CHAPTERCXLVII.VISITING DAY AT NEWGATE.Peace had written a number of epistles to his friends. These, of course, had undergone the usual inspection, but there was nothing in the documents to compromise the writer.On the contrary, although the language was neither grammatical nor refined, the letters themselves appeared to be those of a penitent and contrite man who bitterly regretted the error into which he had fallen.The day at length arrived upon which Peace had the satisfaction of seeing his poor ill-used wife and Bill Rawton, the gipsy.For the behoof of those who have never witnessed scenes of this description we will endeavour to give a graphic account of the interior of the gaol on one of these occasions.On certain mornings, and at regular hours, small groups of woe-begone tearful girls may be seen in the Old Bailey, exchanging whispers with each other or treading their way silently through the throng of meat salesmen, City policemen, ticket porters, warehousemen, clerks, and shopboys, with which the busy place is full.The girls look prematurely old and worn, and many of them have the unmistakable expression all noted criminals obtain, while the elder women may be divided into two classes—the callous and the crushed, and in the latter category may be included the wife of Charles Peace.There is a world of misery behind the defiant as well as the tortured faces one sees here.All pause at the steps leading up to the half door, behind which the head and shoulders of a stalwart man in uniform are seen, and after a moment’s parley they are admitted within.The object of their journey is nearly accomplished now, for they are about to be allowed to see and converse with husbands, or lovers, with their brothers, or their sons.These last are taking their prescribed amount of exercise in the prison yards, and it is from behind one of the gratings looking on these that they are permitted to gaze from a given distance upon and exchange words with their visitors.Between the prisoners and their friends runs a passage of about a yard wide, with another set of iron bars fencing it off from the place where the women stand; so that between the visitors and the visited are two stout barriers and sufficient space to preclude the possibility of articles being handed from one to the other. There are no seats.The prisoners are told to break out of the line of march, and permitted to advance to the grating of the yard in batches of three or four.The women who have come to see them stand exactly opposite, within the prison, and all have to press their faces close to the bars to make hearing possible.If a double set of wild-beast cages were planted in parallel lines, with the ironwork of each facing the others, but a yard or so apart—if the lions and tigers were pushing their noses eagerly at the barriers, as if trying to escape, and if a keeper or two were planted in the intervening space to watch, a fair imitation of Newgate gaol during visiting hours would be obtained.The gloomy place has been vastly altered and improved during the last few years. Those who only remember its old dark wards, with their long line of oakum-pickers at work in the day time, who saw the condemned cell, say about the time Palmer had occupied it, or Bousfield endeavoured to commit suicide by throwing himself in its fire, would be amazed at the transformation effected in its interior.Light iron staircases lead to airy galleries, out of which the various cells open, and from the lower floor of which the exercise grounds are gained. The condemned cell differs little now from that appropriated to ordinary prisoners, save that there is accommodation for the warders, whose duty it is to watch the wretch sentenced to die, and who never leave him until he falls from the gallows’ drop.But our present business is with the exercise yards, and the interviews held between their bars. There is a ghastly resemblance between them and the playground of some strict school.Pacing regularly round, a fixed space being maintained between each man or boy, and the rate of walking in each case the same, proceed the prisoners. It is their wicked, callous faces which make the school simile seem ghastly.Dangerous beasts moving restlessly to and fro in a vast cage seems much nearer the mark, now that we are among them. Sordid common villainy, theft, forgery, assault, burglary, cutting and wounding, and passing bad money, make up the bulk of the offences with which the men before us stand charged.A stout florid-faced man, who looks like a country farmer, and who is gesticulating violently through the bars to the cowed and crying little woman beyond them, is in on a charge of horse-stealing. He has been in prison before, and indeed was only out of it ten days when he was again apprehended. A muscular powerful man, he looks as if he would carry off a horse bodily, if necessary; and one wonders what the messages are he is impressing so earnestly on his poor little wife.A warder is standing near enough to the twain to overhear their talk, but we are assured no effort is made to eavesdrop, the presence of a prison official being insisted on simply as a precautionary measure.Next to the horse-dealer is a well-dressed young clerk, whose alleged offence is embeszlement. The elderly woman whose sobs reach us across the yard is his mother.She seems to be pleading earnestly, and he to be half sullen, half ashamed, but finally to yield to her entreaties, whatever their purport may have been.The third prisoner being visited is an older man, and the girl talking to him looks like his daughter.Their interview