from a common centre, and there is an exercising ground situate between each of the wings.

They are two stories in height, and they have cells underneath where prisoners are put on bread and water for punishment. It was built in 1847, and for many years Mr. Keene had been the governor.

In the murderer’s cell of the prison, situate on the first floor of the wing radiating to the north-west, Peace had been kept in close confinement ever since January 29.

He was closely watched by the warders with a ceaseless vigilance from the day of his sentence up to the time of his execution.

His relatives were never allowed to pass the part of the prison room partitioned off with a few iron railings extending from the floor to the ceiling. His cell, including the part so partitioned off, was not more than six yards square, and visiting it a few minutes after Peace left it for the last time, one must have thought the warders, the chaplain, and the governor would be glad that their unceasing vigilance was at an end.

It contained a bed, a table, and two stools near the table fastened tightly to the ground, and here it was that two warders were at all times in attendance――the one sitting and the other patrolling, with the convict always in between them.

The guard was relieved about every three hours.

The room was only dimly lighted by two slits in the stone, opening into the courtyard, and about twenty yards from the scaffold which Peace must have known was being knocked together for him when the workmen were busy with it.

He had two rugs and two blankets on his camp bedstead, and here it is well to say that the reports about his not taking food were erroneous, for he always took kindly to whatever was provided for him.

It was feared that because he had made the desperate attempt to jump out of the express train that he would commit suicide, if he had a chance, in his cell.

The governor, however, whilst enforcing every precaution to prevent the convict succeeding in any attempt upon his life, considered that the criminal had not sufficient courage to do that, and certainly his conduct on the gallows corroborated that view.

He professed resignation and submissiveness, but these were not to be relied upon. His whole life had been a lie.

Often as he had been in prison (from 1854 to 1858, from 1859 to 1864, and from 1866 to 1872), he had conducted himself with such propriety as to earn the rewards of docility to gaol discipline, and the consequent shortening of his sentence.

But the moment he was freed confinement he plunged again into the desperate courses of a criminal career, stopping at nothing, not even at murder, to achieve his purpose of robbery.

He appeared cheerful and resolute, not in the demeanour of bravado, but in that of absolute submission to what he had felt, from the moment the death sentence was passed, could not be averted by any accident of fortune or intercession of clemency.

The chaplain (the Rev. Mr. Oswald Cookson, M.A.) prayed with Peace daily, and gradually the culprit appeared to follow the prayers, for within the last few days of his life he had parted with his relations, his reputed wife, and step-son, and he had confessed the rascalities and atrocities of years of crime――from boasting of his deeds he pretended to have become penitent.

He was anxious to show that he had been pierced with contrition to such a depth as to give advice of a moral character to those who visited him. He stoutly maintained what he had said all along, that there was a struggle between him and Dyson, and that the revolver went off accidentally. The wretched man slept perfectly sound and calm on his last morning till a quarter to six, when the chaplain entered, and Peace woke up.

Devotional exercises were then engaged in for about an hour. He appeared to betray, by the fervour of his utterance to his responses to the prayers, that he feared the doom awaiting him within an hour.

This, however, did not prevent his partaking heartily of breakfast, which was now brought, consisting of eggs, slice of bacon, toast, and tea.

At a quarter to eight o’clock the prison bell began to toll with a dismal noise, and thus it continued to do till a quarter past eight o’clock.

Just then Marwood was introduced, the convict submitted to have a belt fastened round the waist tightly, and was securely attached to this belt by straps. The Under-Sheriff, Mr. William Gray, the governor, Mr. Keene, and the principal warders formed a group in the gloomy chamber, all standing in front of the criminal, who submitted passively to the pinioning process.

The death sentence was read to him, and then a procession was formed to go to the gallows. The gibbet was erected within twenty yards of the doomed man’s cell, but he was compelled to travel the whole length of the corridor, about eighty yards, and on reaching the court-yard, owing to a number of dressed stones lying about, the procession skirted the outer wall of the prison, and traversed a distance of eighty yards before reaching the gibbet.

