CHAPTER CLXII.

THE TRIAL AND CONVICTION OF CHARLES PEACE.

The eventful day at length arrived upon which the most daring and desperate criminal of modern times was to be tried upon the grave charge of “wilful murder.”

“Let Charles Peace stand forward.”

There is a scuffling of feet, and a small, elderly-looking, feeble man, in brown convict dress, is helped into the dock, and placed in a chair by stalwart warders.

The Clerk of Assizes states the charge.

“How say you, Charles Peace, are you guilty or not guilty?”

In a feeble voice, hardly audible, the words “Not guilty” are uttered.

The prisoner’s face is impassive, but he takes in all the surroundings with short, quick glances.

The jury is empanelled, the arraignment is opened, and Mr. Campbell Foster rises to address the jury.

The scene is one of much interest. As early as nine o’clock the small portion of the court allotted to the public had begun to fill with eager spectators.

The press enters in force, considerable portions of the court, and also of the gallery above the jury, being reserved for its representatives.

Barristers drop in, eager as the people who are unfamiliar with the courts, and quickly filling their seats, there accumulates a standing group, which remains about the door all day.

The occupants of the court, with scarcely an exception, deport themselves as men and women come to witness a comedy, not a grim tragedy――talking, laughing, joking, and congratulating themselves on their luck in gaining admission on so famous an occasion.

The judge takes his seat precisely at ten o’clock, and the case at once begins.

Mr. Campbell Foster bespeaks the unprejudiced and impartial attention of the jury, and enters upon a lengthened recital of the facts of the case.

The tale is a plain and unvarnished one, but, to be quite candid, that is all the praise that can be bestowed upon it.

A very frank critic might even say that it is somewhat dreary and decidedly commonplace. However, it is listened to with silent attention――by none is it followed with closer care than by the prisoner, who occasionally indulges in a nod of assent, or a remonstrating shake of the head, or now and then leans forward, his head on his hand, and eyes fixed upon the speaker.

The learned council spoke for half an hour.

Then the evidence began, the first witness being Mr. Johnson, who proved the plans put in of the Dysons’ house in Bannercross-terrace, and was asked a question or two as to Mr. Dyson’s physical appearance.

There was “sensation” in court when Catherine Dyson was called. She stepped into the witness-box, dressed in black, neatly, her jacket trimmed with crape, the somewhat jaunty hat which she had worn at the preliminary examination replaced by a modest bonnet.

She had a veil or “fall” over the upper part of her face, but it was not enough to obscure it. She had a heightened colour, suggestive of rouge, with a slightly sulky expression, and the look of a person who, tensely strung, yet knows what she is about and is resolved to act on the defensive.

She was examined by Mr. Shield, and spoke in a very low tone of voice.

The examination was uneventful; it only repeated the old familiar account of the transactions which led to this trial; and when Mr. Lockwood rose to cross-examine the witness, there was a feeling that now, the preliminary details settled, the real engagement of the day was about to be fought.

The first point on which the opposing forces came into conflict was as to whether or not Mr. Dyson, on the night he was shot, got hold or attempted to get hold of the prisoner.

Before the Coroner and before the magistrate, the witness had professed her inability to say that her husband did not grapple with the prisoner. She now declared positively that he did not, and there was a long struggle on this point.

Mrs. Dyson maintained her composure, during the searching catechising that ensued. Whatever she might have said before, she now said positively that her husband did not get hold of Peace.

Pressed hard for admissions that there was some sort of a struggle between the prisoner and Dyson, the witness adhered to her denial that any thing of the kind did or could take place; and the cross-examination then went on to deal with the photograph taken in the fair.

A good deal of fencing took place as to the precise fair at which this photograph was taken, based partly upon the mistaken assumption that the Peaces went to live at Darnall at the end of 1875, whereas they went there at the beginning of the year.

The witness could not see her way through the puzzle, except that there was some mistake in the dates――which was a very just conclusion at which to arrive.

Nothing was made of this――except to render it evident that no reliable dates could be got from the witness; and, with the positiveness displayed on previous occasions, she repudiated any knowledge of the letters found near Bannercross after the murder.