is far calmer than that of the other two, and seems indeed of a business character; for some clean linen has been brought, and the man is actoally talking of the weather as we pass by—a proceeding which we thought a feint, but which, as we were reminded, was natural enough.The three-quarters of an hour allotted to each interview is doubtless a very precious time.It can only be had on particular days, and the strongest wish of those concerned must be to compress as many questions and answers into it as possible.Fancy the painful excitement with which a man about to be tried for some serious crime must look forward to his promised talk with those whom he can trust to act for him outside.The anxious thoughts, the doubts, the fears, the hopes which agitate him in the solitude of his cell are to all bear fruit in the momentous conversation he is permitted to hold.The chances of the impending trial, his fate if convicted, the means to be raised for his defence, and the effect upon those dependent on him of his present state, have to be eagerly canvassed; and it is all important that not a moment should be lost.But this very eagerness defeats itself. Just as it often happens, that when people meet after a long absence, and for a limited time, they fail to recall half the topics in which they are vitally interested, and on which they are anxious to compare notes—so with the imprisoned men before us and their friends.In the other yards we visited men and women were absolutely staring at each other through the bars, in silence; though the latter had come on purpose to talk, and the former would be shut up again in a quarter of an hour.In some cases it may have been the dumbness of despair which made them tongue-tied; but many seemed so nervously anxious to express all they had to say that they were unable to arrange their ideas sufficiently to give them articulate shape.Some of the women treated the whole affair lightly, smirked at the warders, and looked boldly round; but these were the exceptions. The rule both in those waiting and those in communication with their male friends was absolute dejection.Two other kinds of accomodation are provided for special visitors, both similar in character. The first is an enclosed closet in the centre of the principal corridor, and is for the attorneys; the second is for the prisoners who are Roman Catholics, and who are visited by their priest.Both have glass sides and roof, and realise “the light closets,” upon which Clarissa laid much stress when describing the lodgings she had been entrapped into by Lovelace.The advice to little children, “to be seen but not heard,” is rigidly enforced upon all people inside these two places.They live, for the time being literally, in a glass-house, and every movement can be seen from almost any portion of the chamber or corridor in which they stand.Both places were empty during our stay, the only visitors being the women pressing against the iron bars.It is easy to fill up their vacancy, however; and all but impossible not to realise the scences which take place in the attorneys’ box, as well as the priests’.There are seats here, and a resting-place for papers. It is, indeed, a small office under a glass case, and swept and garnished for the next tenants.The futile attempts at deceit, the half confessions, the miserable equivocations as to the extent and circumstances of guilt on the one hand; the calm business tone, the remonstrances on the suicidal folly of concealment, the penetrating questions, the practised art with which the truth is wormed out, and the astute assurances of help from the professional advisers on the other, this place has heard.If glass walls have ears like the neighbours of stone and brick, what strange stories could this little cramped cage reveal!There are more women in the porter’s lodge, as we leave, tearful and miserable as the rest, and waiting their turn for interviews.They, too, will be conducted to the iron barriers, and utter their broken conversation across the dismal yard of intervening space. The prison of Newgate is so obviously well managed, and the comforts—we had almost written the luxuries—of its inmates are so carefully secured, that its authorities have doubtless sufficient reasons for the rules under which the visits of prisoners’ friends may be paid and received.Still, a vast majority of the inmates are “remand cases;” and as they are all sent elsewhere as soon as possible after conviction, it is difficult to repress a wish that some less restricted mode of communication could be allowed.Although many of the evil faces we saw marching round were old prison hands, we presume that the law holds them innocent of the particular offences they are charged with, until it finds them guilty.Again, it must occasionally happen that guiltless persons who have been committed for trial are detained here, and there is something repulsive in the absolutely penal character of the reception they have in each case to give their friends.The reader will be able to understand from the foregoing description the most noticeable features of the visiting day at Newgate.Upon the morning to which our history more immediately refers there were two persons among the throng of visitors outside the gate of the city prison—these being Mrs. Peace and Bandy-legged Bill, both of whom had presented themselves at the prison for the purpose of having an interview with the most celebrated burglar of modern times.Bill had dressed himself in his best attire, and looked quite respectable.His female companion was tearful, depressed, and appeared to be quite borne down.When the prison door was thrown open, the motley throng of visitors passed into the entrance.They were conducted to the place appointed for the visitors, and behind the bars they beheld the man of whom they were in search.Peace appeared to be perfectly composed. His wife uttered a deep sigh as she reached the barrier which separated her from her husband.A woman who stood next to her, and who was evidently a native of the “Emerald Isle,” set up a most dismal howl as she caught sight of a shock-headed urchin, who was, it afterwards transpired, her youngest son.