This latter was a black grim structure, let about six feet into a hollowed out piece of ground, the platform, only six feet from the level of the courtyard, being reached by half a dozen wooden steps.

The lower part of the structure was draped in black sacking, and the whole timber framework was painted black also. To this place, at twenty minutes to eight, the Press Association reporter and three other representatives of the press, who on this occasion became officials on duty to conform with the Private Execution Act, by signing their names as witnesses of the due carrying out of the law, were escorted by an inspector of warders.

We waited for a few minutes listening for the approach of the procession, which was now in readiness to start along the corridor, and then issue from the door beyond the snow-covered stones strewed about.

The procession was to take a beaten path, which, however, was very slippery with frozen snow and ice, and we were to keep by the scaffold.

At the front of the gaol where we entered, here and there were groups of three and four people.

On learning that the hanging would take place at the other side of the building, they made a circuit of the building through the fields.

We heard a hubbub of voices, and afterwards learned that not less than 1000 people had congregated outside.

The crowd consisted of men, women, and children, and as they could not see the scaffold, all eyes were turned to the centre tower, where a person was in readiness to hoist the black flag as soon as the fate of the criminal was sealed. Policemen were stationed to keep the people from the prison walls to prevent their hearing what was taking place; but a rush was made, and they crowded round the wall, from which place they could distinctly hear the chaplain going through the burial service, and Peace making his last dying speech from the scaffold.

Inside the gaol the north wind was blowing piercingly cold. At five minutes to eight a movement was made by the warders at the entrance of Peace’s part of the building, and then issued forth the ceremonial procession in which Peace was principal actor.

First came the governor and under-sheriff abreast, carrying a white and black wand respectively, and at a few yards’ distance behind the chaplain, slightly in front of Peace, who was supported by two warders, Marwood walking after them.

The procession was closed up by a number of warders walking two abreast. Peace was uncovered, and in his prison dress. He cast his eye towards the four reporters at the farther side of the courtyard, and then his quick piercing eyes seemed to fasten upon the scaffold, at which he gave a momentary shudder.

He still kept looking towards it, and partly in consequence of this he missed his footing two or three times on the slippery and undulating pathway.

Turning to within half-a-dozen yards of the scaffold, he cast an imploring look towards the reporters, and then he was helped up the steps on to the platform, where a new 2½ in. rope was dangling in the centre overhead.

He was nervous and agitated. He stood with his hands strapped to his side, and now and then he opened and shut them with a nervous twitch.

Meanwhile the chaplain was reading the solemn burial service of the Church of England, and the governor, two warders, and the executioner Marwood took their stand round the murderer.

He looked ghastly pale; he had grown a little hair just behind his forehead, and he had a white moustache and a grey close-cropped beard.

Marwood took the rope down, and whilst the warders were placing Peace on the centre of the drop, he was keeping his eye on Marwood at his side, who seemed anxious to put the white cap over the culprit.

“Stop a minute,” said Peace; “Let me hear this.” The chaplain read on, “The Lord have mercy upon us!” to which Peace joined, “Oh God, have mercy upon me; Christ have mercy upon me!”

Marwood was about putting on the white cap, when the little nervous man excitedly turned his head to Marwood, and said: “I want to speak.”

He then addressed the reporters in a clear voice.

Marwood instantly, on the conclusion of the speech, drew the cap over Peace’s head, and finally adjusted the ring, the condemned crying out, “Almighty God, have mercy upon me!” and next ejaculated, “I should like to have a drink.”

The chaplain continued, “In the midst of life we are in death! To whom may we seek for succour but to Thee?”

Peace was trembling, and his hands were being moved nervously, when he vehemently cried out, “Can’t I have a drink? Oh, it’s too tight.”

Marwood quietly remarked, “Keep still; I won’t hurt you a bit.” The chaplain was repeating the words, “I am the Resurrection and the Life,” to which Peace responded, “God bless you――good-bye.”