The journey to Mansfield, on the occasion when Peace followed her there, next came under notice, and the gift of a ring by the prisoner. Then the visits to Sheffield public-houses with Peace――she had been once with him to the “Marquis of Waterford,” Russell-street, she said, and might have been twice, but she could not say positively.

The keepers of several of these houses were called and confronted with Mrs. Dyson, but she knew them not, nor did she know (though she avoided positively swearing it) that she had ever had drink at the “Halfway House,” Darnall, charged to the prisoner.

Mr. Lockwood was equally unsuccessful in his attempts to extract confessions as to the transmission of notes between herself and Peace. As before the Stipendiary, so now Mrs. Dyson was subjected to a trial in caligraphy, and it may be assumed that the results were not very encouraging to Mr. Lockwood, since he did not pursue the subject further. But the incident elicited a curious example of Mrs. Dyson’s composure.

She was passing to Mr. Lockwood the paper on which she had written, with the ink wet. It had actually left her hands, when she took it back and calmly rubbed a piece of blotting paper over it.

Coming down to the day before the murder new points of much interest were opened up. The witness admitted that she was on that day at the “Stag” Hotel, Sharrow. A little boy was with her――not her own child.

A man followed her in and sat beside her――she would almost swear that the prisoner was not the man――upon which a sort of laugh ran through the court.

She was cross-examined as to her other movements that night, and as to going to a friend’s named Muddiman on leaving the “Stag.” She swore that she did not tell Peace that she was going there――for she did not see him.

A laugh was caused when Mrs. Dyson pleaded guilty to the soft impeachment of having been “slightly inebriated” at the “Halfway House,” but she denied that she had ever been turned out of that house either for being drunk or for being “slightly inebriated.”

This concluded Mrs. Dyson’s cross-examination, which had lasted exactly two hours, her examination in chief having previously lasted half an hour.

The re-examination by Mr. Campbell Foster lasted only a few minutes, and after a question or two from the Judge, the Court adjourned for luncheon, the general opinion being that Mrs. Dyson had passed through the trying ordeal with great firmness and self-possession, and that the defence had not made a material mark upon the case.

After half an hour’s interval the trial was resumed by the production of the Bannercross witnesses.

There were few new features in this, but Mr. Lockwood made a vigorous attempt to damage the credibility of the young man, Brassington, whose testimony went to establish malice and intent on the part of the prisoner.

Peace himself, during this, departed from his customary air of stoical calm, talking rapidly, in a low tone, and evidently challenging the witness’s statements in no amicable mood or feeble terms.

The evidence of Mr. Harrison, the surgeon, went to show that the direction of the shot was such as would be likely to be taken by a bullet fired from the low level of the road at a person above, and the questions of Mr. Lockwood, in cross-examination, pointed to the suggestion that certain bruises on the deceased’s nose and chin were caused by blows, in a struggle with the prisoner.

But Mr. Harrison did not take to this theory, though as the deceased had fallen on his back when shot, he did not seem quite able to account for these grazes.

Soon after this there took place between the learned counsel engaged in the case a contention of which there had been one or two previous indications. It was a struggle on the part of the defence to force the prosecution to put in the letters found in the field at Bannercross.

Mr. Lockwood wanted the letters to be put as evidence, that he might use them; but he did not wish to put them in himself, because that would deprive him of the last word to the jury, and give it to Mr. Campbell Foster. The point gave rise to much argument, but in the end Mr. Lockwood had to abandon his contention.

After this the prosecution called witnesses who had not been before the coroner or the magistrates. Then followed evidence as to the capture of Peace at Blackheath, and this closed the case for the prosecution.

Mr. Campbell Foster summed up the evidence he had produced in proof of the charge of murder, Peace listening to everything he said with unflinching attention.

Mr. Lockwood’s vigorous speech for the defence followed. It contained powerful appeals to the jury, and animated attacks upon the prosecution and the press; but it was an up-hill fight that the learned counsel was so gallantly waging.

He claimed to have utterly discredited Mrs. Dyson’s testimony, and urged that the jury could not send to execution any human being on such evidence as she had given.