“Och, bad luck to the spalpeen as brought you to this!—bad luck to him the murtherin’ baste,” cried the woman. “It’s sorry that I am to see ye brought to this anyhow, but it aint no fault of yours. Oh, murder, but my heart is a breakin’, it’s all through that dirty blackguard, ‘Cakey.’”Cakey was a London pickpocket of the most pronounced type, and he it was who had suborned the ill-fated young Irish lad and taught him to become a thief. (So his mother affirmed.)She set up such a howl that the other prisoners could not hear what their relatives had to say.“Now then, less noise there,” exclaimed one of the turnkeys. “Don’t be howling like that, woman.”“Oh, bedad, it is meself as is the most miserable ’oman as ever broke the bread of life,” exclaimed Mrs. O’Grady, “and it is well for the likes of you to be bullyragging a poor broken-hearted mother. I’ve six childhre, and never a one av ’em iver done aught as they need be ashamed of—never a one, save my poor Dinnis, and may be he’s got into a bit o’ throuble through that lying, dirty scamp, “Cakey.”Cakey, as he was termed, was the young gentleman who had made himself so obnoxious to Peace in the exercise yard.“Hold your row, mother,” said one of the prisoners, “You aint everybody.”“There now,” exclaimed Mrs. O’Grady. “It’s well for the likes of him to be thryin’ to stop the mouth of a fond and affectionats parent; but hold up your head, Dennis darlin’, and don’t be afther takin’ heed of the dirty spalpeen. Och, but it brings tears into my motherly eyes to see ye behind the bars.”“Now, then, there’s quite enough of this,” exclaimed one of the warders. “You mustn’t make such a noise. If you are not more quiet, we shall have to turn you out.”“An’ it’s turnin’ me out ye’d be afther—would it?” cried the woman.“Yes, unless you behave yourself.”“Oh, murdher, it’s the first time I was within the walls of a prison, and I hope it ’ill be the last. Maybe I don’t know how to behave mysel’, and am wrong entirely. Och, sure, now, I’ve been as well brought up, and that aint saying much, as ony av ye.”After this outbreak the Irishwoman was a little more subdued, and conversed with her son in a lower tone.“I’m sorry to see you in this pickle,” said Bill Rawton to Peace. “It’s a precious bad business.”“It is,” returned our hero, “but I swear most solemnly that I never intended to do the bobby any harm. I was driven to it—in fact it appears to me to be almost like a dream. How is Sue?”“She is pretty well,” returned his wife.“Hark you,” said Peace, in a whisper; “both you and Bill must keep a sharp look-out—watch over her Do you understand?”Both his visitors nodded.“Good! so much the better, there is good raason for this.”“She’s all right” observed Bill. “Don’t trouble yourself about that; she’s right enough.”His wife at this time had decamped from the Evilina-road, but neither she nor Bill made him acquainted with this circumstance.Peace hesitated a moment or two, and then said—“She can come on the next visiting day. Poor soul, she means well, I believe, but there, when she’s had a drop of drink, she will let her tongue run nineteen to the dozen, she’ll want a deal of looking after—and you know as well as I do, that we’ve got a set of gossiping neighbours. What do you they say about me now?”“Oh, they are all of them very kind and say they are sorry you’ve got into trouble and hope you’ll get through better than you expect.”“I never intended to hurt the ‘bobby’;—I swear that. Nothing was further from my thoughts, but you see I was half mad at the time, and driven to it.”“All I intended to do was to frighten him; but it’s of no use talking about that now; when a man’s in trouble people generally look at the worst side of the case.”“Cheer up, old man, and don’t give way,” cried the gipsy, in a consolatory tone, “Let us hope the judge will look upon the matter in the right light, and deal mercifully with you. How about your defence?”“I have seen my lawyer and shall be well defended.”“Who will you have then?”“Oh, one of the very best in the whole profession—Mr. Montague Williams.”“Couldn’t have a better, I should say.”“No; but, Lord bless me! what defence is there?”Rawton looked down upon the ground, and shook his head.“Not much,” said he.“I make up my mind for a long lagging—that’s bound to follow as a natural consequence—and if the ‘bobby’ had died I should have had something worse.”“Ah, but he has recovered—there is no doubt about that,” returned Bill, quietly.Peace nodded significantly, and said, “So I hear.”“Be thankful for that.”“I am thankful.”“And I say, Charlie,” whispered Rawton, as he put his face closer to the iron bars, “I saw Lorrie the day before yesterday.”“Yes. What did she say?”“Sends her love and all that sort of thing, and told me to let you know that if you needed it she would let you have what you want to pay the costs incurred for your defence.”