Marwood stepped back, pulled a string, a bolt was removed, the platform fell, and the wretched murderer was launched into eternity. Marwood had done his work most effectively. The victim never quivered.

The bystanders looked down into the space beneath the scaffold, and then only a few officials were left on duty.

At nine o’clock he was cut down, very little altered in appearance so far as the bloodless face was concerned. The mark of the rope was clearly shown. The body was then conveyed to the deadhouse.

After the inquest the lid was adjusted to the coffin, and without mourners, without others than officials to bear the burden, the body was taken into the burial-yard of the prison, and lowered into the grave reserved for murderers.

Others are in company in the dust adjacent, who have suffered the same dread penalty and been borne to the same ignominious repose. Like others also, he had a stone erected, with his initials and date of the execution.

In his “Last hours of the Condemned,” a great Frenchman shows us, after his fashion of mingled power and fantasy, the sentenced wretch more appalled by the retrospect of an evil life than by the doom fast darkening upon him.

The interest a master of sensational phrases contrived to enlist for his subject is paralleled in actual fact by the curiosity with which the last hours of the criminal Peace were regarded.

This curiosity was not unnatural. It had been stimulated by the startling rumours which had been in circulation respecting certain confessions it was said the prisoner intended to make before he suffered.

In the old Tyburn days the great attraction of the gallows was, for many, not so much the sight of a fellow-creature dangling from a rope, as his dying speech and confession.

The British public supped full with the mere horror of executions in times when stealing from the person any trifle value for twelve pence was grand larceny, punishable by death, and offenders were turned off every day.

But there was always the prospect that the criminal would “die game”――that is, meet his end with bravado and blasphemy.

If he died penitent, he denied himself his right to address the multitude from the drop; and, whether he spoke or perished in silence, the inventive writers who purveyed the literature of the gallows made his biography their care, and hawked his miserable chronicle among the eager crowd for whom his hanging made a holiday.

The brutal longing to hear the worst and last that could be learnt of an assassin or a highwayman can no more be gratified in the old ways.

Turpin, and Duval, and Gilderoy died, in spite of the law, like heroes of romance. Fair ladies shed tears upon their irons in the cells of Newgate, and when each fascinating scoundrel appeared with a noose on his neck and a bouquet in his button-hole, the male beholders cheered, while the women sobbed.

Justice had her revenge, but her victims lived in the ballad poetry of the nation; for even at this very day the songs made upon some of these ancient marauders are sung in parts of Great Britain.

All that is over now, fortunately, and all the unhallowed glory in which formerly a villain died no longer demoralises.

If Peace were reserving himself for display (as for the “neck-verse of Hairibee,” written of by Sir Walter Scott) he would have had to do without an audience.

A century since and such a man would have set London society crazy over his career. He would have made the most of his opportunities, seeing what a figure he had managed to preserve long after the novelty of his deeds might be supposed to have waned.

The publicity into which the man had been forced was largely responsible for his demoralising eminence. It was raking in the sink to publish every shred of correspondence which passed between the condemned brigand and his paramours.

He treated these women cruelly, it would seem; they often had black eyes and bore the weals of a whip.

It is stated that Peace went always armed with a revolver and a knife. The manner in which he used his weapon against Dyson and Robinson proved that he was prepared to take human life on the least provocation, and gives a strong prima facie colour to the fearful tales that were told of him.

There is one good reason why it is well this man was eliminated from the community. He belonged, from all we know of him, to the most desperate and dangerous of his class.

Very few British highwaymen or burglars have shown themselves bloodthirsty as well as dishonest. Most of them, indeed, if they carried firearms, seldom had the heart to load them, and preferred losing their plunder to taking it by fatal violence. But Peace had the ferocious spirit of a Sicilian brigand. Mr. Dyson walked towards him, and he shot him. He was as murderously prompt with Policeman Robinson.

His method does not suit in England, and if there were some who admired the man and his career, it would be a corrective of their admiration to know that the peculiarities of procedure which gave their hero his notoriety are specially repugnant to the laws, and revolting to the people of this country.

