CHAPTERCLV.

CHAPTERCLV.IDENTIFICATION OF PEACE—​CHARGED WITH THE MURDER OF MR. DYSON.The incidents described in the preceding chapters came to a denouement; this we shall have to chronicle a few chapters further on. Meanwhile we will put the reader in possession of other facts in connection with our hero.Charles Peace, at this time occupied the attention of the detectives in a most remarkable degree, and every effort was made to bring the crime of murdering Mr. Dyson home to him.Every effort was used to give as much publicity to the leading circumstances attendant on this crime. The public were furnished with the following account:—​On the night of the 29th November, 1876, a civil engineer named Mr. Arthur Dyson, who resided at Bannercross-terrace, near Sheffield, was shot by a man whom he found lurking on his premises. That man was subsequently sworn to as being Charles Peace, a notorious character, who had been convicted of felony, and who was known to be a desperado.Immediately after committing the murder Peace decamped across the adjacent fields, and from that time all trace of him was lost. A coroner’s inquest, sitting on view of the body of Mr. Dyson, returned a verdict of wilful murder against Peace, and on this a warrant was issued for his apprehension, and it is believed that he at last has been captured.Peace was an “old bird,” and eluded those who were on his track. He was so successful in that, that many believed he had made away with himself by jumping down some old coal pit, and thus hiding his body whilst ridding the world of himself.But the police officers who had had to deal with him did not believe this story. “Peace,” they said, “is not a man to do that; he’ll fight before he’s caught; he’s not dead.”On the night of the murder there was a “handicap” in Sheffield, in which men were the competitors, and the railway stations were crowded with those who were returning home after viewing the pedestrian exhibition.It was thought that Peace mixed up with this motley crowd and so effected his escape for the time being.As to where he had gone was a question, but the police were almost as rapid in their movements as was Peace, though for the time being he appeared the most successful in the accomplishing of his purpose—​the effecting of his escape.Within five hours after Mr. Dyson’s death the whole of the large towns within a radius of two hundred miles of here had been warned of the crime which had been committed, and the railway stations of Hull, Huddersfield, Leeds, Manchester, Bradford, Liverpool, and Halifax, were most vigilantly watched, and it was known that Peace, being an old hand, knew the thieves’ runs and hiding places in those localities.Notwithstanding every effort there was no indication of the whereabout of the man.The houses of some of his relatives in Sheffield were searched almost nightly; nocturnal visits were made to the domiciles of other friends, but yet there were no tidings of “Peace,” and the closest scrutiny failed to show that he was having the slightest communication with any of those who in Sheffield had been regarded as attached to him, and with whom he had been in the habit of associating.One Sheffield detective watched the Manchester Railway station for almost a month, but, of course, unsuccessfully.The almost universally accepted version of the murderer’s escape was this—​that Peace took train to Hull within a couple of hours after shooting Mr. Dyson.Indeed, an officer who went to that town afterwards and who knew the “crimping places,” as he himself, graphically describes them, said he had no doubt that Peace had been there, and had remained a week or two, but after that there was no trace of him.There was but one other theory left, and that was that the fellow had taken ship and gone to Hamburg—​he being well versed as to the thieves’ haunts there.It should here be stated, however, that before committing the murder Peace went to “a friend” and said he was short of cash. He borrowed £15—​and forgot to return it.Thus it will be seen that he was not short of funds when he set out with the intention of committing the murder—​for that he intended to commit one there can be no doubt, although his particular reasons for doing so are, for the present, a complete mystery.The authorities took care to circulate throughout the police districts of the United Kingdom a complete description of the man who was “wanted,” together with photographs of him, showing his visage when shaven, when wearing a beard, and, indeed, under all the appearances he had worn whilst in the hands of the police.The authorities on the Continent and in the United States received similar advices, but still there was no trace of the man, and this only led the incredulous to be more firmly of opinion that Peace had committed suicide, and would no longer be heard of amongst the living.It will be seen, from the official notice which we append, that if Peace fell into the hands of the police, there were marks on him which would make him somewhat easy of identification. For his apprehension a reward of £100 was offered by Government. The police notice was as follows:—“Murder.—​£100 Reward. Whereas on the 29th ult. Mr. Arthur Dyson, C.E., was murdered at Bannercross, Sheffield, having been shot in the head, in the presence of his wife, by Charles Peace, who escaped in the darkness of the night, and is still at large; and whereas at the coroner’s inquest held on the 8thinst., upon the body of the said Arthur Dyson, a verdict of ‘wilful murder’ was found against the said Charles Peace.“Notice is hereby given that a reward of £100 will be paid by her Majesty’s Government to any person other than a person employed in a police force in the United Kingdom who shall give such information and evidence as shall lead to the discovery and conviction of the said Charles Peace.“Peace is a thin and slightly-built man, about forty-six years of age, but looks ten years older, five feet four or five inches high, grey (nearly white) hair, beard and whiskers (the whiskers were long when he committed the murder, but may now be cut or shaved off), has lost one or more fingers off left hand, cut mark on back of each hand, and one on forehead, walks with his legs rather wide apart, speaks somewhat peculiarly, as though his tongue was too large for his mouth, and is a great boaster.“He is a joiner or picture-frame maker, but occasionally cleans and repairs clocks and watches, and sometimes deals in oleographs, engravings, pictures,&c., associates with loose women, and has been twice in penal servitude for burglaries near Manchester.”Besides that Peace was known to be a “good shot,” and a quick one.He had been a daring poacher when a young man, and always carried a revolver on him.As a “cracksman” he stood in the foremost ranks of the thieving fraternity; he was a capital hand at opening a “safe,” and was utterly reckless as to consequences, and notoriously cruel.Such was the man whom the police desired to apprehend, and it was well known that if he had a chance he would resist his capture, and not hesitate to resort again to the use of firearms. There is now almost every reason to believe that Peace has at length fallen into the hands of the police.THE IDENTIFICATION.A prisoner of the notorious character indicated above, was, of course, the object of special care and precaution. As a consequence it was found that there were marks on him of a singular description, and a word or two which he had dropped to a fellow-prisoner gave rise to a suspicion in the minds of the authorities that “John Ward” was not altogether what he professed to be—​a half-caste American, and a juvenile in the art of thieving.Inspector Phillips took the matter in hand, and as a result of his searches, came to the conclusion that the prisoner was no other than Charles Peace, of Sheffield, the murderer of Mr. Dyson.He examined the prisoner more closely, and found the numerous discolourations and disfigurements on his body to coincide with the police description.The photograph of the missing Peace was evidently that of this prisoner, and a number of other circumstances tended to prove the identity of the guilty man; so the police came to the conclusion that the man in Newgate was none other than the Bannercross murderer; indeed, it was generally understood that the prisoner did not attempt to deny that he was Charles Peace.In addition to all this Mr. Jackson was in possession of some valuable information which he was not at liberty to divulge till the inquiry assumed a more definite shape.Certain legal forms had to be gone through before Peace could be removed from Newgate to answer the charge made against him in the county in which the crime had been perpetrated.One difficulty, however, stood in the way. The question at this time was, how to find out Mrs. Dyson; without her evidence the case would break down.Mrs. Dyson was now “wanted” as badly as Peace had been. Some time after the murder she left this country to return to Ohio, United States, and was indeed seen on board the vessel at Queenstown by Sub-inspector Walsh.There were persons who thought she would not remain long in America, and that she had returned to this country.The question was, where was Mrs. Dyson? This was a query which naturally suggested itself.Her appearance in Sheffield was a matter of great importance, for without her Peace might be kept outside the law which he had so long defied.The public had at this time, perhaps, as much interest centred upon Mrs. Dyson as upon Peace himself.There was a general belief, however, that Mrs. Dyson knew a great deal more than she divulged at the inquest—​not, indeed, about the actual facts of the murder, but with reference to her previous knowledge of our hero, and her communications and transactions with him.Certain letters produced at the inquest tended to show that between Mrs. Dyson and Peace much correspondence passed.This was flatly denied by Mrs. Dyson, who declared that she had never seen the letters before, and in this unsatisfactory condition things remained for some time. When the Bannercross tragedy was occupying public attention, information respecting the appearance, conduct, and antecedents of Mrs. Dyson were read with interest.Mrs. Catherine Dyson was married at Cleveland, Ohio, about the year 1866, to Mr. Arthur Dyson, civil engineer. In 1873 they returned to England, and lived at Tinsley, with the mother of Mr. Dyson. Afterwards they removed to Highfield, and then to Alexander-road, Heeley.Darnall was their next abode, and at Darnall Peace first came upon the scene. He took a house near the Dysons, and endeavoured to become intimate. Mr. Dyson treated his advances with coolness, and then Peace altered his tactics, and endeavoured to make disturbances between husband and wife. Failing in this he spread mischievous reports about them, and finally threatened to shoot Mrs. Dyson.For this a summons was issued against him, and neglecting to answer it, the summons was followed by a warrant. Upon this Peace left the neighbourhood, or at any rate endeavoured to give that impression to those who knew him. Mrs. Dyson, however, never believed that he had gone far.Though letters, purporting to come from Germany, and signed apparently by Peace, frequently came to the house, she had the impression that he was still about the town, and at his tricks. At this time the Dysons went to Bannercross, where the murder subsequently took place.Mrs. Dyson was then about twenty-five years of age, or half the age of her husband. She was a person of considerable muscular development, and not without personal attractions of face and figure. Her countenance was round and ruddy, her hair raven black, and neatly and fashionably tied up in coils.After the murder of her husband she appears to have been animated by a profound hatred of Peace, and naturally so. The various statements she made tend, nevertheless, to show that she had an intimate knowledge of him, and knew his real character.She scouted the then prevalent idea that he had drowned himself or otherwise put an end to his existence. She was certain, she stated, that he was not so far away, but that he would return and “finish” her.It was not her husband he intended to shoot, but herself. She regretted she had not a revolver when she met Peace; in that case she should herself have shot him dead. She was convinced that he would escape capture till he had put a bullet through her head as well as her husband’s.Her only protection was to have a revolver herself, and if he came she declared she should use it. These and other statements show the views Mrs. Dyson had at that time.Her examination at the inquest was looked forward to with great interest. Then it was believed revelations would be made by her as to her knowledge of Peace, but in fact nothing transpired.She positively repudiated the notion that there was anything kept back, or that Peace was anything more to her than he had been to her husband.The following are some of her replies in answer to the Coroner, who pressed her very closely upon this point:—Had there ever been a quarrel between you and your husband with regard to Peace?—​No. No quarrrel.You are quite sure that he never quarrelled with you on account of your familiarity with Peace?—​No; I am sure he has not.Has he ever complained of your speaking to Peace?—​He did not wish me to speak to him.Has he ever found fault with you for speaking to him?—​No, he has never found fault, because he told me never to speak to him, and I did not.The letters found near the scene of the murder created a good deal of bewilderment as to what they related to, and who were the authors of them.These letters were found the morning after the murder by police-constable Ward, in Mrs. Else’s grass field, opposite Mr. Dyson’s house, and handed over to Inspector Bradbury.Amongst them was a pink envelope enclosing a cent. American coin, the envelope bearing the words “C. Peace,Esq.”The directions and other writing on the covers were evidently in a woman’s hand, and written by one who apparently was carrying on an intrigue with Peace.These letters and papers were by the police evidently believed to have been written by Mrs. Dyson to Peace, for during the examination of Mrs. Dyson by the Coroner, the letters were handed to the latter, who thereupon closely cross-examined the witness as to her knowledge of them.The Coroner, in alluding to the letters in question, said—Have you ever seen this writing before (handing witness a quantity of letters)?—​No.Have you looked at them?—​Yes.Did you ever lend Peace a book?—​No.The Coroner (to the jury): These are letters and memoranda, gentlemen. They are not addressed to anyone—​so it is difficult to say what bearing they have on the case. Addressing witness: Did Peace never write to you?—​No.You are quite sure of that?—​Yes.Did he never write asking you to meet him?—​No.The Coroner (to the police): I suppose some one will give evidence as to where these came from?Mr. Inspector Bradbury: Yes.The Coroner: It is difficult, gentlemen, to know what to do with regard to those letters; they are not addressed. There is one here. I do not like to read it, because it does not say for whom it is intended. It runs:—​“I write you these few lines to thank you for all your kindness;” and so on. It is not addressed to anyone, and might have been written to Mrs. Dyson or not. To witness:Did you ever write a letter to Peace in your life?—​No, I never did.Not a scrap of paper of anything?—​No.You never wrote a word to him on paper?—​No.Just be careful, please. Do you mean to swear you never have written a word to him on paper?—​No.Never at all?—​No.Mr. Bradbury explained that the letters were picked up by a constable about fifteen yards from where Peace was seen to get over a wall. They were found the morning after the murder. Peace had been in the neighbourhood to several places, and showed the papers, which he said were in Mrs. Dyson’s handwriting, and written by her at the time she lived in Darnall.The Jury: Are they all in one handwriting?—​Some are in ink and some in pencil. There is one scrap in Mr. Dyson’s handwriting, telling Peace that he would have nothing to do with him.To witness: Whose handwriting is that?—​I don’t know.Is it in your handwriting?—​No.Can you write?—​No, I never do write.The Coroner said they were not addressed, but one scrap was identified by witness as her husband’s handwriting. It was, “Charles Peace is requested not to interfere with my family.” (To witness.) Do you know Peace’s handwriting when you see it.