“Umph, it’s jolly good of her. Tell her I don’t want anything at present. I’ve got enough to last me till after the trial, but possibly I may avail myself of her offer after then. Ah, Bill, but they’ve got me pretty tight now. There aint much chance of slipping out of this—none whatever.”A long conversation now took place between the prisoner and his wife. This chiefly related to the disposal of certain sums of money and domestic matters generally.Mrs. Peace was tearful and broken down, but she strove to bear up against this new misfortune as best she could.Peace had but little consideration for her. His thoughts were engaged upon his own terrible position.While he was conversing with his wife, the woman O’Grady set up one of her wild howls again, and interrupted the conversation.“Can’t you be quiet, woman?” said Peace. “A fellow is notable to hear himself speak.”“Och, but it’s nearly mad that I am—I’ve seven childhre, and none on ’em iver did anything as they need be ashamed ov, barrin’ this poor lad, who has been brought into throuble through that dirty blackguard, Cakey, and bad luck to him.”“I think you told us that before, missus,” suggested one of the other prisoners. “The story is a little old.”“It’s ould—is it?”“Well, I think so, but that don’t matter. Hold your row.”The Irishwoman began uttering a series of anathemas against the speaker and lawless persons in general, when a turnkey took her by the elbow, and conducted her away from the scene, telling her, as he did so, that they had had quite enough of her for that day.Everybody was greatly relieved when she had gone, and the conversation was carried on between the prisoners and their friends without any further interruption.When the time had expired, accorded to visits of this character, Bill Rawton and Mrs. Peace took leave of our hero, and went sadly on their way home.For the next few days Peace occupied himself in writing letters, and having interviews with his lawyer, for the purpose of preparing his defence.Some of his letters were literary curiosities, and as a sample of them we give the reader a faithful verbatim copy of some he addressed to his friend, Mr. Brion.We have, in the course of this work, made allusions to the inventions of the hero, and it has been pretty generally admitted by those who are competent judges that these were by no means of a contemptible character.His partner in these inventions was a Mr. Brion, who was a near neighbour of Peace’s.This person was under the full impression at the time that our hero was a respectable gentleman, who was possessed of independent means, and he was never more surprised in his life than when he learnt the real character of the man with whom he had been dealing.After Peace’s conviction for the attempted burglary and attack on Police-constable Robinson, Mr. Brion, of Peckham, made the following statement:—“The invention spoken of was for the raising of sunken ships; and for the purpose of having it patented, specifications were deposited in the names of Henry Brion, geographer, and Henry Thompson, gentleman.“Becoming bold over their invention, they offered to the Admiralty to raise the ‘Eurydice’ and ‘Vanguard,’ and a similar proposal was made to the German Government in regard to the ‘Grosser Kurfurst.’ Peace was told by the Admiralty that outside assistance was unnecessary, and that the naval authorities could do their own work.“Brion’s connection with Peace ended in an estrangement.“One day Brion had fetched from Peace’s house one of the fittings which they had decided to use in their plan of operations, as he required it in order to satisfy a gentleman who was ready to advance £500 to carry out the experiment.“While doing this Peace came into the house, and was very angry at what Brion had done, and on his going away said that he would settle the matter in a way that Brion did not dream of.“Mrs. Thompson told Brion afterwards that, as he had put him out so, the wonder was that Peace had not shot him, and added that if Brion had come round to Peace’s house, as he asked him to do, Peace told her that he would have shot him.“The convict had also told her that he could get into Brion’s house and despatch the whole of them.“Brion saw nothing more of Peace until he received a letter from Newgate, which was couched in the following terms:—“‘From John Ward, 1 D for trial,H.M.Prison.Newgate,Nov.2, 1878.“My dear Sir.—Mr. Brion,—I do not know how to write to you or what to say to you, for my heart is near broken, for I am nearly mad to think that I have got into this fearful mess, all with giving myself up to drinking; but O, Mr. Brion, do you have pity on me, do not you despise me, as my hone famery has don, for I do not know ware they are, for they have broken up there home and gon I do not know where. So O, my dear Sir, I must beg of you to have mercy upon me and come to see me.“O do not say nay, for I now that when you do see me, and know what I am here for, you will weep for me; but I cannot tell you till I can see you, for I have something that I want you to do for me, that is for you to try and find out for me, for I do not know whare they are gon to.“Give my love to Mrss. brion and to little fredey, but not disspse me now that I am in Prison, and for meary sakke write a letter back to me direct at once, to give hease to my trobel hart. I finish with my love to you all. I am yours recherdJohn Ward. But do have mercy upon me and come to see me. You can see me heney week day from one till two o’clock, and inquire for John Ward for trial.’“On November 2nd Brion went to Newgate and asked to see the writer of the letter. To his surprise he was shown his old acquaintance, Thompson.