THE MORAL OF PEACE’S CAREER.

The last days, the confession, the letters, the will, the dying speech, and the execution of Charles Peace will make a sensational history of the most dangerous description.

The large place which his villainy marked for him in the public attention for several weeks proved a stimulant to many a depraved appetite for notoriety.

All persons, in short, who have had occasion to watch the effect upon the public of the noisy passage of a great malefactor from the day of sentence to the morning of doom, must have remarked the extraordinary copiousness of the record of the sayings, doings, and writings of Charles Peace with positive alarm.

The rogue’s march seemed to merge into a hymn of praise, and then into a chant of victory at the gallows.

People shuddered when the murderer’s repulsive features were first displayed in the shops, in a row with the ostentatious beauties and the unabashed actresses of the day.

“No wonder,” said the crowd, “that this monster is the hero of a string of crimes.” Just as Sydney Smith said of a saintly man that he carried the ten commandments written in his face, might it have been remarked of Charles Peace that the “Newgate Calendar” was wrought in his.

But there is a fascination in the horrible as well as in the beautiful, and the people who were dismayed while they contemplated the brutal jaw, presently craved details of the crimes its owner had committed; of the manner in which he wrote and talked of the human creatures who had associated with――nay, loved him; of his appetite for the fare of the condemned cell, and his capacity for sleep, with Marwood for the subject of his dreams.

The poisonous food was forthcoming in large doses, and be it observed, its production is the inevitable, the forced, result of the demand.

The blame lies, not with the newspapers, but with the system of turning upon the murderer’s cell a light as fierce as that which the poet tells us beats upon a throne.

The journalist is the servant of the public, and the appetite for news about the murderer’s daily habits being strong, he has no choice but to provide all he can obtain.

He may condemn the publication of a rogue’s correspondence with his wife, his mistress, and his pals; but he cannot prevent it.

It has often been our duty to comment with severity upon such a parade of crime as the career of the man who was hanged in Armley gaol-yard on that Tuesday afforded to the British public. In Peace’s instance, however, the abuse was carried to the wildest excess. The public were with the Bannercross murderer night and day, from the hour when he was condemned, to the gallows.

The comings and goings of the unfortunate people connected with him were chronicled as methodically as the “Court Newsman” imparts to the public the airings and the dinners of the Royal family.

That on the fatal morning bacon and eggs were provided for him before his long journey; and that, albeit livid white, he ate with some relish before he sat down to write a parting letter to his wife――are facts in the biography of Charles Peace which the world that dotes on Newgate records would not willingly let die. We have chronicled them accordingly.

The culprit was even allowed to address a homily to the reporters, in the character of a man who had done with the wickedness of this world, and would be, in a few moments, among the angels.

He gave friends and foes his blessing, and wished they might follow him to Heaven. There are still people who, as the author of “The Fable for Critics” remarks――

――――think it looks odd To choke a poor scamp for the glory of God.”

These old-fashioned folk may be also of the opinion that there is something very monstrous in this spectacle of a malefactor, speaking, with the rope round his neck, to “you reporters.”

And they may go on their way pondering on the strangeness of a society, in which the honest and heroic poor die by the hundred unsolaced by the priest, while a holy man stands at the elbow of the murderer on the gallows, and as the hangman draws the bolt, cries――“Lord Jesus receive his soul!”

When Thurtell stood upon the scaffold at Tyburn, the Championship of England was about to be decided; and while the hangman was adjusting the fatal noose, the culprit expressed his regret that his execution could not be delayed for an hour or two, that before paying the penalty of his crimes he might have the satisfaction of knowing to which of the combatants the belt had been awarded.

Whether this great criminal’s attitude in the presence of death contrasts favourably or unfavourably with that assumed upon the gallows by Charles Peace, is a question upon which we will not venture to express an opinion.