—​Yes.Witness then went over the letters, and thought that some of them were in Peace’s handwriting. The writing was similar to that contained in the threatening letters which were at Mr. Chambers’s office.Inspector Bradbury explained that the letters had been given up to the chief constable, who had intended to be present at the inquest, but his brother’s death had prevented him.The Coroner (to witness): I understand you to say that, with the exception of the threatening letter, Peace never wrote to you, or to him?—​No, I never did.Was this threatening letter addressed to you or to your husband?—​To my husband.Then he never wrote to you a threatening letter or any thing else?—​No. The letters threatened both. Peace never wrote to me.Then again with regard to the pink envelope and the cent coin the following took place:—Mrs. Dyson (recalled) was examined by the coroner, who said: Are you an American by birth?—​No.You have been living in America?—​Yes.Where did you see this coin last (meaning the cent)?—​I cannot say where I have seen this. I have seen several.Do you know where Peace got it?—​No.Did you give it to him?—​No.Did you never give a coin at all?—​No, I did not.The papers, after Peace’s identification, published an account of the interview of Peace, before the murder, with theRev.E. Newman, in which he made charges of a very gross kind against Mrs. Dyson, and produced letters,&c., in support of his allegations. There can be little doubt that these letters are identical with those afterwards found by the police-officer.It is said that one great object Peace had in view in trying to get Mrs. Dyson to follow his fortunes was that she would be useful to him in disposing of the proceeds of his burglaries. At one time he offered her £50 to take a trip through the country with him.Peace had a great liking for arms, and succeeded in stealing four revolvers in his burglarious expeditions.With one of these, a six-chambered weapon, he shot Mr. Dyson at Bannercross, and he used the same revolver when he encountered Police-constable Robinson at Blackheath, and shot him in the arm, just before his capture.This was his favourite revolver, but he had another, a smaller one, with five chambers, which he practised with at home.It carried only a very little bullet, not much larger than a pea, and when fired its report was scarcely louder than the crack of a whip. A capital revolver for practice, he frequently used it in his garden, firing at a bottle for a mark, and gaining great proficiency of aim.The third revolver had seven chambers; and the fourth ten chambers. The six-chambered one was his constant companion, however. He always carried it loaded, slept with it under his pillow, and kept the other three weapons, likewise loaded, in a drawer within easy reach of his bed, so that if his house had been surrounded by police, and they had endeavoured to arrest him, there is no doubt whatever that Peace would have fought to the last, and that he would have been captured at a terrible sacrifice.He devoted a good deal of attention to his weapons; frequently drew the charges and cleaned them, and always had them ready for use.The six-chambered revolver was wrested from his grasp at Blackheath by the police; but the other three, together with the ammunition, were sent down to Nottingham, and by a relative of Mrs. Thompson’s were dropped into the canal near the town.The arrangements for conveying the prisoner to Sheffield, to be then and there examined upon the charge of murdering Mr. Dyson, had been made in what was supposed to be a satisfactory manner, and it was at this time that our hero committed one of the most daring acts in his whole career.On Wednesday morning, of June 22, 1878, Charles Peace was taken in charge of two stalwart warders to the King’s-cross Station, for the purpose of being conveyed by express train to Sheffield.But the proceedinge came to a standstill in a most extraordinary manner.On Wednesday morning by a determined and nearly successful attempt at escape, by leaping from an express train, Charles Peace, alias Ward—​notorious as the hero of the Blackheath burglaries, and accused, on the evidence of Mrs. Dyson, of having murdered Mr. Dyson at Bannercross, near Sheffield—​added another startling chapter to the strange, eventful history with which the public are already familiar.The facts of this daring attempt are briefly as follows:—​The prisoner Peace left King’s-cross, London, by the 5.15 Great Northern train, accompanied by two warders from Pentonville Prison, where he had been confined, and he ought to have arrived at Victoria Station, Sheffield, at 8 54 a.m. The warders, who have been very much censured in Sheffield, have stated that when they brought Peace from London he was exceedingly troublesome throughout the whole journey, and wanted to leave the train whenever it stopped, and indeed when it was travelling.At Peterborough he was allowed to get out, and the warders had considerable difficulty in gettlng him back when they urged him to return, as he was keeping the train waiting. He answered them sneeringly, “What have I to do with caring for trains?”By way of precaution against this annoyance the chief warder states that he provided himself with a number of little bags, and that whenever Peace required it one of them was handed to him, and was afterwards thrown out of the window.It is clear that the desperado had been on the lookout for a favourable opportunity of making his escape, and at last it came. He pretended great weakness, and used several of the bags on the way.This may partly account for the fact that he had no irons on his lower limbs. His handcuffs were fastened with a chain about six inches long between them, and another chain for the warders to hold him by.The point selected was peculiarly favourable to the attempt.Between Worksop and Shireoaks—​so called from certain oaks under which the three shires of Nottingham, York, and Derby meet—​the ground is comparatively level; the country is also well adapted by the neighbourhood of the forests, as well as by old lime-pits and coal-workings, to offer temporary shelter to a criminal.Peace, it is known, is well acquainted with the district, having tramped it repeatedly when some of his many enterprises were unsuccessful.The warders, through Chief Constable Jackson, of Sheffield, have stated that when the train had passed Worksop, and was going at full speed, the prisoner asked for another bag.The chief warder gave him one, and he stood up with his face to the window to use it, the under-warder being close behind him.The window was dropped for him to throw it out, and, quick almost as lightning, Peace took a flying leap through the window. The under-warder sprang forward and caught him by the left foot. There he held him suspended head downwards, Peace kicking the warder with his right foot, and struggling with all his might to get free.The chief warder, unable to render his colleague any assistance in holding Peace, inasmuch as he occupied the whole space of the window, hastened to the other side of the carriage and pulled at the communication cord to alarm the driver and secure the stoppage of the train.The cord would not act, and some gentlemen who were in the next compartment, seeing the position of affairs, assisted in the efforts of the warder to stop the train.All this time the struggle was going on between Peace and his warder, and eventually the prisoner succeeded in kicking off his shoe, and he fell, his head striking the footboard of the carriage, and he dropped on the line.Supposing that the burglar had been able, as he came very near being, to jump clean through the window and alight on the soft embankment, fortune would also have favoured him in the matter of a fair start for Sherwood Forest.The struggle lasted during about two miles, and even after Peace got out the train ran on for about a mile before the speed slackened sufficiently to allow the warders to follow him.A three-mile start would have given the desperado such a chance of availing himself of the features of a very peculiar country as he of all men would have delighted in. When it had slackened speed sufficiently to allow the warders to alight the express train went on, and the warders hurried back along the line.Mr. William Barlow, fruiterer, of Retford, who was a passenger by the train in which Peace was travelling, accompanied the warders, and in a plain, unvarnished manner he states that between Shireoaks and Kineton Park he heard a noise, and looking out of the window saw one of the warders with a shoe in his hand.The train was brought up near the malt kiln at Kineton Park.The two warders and Mr. Barlow at once got out, and ran back along the line, and when they neared the spot where Peace made his plunge, they found him lying insensible on the line.He had been dragged for about twelve yards, and appeared much hurt, but when he was moved to the side of the road consciousness returned, and he begged them to cover him up as he was very cold.A slow train, which is timed to reach Sheffield at 9.20, soon came up.The warders shouted to the guard that Peace had jumped from the train and was lying there. The train was pulled up, and the criminal, who was now in no condition to offer resistance, was placed in the guard’s van.He was then bleeding profusely, and apparently in great pain, but the guard made him as comfortable as possible under the circumstances.Meantime, in Sheffield, the scene was highly exciting. As early as six in the morning a crowd began to gather round the Town Hall and at all the approaches, and long before the time the convict was expected to arrive, the assemblage had become very dense. Several persons fainted, and were taken away; but still the crowd waited most patiently until the rumour spread that the convict had escaped.Then the excitement was redoubled; the people surged backwards and forwards; they almost attempted to force the doors, and the police had hard work to keep their places at the railway station.When the train which should have brought Peace arrived without him and ten minutes late, the great crowd outside commenced shouting and yelling in a most excited manner, and the utmost confusion prevailed.The prisoners’ van, which was awaiting to convey Peace and the warders, was drawn up opposite the large hall-door.The train being brought to a standstill, a surprising announcement was made by the guard.“Peace has jumped out,” cried that official. The statement was for the moment treated by the crowd as a hoax, and meant as a “blind” in order to get the platform cleared; but when, instead of Peace, a sword, a bag, and a rug belonging to one of his warders were handed over by the guard to Inspector Bird, it was generally believed that Peace had really escaped, and that the warders were on his track.It was rumoured at the station that Peace had escaped through the railway carriage window, and had succeeded in making off; but several of the more incredulous, however, would have it that he had been taken out of the train at Darnall, and would be from there quietly conveyed in a cart to Sheffield. Many persons lingered on the platform in order to satisfy themselves of his non-arrival.At the Sheffield Police-court the few persons who had taken their seats in court by a quarter-past nine o’clock were astonished when, a few minutes subsequently, the chief constable entered, in a state of considerable excitement.Addressing his audience from the bench, Mr. Jackson said he was sorry to tell them that they had put themselves to inconvenience in attending thus early in the day, all to no account.“In short,” he exclaimed, “Peace has escaped from the warders; at least, that is what I hear.”Meanwhile, the court very slowly filled, and a minute or two before ten o’clock the witnesses for the prosecution were admitted from the magisterial entrance.Mrs. Dyson, it was noted, looked wonderfully well, and even more collected in her demeanour on Friday last, notwithstanding the fact that she was to undergo the ordeal of a special examination.She again wore a black hat and feather, but eschewed the veil which before she persisted in keeping drawn close down over her features, and the thick waterproof, with which she formerly enveloped her figure, had given place to a mantle of a lighter description.Punctually at ten, the stipendiary, Mr. Welby, took his seat. Mr. Pollard and Mr. W. E. Clegg, the prosecuting and defending solicitors, were also in their places, but the dock remained untenanted.A quarter-past ten, and no Peace. The rumour was whispered around that it was doubtful whether he would be able to appear at all that day, and this view of the situation was strengthened when, after an interview with Mr. Jackson, the stipendiary hurriedly left the court.Presently Mr. Welby came back and said—As to this case, in consequence of the injuries the man Peace has received this morning it is necessary to remand him for eight days. Therefore, the cuse is adjourned for eight days.There will be nothing further done this morning. Do not disperse in a hurry, for there is a large crowd outside.Another correspondent telegraphed:—​The news was again and again repeated that Peace was dead, but the fact is that this report was founded upon his fall from the carriage. No fears are entertained as to his ultimate convalescence.On reaching the police-offices at Sheffield, the convict was carried to a cell where he was seen by Dr. Spowart, the police-surgeon, and Mr. Hallam, a surgeon of large experience. They found he was suffering from a severe scalp wound in the head and concussion of the brain, and he appeared in a very exhausted state. He vomited freely, and it was with some difficulty that stimulants could be administered to him.His wound was carefully dressed, and he was laid on the cell bed, and covered with rugs. After a little time Peace was able to speak to his warders. The Sheffield police cells have the advantage of ample space, light, and warmth.The furniture in each cell consists of a long wooden bench: but the apartment occupied by Peace has had added to it a mattrass and pillows, together with an ample supply of rugs.There the little old man lies, his grey head curled down under the rugs, and near the door stand his two keepers.During the first hour he was frequently aroused, and brandy administered to him. At first force had almost to be used to get him to take it, but afterwards he drank it without any objection; though at one time, with that thoughtfulness for himself for which he has been distinguished, he expressed a preference for whiskey, “if he must take any stimulants.”The vomiting with which he was at first troubled, soon ceased under the influence of the restoratives, and the medical men have been unremitting in their attention. There are some officers in the Sheffield force who were very doubtful as to the injuries he had sustained, and believe that he has been up to his old cunning and shamming a bit.These constables stated that when he was lifted up, and the bottle placed to his lips, he ground his teeth and clenched his fists, and appeared to be struggling in a fit.He was laid on the bench, and force was about to be used to make him take the stimulant, when one who knew him well said very sternly, “Now, Charley, it’s no use. Let’s have none of your hankey pankey tricks here. You’ll have to take it.”Charley recognised the voice, opened his eyes, and replied, “All right; give me a minute.” A knowing wink passed among the officers, and presently he sat up and took the brandy. Indeed, he seemed rather to like it, for he drank two gills in a comparatively short time.He is now resting quietly, the only request he makes being that he may be well covered, as he feels the cold, which is in Sheffield exceptionally severe. When the Great Northern express train reached Retford the carriages for Sheffield and Manchester were detached and “made up” for the Manchester, Sheffield, and Lincolnshire Railway.The compartment occupied by Peace and his warders was a third-class one in a composite carriage, immediately in front of the guard’s van.In the next—​a first-class compartment—​were Mr. Benjamin F. Cocker, who resides at Retford, and another gentleman.Mr. Cocker says: We had got about half a mile past Shireoaks Station when I heard a loud shout from the compartment where I knew Peace was. The gentleman with me said, ‘Peace has got out,’ and tried to open the window on the near side, but it was frozen fast. I tried the other window, and, opening it, leaned half my body out and tried to pull the communication cord. I saw the warder, who was doing the same thing. The warder said, ‘I have got hold of this cord, but cannot make it ring.’ After trying this all we could, at Branchcliffe siding we signalled to the signalman; again and again we tried the cord, and the train slackened speed. As it did so, I exclaimed to the warder, ‘You are a nice sort of fellow to let the man get out of your grip.’ The warder answered, ‘He jumped right through the window in a second. I held on him by the leg, but his boot came off, and of course he dropped then.’ The warder’s hands were covered with blood, for Peace had kicked him very severely while struggling at the window.”For the present, at least, Peace will remain in Sheffield.At half-past ten p.m., Chief-constable Cosgrove and his colleagues reported that Peace was slumbering in apparent comfort; but as the warder—​who looked very wearied, and who evidently regards his charge as something entirely out of the ordinary run—​remarked, “With one eye open.”A little earlier in the evening the medical attendant had found it necessary to order the prisoner a little medicine.No.87.Illustration: PEACE’S LEAP FROM THE TRAIN.PEACE’S LEAP FROM THE TRAIN.This he refused to take; “but,” said the warder, “it was the doctor’s orders, and we were bound to carry them out.”Peace screamed violently, and the warder stated that he found a good deal of force necessary to compel the prisoner to take the potion, which, it is believed, was a slight opiate.“Even now, after all he has gone through,” said the warder, “he seems to have more than the strength of an ordinary man.”The warder added that, having been himself afoot since two o’clock in the morning, he felt much exhausted. After taking the medicine the prisoner was less excited, but did not seem to sleep at all easily.The police understood that the prisoner was to be retained in Sheffield till all is over. Not only in Sheffield, but at Darnall and Bannercross, where Mr. Dyson was well known, at Shireoaks, Kineton Park, and Worksop, near where the prisoner lived, and all round the district; an unparalleled interest was shown in the prisoner’s latest escapade.The following further particulars are given by a correspondent:The window was let down, and Peace, stooping in front of it, was using the bag, which the warders thought he was going to throw out as usual. Suddenly, with all the agility of a cat, Peace took a “header,” and threw himself out of the window. The under warder sprang forward, and was just in time to catch him by the left foot.There he held Peace, head downwards, dangling out of the window—​an extraordinary sight to those who happened to be passing at the time. Peace with his other foot kicked the warder’s hands, and struggled most determinedly to get free from the warder’s grasp.The chief warder, finding the space too narrow to help his associate in the struggle, seized the rope communicating with the guard’s van, and endeavoured to stop the train.Peace, knowing that the window was too narrow to let the other get forward, became more savage and ferocious still, and kicked and wriggled about with great violence.Still the warder clung to him, and, for a distance of two miles, Peace was hanging head downwards by the carriage side. At last, by supreme effort, he managed to wriggle off his boot, which was left in the warder’s hand, and the convict fell on the stepboard of the carriage, from which he bounded upon the ends of the sleepers.The train was still travelling very rapidly. The communication cord having failed to work until a gentleman in the next compartment, hearing a noise, and suspecting something was wrong, managed to pull the rope, and the warders had the satisfaction of hearing the deep “boom” of the gong.The train slackened speed and the warders got out and ran back up the line for nearly a mile, where they found Peace lying as he had fallen, having evidently received injuries sufficient to prevent his getting away.He was conscious, however, and gave the warders a smile of satisfaction as they came up to him. They found him in the act of trying to wriggle the handcuffs off his wrists.Blood was flowing from a wound in his head. They picked him up, and, as the slow train which arrives at Sheffield at 9.20 a.m. was coming up, they signalled it to stop. The convict was put into the guard’s van, where for the rest of the journey the warders kept a sharp look-out.He asked to be wrapped up in a rug, as it was a very cold morning, exclaiming, “Oh, my head!—​oh, my poor head!” precisely the same observation he made when he was brought to Greenwich Police-station, after his encounter with Police-constable Robinson, the morning he was caught.On his arrival at Sheffield, an immense crowd awaited the train, but Peace was promptly seized by four officers, conveyed to the van, and was soon at the Police-office, where he looked a piteous spectacle.As he was lifted out of the vehicle and removed inside the police-station he appeared in a very exhausted condition, but after a little time he spoke a few words to the warders and took a pretty stiff dose of brandy, which was administered to him by medical orders.PEACE’S EFFORT TO ESCAPE.Various versions were very readily afloat after the express had reached Sheffield as to how this daring convict had succeeded in eluding his custodians, but they were all more or less wide of the mark.Through the courtesy of the chief constable, we are able to give the following authentic particulars of this last and most astounding feat of this remarkable man.It appears that when the warders brought Peace from Pentonville on the previous week he was exceedingly troublesome throughout the whole journey, and wanted to leave the train whenever it stopped; and indeed when it was travelling.At Peterborough he was allowed to get out, and the warders had considerable difficulty in getting him back into the train.The chief warder adopted a plan of his own on the present occasion, and he provided himself with a number of little bags, and whenever Peace required it one of them was handed to him, and was afterwards thrown out of the window.From the moment of their leaving Pentonville he appeared to set himself deliberately to work to annoy and irritate and vex the officers to the utmost of his power.And no one unacquainted with him can form any conception of his matchless powers in that direction.Having been in prison so many times, he is as well acquainted with the rules which guide the warders as they are themselves; and any infringement of those rules on their part he would quickly detect and make a noise about.His set purpose seemed to be to provoke them to a breach of the rules, and to serve him as he too richly deserved to be served.He behaved more like a beast than a human being, until the carriage became almost unbearable.The train had passed Worksop, and a part of the country was reached which Peace knew too well. All the way down on this, as in his previous journey, he had been adopting the most ingenious and cunning devices to put the warders off their guard, but without success.Now was his last chance of eluding them, and if he could but escape from the carriage, he could follow, perhaps, well remembered “cuts,” steal into Darnall or some other place of refuge, and, profiting by past experience, be no more discovered.The train was whirling along at express speed; but what of that? To such a man to regain freedom was worth a supreme effort—​though he died in the attempt. He had used several of the bags referred to on the journey, and he asked for another.The chief warder gave him one, and he stood up with his face to the window to use it, the under warder being close behind him. The window was dropped for him to throw it out, and quick almost as lightning Peace took a flying leap through the window.The under warder sprang forward and caught him by the left foot. There he held him suspended head downwards; Peace kicking the warder with his right foot, and struggling with all his might to get free.The chief warder—​unable to render his colleague any assistance in holding Peace, inasmuch as he occupied the whole space of the window—​hastened to the other side of the carriage and pulled at the communication cord, to alarm the driver and secure the stoppage of the train.The cord would not act, and some gentlemen who were in the next compartment, seeing the position of affairs, assisted in the efforts of the warder to stop the train.All this time a most desperate struggle was going on between Peace and the warder. Peace, whose vitality seemed to be unbounded, was struggling with all his might, quite reckless of the consequences of falling headlong on the rails, or of being caught in the train and dashed to pieces. The warder held on to him like grim death; determined not to let go of him, but unable to secure a firmer grip of his prisoner.The passengers all down the train had had their attention arrested by what was going on, and were craning their necks out of the windows, astonished at the spectacle which met their gaze.The train, it is stated, ran a distance of nearly two miles whilst this exciting scene was being enacted; and then Peace succeeded in kicking off his left shoe, which remained in the warder’s hand; and he fell with all the force of his own weight and the impelling motion of the train.In his fall his head struck the footboard of the carriage, and he rolled over into the six-foot between the up and down lines.The train ran on about a mile further before it could be stopped, and then the warders and others jumped out and ran back along the line in pursuit of their prisoner.They found him in the six-foot, near to where he had fallen, insensible, and blood flowing from a wound in his head.They assisted him up, and the down slow train, which was due shortly after, was stopped, and he was lifted into the guard’s van.In a few minutes he recovered so much consciousness as to say, “I am cold; cover me up.” Rugs were placed upon him, and in a little while he arrived in Sheffield.NARRATIVES BY EYE-WITNESSES.Mr. W. Barlow, fruiterer, of Retford, who attends Sheffield market, was a passenger on Wednesday morning by the fast train by which Peace was travelling.Between Shireoaks and Kineton Park he heard a noise, and looking out of the window saw one of warders with a shoe in his hand. The train was stopped as soon as possible, but it had run nearly two miles before it came to a stand, and was brought up near the malt-kiln at Kineton Park.The two warders and Mr. Barlow at once got out and ran back along the line, and when they neared the spot where Peace made his plunge they found him lying insensible on the line.He appeared much hurt, but when he was moved to the side of the road consciousness returned, and he begged them to cover him up as he was very cold.Shortly afterwards a slow train came up, and this was stopped. Peace was put into the van and brought on to Sheffield.It seems that the escape was managed in this way. As the train was flying on at full speed Peace induced the warder to allow him to open the window.No sooner was this done than the convict flung himself head first through the opening. The warder seized him by the leg, and held on for some time, but the prisoner struggled so violently that his shoe came off in the warder’s hand, and the wretched man fell upon the line.One of the first persons who reached Peace after his desperate leap was a blacksmith, named William Stephenson, who is at present working at Kineton Park.He says:—​About a quarter to nine o’clock I was standing close to Kineton-park station, when the fast train from London came slowly into the station. Almost everybody was at the carriage windows, and some were craning their necks out, and looking back up the line. We asked what was the matter, and they shouted excitedly “Peace has escaped; he has jumped out of the train.”We knew all about Peace at Kineton Park, and there was a general rush from the platform up the line after the warders, whom we could see just ahead of us.The guard said they had just stopped for the warders to get out, and we rushed on.We came up to the warders as they got to Peace, who was lying by the side of the up line about a mile from Kineton-park station in the direction of Shireoaks.At that point the line runs almost on a level with the surrounding country.Peace appears to have jumped out of the window on the right hand side of the train, and when the slipping off of his boot released him from the grasp of the officer he fell in the six foot between the up and down metals.The velocity he received from the motion of the train then rolled him over, and he must have fallen where we found him, or have crawled off the metals of the up line.He was lying on his back, and was to all appearance unconscious.Blood flowed freely from a large gash over his right ear, and he did not speak.Just then a slow train came up from Shireoaks for Sheffield, and that was stopped. We lifted Peace into the guard’s van, and laid him on the floor.He did not say anything about his attempt to escape, but merely said that he was cold, and asked for a rug to be put over him. He was brought to Sheffield.The people in the train were wonderfully excited, and had seen the struggle from their carriage windows.After Peace’s arrest frequent references were made to the large black rimmed spectacles which he had worn with so much ostentation for the purpose of concealing his identity.Indeed, they had played almost as conspicuous a part in his case as a certain pair of elegant gold-framed spectacles did when their owner was under the searching cross-examination of a gentleman who on Wednesday occupied a seat on the bench.Precious as the spectacles of Mr. Peace are to him, they have narrowly escaped destruction. After he had been picked up on the line on Wednesday morning, and taken on to Sheffield, two men named George Hewitt and Wm. Turner walked down the metals to see what could be seen.Peace had fallen at a place called Harrycroft, between Brancliffe siding and the canal siding, near to Kineton Park; and when the men reached the place and were looking round they saw lying on the line Peace’s spectacles. They handed them over to the station-master at Kineton Park.The warders had evidently been too much occupied with their re-capture of Peace to notice that he had lost his spectacles, or to think about them.Probably there never was more excitement caused by the expected arrival of an individual who had gained notoriety, through whatever source it might be, than was manifested at the Victoria Station on Wednesday.Notwithstanding the bitter cold, a concourse of perhaps some thousand persons of all ages and both sexes assembled in the square opposite the court, intent on seeing Peace if possible, and though a large body of police, under the charge of Inspector Bird, did their utmost to keep the crowd from gaining ingress to the platform, the station was crowded.It was generally believed that Peace would be removed from his cell to Pentonville, and brought down by what is known as the newspaper train, leaving King’s Cross at 5.15, and due in Sheffield at 8.58.When the train steamed into the station some twelve minutes late the crowd had increased very considerably.Those outside commenced shouting and yelling in a most excited manner, and the utmost confusion prevailed.The prisoners’ van, which was awaiting to convey Peace and the warders, was drawn up opposite the large hall door. The train being brought to a standstill, a surprising announcement was made by the guard.