“Peace said he was a wicked, dreadful man; that he had shot a policeman, but that he only did it as he was driven for money, and asked him (Brion) to come to the court and give him a character. The prisoner also asked him to call on a publican in Middlesex-street, Whitechapel, with whom he had had some dealings, and ask him to give him a character.“This person, in reply to his request, said that a character would do Peace more harm than good.“Other letters were received by Brion before the trial at the old Bailey.“From John Ward, 1 D for trial,H.M.Prison,“Newgate,Nov.. 4, 1878.“‘O my dear Friends, Mr. and Mrs. Brion,—I know that you are full of trouble for me been such a nod fool to give way to drink and bring myself into this most fearful afarer; but do forgive me for writing to you and have Pity upon me; and do all you can for me, a moust wretched and miserbel man, that is not fiet to live nor dei, for I am not fiet to meet my God, and I am not fiet to live now that I have disgraced myself, but O do have Pity upon me, and do all you can for me, and I will Pray to God to re Pay you for it agane.“‘Sir, if you have seen my Solictor, or seen Mr. Levy, or heard from or seen my wife, do be kind as to come and see me at once, for O, Sir, I have vely much thet I do want to see … bring me the stamps and envelops … you for, and it will do me much beter than you writing to me, so do be so kind and see to-morrow, the 5th, if you can do and if you have seen my wife or friends tell them to come and see me at once, for I must see them.“I do also want to see Mr. Levy very much, if you will write and tel him. Sir do not let Doctor Sargent nor heney oughter frinds know of my drisgrase, I conclude with my best love to you all, but come and see me.“‘Yours, “‘John Ward.“‘Dear Sir,—I think that the shesions will be on the 18th ofNovem.“‘Henry Brion, 22, Philip-road, Peckham-rye,S.E., London.’“The third letter was as follows:—“From John Ward,“for trial, H. M. Prison, Newgate.“‘My dear Sir,—Mr. Brion, will you be so kind as to send me the directions of Mr. Nash, direct at once for I do want to suppine him to come on my trial to prove that I bougth my guitors of him, for the police have got them for to say that I stole them, but I bought them of him when I bought my ship of him. So do be so kind as to send me his directions this very day, and my dear sir you be so kind as to come and see me yourself on Monday, for I do want to see you Mr. Brion.—I am your an unhappy man,John Ward.’”It will be seen by these documents, that Peace was a very illiterate man, but it must be admitted, however, that, in conversing with him, he did not appear, from his conversation to be nearly so ignorant as he really was.He had a very small amount of education, but he had natural gifts, and was, moreover, a hypocrite and deceiver of the most pronounced type.Peace’s arrest caused much consternation in the house in the Evalina-road.On the morning that Mr. Thompson was missing, there was trouble atNo.4. Mrs. Thompson went to Mrs. Long in great distress. The infatuated woman seemed to be fond of the wretch she had taken up with, despite all his ill-usage.She said, however, at this time that she did not care anything about him, “if she only knew where he was.”She took to advertising in the newspapers. These brought no response.She found, on her return, that the old woman had gone away with the boy, and taken with her two boxes filled with valuables.She instantly took precautions to secure the rest, which she stored away in her own name in a house at Peckham—all except the articles we have already described as having been left elsewhere.She stayed with Mrs. Long, to whom she first told the story that her husband had gone off to America with another woman, and that she would never see him more.Her stay extended over ten days, and then, chancing to get a hint somehow as to her husband’s whereabouts, she left, telling Mrs. Long that she should write and send her address.Mrs. Long never heard from her afterwards, but believed in her still, and trusted in the information she had given us she might not do “the poor woman any evil turn.”Two days after Peace disappeared, Mrs. Thompson went to Mrs. Cleaves, a greengrocer a few doors off, whose husband had identified some of the property, and asked her as a great favour to come into the house with her.She said Mrs. Ward had gone as well as her husband, and there were several boxes, saying, “I am afraid to open them myself. I don’t know what he may have been up to. I can’t open them unless somebody will help me, because the old devil may have killed somebody, and have packed their bodies in these boxes.”Mrs. Cleaves did not relish the ghastly suggestion, and declined to have anything to do with Mrs. Thompson’s boxes, which were ultimately obtained by the police, who had no scruples about searching the contents.Mention was made at this time of a suspicious-looking crucible in the house in the Evalina-road. It was found, however, that Peace never made use of this. One of his “fences” had brought it to the house in the hope that arrangements might be made for reducing on the spot a large haul of goods to a concentrated shape.But Mr. Peace preferred to dispose of his plunder in the rough, and did not care to set up a furnace, whose discovery would have been fatal.He did once try melting silver in this crucible over an ordinary fire, but the attempt was a failure, and it was not renewed.Peace was quite right when he observed that Mrs. Thompson required watching. But who was to undertake the task now that her lord and master was in durance vile?Mrs. Peace became duly impressed with the fact “that the game was up” and she was not disposed to remain any longer in her old quarters at Peckham.The consequence was, that Mrs. Thompson was left to fight her own battles in the best way she could. A description of this woman is given by a journalist, and it is a tolerably accurate one.