Both Thurtell and Peace, however, afford perhaps the most remarkable illustrations we could instance of the curious fact that great scoundrels apparently shuffle off the mortal coil more comfortably than honest people.

Possibly it is that long inurement to crime has so blunted their sensibilities that even conscience no longer makes cowards of them, and Hamlet’s great query, “To die, to sleep, perchance to dream!” troubles them not.

But, in whatever way the phenomenon is to be accounted for, the fact remains that condemned culprits, as a rule, mount the scaffold with a firm step, and, while consenting to death, apparently conquer agony.

Charles Peace proved no exception to the rule. He slept well up to within an hour and a half of his execution, and on awaking partoook of a hearty breakfast.

On emerging from the condemned cell to the courtyard in which the scaffold was erected, he heard the bell tolling for his own funeral without giving signs of terror.

Upon the scaffold he appeared to be in the same contented frame of mind as the celebrated essayist and father of English journalism, who on his death-bed requested his son to “come and see how a Christian could die.” But, observed Thackeray, “unfortunately, he died of brandy!”

It must be confessed that it somewhat detracts from Peace’s piety that he did not take refuge in the consolations of religion until he found there was no chance of his regaining his liberty.

We fear it would have been a dangerous experiment to have let him loose again upon society, even as a “converted man!”

There seems to be something repulsive in the idea of such a consummate rascal making sure of Heaven with so little effort, after having spent his whole life in the shameless violation of every law of God and man!

The wretch was so steeped in vice and crime that his death seems to remove him beyond the liberality of the old de mortuis injunction.

Had he been really repentant of his atrocious crimes rather than of the fearful consequences to which they had brought him, it would surely have been more becoming on his part had he humbled himself in the profoundest silence, and not run the risk of intensifying the enormity of his hypocrisy by palming himself off as a local preacher upon the scaffold.

When Christ converted people He told them to go home and keep quiet――“see thou sayest nothing to any man.” But nowadays converts seem to be encouraged to advertise themselves as much as possible.

Charles Peace’s demeanour in the presence of the hangman is, to our thinking, far from being edifying. The sooner all memory of the career of this cunning, cruel, and abject criminal is obliterated, the better it will be for society.

[Sidenote: No. 99.]

We may search in vain through the annals of crime to find the record of a more infamous life than his. The fellow’s assumption of virtue was, perhaps, the most horrible thing about him.

“Now, sir,” he is reported to have said to the Rev. Mr. Littlewood, “I want to tell you, and I want you to believe me when I say that I always made it a rule, during the whole of my career, never to take life if I could avoid it.”

Virtuous man! “And it does seem odd,” he further observed, “that in the end I should have to be hanged for having taken life――the very thing I was always so anxious to avoid.”

It is a pity he forgot his intense respect for the sanctity of human life on so many occasions. The vagabond who will talk like this, after having for years prowled about at night with a six-chambered revolver strapped to his wrist, must be an extraordinary combination of the heartless ruffian and the sneaking hypocrite.

In addition to this, Peace was perhaps the most accomplished burglar that ever necessitated the vigilance of the police.

But the terms murderer and burglar are scarcely adequate to paint the blackness of his character, for on his own confession this man actually sat in court at the Manchester Assizes and heard the sentence of death passed upon an innocent man for a murder which he himself had committed.

“I liked to attend trials,” he said, “and I determined to be present. I left home for Manchester, not telling my family where I had gone. I attended the assizes for two days, and heard the youngest of the brothers, as I was told they were, sentenced to death. Now, sir, some people will say that I was a hardened wretch for allowing an innocent man to suffer for my crime.”

Undoubtedly all people would. Peace, however, was too much satisfied with his good luck to permit his conscience to trouble him about the matter.

If capital punishment is justifiable, Marwood unquestionably did the State some service in ridding society of Charles Peace.

There is something terrible in the contemplation of a misspent life like his, and the wretched man’s interment, after the terrible scene upon the gallows was enacted, would make sadder even the saddest of all cemeteries――namely, the burial-yard of a county prison.