“Peace has jumped out!” cried that official; and to see the amazement that came over the countenances of Inspector Bird and his men were at once painful and amusing in the extreme.The affair was for the moment treated by the crowd as a hoax, and meant as a “blind” in order to get the platform cleared; but when, instead of Peace, a sword, a bag, and a rug belonging to one of his warders were handed over by the guard to Inspector Bird, it was generally believed that Peace had really escaped, and that the warders were on his track.It was rumoured at the station that Peace had escaped through the railway carriage window, just after passing through Welwyn, and that he was once more at large.Passing from mouth to mouth, this version of the story soon spread far and wide. Several of the more knowing, however, would have it that Peace had been taken out of the train at Darnall, and would be from there quietly conveyed in a cab to Sheffield.Many lingered on the platform, however, in order to satisfy themselves of his non-arrival, for they seemed to entertain the idea that it was probable he had been secreted in one of the carriages till the course was clear for his conveyance from the train into the van.But when the latter was driven away without its expected charge, and the police returned to the Town Hall, the crowd commenced to disperse, and by and by the station assumed its normal appearance.Peace was carried to the first cell to the right of the stairs on the second landing. Under ordinary circumstances a police cell is not the most luxuriously furnished room in the world; but the Sheffield police cells have the advantages of ample space, light, and warmth.The “furniture” in each cell consists of a wooden bench, and that answers all the purposes of a bed, a chair, a sofa, and so forth. On this bed the convict was laid, rugs were rolled up for his pillow and a heap of rugs was thrown over him.Mr. Harrison, who was a witness in the case, was at the court, and he was asked to see Peace, but he manifested a decided reluctance to do so; and, indeed, said he would as soon attend upon—​well, somebody else, as he would see Peace.Dr. Spowart, Police-Surgeon of the Walkley Division, and Mr. Hallam of the Central Division, were promptly in attendance, and they found that he was suffering from a severe scalp wound in the head and concussion of the brain; and he appeared in a very exhausted state.He vomited freely, and it was with some difficulty that stimulants could be administered to him. His wound was carefully dressed; he was laid on the cell bed and covered with rugs. There were some officers present who were dubious as to the extent of the injuries he had sustained, and believed that he was up to his old cunning and shamming a bit.When at intervals a little brandy was given to him, he was lifted up and the bottle placed to his lips. He ground his teeth, clenched his fists, and appeared to be struggling in a fit.He was laid on the bench, and force was about to be used to make him take the stimulant, when one who knew him well said, very sternly, “Now, Charley, it’s no use. Let’s have none of your hankey pankey tricks here. You’ll have to take it.”Charley recognised the voice; opened his eyes, and replied, “All right: give me a minute.”A knowing wink passed amongst the officers, and presently he sat up and took the brandy. Afterwards he took stimulants when offered to him; and he even went so far as to express a preference for whiskey over brandy.After being thus attended to, he would immediately lie down and curl himself up under his rugs, scarcely leaving even his little grey head visible.Mr. Hallam visited him at frequent intervals during the afternoon and evening, and on each occasion he found him steadily improving.The vomiting had long ceased; he took stimulants and food readily, and was indeed going on “as well as could be expected.”When Mr. Hallam saw him late at night, he said he should not come down again unless he was sent for.I was infected for once by the common curiosity, and instead of waiting patiently to read your report of the final hearing before the magistrates, of the charge of murder against Peace, I betook myself to the Town Hall in good time, in the hope that, if I should escape being squeezed as flat as a red herring in the process of effecting an entrance, I might see the noted prisoner, and admire the tact with which my friend, Mr. W. E. Clegg, would cross-examine Mrs. Dyson.It soon appeared that I was out in my calculations. I gather from your second edition that this morning “the early birds did not catch the worm,” though they did receive the next best thing, the shock of a surprise.“Peace has escaped” was the cry. I had made up my mind to the disappointment of my expectations, and supposed I should hear in an hour or two that the mangled body of Peace had been picked up on the line, or that the prisoner, maimed and battered, had been found and sent to hospital.However, I betook myself to the Court to try what was to be heard and seen. We sometimes hear how hard it is to get together magistrates enough to do the business. There was no such difficulty this morning. I should think some of these excellent gentlemen were there to perform a work of supererogation and score an attendance that might count in the scale of merit.And they were in capital time too. For a quarter of an hour several of them, with sundry non-magisterial friends, were on the bench.A few moments before the stroke of ten entered Mr. Welby, the able, mild, and unpretending stipendiary. On his left was Mr. Overend,Q.C., whose genial and ruddy countenance seems to defy the power of years; and on the right was Mr. T. W. Rodgers, with a patriarchal aspect. The audience was curious and excited.The Mayor did not put in an appearance, but a fair majority of aldermen and councillors were present, and had established themselves in the best places they could get before the doors were opened to the common public.Mr. H. E. Watson talked last week of “the governing families of the town,” but these were, I suppose, the governing men, and as they serve the public assiduously it was meet that they should have a sort of priority. A few minutes after ten enters Mr. Pollard, Treasury solicitor, bland and cheerful, and bowing to the Bench, takes his seat.A little later appears the prisoner’s solicitor, Mr. W. E. Clegg, with no marks of fussiness or anxiety, such as would make a client nervous, but with the self-contained look, assuring those who were interested that all the resources of an active, acute, and trained legal mind were at their service.Everybody looked and listened. There was the prisoner’s dock empty. It contained several chairs, with a pitcher of water and a glass.The whisper went round that the prison surgeon was in attendance on Peace, and the speculation was—​Is he in condition to be brought up? Or, if not, will Mr. Pollard offer the prisoner’s advocate the opportunity to cross-examine Mrs. Dyson in his client’s absence?Everybody expected to see Mr. Pollard rise, state to the Bench what had happened, and make a suggestion as to the course to be pursued.Presently there was a move, and the chief constable made a private communication to the stipendiary.Mr. Welby left his seat and went out, followed by Mr. Overend and Mr. Rogers.Then Mr. Clegg, and next Mr. Pollard, were called out. For five or ten minutes there was nothing to do but look round and speculate.There is but one female in court. How is this? Is female curiosity defunct? Don’t the ladies want to see Peace and the woman whose name has been so unhappily mixed up with his, and who may be regarded as one of his victims?No doubt they do. Never was female curiosity more lively, and this morning there were many early breakfasts, and there was a decided resolution, to be in time.Soon after nine o’clock, quite a bevy of ladies had made their way into the police offices, never doubting that their potent claims would carry them into the court, and secure them the gratification they longed for.It was a painful duty for the chief constable to make the ladies aware that the examination of the day was likely to take a very delicate turn indeed—​so delicate that the presiding magistrate would have to point out to any ladies who might be present the propriety of retiring.I will not undertake to say that there were not applicants who could have run the risks of all this, but the case was to put to the group so plainly as to induce them all to retire.But, as I have said, there was one woman in court and the whisper went round “That is Mrs. Dyson.”“Is that lady a widow? I should not have guessed it,” was the remark. Certainly she was out of mourning.I have the pleasure to remark that the lady appears quite to have recovered the shock of her bereavement of two years ago, and that her two voyages across the Atlantic with her sojourn there, seem, judging from her rosy visage, quite to have restored her spirits and established her health.With every desire to be as complimentary as possible, and to paint female charms with the liveliest colours, I cannot borrow the imaginative language of a pretended interviewer of New York, who has soared into the realms of fiction to find Mrs. Dyson’s version of her husband’s murder, and to discover the grounds surrounding his mansion, and the servants who were brought to the spot by the screams of their horrified mistress.The Bannercross cottage is capable of development when seen through a New York telescope. The American interviewer enlists the sympathies and stirs up the credulity of his readers at the outset, by saying Mrs. Dyson is “a young and extremely handsome lady.”One does not want gratuitously to take the edge off so very pleasant a compliment. But if the said interviewer had seen, instead of imagining, Mrs. Dyson, I fancy he would have given us a guess at her weight in pounds—​for that is a common ingredient in an American description—​and if he had been a good judge, he would have put the figure pretty high.However, I may satisfy your readers by saying Mrs. Dyson is buxom and blooming; and when Mr. Dyson’s heart was pierced by her youthful charms he no doubt showed himself a good judge of female beauty.It was remarked last week that when she was examined for the prosecution, she wore a veil, and Peace remarking that she kissed the book without raising her veil, insisted that she should take the oath “without a veil between” her lips and the calfskin binding.To-day she had provided against such an objection, and had discarded the veil, her headgear being a hat with a feather, jauntily set on.As I am not a milliner, and only saw her sitting, I cannot tell you anything about the rest of her dress, but that her general appearance was stylish and cheerful, and it did not appear that the prospect of being put through the small sieve by Mr. W. E. Clegg had alarmed her—​certainly it had not blanched her cheeks.Well, but while I have been noting Mrs. Dyson and the less notable persons, the magistrates and advocates have concluded their consultation out of court. They resume their places, and then Mr. Welby makes the brief announcement that ends all questions for the day.A very large proportion of the public were glad to hear that Charles Peace had recovered very satisfactorily from the injuries he had received.As previously stated, he first refused to take any stimulants, and only seemed to desire to be left alone curled up under a heap of rugs.Later in the day he revived a good deal; took stimulants freely, and when Mr. Hallam, surgeon, saw him late at night, he found him so much improved that he expressed his intention not to come down again unless sent for.The necessity did not arise for Mr. Hallam to be again called in. Peace continued to improve during the night, and on Thursday morning, when the surgeon saw him again, he was much better. Peace spent a very restless night.He tossed about a good deal, and his conduct was altogether so marked as not to escape attention.The two warders who brought him from London had never both left him since they picked him up on the railway on Wednesday.One of them sat close by Peace’s side throughout the whole night watching his every movement, and not for an instant having his gaze averted from his now more than ever remarkable and distinguished prisoner.At intervals Peace, as already stated, tossed about a good deal, and then he became quiet, and apparently dropped into a sound slumber.Presently the watchful eye of the warder has seen him peep stealthily up from under his rugs, evidently to ascertain whether he might risk any move without being watched.Of course there was not the slightest chance of his escaping from the cells; but if opportunity offered he might make an attempt upon his life. He frequently took stimulants—​brandy and milk; and when Mr. Hallam saw him on Thursday morning he found him very much better, and ordered him tea and bread and butter.When asked “What sort of a night he had had?” by one of the officers, he replied in that hypocritically whining tone which he knew so well how to simulate, “Not very good. I can’t sleep.”He remained lying down under a good supply of rugs, and although hitherto extremely talkative and effusive in his efforts to recognise all who approached him, he now said but little, even when roused to take stimulants.On Thursday night two members of the borough force were told off to assist the warders in their care of the convict. Two lamps were placed in his cell in such positions as to throw their light full on his face; and near him sat one of the warders and the two policemen.The second warder rested on a “shake-down” in the corridor while the first kept his watch, and at intervals they changed.On Thursday night, Peace was reported to be much better, and he asked for soup and other stimulants, which were supplied to him.Peace’s career continued to be one series of surprises, not the least astonishing of which came to light on the morning after his attempted escape. His object in jumping from the train appears to have been not so much to escape as to destroy himself.He was often heard to express a strong desire to be buried at Darnall. It was there, it will be remembered, that he occupied a little villa residence standing in its own grounds, and the garden attached to which he cultivated with so much care; it was there he unhappily made the acquaintance of the Dysons, and became so offensive in his friendship that they had to leave the village to escape from him; it is there his married daughter lives; it was there his wife was arrested on a charge of being in possession of goods the proceeds of his burglaries; and to Darnall she returned immediately after her acquittal on the charge at Newgate.These and perhaps many other associations appear to have endeared the place to him. It is also a remarkable fact that the spot selected by Peace at which to make his daring leap from the carriage was, measured by the rate at which an express train travels, within a very short distance of Darnall Church.At first it was supposed that the only and real purpose in his mind in endeavouring to give his custodians the slip there was that—​hoping to escape unhurt—​he knew the country well, and could take short cuts across the fields and find safe and friendly shelter at Darnall. His object, however, appears not to have been to regain his freedom, but to destroy himself.On Thursday morning, Mr. W. E. Clegg, visited the convict in his cell, for the purpose of receiving instructions from him as to his defence, and before he left Peace drew from his pocket a scrap of crumpled paper, and handed it to him.As it was contrary to the rules of the Pentonville establishment that a prisoner should have any letter or anything of the kind upon him, the warders asked that the paper might be handed over to them. The note was written in pencil, and read as follows:—“Bury me at Darnall. Good-bye. God bless you all. C. Peace.”It appears that when a Pentonville convict has a letter sent to him, it is opened and read by one of the officials, and if there is nothing in it objectionable it is initialled and passed on to him.The scrap of paper upon which Peace had written, and which he had kept treasured up in his pocket, was part of a letter which had been so handed over to him. Where he got the pencil from to write the note, and when he wrote it, is unknown.From its contents it would certainly appear that his deliberate object in springing through the window when the train was going at express speed was to destroy himself; and, bad beyond description as he is, he seems to have possessed sufficient human feeling to desire that his remains might lie amongst those whom he had known in life.At intervals during Thursday morning he seemed to suffer much mental distress, and exclaimed with great intensity of feeling, “I do wish I was dead!”In the face of all these facts the warders, it may be readily imagined, redoubled their already vigilant watch over him, and his slightest movement did not pass unobserved.Peace’s escape from instant death when he leaped out of the railway carriage window was a matter of surprise to everybody. His custodians never expected to see him alive after his fall.