“I was privileged yesterday,” says he, “to see Mrs. Thompson, the lady who has been so intimately identified with the convict Charles Peace. Mrs. Thompson is a woman of gaunt stature, wizened features, and altogether the very antithesis of the saucy Mrs. Dyson, for whom Peace seemed to have formed such a consuming passion.“This preference for two women of such opposite appearance may be taken, I presume, as an instance of the happy impartiality of Mr. Peace in his loves. Possibly Mrs. Thompson may owe some of her present uncomeliness to her experience while under the protection of the burglar. That she has undergone much suffering I think certain, from the hard and leather-looking hue of her shrunken face.“There is an abiding distrust lurking in her cold, restless eyes, which is confirmed by the twitching of her fingers as she speaks to you.“There are moments when Mrs. Thompson thaws, as it were, when the curiously Mephistophelian mouth, the corners of which curl upwards instead of downwards, with a sharp precision of ominous intent, loses somewhat of its rigidity.“That is when Mrs. Thompson is face to face with the whiskey bottle. It is then the lady becomes communicative.“She croons over her connection with ‘Charley,’ referring to the criminal in terms of admiration and horror combined. It is quite erroneous to say, as some papers have done, that Mrs. Thompson was educated at a boarding school, and is a woman of culture.“To use her own words ‘No, sir, as I was I am. I have brothers andsisters—thatis true. But myself, all I can say of myself is, that I disgraced them.’ The woman seems to have money, but she appears to be oppressed by a dread that ‘Charley’ Peace will escape and cut her throat.”Mr. Brion was certainly hardly dealt by. In the first place he had been greatly deceived by the hero of this work, and in the end he had lost a considerable amount of time in rendering assistance to the Government in the prosecution of the Bannercross murderer, and had no adequate compensation for the same.A writer for the press gives the following faithful account of his visit to Mr. Peace’s “friend” at Peckham:—“How Peace came to live at Peckham is a story which has not yet been told, and, I suspect, will not be known unless it is told by Peace himself or by another party whom I called upon yesterday, and who, I suspect, could say a great deal if he could be induced to say it.“This gentleman, who occupies a good house in a leading road, was a great friend of Peace’s. The people say that he and Peace were ‘always together.’“Considering Peace’s manner of life, that is more than I can receive as gospel; but it is certainly a fact that this gentleman was more in Peace’s company than any other person in Peckham. My interview with him was not very encouraging.“A sharp-witted Peckham boy, who acted as my guide in showing me the residences of the people whose names I had on a card to visit, pointed to the street in which the house was situated, and said, ‘You will easily find it; it is the only house on that side where the lower windows arefrosted, to prevent people looking in.’“The boy added that the windows were frosted after this gentleman began to be seen a good deal in Peace’s company. Sometimes he went and visited Peace at 5, East-terrace, and sometimes Peace came and visited him.“With the exception of Mrs. S. Smith, who let the house to Peace, the latter kept himself very ‘reserved’ so far as his neighbours were concerned, and as the neighbours thought that the Thompsons—as they called themselves—were well-to-do people, considerably above their station—they did not like to intrude themselves upon the newcomers’ notice.“The house of this gentleman is a better one than that occupied by Peace, and is in a more pretentious road. There is an apartment underneath the level of the roadway, with a large open window, and it was this window which was ‘frosted.’“I saw no other window on the road treated in that fashion. Of course it may have been done simply to prevent prying people from looking in, though none of the neighbours seem to have thought it necessary to take similar precautions.“Three knocks with the knocker failed to elicit any answer, and I was leaving to try my luck elsewhere, when a comely-looking lady put her head out. Happening to look back at the time, I noticed her, and returned.“She kept me standing at the door for some time, but eventually, on my telling her as much of my business as I thought it prudent to mention, she asked me in, adding, as she showed me into a parlour, ‘I don’t think he will tell you anything about that.’“She closed the door, and left me to myself. The parlour, I had been told, was mainly furnished with articles from Peace’s house.“I sat down in one of the chairs belonging to the walnut suite which had adorned Peace’s parlour, and here I may say that if the walnut suite is a fair sample of the ‘luxurious furnishings’ at 5, East-terrace, you must not suppose that there was anything very palatial about the place.“In fact, the longer I inquire into this man’s establishment the glory of it seemeth to fade away. The suite is a fairly good one, covered with rep, in green and gold stripes, considerably faded by wear—such a suite as the esteemed auctioneer over the way from your office would knock down any day for fifteen or sixteen guineas, and think he had done fairly well for the seller, and not badly for the buyer.