The mercy which is infinite, and the repentance which secures it, invited Peace as they invite all other mortals, and upon the mystery of the felon’s grave all comment is struck dumb.

It may be noted, however, that though the last utterances of the dying criminal were full of contrition and paternal solicitude, there is a certain tone in the whole speech which suggests that the man had in reality not awakened to a full estimate of the greatness of his offences. His demeanour throughout indicates the same moral defect.

There were in his character many signs of an idiosyncrasy which, like kleptomania and other depraved mental compulsions, dragged the possessed being into the vicious path and disabled the faculty of remorse.

Peace had the cunning of the rogue, plus that of the intelligent man he was. But until the eleventh hour he was playing a part.

First he shammed ill, then he had a spell of sullen silence, which was succeeded by that fit of communicativeness, oral and written, which has taken up so much space in the newspapers. He appears to have made a great many contradictory statements or confessions; and, if all that have been published as such are really his, there is some difficulty in accepting as authentic even the most solemn of these avowals on the scaffold.

One of these confessions purported to be an admission of a series of murders, known and unknown, committed by him singly, or with accomplices, in London or the provinces.

If Peace reduced this horrid catalogue to two, and he in troth and in fact stated what appeared in print, would require clear corroborative evidence to sustain anything he asserted.

Peace declared in more than one of his many confessions that he murdered the policeman Cock at Whalley Range, near Manchester, in 1876. For this crime a young man named Habron was sentenced to death.

The sentence was commuted to penal servitude for life, and that terrible penalty the innocent and signally unfortunate man was still undergoing when Peace was first rendered amenable. The real assassin, according to his own avowal, was present in Court at the trial, and heard Habron sentenced.

The same night Peace shot Mr. Dyson. There can be little question, but he would have held his tongue to save his neck, had the poor man been permitted to suffer for his crime, and been put to death for it.

The one point of relief in an ugly picture in this, where we find justice done to the innocent by the detection of the guilty.

On the other hard, the vindication suggests grave reflections respecting the adequacy of trial by jury, and the security of our criminal procedure to place the guilt where it is charged on the guilty head, and save the innocent from destruction, by circumstantial evidence.

VISIT TO THE CONDEMNED CELL AFTER THE EXECUTION.

The Central News reporter telegraphed:――The prison chaplain was deeply affected on returning from the execution of Peace on Tuesday morning. Dr. Price, the gaol physician, escorted him to his official residence.

Under-sheriff Gray, his clerk, Mr. Waite, and the governor, together with the representatives of the press, in leaving the fatal spot passed into the wing of the gaol from which Peace had so recently emerged. The cell which the condemned man had occupied was also passed.

The gas was still burning in it, and the door was open. On the bed was a closed bible and a prayer-book, whilst the convict’s shoes, slippers, wide-awake hat, and other articles of apparel were placed on the benches in the inner cell.

On the little table were a number of books and several sheets of paper, on which the convict had apparently been scribbling. A tin quart measure, nearly full of milk, also stood on the table.

SCENES OUTSIDE THE GAOL.

It was a fearful morning. The air was raw, and a searching wind pierced through one almost to the bone, yet the fields dividing the gaol from the houses near seemed to be covered with people almost immediately.

They ran eagerly to get the best places that could be obtained. Everybody ran and everybody was anxious to get the best places. The peculiar coign of vantage, known only to the experienced, was said to be behind the prison, near the hospital.

This was where the scaffold had been erected, and it was said that outside the walls, at that point, the falling of the trap and the thud caused by the jerk to the rope could be distinctly heard.

It is no exaggeration to say that at least 500 people assembed at this spot, and that until the hoisting of the flag the most careful silence was preserved. Indeed, some of the people who were standing there declared that they heard Peace speaking, but could not make out his words.

A large knot of people, numbering several hundred, appeared at the outer gates, without any warning, and undisturbed took up positions commanding a view of the flag-pole on the high tower.