The theory set up by him as to the actual occurrences at Bannercross on the night of the murder was, that Peace, finding himself pursued by Mr. Dyson, fired his revolver to frighten him from pursuit; but this not effecting its purpose, a struggle took place, and in that struggle the revolver went off accidentally, with fatal effects.

But unfortunately Mr. Lockwood had no testimony behind him to back up this ingenious attempt to reduce the crime to one of manslaughter; and the glamour of feeling in which he had sought to invest the case was quickly dispelled even in the breasts of the most sentimental in court when the learned judge, in a summing-up of a marked fairness and impartiality, placed the plain issues, and the unanswerable facts, about which there could be no question, before the twelve men on whose word the life of a human being hung.

His lordship, who began to speak at a quarter-past six, occupied fifty-five minutes.

The jury, who retired at ten minutes past seven, were absent fifteen minutes, and on their return the prisoner, who had been allowed to leave the dock, was brought back and replaced in his chair, looking limp and wretched.

The warders, who had hitherto sat beside him, now stood, one holding either arm. The Judge resumed his seat, and the jury immediately delivered their verdict of guilty.

Asked if he had anything to say why sentence should not be passed, he replied very faintly, “It’s no use my saying anything.”

The learned Judge forthwith passed sentence in a few calm, matter-of-fact sentences. There was an utter absence of feeling in court.

The unhappy man heard the sentence with an apparent indifference, bred either of stoicism or despair, and the warders at once raised him to convey him from the dock.

As he stood up he clutched at the rail in front and appeared to wish to speak, but his keepers paid no attention to the desire.

He bowed to his solicitor, and expressed in a word or two thanks for his efforts; then disappeared to his doom.

THE TRIAL.

In the Crown Court, at the Leeds Assizes, Charles Peace, described as a picture-frame dealer, forty-seven years of age, was placed upon his trial, before Mr. Justice Lopes, for the murder of Mr. Arthur Dyson; civil engineer, at Bannercross, Sheffield, on the 29th November, 1876.

It is almost unnecessary to say that the case has created the greatest possible interest――an interest not felt simply in Sheffield, but throughout the country.

This had arisen not so much because of the murder itself――for the facts were exceedingly simple――but because of the extraordinary career of the prisoner, his sudden disappearance after the murder, and his subsequent identity as the notorious burglar who kept Blackheath in a state of considerable excitement for some months.

Peace was already under a sentence of penal servitude for life for shooting at Police-constable Robinson, who apprehended him whilst he was endeavouring to escape from a house which he had burglariously entered at Blackheath.

At that time Peace was known as John Ward, a half-caste, who had, according to his own statement, recently arrived in this country. For considerably more than a week this was all that was known of him.

Then information came to the police, through a woman with whom he had been living, that the prisoner under remand at Greenwich was not Ward, but Peace, who was wanted for murder, and for whose apprehension a reward of £100 had been in vain offered for more than a couple of years.

Subsequent investigations resulted in some extraordinary disclosures. It was found that Peace had been living in a semi-detached villa at Peckham, in company with a woman named Thompson, who was supposed to be his wife; that he kept a pony and trap, and that he lived in a style of considerable comfort.

It was found, too, that he was the perpetrator of most of the burglaries which had for some months past been of almost nightly occurrence at Greenwich and Blackheath.

After his sentence of penal servitude for life the Treasury authorities decided to prosecute him for the murder of Mr. Dyson.

The chief witness, Mrs. Dyson, was then in America, having gone there, to reside with some relatives, a few months after her husband was shot.

A special messenger was dispatched in search of her, and on her arrival in this country, Peace was taken to Sheffield to undergo an examination before the stipendiary magistrate.

His attempt to commit suicide on the way down from Pentonville, by jumping from the train, is too well-known an occurrence to need more than a passing mention.

In consequence of the excitement prevailing, and the great desire to obtain admittance to the court on the occasion of the trial at Leeds, it was decided that only a limited number of seats should be thrown open to the public, all other parts being reserved for those in possession of tickets.