The incidents described in the preceding chapters came to a denouement; this we shall have to chronicle a few chapters further on. Meanwhile we will put the reader in possession of other facts in connection with our hero.

Charles Peace, at this time occupied the attention of the detectives in a most remarkable degree, and every effort was made to bring the crime of murdering Mr. Dyson home to him.

Every effort was used to give as much publicity to the leading circumstances attendant on this crime. The public were furnished with the following account:—​On the night of the 29th November, 1876, a civil engineer named Mr. Arthur Dyson, who resided at Bannercross-terrace, near Sheffield, was shot by a man whom he found lurking on his premises. That man was subsequently sworn to as being Charles Peace, a notorious character, who had been convicted of felony, and who was known to be a desperado.

Immediately after committing the murder Peace decamped across the adjacent fields, and from that time all trace of him was lost. A coroner’s inquest, sitting on view of the body of Mr. Dyson, returned a verdict of wilful murder against Peace, and on this a warrant was issued for his apprehension, and it is believed that he at last has been captured.

Peace was an “old bird,” and eluded those who were on his track. He was so successful in that, that many believed he had made away with himself by jumping down some old coal pit, and thus hiding his body whilst ridding the world of himself.

But the police officers who had had to deal with him did not believe this story. “Peace,” they said, “is not a man to do that; he’ll fight before he’s caught; he’s not dead.”

On the night of the murder there was a “handicap” in Sheffield, in which men were the competitors, and the railway stations were crowded with those who were returning home after viewing the pedestrian exhibition.

It was thought that Peace mixed up with this motley crowd and so effected his escape for the time being.

As to where he had gone was a question, but the police were almost as rapid in their movements as was Peace, though for the time being he appeared the most successful in the accomplishing of his purpose—​the effecting of his escape.

Within five hours after Mr. Dyson’s death the whole of the large towns within a radius of two hundred miles of here had been warned of the crime which had been committed, and the railway stations of Hull, Huddersfield, Leeds, Manchester, Bradford, Liverpool, and Halifax, were most vigilantly watched, and it was known that Peace, being an old hand, knew the thieves’ runs and hiding places in those localities.

Notwithstanding every effort there was no indication of the whereabout of the man.

The houses of some of his relatives in Sheffield were searched almost nightly; nocturnal visits were made to the domiciles of other friends, but yet there were no tidings of “Peace,” and the closest scrutiny failed to show that he was having the slightest communication with any of those who in Sheffield had been regarded as attached to him, and with whom he had been in the habit of associating.

One Sheffield detective watched the Manchester Railway station for almost a month, but, of course, unsuccessfully.

The almost universally accepted version of the murderer’s escape was this—​that Peace took train to Hull within a couple of hours after shooting Mr. Dyson.

Indeed, an officer who went to that town afterwards and who knew the “crimping places,” as he himself, graphically describes them, said he had no doubt that Peace had been there, and had remained a week or two, but after that there was no trace of him.

There was but one other theory left, and that was that the fellow had taken ship and gone to Hamburg—​he being well versed as to the thieves’ haunts there.

It should here be stated, however, that before committing the murder Peace went to “a friend” and said he was short of cash. He borrowed £15—​and forgot to return it.

Thus it will be seen that he was not short of funds when he set out with the intention of committing the murder—​for that he intended to commit one there can be no doubt, although his particular reasons for doing so are, for the present, a complete mystery.

The authorities took care to circulate throughout the police districts of the United Kingdom a complete description of the man who was “wanted,” together with photographs of him, showing his visage when shaven, when wearing a beard, and, indeed, under all the appearances he had worn whilst in the hands of the police.

The authorities on the Continent and in the United States received similar advices, but still there was no trace of the man, and this only led the incredulous to be more firmly of opinion that Peace had committed suicide, and would no longer be heard of amongst the living.

It will be seen, from the official notice which we append, that if Peace fell into the hands of the police, there were marks on him which would make him somewhat easy of identification. For his apprehension a reward of £100 was offered by Government. The police notice was as follows:—

“Murder.—​£100 Reward. Whereas on the 29th ult. Mr. Arthur Dyson, C.E., was murdered at Bannercross, Sheffield, having been shot in the head, in the presence of his wife, by Charles Peace, who escaped in the darkness of the night, and is still at large; and whereas at the coroner’s inquest held on the 8thinst., upon the body of the said Arthur Dyson, a verdict of ‘wilful murder’ was found against the said Charles Peace.

“Notice is hereby given that a reward of £100 will be paid by her Majesty’s Government to any person other than a person employed in a police force in the United Kingdom who shall give such information and evidence as shall lead to the discovery and conviction of the said Charles Peace.

“Peace is a thin and slightly-built man, about forty-six years of age, but looks ten years older, five feet four or five inches high, grey (nearly white) hair, beard and whiskers (the whiskers were long when he committed the murder, but may now be cut or shaved off), has lost one or more fingers off left hand, cut mark on back of each hand, and one on forehead, walks with his legs rather wide apart, speaks somewhat peculiarly, as though his tongue was too large for his mouth, and is a great boaster.

“He is a joiner or picture-frame maker, but occasionally cleans and repairs clocks and watches, and sometimes deals in oleographs, engravings, pictures,&c., associates with loose women, and has been twice in penal servitude for burglaries near Manchester.”

Besides that Peace was known to be a “good shot,” and a quick one.

He had been a daring poacher when a young man, and always carried a revolver on him.

As a “cracksman” he stood in the foremost ranks of the thieving fraternity; he was a capital hand at opening a “safe,” and was utterly reckless as to consequences, and notoriously cruel.

Such was the man whom the police desired to apprehend, and it was well known that if he had a chance he would resist his capture, and not hesitate to resort again to the use of firearms. There is now almost every reason to believe that Peace has at length fallen into the hands of the police.

THE IDENTIFICATION.

A prisoner of the notorious character indicated above, was, of course, the object of special care and precaution. As a consequence it was found that there were marks on him of a singular description, and a word or two which he had dropped to a fellow-prisoner gave rise to a suspicion in the minds of the authorities that “John Ward” was not altogether what he professed to be—​a half-caste American, and a juvenile in the art of thieving.

Inspector Phillips took the matter in hand, and as a result of his searches, came to the conclusion that the prisoner was no other than Charles Peace, of Sheffield, the murderer of Mr. Dyson.

He examined the prisoner more closely, and found the numerous discolourations and disfigurements on his body to coincide with the police description.

The photograph of the missing Peace was evidently that of this prisoner, and a number of other circumstances tended to prove the identity of the guilty man; so the police came to the conclusion that the man in Newgate was none other than the Bannercross murderer; indeed, it was generally understood that the prisoner did not attempt to deny that he was Charles Peace.

In addition to all this Mr. Jackson was in possession of some valuable information which he was not at liberty to divulge till the inquiry assumed a more definite shape.

Certain legal forms had to be gone through before Peace could be removed from Newgate to answer the charge made against him in the county in which the crime had been perpetrated.

One difficulty, however, stood in the way. The question at this time was, how to find out Mrs. Dyson; without her evidence the case would break down.

Mrs. Dyson was now “wanted” as badly as Peace had been. Some time after the murder she left this country to return to Ohio, United States, and was indeed seen on board the vessel at Queenstown by Sub-inspector Walsh.

There were persons who thought she would not remain long in America, and that she had returned to this country.

The question was, where was Mrs. Dyson? This was a query which naturally suggested itself.

Her appearance in Sheffield was a matter of great importance, for without her Peace might be kept outside the law which he had so long defied.

The public had at this time, perhaps, as much interest centred upon Mrs. Dyson as upon Peace himself.

There was a general belief, however, that Mrs. Dyson knew a great deal more than she divulged at the inquest—​not, indeed, about the actual facts of the murder, but with reference to her previous knowledge of our hero, and her communications and transactions with him.

Certain letters produced at the inquest tended to show that between Mrs. Dyson and Peace much correspondence passed.

This was flatly denied by Mrs. Dyson, who declared that she had never seen the letters before, and in this unsatisfactory condition things remained for some time. When the Bannercross tragedy was occupying public attention, information respecting the appearance, conduct, and antecedents of Mrs. Dyson were read with interest.

Mrs. Catherine Dyson was married at Cleveland, Ohio, about the year 1866, to Mr. Arthur Dyson, civil engineer. In 1873 they returned to England, and lived at Tinsley, with the mother of Mr. Dyson. Afterwards they removed to Highfield, and then to Alexander-road, Heeley.

Darnall was their next abode, and at Darnall Peace first came upon the scene. He took a house near the Dysons, and endeavoured to become intimate. Mr. Dyson treated his advances with coolness, and then Peace altered his tactics, and endeavoured to make disturbances between husband and wife. Failing in this he spread mischievous reports about them, and finally threatened to shoot Mrs. Dyson.

For this a summons was issued against him, and neglecting to answer it, the summons was followed by a warrant. Upon this Peace left the neighbourhood, or at any rate endeavoured to give that impression to those who knew him. Mrs. Dyson, however, never believed that he had gone far.

Though letters, purporting to come from Germany, and signed apparently by Peace, frequently came to the house, she had the impression that he was still about the town, and at his tricks. At this time the Dysons went to Bannercross, where the murder subsequently took place.

Mrs. Dyson was then about twenty-five years of age, or half the age of her husband. She was a person of considerable muscular development, and not without personal attractions of face and figure. Her countenance was round and ruddy, her hair raven black, and neatly and fashionably tied up in coils.

After the murder of her husband she appears to have been animated by a profound hatred of Peace, and naturally so. The various statements she made tend, nevertheless, to show that she had an intimate knowledge of him, and knew his real character.

She scouted the then prevalent idea that he had drowned himself or otherwise put an end to his existence. She was certain, she stated, that he was not so far away, but that he would return and “finish” her.

It was not her husband he intended to shoot, but herself. She regretted she had not a revolver when she met Peace; in that case she should herself have shot him dead. She was convinced that he would escape capture till he had put a bullet through her head as well as her husband’s.

Her only protection was to have a revolver herself, and if he came she declared she should use it. These and other statements show the views Mrs. Dyson had at that time.

Her examination at the inquest was looked forward to with great interest. Then it was believed revelations would be made by her as to her knowledge of Peace, but in fact nothing transpired.

She positively repudiated the notion that there was anything kept back, or that Peace was anything more to her than he had been to her husband.

The following are some of her replies in answer to the Coroner, who pressed her very closely upon this point:—

Had there ever been a quarrel between you and your husband with regard to Peace?—​No. No quarrrel.

You are quite sure that he never quarrelled with you on account of your familiarity with Peace?—​No; I am sure he has not.

Has he ever complained of your speaking to Peace?—​He did not wish me to speak to him.

Has he ever found fault with you for speaking to him?—​No, he has never found fault, because he told me never to speak to him, and I did not.

The letters found near the scene of the murder created a good deal of bewilderment as to what they related to, and who were the authors of them.

These letters were found the morning after the murder by police-constable Ward, in Mrs. Else’s grass field, opposite Mr. Dyson’s house, and handed over to Inspector Bradbury.

Amongst them was a pink envelope enclosing a cent. American coin, the envelope bearing the words “C. Peace,Esq.”

The directions and other writing on the covers were evidently in a woman’s hand, and written by one who apparently was carrying on an intrigue with Peace.

These letters and papers were by the police evidently believed to have been written by Mrs. Dyson to Peace, for during the examination of Mrs. Dyson by the Coroner, the letters were handed to the latter, who thereupon closely cross-examined the witness as to her knowledge of them.

The Coroner, in alluding to the letters in question, said—

Have you ever seen this writing before (handing witness a quantity of letters)?—​No.

Have you looked at them?—​Yes.

Did you ever lend Peace a book?—​No.

The Coroner (to the jury): These are letters and memoranda, gentlemen. They are not addressed to anyone—​so it is difficult to say what bearing they have on the case. Addressing witness: Did Peace never write to you?—​No.

You are quite sure of that?—​Yes.

Did he never write asking you to meet him?—​No.

The Coroner (to the police): I suppose some one will give evidence as to where these came from?

Mr. Inspector Bradbury: Yes.

The Coroner: It is difficult, gentlemen, to know what to do with regard to those letters; they are not addressed. There is one here. I do not like to read it, because it does not say for whom it is intended. It runs:—​“I write you these few lines to thank you for all your kindness;” and so on. It is not addressed to anyone, and might have been written to Mrs. Dyson or not. To witness:

Did you ever write a letter to Peace in your life?—​No, I never did.

Not a scrap of paper of anything?—​No.

You never wrote a word to him on paper?—​No.

Just be careful, please. Do you mean to swear you never have written a word to him on paper?—​No.

Never at all?—​No.

Mr. Bradbury explained that the letters were picked up by a constable about fifteen yards from where Peace was seen to get over a wall. They were found the morning after the murder. Peace had been in the neighbourhood to several places, and showed the papers, which he said were in Mrs. Dyson’s handwriting, and written by her at the time she lived in Darnall.

The Jury: Are they all in one handwriting?—​Some are in ink and some in pencil. There is one scrap in Mr. Dyson’s handwriting, telling Peace that he would have nothing to do with him.

To witness: Whose handwriting is that?—​I don’t know.

Is it in your handwriting?—​No.

Can you write?—​No, I never do write.

The Coroner said they were not addressed, but one scrap was identified by witness as her husband’s handwriting. It was, “Charles Peace is requested not to interfere with my family.” (To witness.) Do you know Peace’s handwriting when you see it.—​Yes.