“In the room was also a harmonium, on which ‘Mr. Thompson,’ ‘Mrs. Thompson,’ and the boy ‘Ward’—of whom more anon—used to play sacred and other music.“It is a fair-looking instrument, worth perhaps a ten-pound note. There are other nick-nacks which had also been obtained from Peace’s establishment.“While I had been using my eyes in this way a conversation had been conducted in undertones in another room.“The wife was evidently telling the husband who I was. Then the door opened and there came close up to me a little man, wearing spectacles, through which he peered at me, with his small keen eyes, rather curiously, and ‘took me in’ from head to foot.“After he had finished his examination he retired to a chair in the corner. The wife stood by his side, and he pointed me to a seat near the window.“‘What’s your name?’ he asked me abruptly.“‘Had I not better tell you my business first?’ I replied.“‘Your name, sir, your address, and your occupation?—ifyou please.’“I told him my name.“‘Have you your card?’“I handed him my card, which he carefully examined, then looked at me carefully as if to see if he could detect any discrepancy between the name on the card and the person who presented it.“‘Now, sir, what do you want?’“I soon told him what I wanted.“‘You knew Peace very well, did you not?’“‘I knew Mr. Thompson; but before I say any more let me tell you that I have been before the authorities, and expressly cautioned not to say anything to anybody. They have heard my story, and if I am wanted they know where to find me.’“‘Oh, I didn’t know you were going to be a witness?’“‘I did not say I was going to be a witness. The Greenwich police have asked me what I know, and I may tell you have warned me against saying any more. I must decline to give any information which may be used——’“Here the wife interrupted, ‘You have said quite enough; don’t say any more.’“The husband drew up abruptly. I told him he had quite mistaken my mission.“I had been informed that he was more in Mr. Thompson’s house than anybody else, that he had frequently had Mr. Thompson at his house; that Mrs. Thompson and Mrs. Ward had also been there, and that I simply wanted to know what kind of people they were, and how they lived, and was not anxious to know anything about the Blackheath business.’“‘Before I say any more,’ he answered, ‘I must ask you to promise me as a particular favour that you will not mention my name in any way.’“‘Well,’ I said, ‘your name has been hinted at already. You have been spoken of as Mr. B——, and I expect the Peckham people know very well now who Mr. B—— is.’“He did not seem pleased at this information, and was about to tell me something more, when his wife again put the drag on, and kept it on all the time I was in the room.“‘You were working with Mr. Thompson on a patent for raising sunken ships—were you not?’“‘I must decline to answer any questions about that.’“‘Well, but that is a matter about which there is nothing to be gained by reticence. In fact, I know you have got that model in your house now, and that it is enclosed in a box like a plate-chest. I should really, as a mere matter of curiosity, like to have a look at it.’“It was no use. He entrenched himself behind his spectacles, the wife assisted him to hold the fort of his lips, and nothing further could I obtain from him.No.81.Illustration: PEACE AT HIS PRISONPEACE AT HIS PRISON TOILET AFTER HIS LIFE SENTENCE.“If it had not been for that excellent lady, I think ‘Mr. B——’ would have been induced to tell something which has not yet been made public, though he was evidently very anxious not to say anything which could in anyway connect him any further with the ‘Thompsons.’“As I was leaving I tried a parting shot.“Mrs. Thompson when she left promised to write to you, stating where she could be found. You have had a letter, I am told. There is now no doubt that Mrs. Thompson is merely wanted as a witness. There can be no harm in saying if you have had that letter.”Mr. B—— was about to speak, but his good wife was before him, and with her ‘don’t say any more—you have said too much already’—a point which I politely disputed with her—‘Mr. B——’ shook his head, and I left the interesting couple.“Someone has said that a woman can’t keep a secret, and an old cynic offered a reward for the first female who could be found capable of holding her tongue.“I want the address of the gentleman, for I can conscientiously claim the reward.“I have found in the person of my friend, Mrs. B——, a lady who can not only hold her own tongue, but that of her husband also.“I left that house with mingled respect for the excellent good wife, and disappointment that she did not happen, at the time I called, to be out taking a five o’clock tea with some estimable neighbours in the region of Evalina-road, or anywhere else except in her own house and by her husband’s side.“I am convinced that this gentleman and his wife could have told me a great deal as to Peace’s life at home, and perhaps something about his life abroad, which he may have guessed at or picked up in his frequent interviews with his friends the Thompsons, ofNo.5, East-terrace.”
Peace had written a number of epistles to his friends. These, of course, had undergone the usual inspection, but there was nothing in the documents to compromise the writer.
On the contrary, although the language was neither grammatical nor refined, the letters themselves appeared to be those of a penitent and contrite man who bitterly regretted the error into which he had fallen.