The public seats were taken possession of immediately on the opening of the court at nine o’clock. The other parts of the building were filled within the next hour, and when the Judge took his seat at ten o’clock every seat was occupied.

In one of the galleries were Lord Houghton and a number of guests from Fryston Hall. A large crowd remained outside the hall, but a strong force of police prevented them reaching the doors.

Peace was removed from Armley Gaol on Monday evening, and was placed in one of the cells at the Town Hall, under the care of four warders. He passed a very restless night, and on Tuesday morning was in a state of much weakness and depression. His appearance in the court, of course, attracted considerable attention. He partially walked and was partially carried up the step leading into the dock, and then was placed in a chair in front of the dock.

A warder occupied a seat on either side of him. Unless he was “shamming,” his condition was almost pitiable to behold. He seemed so weak that he could scarcely sit up in his chair, but, notwithstanding that, he appeared to take the keenest interest in the case as it proceeded.

On the charge being read to him he pleaded “Not Guilty,” but he spoke in so low a tone that he could scarcely be heard.

Mr. Campbell Foster, Q.C., and Mr. Hugh Shield prosecuted on behalf of the Treasury; and Mr. Lockwood and the Hon. Stuart Wartley (instructed by Messrs. Clegg and Sons, Sheffield), defended the prisoner.

Mr. Campbell Foster, Q.C., in opening the case for the prosecution, said he could not disguise from himself, nor from the jury, that the case, from the great public comment which had been made upon it in the various newspapers, must come before them under circumstances calculated somewhat perchance to bias their minds, but before entering upon it he would beg and implore them to put from their minds anything they might have read about the case, and be guided entirely by the sworn testimony which would be given by the witnesses as to the guilt or innocence of the prisoner.

It would be shown, he said, that, previous to July, 1876, the man, into whose death they had to inquire, lived at Darnall, a village about three miles to the east of Sheffield, and now one of the outskirts of the town.

He and his wife lived in a row of cottage houses, and next door, or next door but one, lived the prisoner and a person who, so far as they knew, was his wife.

From being so near neighbours the Dysons got to know the prisoner. He was in the habit of framing pictures, and was employed by them to frame two or three small prints and pictures which they had in the house.

This led to an acquaintance between the prisoner and the Dysons, but at last Mr. Dyson seemed not to like the persistent familiarity with which the prisoner was in the habit of treating them, walking into the house whenever he thought proper, at meal times, and generally obtruding himself upon them.

This annoyed both Mr. Dyson and his wife, and, as a consequence, shortly before the 1st July, 1876, Mr. Dyson wrote on the back of one of his address cards――

“Charles Peace is requested not to interfere with my family.”

The card was thrown over the wall into Peace’s garden, and the sending of it seemed to have created a bad feeling in the mind of Peace against Dyson, for it would be shown that on the 1st of July, meeting Mr. Dyson, he suddenly commenced an assault upon him, attempting to trip him up and throw him down.

Late in the evening Peace found Mrs. Dyson talking to some neighbours about his extraordinary conduct, and asked if she were talking about him.

She replied that she was, and apparently in a sudden burst of passion he produced a revolver and presenting it at her head said he would blow her brains out――of course using an expletive――and subsequently he threatened to blow her husband’s brains out as well.

In consequence of that a summons was taken out against him, but he did not appear, and a warrant was granted against him. He seemed to have known that a warrant had been obtained, and from that time until October he was not seen in the neighbourhood.

To be quite out of the way of his annoyance the Dysons decided to remove, and took a house at Bannercross, a village about three miles to the west of Sheffield, and consequently about six miles from Darnall.

They removed on the 29th, following the furniture by train, and when they arrived at Bannercross the first person they saw was the prisoner. Some conversation took place between him and Mrs. Dyson, and the prisoner said, “I am here to annoy you, and I will annoy you wherever you go.”

Mrs. Dyson told him there was a warrant out against him, and he replied that he did not care for the warrant and he did not care for the police. That sort of conversation would tend to show that there was the same bad blood, the same ill-feeling, in the breast of the prisoner against both Mrs. Dyson and her husband which had existed in the previous July.