Witness then went over the letters, and thought that some of them were in Peace’s handwriting. The writing was similar to that contained in the threatening letters which were at Mr. Chambers’s office.

Inspector Bradbury explained that the letters had been given up to the chief constable, who had intended to be present at the inquest, but his brother’s death had prevented him.

The Coroner (to witness): I understand you to say that, with the exception of the threatening letter, Peace never wrote to you, or to him?—​No, I never did.

Was this threatening letter addressed to you or to your husband?—​To my husband.

Then he never wrote to you a threatening letter or any thing else?—​No. The letters threatened both. Peace never wrote to me.

Then again with regard to the pink envelope and the cent coin the following took place:—

Mrs. Dyson (recalled) was examined by the coroner, who said: Are you an American by birth?—​No.

You have been living in America?—​Yes.

Where did you see this coin last (meaning the cent)?—​I cannot say where I have seen this. I have seen several.

Do you know where Peace got it?—​No.

Did you give it to him?—​No.

Did you never give a coin at all?—​No, I did not.

The papers, after Peace’s identification, published an account of the interview of Peace, before the murder, with theRev.E. Newman, in which he made charges of a very gross kind against Mrs. Dyson, and produced letters,&c., in support of his allegations. There can be little doubt that these letters are identical with those afterwards found by the police-officer.

It is said that one great object Peace had in view in trying to get Mrs. Dyson to follow his fortunes was that she would be useful to him in disposing of the proceeds of his burglaries. At one time he offered her £50 to take a trip through the country with him.

Peace had a great liking for arms, and succeeded in stealing four revolvers in his burglarious expeditions.

With one of these, a six-chambered weapon, he shot Mr. Dyson at Bannercross, and he used the same revolver when he encountered Police-constable Robinson at Blackheath, and shot him in the arm, just before his capture.

This was his favourite revolver, but he had another, a smaller one, with five chambers, which he practised with at home.

It carried only a very little bullet, not much larger than a pea, and when fired its report was scarcely louder than the crack of a whip. A capital revolver for practice, he frequently used it in his garden, firing at a bottle for a mark, and gaining great proficiency of aim.

The third revolver had seven chambers; and the fourth ten chambers. The six-chambered one was his constant companion, however. He always carried it loaded, slept with it under his pillow, and kept the other three weapons, likewise loaded, in a drawer within easy reach of his bed, so that if his house had been surrounded by police, and they had endeavoured to arrest him, there is no doubt whatever that Peace would have fought to the last, and that he would have been captured at a terrible sacrifice.

He devoted a good deal of attention to his weapons; frequently drew the charges and cleaned them, and always had them ready for use.

The six-chambered revolver was wrested from his grasp at Blackheath by the police; but the other three, together with the ammunition, were sent down to Nottingham, and by a relative of Mrs. Thompson’s were dropped into the canal near the town.

The arrangements for conveying the prisoner to Sheffield, to be then and there examined upon the charge of murdering Mr. Dyson, had been made in what was supposed to be a satisfactory manner, and it was at this time that our hero committed one of the most daring acts in his whole career.

On Wednesday morning, of June 22, 1878, Charles Peace was taken in charge of two stalwart warders to the King’s-cross Station, for the purpose of being conveyed by express train to Sheffield.

But the proceedinge came to a standstill in a most extraordinary manner.

On Wednesday morning by a determined and nearly successful attempt at escape, by leaping from an express train, Charles Peace, alias Ward—​notorious as the hero of the Blackheath burglaries, and accused, on the evidence of Mrs. Dyson, of having murdered Mr. Dyson at Bannercross, near Sheffield—​added another startling chapter to the strange, eventful history with which the public are already familiar.

The facts of this daring attempt are briefly as follows:—​The prisoner Peace left King’s-cross, London, by the 5.15 Great Northern train, accompanied by two warders from Pentonville Prison, where he had been confined, and he ought to have arrived at Victoria Station, Sheffield, at 8 54 a.m. The warders, who have been very much censured in Sheffield, have stated that when they brought Peace from London he was exceedingly troublesome throughout the whole journey, and wanted to leave the train whenever it stopped, and indeed when it was travelling.

At Peterborough he was allowed to get out, and the warders had considerable difficulty in gettlng him back when they urged him to return, as he was keeping the train waiting. He answered them sneeringly, “What have I to do with caring for trains?”

By way of precaution against this annoyance the chief warder states that he provided himself with a number of little bags, and that whenever Peace required it one of them was handed to him, and was afterwards thrown out of the window.

It is clear that the desperado had been on the lookout for a favourable opportunity of making his escape, and at last it came. He pretended great weakness, and used several of the bags on the way.

This may partly account for the fact that he had no irons on his lower limbs. His handcuffs were fastened with a chain about six inches long between them, and another chain for the warders to hold him by.

The point selected was peculiarly favourable to the attempt.

Between Worksop and Shireoaks—​so called from certain oaks under which the three shires of Nottingham, York, and Derby meet—​the ground is comparatively level; the country is also well adapted by the neighbourhood of the forests, as well as by old lime-pits and coal-workings, to offer temporary shelter to a criminal.

Peace, it is known, is well acquainted with the district, having tramped it repeatedly when some of his many enterprises were unsuccessful.

The warders, through Chief Constable Jackson, of Sheffield, have stated that when the train had passed Worksop, and was going at full speed, the prisoner asked for another bag.

The chief warder gave him one, and he stood up with his face to the window to use it, the under-warder being close behind him.

The window was dropped for him to throw it out, and, quick almost as lightning, Peace took a flying leap through the window. The under-warder sprang forward and caught him by the left foot. There he held him suspended head downwards, Peace kicking the warder with his right foot, and struggling with all his might to get free.

The chief warder, unable to render his colleague any assistance in holding Peace, inasmuch as he occupied the whole space of the window, hastened to the other side of the carriage and pulled at the communication cord to alarm the driver and secure the stoppage of the train.

The cord would not act, and some gentlemen who were in the next compartment, seeing the position of affairs, assisted in the efforts of the warder to stop the train.

All this time the struggle was going on between Peace and his warder, and eventually the prisoner succeeded in kicking off his shoe, and he fell, his head striking the footboard of the carriage, and he dropped on the line.

Supposing that the burglar had been able, as he came very near being, to jump clean through the window and alight on the soft embankment, fortune would also have favoured him in the matter of a fair start for Sherwood Forest.

The struggle lasted during about two miles, and even after Peace got out the train ran on for about a mile before the speed slackened sufficiently to allow the warders to follow him.

A three-mile start would have given the desperado such a chance of availing himself of the features of a very peculiar country as he of all men would have delighted in. When it had slackened speed sufficiently to allow the warders to alight the express train went on, and the warders hurried back along the line.

Mr. William Barlow, fruiterer, of Retford, who was a passenger by the train in which Peace was travelling, accompanied the warders, and in a plain, unvarnished manner he states that between Shireoaks and Kineton Park he heard a noise, and looking out of the window saw one of the warders with a shoe in his hand.

The train was brought up near the malt kiln at Kineton Park.

The two warders and Mr. Barlow at once got out, and ran back along the line, and when they neared the spot where Peace made his plunge, they found him lying insensible on the line.

He had been dragged for about twelve yards, and appeared much hurt, but when he was moved to the side of the road consciousness returned, and he begged them to cover him up as he was very cold.

A slow train, which is timed to reach Sheffield at 9.20, soon came up.

The warders shouted to the guard that Peace had jumped from the train and was lying there. The train was pulled up, and the criminal, who was now in no condition to offer resistance, was placed in the guard’s van.

He was then bleeding profusely, and apparently in great pain, but the guard made him as comfortable as possible under the circumstances.

Meantime, in Sheffield, the scene was highly exciting. As early as six in the morning a crowd began to gather round the Town Hall and at all the approaches, and long before the time the convict was expected to arrive, the assemblage had become very dense. Several persons fainted, and were taken away; but still the crowd waited most patiently until the rumour spread that the convict had escaped.

Then the excitement was redoubled; the people surged backwards and forwards; they almost attempted to force the doors, and the police had hard work to keep their places at the railway station.

When the train which should have brought Peace arrived without him and ten minutes late, the great crowd outside commenced shouting and yelling in a most excited manner, and the utmost confusion prevailed.

The prisoners’ van, which was awaiting to convey Peace and the warders, was drawn up opposite the large hall-door.

The train being brought to a standstill, a surprising announcement was made by the guard.

“Peace has jumped out,” cried that official. The statement was for the moment treated by the crowd as a hoax, and meant as a “blind” in order to get the platform cleared; but when, instead of Peace, a sword, a bag, and a rug belonging to one of his warders were handed over by the guard to Inspector Bird, it was generally believed that Peace had really escaped, and that the warders were on his track.

It was rumoured at the station that Peace had escaped through the railway carriage window, and had succeeded in making off; but several of the more incredulous, however, would have it that he had been taken out of the train at Darnall, and would be from there quietly conveyed in a cart to Sheffield. Many persons lingered on the platform in order to satisfy themselves of his non-arrival.

At the Sheffield Police-court the few persons who had taken their seats in court by a quarter-past nine o’clock were astonished when, a few minutes subsequently, the chief constable entered, in a state of considerable excitement.

Addressing his audience from the bench, Mr. Jackson said he was sorry to tell them that they had put themselves to inconvenience in attending thus early in the day, all to no account.

“In short,” he exclaimed, “Peace has escaped from the warders; at least, that is what I hear.”

Meanwhile, the court very slowly filled, and a minute or two before ten o’clock the witnesses for the prosecution were admitted from the magisterial entrance.

Mrs. Dyson, it was noted, looked wonderfully well, and even more collected in her demeanour on Friday last, notwithstanding the fact that she was to undergo the ordeal of a special examination.

She again wore a black hat and feather, but eschewed the veil which before she persisted in keeping drawn close down over her features, and the thick waterproof, with which she formerly enveloped her figure, had given place to a mantle of a lighter description.

Punctually at ten, the stipendiary, Mr. Welby, took his seat. Mr. Pollard and Mr. W. E. Clegg, the prosecuting and defending solicitors, were also in their places, but the dock remained untenanted.

A quarter-past ten, and no Peace. The rumour was whispered around that it was doubtful whether he would be able to appear at all that day, and this view of the situation was strengthened when, after an interview with Mr. Jackson, the stipendiary hurriedly left the court.

Presently Mr. Welby came back and said—

As to this case, in consequence of the injuries the man Peace has received this morning it is necessary to remand him for eight days. Therefore, the cuse is adjourned for eight days.

There will be nothing further done this morning. Do not disperse in a hurry, for there is a large crowd outside.

Another correspondent telegraphed:—​The news was again and again repeated that Peace was dead, but the fact is that this report was founded upon his fall from the carriage. No fears are entertained as to his ultimate convalescence.

On reaching the police-offices at Sheffield, the convict was carried to a cell where he was seen by Dr. Spowart, the police-surgeon, and Mr. Hallam, a surgeon of large experience. They found he was suffering from a severe scalp wound in the head and concussion of the brain, and he appeared in a very exhausted state. He vomited freely, and it was with some difficulty that stimulants could be administered to him.

His wound was carefully dressed, and he was laid on the cell bed, and covered with rugs. After a little time Peace was able to speak to his warders. The Sheffield police cells have the advantage of ample space, light, and warmth.

The furniture in each cell consists of a long wooden bench: but the apartment occupied by Peace has had added to it a mattrass and pillows, together with an ample supply of rugs.

There the little old man lies, his grey head curled down under the rugs, and near the door stand his two keepers.

During the first hour he was frequently aroused, and brandy administered to him. At first force had almost to be used to get him to take it, but afterwards he drank it without any objection; though at one time, with that thoughtfulness for himself for which he has been distinguished, he expressed a preference for whiskey, “if he must take any stimulants.”

The vomiting with which he was at first troubled, soon ceased under the influence of the restoratives, and the medical men have been unremitting in their attention. There are some officers in the Sheffield force who were very doubtful as to the injuries he had sustained, and believe that he has been up to his old cunning and shamming a bit.

These constables stated that when he was lifted up, and the bottle placed to his lips, he ground his teeth and clenched his fists, and appeared to be struggling in a fit.

He was laid on the bench, and force was about to be used to make him take the stimulant, when one who knew him well said very sternly, “Now, Charley, it’s no use. Let’s have none of your hankey pankey tricks here. You’ll have to take it.”

Charley recognised the voice, opened his eyes, and replied, “All right; give me a minute.” A knowing wink passed among the officers, and presently he sat up and took the brandy. Indeed, he seemed rather to like it, for he drank two gills in a comparatively short time.

He is now resting quietly, the only request he makes being that he may be well covered, as he feels the cold, which is in Sheffield exceptionally severe. When the Great Northern express train reached Retford the carriages for Sheffield and Manchester were detached and “made up” for the Manchester, Sheffield, and Lincolnshire Railway.

The compartment occupied by Peace and his warders was a third-class one in a composite carriage, immediately in front of the guard’s van.

In the next—​a first-class compartment—​were Mr. Benjamin F. Cocker, who resides at Retford, and another gentleman.