About ten minutes to eight snow began to fall slightly, but it soon discontinued, and at five minutes to eight the weather was fine again.

What a rude, unsympathetic, ribald crowd that was! Drawn together merely by morbid curiosity, many of them laughed, smiled, and joked at the dread ordeal which the convict was even then undergoing.

They spoke of him as at that moment submitting to the pinions, and wondered with a fiendish glee how he liked the process. Women and girls vied with each other in depicting his agony as a subject for laughter, and the most horribly blasphemous expressions were used with respect to his penitence.

It might have been a crowd of citizenesses during the French revolution. There was an utter callousness, a cold-blooded nonchalance, and a frequency of oaths which made the crowd almost terrible as well as repulsive. There seemed to be not an atom of feeling amongst the lot. Everyone had something to say.

There was a continual hum of conversation, but amongst the Babel of words it was impossible to detect one which breathed kindly feeling, regret, or even seriousness.

But it is now five minutes to eight, and the first sign comes from the inside of the gaol. Upon the high tower a stalwart warder appears. At length the prison clock strikes the hour. The signal is given, and in another moment the black signal of death flutters in the clear fresh breeze.

A kind of shudder is observable among the people as the flag ascends, but the feeling soon passes away, and from a large number of the assembled crowd rises a fiendish and inhuman shout. The “cry for blood” was satisfied.

A stampede commenced immediately, and the hundreds of people streamed back into Leeds. A few still lingered about the place, gazing fitfully at the black signal, and talking together in knots of the strange and adventurous career which had just closed so ignominiously.

THE INQUEST AND VERDICT.

At eleven on the fatal morning the inquest on the body was held in the committee-room at the gaol, before Mr. J. C. Malcolm, the borough coroner. The verdict of the jury certified that the identity of the deceased as Charles Peace was proved, and that the sentence of death passed upon him had been carried out.

Peace’s features were but little changed, and, excepting the usual swollen appearance of the face and neck, always observable in those hung, there was nothing to prevent anyone who had known him alive from identifying the remains as those of the convict.

THE INTERMENT.

The remains were subsequently taken to the murderers’ graveyard, which is inside the walls, and were there unceremoniously interred. Rude stones mark the place of burial of previous victims of the law’s highest penalty, and a headstone has been placed over Peace’s grave similar to that of the others, on which are cut his initials and the date of his death.

PEACE AND HIS REVOLVERS.

The statement made by Mr. Woodward, the London gunsmith, to the effect that the manufacture of bullets like those found in the bodies of the policeman Cock and Mr. Dyson had been discontinued for more than five years, led to the inquiry where Peace could have obtained the bullets that he used.

It appears that Peace stole the revolver from the house of a gentleman at Manchester, in the early part of 1876; and with the revolver, which was in a case, he also stole a box of Eley’s 442 pin-fire cartridges. The box was full, and contained probably 100 cartridges, several of which Peace used.

When the family at Peckham heard that Peace had been arrested at Blackheath, Mrs. Peace and Mrs. Thompson each packed up a large box of articles and left, the one for Nottingham and the other for Sheffield.

Mrs. Thompson put into her box Peace’s other three revolvers, together with all the ammunition there was in the house, including the remainder of the box of pin-fire cartridges.

A short time after Mrs. Peace asked Mrs. Thompson what she had done with the revolvers and ammunition, and she replied that, being afraid to retain them in her possession, she had packed all in a basket and her sister had sunk them in the canal at Nottingham.

There is no reason to suppose, if properly gone about, that the sister would refuse to point out the spot where she put the basket. If that could be fished up from the bottom of the canal, and the pin-fire cartridges found, there would be further confirmation of the truth of Peace’s confession that he shot policeman Cook.

PEACE’S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT.

Some very erroneous statements have been made, not only as to the value of the property that was at Peace’s disposal, but also as to the manner in which he had disposed of it.

At one of the interviews Peace had with his wife and family he signed a “deed of gift,” in which he made over to them all he possessed.