Mr. Campbell Foster put in a plan of Bannercross-terrace, and described its surroundings to the jury. Prisoner, he added, went to the shop of a man named Gregory at the end of October, and engaged him in conversation, and at that time he was particularly noticed by Mrs. Gregory.

In about a month afterwards he again called, asked if her husband was in, and upon being answered in the negative, he went out and was seen to be loitering about.

During that time he was seen by a Mrs. Colgrave, who was going to Gregory’s shop. The meeting took place in the road.

The prisoner engaged her in conversation, and asked if she would take him a message to Dyson’s house, asking Mrs. Dyson to come out.

Mrs. Colgrave objected, upon which he made use of a coarse expression regarding Mrs. Dyson. At ten minutes to eight he was seen by a man named Brassington, who met Peace walking in front of the Bannercross Hotel.

They met under a gas-lamp, and prisoner inquired if he knew some strangers who had come to live there.

Witness did not, he said, and Peace showed him a bundle of notes and some photographs, but Brassington put them back, as he could not read.

They separated about ten minutes past eight. The jury would learn from Mrs. Dyson that about that time she had occasion to go to the closet in the yard. To do so she put on her clogs, and had to pass Gregory’s back door.

After being in the closet a short time, she opened the door, and saw standing before her the man Peace, who had a revolver in his hand.

He presented it in her face, and said, “Speak, or I will fire.”

The woman gave a loud and sudden shriek, and stepping back into the closet, slammed the door and fastened it.

She next heard her husband’s footsteps, and Mrs. Gregory also came up, but when she saw Mr. Dyson she went into her own house and fastened the door. Hearing her husband’s footsteps, Mrs. Dyson became emboldened, opened the closet door, and advanced towards the end of the passage.

Mr. Dyson passed her, and she saw Peace going out of the passage by the front. When he was a few steps from the gateway Mr. Dyson stepped after him.

According to Mrs. Dyson’s statement, he was never near enough to touch Peace. Having got into the road, Peace fired his revolver, apparently at Mr. Dyson. The shot struck the stone lintel of the doorway at the entrance to the passage.

Mr. Dyson continued to advance, and before he had got out of the passage, Peace, who was on the road, again faced round and fired his revolver, and Mrs. Dyson saw her husband instantly fall.

She shrieked out, and was heard by a young man named Whitting to say, “Murder! You villain; you have shot my husband.”

The learned counsel then proceeded further to describe how Peace escaped from Bannercross after the murder, and showed that Mr. Dyson died two hours after the bullet entered his temple.

He laid much stress on the fact that in a field which the prisoner had crossed over on his way from Mr. Dyson’s house, a packet of letters was found.

In this packet was the very card which Mr. Dyson had sent to the prisoner requesting him not to annoy his family.

There could, therefore, he said, be no doubt that the man who dropped the papers was Peace――the man in whose mind the card had produced so much ill-will and ill-feeling, and who had dogged the footsteps of the Dysons in the way he had described.

Mr. Foster next proceeded to show that after the murder Peace made his escape, and was not discovered until he was apprehended in the commission of a burglary at Blackheath.

He next showed what took place after his apprehension, and was proceeding to refer to the attempts made by Peace to escape on his way to Sheffield, when Mr. Lockwood objected to the matter being gone into. He said it would of course be affectation on his part to object to its being mentioned, because it was notorious to everybody, but he certainly strongly protested against the course his learned friend was pursuing.

His Lordship said he considered the reference that Mr. Foster was making was quite unnecessary.

Mr. Foster said he was quite content to leave the matter as it was.

He proceeded to say that if the jury believed the circumstantial evidence which showed the prisoner to have been at Bannercross from seven o’clock up to ten minutes past eight――which traced him across that field, and found on his path a packet of letters, they could not but believe that the prisoner was the man who fired the shot which killed Mr. Dyson.

With what intent did he do it? Did he do it maliciously and with the intent to do the full charge mentioned in the indictment? With what object did he go from Darnall to Ecclesall, hanging about the house, threaten Mrs. Dyson, and tell Brassington the scandalous story of which they would hear?

Did all that point to malice, to malignity, to hate? He thought it