Mr. Cocker says: We had got about half a mile past Shireoaks Station when I heard a loud shout from the compartment where I knew Peace was. The gentleman with me said, ‘Peace has got out,’ and tried to open the window on the near side, but it was frozen fast. I tried the other window, and, opening it, leaned half my body out and tried to pull the communication cord. I saw the warder, who was doing the same thing. The warder said, ‘I have got hold of this cord, but cannot make it ring.’ After trying this all we could, at Branchcliffe siding we signalled to the signalman; again and again we tried the cord, and the train slackened speed. As it did so, I exclaimed to the warder, ‘You are a nice sort of fellow to let the man get out of your grip.’ The warder answered, ‘He jumped right through the window in a second. I held on him by the leg, but his boot came off, and of course he dropped then.’ The warder’s hands were covered with blood, for Peace had kicked him very severely while struggling at the window.”

For the present, at least, Peace will remain in Sheffield.

At half-past ten p.m., Chief-constable Cosgrove and his colleagues reported that Peace was slumbering in apparent comfort; but as the warder—​who looked very wearied, and who evidently regards his charge as something entirely out of the ordinary run—​remarked, “With one eye open.”

A little earlier in the evening the medical attendant had found it necessary to order the prisoner a little medicine.

No.87.

Illustration: PEACE’S LEAP FROM THE TRAIN.PEACE’S LEAP FROM THE TRAIN.

PEACE’S LEAP FROM THE TRAIN.

This he refused to take; “but,” said the warder, “it was the doctor’s orders, and we were bound to carry them out.”

Peace screamed violently, and the warder stated that he found a good deal of force necessary to compel the prisoner to take the potion, which, it is believed, was a slight opiate.

“Even now, after all he has gone through,” said the warder, “he seems to have more than the strength of an ordinary man.”

The warder added that, having been himself afoot since two o’clock in the morning, he felt much exhausted. After taking the medicine the prisoner was less excited, but did not seem to sleep at all easily.

The police understood that the prisoner was to be retained in Sheffield till all is over. Not only in Sheffield, but at Darnall and Bannercross, where Mr. Dyson was well known, at Shireoaks, Kineton Park, and Worksop, near where the prisoner lived, and all round the district; an unparalleled interest was shown in the prisoner’s latest escapade.

The following further particulars are given by a correspondent:

The window was let down, and Peace, stooping in front of it, was using the bag, which the warders thought he was going to throw out as usual. Suddenly, with all the agility of a cat, Peace took a “header,” and threw himself out of the window. The under warder sprang forward, and was just in time to catch him by the left foot.

There he held Peace, head downwards, dangling out of the window—​an extraordinary sight to those who happened to be passing at the time. Peace with his other foot kicked the warder’s hands, and struggled most determinedly to get free from the warder’s grasp.

The chief warder, finding the space too narrow to help his associate in the struggle, seized the rope communicating with the guard’s van, and endeavoured to stop the train.

Peace, knowing that the window was too narrow to let the other get forward, became more savage and ferocious still, and kicked and wriggled about with great violence.

Still the warder clung to him, and, for a distance of two miles, Peace was hanging head downwards by the carriage side. At last, by supreme effort, he managed to wriggle off his boot, which was left in the warder’s hand, and the convict fell on the stepboard of the carriage, from which he bounded upon the ends of the sleepers.

The train was still travelling very rapidly. The communication cord having failed to work until a gentleman in the next compartment, hearing a noise, and suspecting something was wrong, managed to pull the rope, and the warders had the satisfaction of hearing the deep “boom” of the gong.

The train slackened speed and the warders got out and ran back up the line for nearly a mile, where they found Peace lying as he had fallen, having evidently received injuries sufficient to prevent his getting away.

He was conscious, however, and gave the warders a smile of satisfaction as they came up to him. They found him in the act of trying to wriggle the handcuffs off his wrists.

Blood was flowing from a wound in his head. They picked him up, and, as the slow train which arrives at Sheffield at 9.20 a.m. was coming up, they signalled it to stop. The convict was put into the guard’s van, where for the rest of the journey the warders kept a sharp look-out.

He asked to be wrapped up in a rug, as it was a very cold morning, exclaiming, “Oh, my head!—​oh, my poor head!” precisely the same observation he made when he was brought to Greenwich Police-station, after his encounter with Police-constable Robinson, the morning he was caught.

On his arrival at Sheffield, an immense crowd awaited the train, but Peace was promptly seized by four officers, conveyed to the van, and was soon at the Police-office, where he looked a piteous spectacle.

As he was lifted out of the vehicle and removed inside the police-station he appeared in a very exhausted condition, but after a little time he spoke a few words to the warders and took a pretty stiff dose of brandy, which was administered to him by medical orders.

PEACE’S EFFORT TO ESCAPE.

Various versions were very readily afloat after the express had reached Sheffield as to how this daring convict had succeeded in eluding his custodians, but they were all more or less wide of the mark.

Through the courtesy of the chief constable, we are able to give the following authentic particulars of this last and most astounding feat of this remarkable man.

It appears that when the warders brought Peace from Pentonville on the previous week he was exceedingly troublesome throughout the whole journey, and wanted to leave the train whenever it stopped; and indeed when it was travelling.

At Peterborough he was allowed to get out, and the warders had considerable difficulty in getting him back into the train.

The chief warder adopted a plan of his own on the present occasion, and he provided himself with a number of little bags, and whenever Peace required it one of them was handed to him, and was afterwards thrown out of the window.

From the moment of their leaving Pentonville he appeared to set himself deliberately to work to annoy and irritate and vex the officers to the utmost of his power.

And no one unacquainted with him can form any conception of his matchless powers in that direction.

Having been in prison so many times, he is as well acquainted with the rules which guide the warders as they are themselves; and any infringement of those rules on their part he would quickly detect and make a noise about.

His set purpose seemed to be to provoke them to a breach of the rules, and to serve him as he too richly deserved to be served.

He behaved more like a beast than a human being, until the carriage became almost unbearable.

The train had passed Worksop, and a part of the country was reached which Peace knew too well. All the way down on this, as in his previous journey, he had been adopting the most ingenious and cunning devices to put the warders off their guard, but without success.

Now was his last chance of eluding them, and if he could but escape from the carriage, he could follow, perhaps, well remembered “cuts,” steal into Darnall or some other place of refuge, and, profiting by past experience, be no more discovered.

The train was whirling along at express speed; but what of that? To such a man to regain freedom was worth a supreme effort—​though he died in the attempt. He had used several of the bags referred to on the journey, and he asked for another.

The chief warder gave him one, and he stood up with his face to the window to use it, the under warder being close behind him. The window was dropped for him to throw it out, and quick almost as lightning Peace took a flying leap through the window.

The under warder sprang forward and caught him by the left foot. There he held him suspended head downwards; Peace kicking the warder with his right foot, and struggling with all his might to get free.

The chief warder—​unable to render his colleague any assistance in holding Peace, inasmuch as he occupied the whole space of the window—​hastened to the other side of the carriage and pulled at the communication cord, to alarm the driver and secure the stoppage of the train.

The cord would not act, and some gentlemen who were in the next compartment, seeing the position of affairs, assisted in the efforts of the warder to stop the train.

All this time a most desperate struggle was going on between Peace and the warder. Peace, whose vitality seemed to be unbounded, was struggling with all his might, quite reckless of the consequences of falling headlong on the rails, or of being caught in the train and dashed to pieces. The warder held on to him like grim death; determined not to let go of him, but unable to secure a firmer grip of his prisoner.

The passengers all down the train had had their attention arrested by what was going on, and were craning their necks out of the windows, astonished at the spectacle which met their gaze.

The train, it is stated, ran a distance of nearly two miles whilst this exciting scene was being enacted; and then Peace succeeded in kicking off his left shoe, which remained in the warder’s hand; and he fell with all the force of his own weight and the impelling motion of the train.

In his fall his head struck the footboard of the carriage, and he rolled over into the six-foot between the up and down lines.

The train ran on about a mile further before it could be stopped, and then the warders and others jumped out and ran back along the line in pursuit of their prisoner.

They found him in the six-foot, near to where he had fallen, insensible, and blood flowing from a wound in his head.

They assisted him up, and the down slow train, which was due shortly after, was stopped, and he was lifted into the guard’s van.

In a few minutes he recovered so much consciousness as to say, “I am cold; cover me up.” Rugs were placed upon him, and in a little while he arrived in Sheffield.

NARRATIVES BY EYE-WITNESSES.

Mr. W. Barlow, fruiterer, of Retford, who attends Sheffield market, was a passenger on Wednesday morning by the fast train by which Peace was travelling.

Between Shireoaks and Kineton Park he heard a noise, and looking out of the window saw one of warders with a shoe in his hand. The train was stopped as soon as possible, but it had run nearly two miles before it came to a stand, and was brought up near the malt-kiln at Kineton Park.

The two warders and Mr. Barlow at once got out and ran back along the line, and when they neared the spot where Peace made his plunge they found him lying insensible on the line.

He appeared much hurt, but when he was moved to the side of the road consciousness returned, and he begged them to cover him up as he was very cold.

Shortly afterwards a slow train came up, and this was stopped. Peace was put into the van and brought on to Sheffield.

It seems that the escape was managed in this way. As the train was flying on at full speed Peace induced the warder to allow him to open the window.

No sooner was this done than the convict flung himself head first through the opening. The warder seized him by the leg, and held on for some time, but the prisoner struggled so violently that his shoe came off in the warder’s hand, and the wretched man fell upon the line.

One of the first persons who reached Peace after his desperate leap was a blacksmith, named William Stephenson, who is at present working at Kineton Park.

He says:—​About a quarter to nine o’clock I was standing close to Kineton-park station, when the fast train from London came slowly into the station. Almost everybody was at the carriage windows, and some were craning their necks out, and looking back up the line. We asked what was the matter, and they shouted excitedly “Peace has escaped; he has jumped out of the train.”

We knew all about Peace at Kineton Park, and there was a general rush from the platform up the line after the warders, whom we could see just ahead of us.

The guard said they had just stopped for the warders to get out, and we rushed on.

We came up to the warders as they got to Peace, who was lying by the side of the up line about a mile from Kineton-park station in the direction of Shireoaks.

At that point the line runs almost on a level with the surrounding country.

Peace appears to have jumped out of the window on the right hand side of the train, and when the slipping off of his boot released him from the grasp of the officer he fell in the six foot between the up and down metals.

The velocity he received from the motion of the train then rolled him over, and he must have fallen where we found him, or have crawled off the metals of the up line.

He was lying on his back, and was to all appearance unconscious.

Blood flowed freely from a large gash over his right ear, and he did not speak.

Just then a slow train came up from Shireoaks for Sheffield, and that was stopped. We lifted Peace into the guard’s van, and laid him on the floor.

He did not say anything about his attempt to escape, but merely said that he was cold, and asked for a rug to be put over him. He was brought to Sheffield.

The people in the train were wonderfully excited, and had seen the struggle from their carriage windows.

After Peace’s arrest frequent references were made to the large black rimmed spectacles which he had worn with so much ostentation for the purpose of concealing his identity.

Indeed, they had played almost as conspicuous a part in his case as a certain pair of elegant gold-framed spectacles did when their owner was under the searching cross-examination of a gentleman who on Wednesday occupied a seat on the bench.

Precious as the spectacles of Mr. Peace are to him, they have narrowly escaped destruction. After he had been picked up on the line on Wednesday morning, and taken on to Sheffield, two men named George Hewitt and Wm. Turner walked down the metals to see what could be seen.

Peace had fallen at a place called Harrycroft, between Brancliffe siding and the canal siding, near to Kineton Park; and when the men reached the place and were looking round they saw lying on the line Peace’s spectacles. They handed them over to the station-master at Kineton Park.

The warders had evidently been too much occupied with their re-capture of Peace to notice that he had lost his spectacles, or to think about them.

Probably there never was more excitement caused by the expected arrival of an individual who had gained notoriety, through whatever source it might be, than was manifested at the Victoria Station on Wednesday.

Notwithstanding the bitter cold, a concourse of perhaps some thousand persons of all ages and both sexes assembled in the square opposite the court, intent on seeing Peace if possible, and though a large body of police, under the charge of Inspector Bird, did their utmost to keep the crowd from gaining ingress to the platform, the station was crowded.

It was generally believed that Peace would be removed from his cell to Pentonville, and brought down by what is known as the newspaper train, leaving King’s Cross at 5.15, and due in Sheffield at 8.58.

When the train steamed into the station some twelve minutes late the crowd had increased very considerably.

Those outside commenced shouting and yelling in a most excited manner, and the utmost confusion prevailed.

The prisoners’ van, which was awaiting to convey Peace and the warders, was drawn up opposite the large hall door. The train being brought to a standstill, a surprising announcement was made by the guard.

“Peace has jumped out!” cried that official; and to see the amazement that came over the countenances of Inspector Bird and his men were at once painful and amusing in the extreme.

The affair was for the moment treated by the crowd as a hoax, and meant as a “blind” in order to get the platform cleared; but when, instead of Peace, a sword, a bag, and a rug belonging to one of his warders were handed over by the guard to Inspector Bird, it was generally believed that Peace had really escaped, and that the warders were on his track.

It was rumoured at the station that Peace had escaped through the railway carriage window, just after passing through Welwyn, and that he was once more at large.