They went to London in the hope of being able to obtain the property stated to belong to Peace; but not being successful, he had a will drawn up by Messrs. Warren and Ford, of Leeds, in which he left all he possessed to Willie Ward and his daughter, Mrs. Bolsover. The following is the full text of the will:――

“I, Charles Peace, at present lodged in Armley gaol, in the county of York, under sentence of death, do hereby revoke all wills, codicils, and other testamentary dispositions heretofore made by me, and declare this alone to be my last will and testament.

“I give, devise, and bequeath all my real estate, and all my money, securities for money, furniture, goods, chattels, and all other personal estate of which I shall die possessed, or over which I shall at my death have power to dispose by this my will unto William Ward, of Darnall, grocer’s assistant, and Jane Ann Bolsover, of Darnall aforesaid, in equal shares as tenants in common, the share of the said Jane Ann Bolsover to be for her sole and separate use, and free from the control and debts of her present or any future husband.

“And I appoint the said William Ward and Jane Ann Bolsover executor and executrix of this my will. In witness whereof I have hereunto set my hand this twenty-fourth day of February, 1879.”

The will is signed by Charles Peace, and witnessed by Osmond Cookson, M.A., chaplain of her Majesty’s Prison, Leeds; and William Warren, solicitor, Leeds.

According to an old law the property of a felon became forfeit to the crown, and in consequence rich men who entered upon desperate enterprises often contrived, by deed or gift and other means, to outwit the avarice of the monarchy.

Practically, the law on this subject has long been obsolete, and hence we had the spectacle of a condemned murderer putting his house in order and making his will as if he were a respectable citizen dying in the odour of sanctity.

Mr. Charles Peace, temporarily residing in her Majesty’s gaol at Armley, had, with the commendable spirit of orderliness which were found to have marked all the known events of a singularly active and varied life, prepared his last will and testament, a dosument duly signed and attested by the governor of Armley gaol.

The contents of Mr. Peace’s will had remained unknown until the testator left a world which only his most ardent admirers could contend that he adorned. However, there was not long to wait before the public learned the full particulars of the manner in which Mr. Peace disposed of what, if he had been half as careful as he was enterprising, might be a considerable personal estate. The chest full of jewellery and silver plate reported to have been discovered, buried in the railway embankment at Nunhead, was not included in the convict’s belongings, for the simple reason that the chest and its contents never had any existence outside the imagination of the penny-a-liner who invented the story. Besides the duly attested will, Mr. Peace consigned to his wife a deed of gift, by which he disposed of certain effects in her favour, with the exception of a watch and his patent for raising sunken ships. Both watch and patent were conferred upon his step-son, Willie Ward, in the hope that he would make some use of the latter. So far as can be made out of the conflicting statements on all subjects appertaining to the interesting criminal, a half share in the patent for raising sunken ships belonged to Mr. Brion, the geographer. Such a slight matter of detail would not, however, affect a gentleman of Mr. Peace’s proclivities in disposing by gift or otherwise of the entire property. A somewhat clouded comprehension of meum and tuum throughout marked his chequered career. Provided the Crown were willing to permit Mr. Peace the disposition of what he was pleased to call his property, surely the Government would feel some scruples in taking probate duty upon the results of crimes. If Mr. Peace’s personalty were in cash, it would nothing but fair to opine that this particular money was essentually filthy lucre, with a genesis from the hands of a burglar, through those of a fence, and thence by the melting-pot back again to the possession of the criminal. Possibly the will itself might be, in some person’s opinion, a bogus instrument, dealing with a fabulous estate. For it would seem if Mr. Peace were possessed of means he would have taken care for a satisfactory and complete defence. Assuming for the sake of argument that property belonging be the murderer had been hidden away somewhere, to be forthcoming after his execution, his heirs, executors, and assigns ought not to object to the £100 reward for his apprehension claimed by his “darling Sue” being paid out of his personalty. It would, under the circumstances, have been a hardship indeed if the country were saddled with the task of enriching such a creature as Mrs. Thompson.

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