Passing from mouth to mouth, this version of the story soon spread far and wide. Several of the more knowing, however, would have it that Peace had been taken out of the train at Darnall, and would be from there quietly conveyed in a cab to Sheffield.

Many lingered on the platform, however, in order to satisfy themselves of his non-arrival, for they seemed to entertain the idea that it was probable he had been secreted in one of the carriages till the course was clear for his conveyance from the train into the van.

But when the latter was driven away without its expected charge, and the police returned to the Town Hall, the crowd commenced to disperse, and by and by the station assumed its normal appearance.

Peace was carried to the first cell to the right of the stairs on the second landing. Under ordinary circumstances a police cell is not the most luxuriously furnished room in the world; but the Sheffield police cells have the advantages of ample space, light, and warmth.

The “furniture” in each cell consists of a wooden bench, and that answers all the purposes of a bed, a chair, a sofa, and so forth. On this bed the convict was laid, rugs were rolled up for his pillow and a heap of rugs was thrown over him.

Mr. Harrison, who was a witness in the case, was at the court, and he was asked to see Peace, but he manifested a decided reluctance to do so; and, indeed, said he would as soon attend upon—​well, somebody else, as he would see Peace.

Dr. Spowart, Police-Surgeon of the Walkley Division, and Mr. Hallam of the Central Division, were promptly in attendance, and they found that he was suffering from a severe scalp wound in the head and concussion of the brain; and he appeared in a very exhausted state.

He vomited freely, and it was with some difficulty that stimulants could be administered to him. His wound was carefully dressed; he was laid on the cell bed and covered with rugs. There were some officers present who were dubious as to the extent of the injuries he had sustained, and believed that he was up to his old cunning and shamming a bit.

When at intervals a little brandy was given to him, he was lifted up and the bottle placed to his lips. He ground his teeth, clenched his fists, and appeared to be struggling in a fit.

He was laid on the bench, and force was about to be used to make him take the stimulant, when one who knew him well said, very sternly, “Now, Charley, it’s no use. Let’s have none of your hankey pankey tricks here. You’ll have to take it.”

Charley recognised the voice; opened his eyes, and replied, “All right: give me a minute.”

A knowing wink passed amongst the officers, and presently he sat up and took the brandy. Afterwards he took stimulants when offered to him; and he even went so far as to express a preference for whiskey over brandy.

After being thus attended to, he would immediately lie down and curl himself up under his rugs, scarcely leaving even his little grey head visible.

Mr. Hallam visited him at frequent intervals during the afternoon and evening, and on each occasion he found him steadily improving.

The vomiting had long ceased; he took stimulants and food readily, and was indeed going on “as well as could be expected.”

When Mr. Hallam saw him late at night, he said he should not come down again unless he was sent for.

I was infected for once by the common curiosity, and instead of waiting patiently to read your report of the final hearing before the magistrates, of the charge of murder against Peace, I betook myself to the Town Hall in good time, in the hope that, if I should escape being squeezed as flat as a red herring in the process of effecting an entrance, I might see the noted prisoner, and admire the tact with which my friend, Mr. W. E. Clegg, would cross-examine Mrs. Dyson.

It soon appeared that I was out in my calculations. I gather from your second edition that this morning “the early birds did not catch the worm,” though they did receive the next best thing, the shock of a surprise.

“Peace has escaped” was the cry. I had made up my mind to the disappointment of my expectations, and supposed I should hear in an hour or two that the mangled body of Peace had been picked up on the line, or that the prisoner, maimed and battered, had been found and sent to hospital.

However, I betook myself to the Court to try what was to be heard and seen. We sometimes hear how hard it is to get together magistrates enough to do the business. There was no such difficulty this morning. I should think some of these excellent gentlemen were there to perform a work of supererogation and score an attendance that might count in the scale of merit.

And they were in capital time too. For a quarter of an hour several of them, with sundry non-magisterial friends, were on the bench.

A few moments before the stroke of ten entered Mr. Welby, the able, mild, and unpretending stipendiary. On his left was Mr. Overend,Q.C., whose genial and ruddy countenance seems to defy the power of years; and on the right was Mr. T. W. Rodgers, with a patriarchal aspect. The audience was curious and excited.

The Mayor did not put in an appearance, but a fair majority of aldermen and councillors were present, and had established themselves in the best places they could get before the doors were opened to the common public.

Mr. H. E. Watson talked last week of “the governing families of the town,” but these were, I suppose, the governing men, and as they serve the public assiduously it was meet that they should have a sort of priority. A few minutes after ten enters Mr. Pollard, Treasury solicitor, bland and cheerful, and bowing to the Bench, takes his seat.

A little later appears the prisoner’s solicitor, Mr. W. E. Clegg, with no marks of fussiness or anxiety, such as would make a client nervous, but with the self-contained look, assuring those who were interested that all the resources of an active, acute, and trained legal mind were at their service.

Everybody looked and listened. There was the prisoner’s dock empty. It contained several chairs, with a pitcher of water and a glass.

The whisper went round that the prison surgeon was in attendance on Peace, and the speculation was—​Is he in condition to be brought up? Or, if not, will Mr. Pollard offer the prisoner’s advocate the opportunity to cross-examine Mrs. Dyson in his client’s absence?

Everybody expected to see Mr. Pollard rise, state to the Bench what had happened, and make a suggestion as to the course to be pursued.

Presently there was a move, and the chief constable made a private communication to the stipendiary.

Mr. Welby left his seat and went out, followed by Mr. Overend and Mr. Rogers.

Then Mr. Clegg, and next Mr. Pollard, were called out. For five or ten minutes there was nothing to do but look round and speculate.

There is but one female in court. How is this? Is female curiosity defunct? Don’t the ladies want to see Peace and the woman whose name has been so unhappily mixed up with his, and who may be regarded as one of his victims?

No doubt they do. Never was female curiosity more lively, and this morning there were many early breakfasts, and there was a decided resolution, to be in time.

Soon after nine o’clock, quite a bevy of ladies had made their way into the police offices, never doubting that their potent claims would carry them into the court, and secure them the gratification they longed for.

It was a painful duty for the chief constable to make the ladies aware that the examination of the day was likely to take a very delicate turn indeed—​so delicate that the presiding magistrate would have to point out to any ladies who might be present the propriety of retiring.

I will not undertake to say that there were not applicants who could have run the risks of all this, but the case was to put to the group so plainly as to induce them all to retire.

But, as I have said, there was one woman in court and the whisper went round “That is Mrs. Dyson.”

“Is that lady a widow? I should not have guessed it,” was the remark. Certainly she was out of mourning.

I have the pleasure to remark that the lady appears quite to have recovered the shock of her bereavement of two years ago, and that her two voyages across the Atlantic with her sojourn there, seem, judging from her rosy visage, quite to have restored her spirits and established her health.

With every desire to be as complimentary as possible, and to paint female charms with the liveliest colours, I cannot borrow the imaginative language of a pretended interviewer of New York, who has soared into the realms of fiction to find Mrs. Dyson’s version of her husband’s murder, and to discover the grounds surrounding his mansion, and the servants who were brought to the spot by the screams of their horrified mistress.

The Bannercross cottage is capable of development when seen through a New York telescope. The American interviewer enlists the sympathies and stirs up the credulity of his readers at the outset, by saying Mrs. Dyson is “a young and extremely handsome lady.”

One does not want gratuitously to take the edge off so very pleasant a compliment. But if the said interviewer had seen, instead of imagining, Mrs. Dyson, I fancy he would have given us a guess at her weight in pounds—​for that is a common ingredient in an American description—​and if he had been a good judge, he would have put the figure pretty high.

However, I may satisfy your readers by saying Mrs. Dyson is buxom and blooming; and when Mr. Dyson’s heart was pierced by her youthful charms he no doubt showed himself a good judge of female beauty.

It was remarked last week that when she was examined for the prosecution, she wore a veil, and Peace remarking that she kissed the book without raising her veil, insisted that she should take the oath “without a veil between” her lips and the calfskin binding.

To-day she had provided against such an objection, and had discarded the veil, her headgear being a hat with a feather, jauntily set on.

As I am not a milliner, and only saw her sitting, I cannot tell you anything about the rest of her dress, but that her general appearance was stylish and cheerful, and it did not appear that the prospect of being put through the small sieve by Mr. W. E. Clegg had alarmed her—​certainly it had not blanched her cheeks.

Well, but while I have been noting Mrs. Dyson and the less notable persons, the magistrates and advocates have concluded their consultation out of court. They resume their places, and then Mr. Welby makes the brief announcement that ends all questions for the day.

A very large proportion of the public were glad to hear that Charles Peace had recovered very satisfactorily from the injuries he had received.

As previously stated, he first refused to take any stimulants, and only seemed to desire to be left alone curled up under a heap of rugs.

Later in the day he revived a good deal; took stimulants freely, and when Mr. Hallam, surgeon, saw him late at night, he found him so much improved that he expressed his intention not to come down again unless sent for.

The necessity did not arise for Mr. Hallam to be again called in. Peace continued to improve during the night, and on Thursday morning, when the surgeon saw him again, he was much better. Peace spent a very restless night.

He tossed about a good deal, and his conduct was altogether so marked as not to escape attention.

The two warders who brought him from London had never both left him since they picked him up on the railway on Wednesday.

One of them sat close by Peace’s side throughout the whole night watching his every movement, and not for an instant having his gaze averted from his now more than ever remarkable and distinguished prisoner.

At intervals Peace, as already stated, tossed about a good deal, and then he became quiet, and apparently dropped into a sound slumber.

Presently the watchful eye of the warder has seen him peep stealthily up from under his rugs, evidently to ascertain whether he might risk any move without being watched.

Of course there was not the slightest chance of his escaping from the cells; but if opportunity offered he might make an attempt upon his life. He frequently took stimulants—​brandy and milk; and when Mr. Hallam saw him on Thursday morning he found him very much better, and ordered him tea and bread and butter.

When asked “What sort of a night he had had?” by one of the officers, he replied in that hypocritically whining tone which he knew so well how to simulate, “Not very good. I can’t sleep.”

He remained lying down under a good supply of rugs, and although hitherto extremely talkative and effusive in his efforts to recognise all who approached him, he now said but little, even when roused to take stimulants.

On Thursday night two members of the borough force were told off to assist the warders in their care of the convict. Two lamps were placed in his cell in such positions as to throw their light full on his face; and near him sat one of the warders and the two policemen.

The second warder rested on a “shake-down” in the corridor while the first kept his watch, and at intervals they changed.

On Thursday night, Peace was reported to be much better, and he asked for soup and other stimulants, which were supplied to him.

Peace’s career continued to be one series of surprises, not the least astonishing of which came to light on the morning after his attempted escape. His object in jumping from the train appears to have been not so much to escape as to destroy himself.

He was often heard to express a strong desire to be buried at Darnall. It was there, it will be remembered, that he occupied a little villa residence standing in its own grounds, and the garden attached to which he cultivated with so much care; it was there he unhappily made the acquaintance of the Dysons, and became so offensive in his friendship that they had to leave the village to escape from him; it is there his married daughter lives; it was there his wife was arrested on a charge of being in possession of goods the proceeds of his burglaries; and to Darnall she returned immediately after her acquittal on the charge at Newgate.

These and perhaps many other associations appear to have endeared the place to him. It is also a remarkable fact that the spot selected by Peace at which to make his daring leap from the carriage was, measured by the rate at which an express train travels, within a very short distance of Darnall Church.

At first it was supposed that the only and real purpose in his mind in endeavouring to give his custodians the slip there was that—​hoping to escape unhurt—​he knew the country well, and could take short cuts across the fields and find safe and friendly shelter at Darnall. His object, however, appears not to have been to regain his freedom, but to destroy himself.

On Thursday morning, Mr. W. E. Clegg, visited the convict in his cell, for the purpose of receiving instructions from him as to his defence, and before he left Peace drew from his pocket a scrap of crumpled paper, and handed it to him.

As it was contrary to the rules of the Pentonville establishment that a prisoner should have any letter or anything of the kind upon him, the warders asked that the paper might be handed over to them. The note was written in pencil, and read as follows:—

“Bury me at Darnall. Good-bye. God bless you all. C. Peace.”

It appears that when a Pentonville convict has a letter sent to him, it is opened and read by one of the officials, and if there is nothing in it objectionable it is initialled and passed on to him.

The scrap of paper upon which Peace had written, and which he had kept treasured up in his pocket, was part of a letter which had been so handed over to him. Where he got the pencil from to write the note, and when he wrote it, is unknown.

From its contents it would certainly appear that his deliberate object in springing through the window when the train was going at express speed was to destroy himself; and, bad beyond description as he is, he seems to have possessed sufficient human feeling to desire that his remains might lie amongst those whom he had known in life.

At intervals during Thursday morning he seemed to suffer much mental distress, and exclaimed with great intensity of feeling, “I do wish I was dead!”

In the face of all these facts the warders, it may be readily imagined, redoubled their already vigilant watch over him, and his slightest movement did not pass unobserved.

Peace’s escape from instant death when he leaped out of the railway carriage window was a matter of surprise to everybody. His custodians never expected to see him alive after his fall.

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