The day at length arrived upon which Peace had the satisfaction of seeing his poor ill-used wife and Bill Rawton, the gipsy.
For the behoof of those who have never witnessed scenes of this description we will endeavour to give a graphic account of the interior of the gaol on one of these occasions.
On certain mornings, and at regular hours, small groups of woe-begone tearful girls may be seen in the Old Bailey, exchanging whispers with each other or treading their way silently through the throng of meat salesmen, City policemen, ticket porters, warehousemen, clerks, and shopboys, with which the busy place is full.
The girls look prematurely old and worn, and many of them have the unmistakable expression all noted criminals obtain, while the elder women may be divided into two classes—the callous and the crushed, and in the latter category may be included the wife of Charles Peace.
There is a world of misery behind the defiant as well as the tortured faces one sees here.
All pause at the steps leading up to the half door, behind which the head and shoulders of a stalwart man in uniform are seen, and after a moment’s parley they are admitted within.
The object of their journey is nearly accomplished now, for they are about to be allowed to see and converse with husbands, or lovers, with their brothers, or their sons.
These last are taking their prescribed amount of exercise in the prison yards, and it is from behind one of the gratings looking on these that they are permitted to gaze from a given distance upon and exchange words with their visitors.
Between the prisoners and their friends runs a passage of about a yard wide, with another set of iron bars fencing it off from the place where the women stand; so that between the visitors and the visited are two stout barriers and sufficient space to preclude the possibility of articles being handed from one to the other. There are no seats.
The prisoners are told to break out of the line of march, and permitted to advance to the grating of the yard in batches of three or four.
The women who have come to see them stand exactly opposite, within the prison, and all have to press their faces close to the bars to make hearing possible.
If a double set of wild-beast cages were planted in parallel lines, with the ironwork of each facing the others, but a yard or so apart—if the lions and tigers were pushing their noses eagerly at the barriers, as if trying to escape, and if a keeper or two were planted in the intervening space to watch, a fair imitation of Newgate gaol during visiting hours would be obtained.
The gloomy place has been vastly altered and improved during the last few years. Those who only remember its old dark wards, with their long line of oakum-pickers at work in the day time, who saw the condemned cell, say about the time Palmer had occupied it, or Bousfield endeavoured to commit suicide by throwing himself in its fire, would be amazed at the transformation effected in its interior.
Light iron staircases lead to airy galleries, out of which the various cells open, and from the lower floor of which the exercise grounds are gained. The condemned cell differs little now from that appropriated to ordinary prisoners, save that there is accommodation for the warders, whose duty it is to watch the wretch sentenced to die, and who never leave him until he falls from the gallows’ drop.
But our present business is with the exercise yards, and the interviews held between their bars. There is a ghastly resemblance between them and the playground of some strict school.
Pacing regularly round, a fixed space being maintained between each man or boy, and the rate of walking in each case the same, proceed the prisoners. It is their wicked, callous faces which make the school simile seem ghastly.
Dangerous beasts moving restlessly to and fro in a vast cage seems much nearer the mark, now that we are among them. Sordid common villainy, theft, forgery, assault, burglary, cutting and wounding, and passing bad money, make up the bulk of the offences with which the men before us stand charged.
A stout florid-faced man, who looks like a country farmer, and who is gesticulating violently through the bars to the cowed and crying little woman beyond them, is in on a charge of horse-stealing. He has been in prison before, and indeed was only out of it ten days when he was again apprehended. A muscular powerful man, he looks as if he would carry off a horse bodily, if necessary; and one wonders what the messages are he is impressing so earnestly on his poor little wife.
A warder is standing near enough to the twain to overhear their talk, but we are assured no effort is made to eavesdrop, the presence of a prison official being insisted on simply as a precautionary measure.
Next to the horse-dealer is a well-dressed young clerk, whose alleged offence is embeszlement. The elderly woman whose sobs reach us across the yard is his mother.
She seems to be pleading earnestly, and he to be half sullen, half ashamed, but finally to yield to her entreaties, whatever their purport may have been.
The third prisoner being visited is an older man, and the girl talking to him looks like his daughter.
Their interview is far calmer than that of the other two, and seems indeed of a business character; for some clean linen has been brought, and the man is actoally talking of the weather as we pass by—a proceeding which we thought a feint, but which, as we were reminded, was natural enough.
The three-quarters of an hour allotted to each interview is doubtless a very precious time.
It can only be had on particular days, and the strongest wish of those concerned must be to compress as many questions and answers into it as possible.
Fancy the painful excitement with which a man about to be tried for some serious crime must look forward to his promised talk with those whom he can trust to act for him outside.
The anxious thoughts, the doubts, the fears, the hopes which agitate him in the solitude of his cell are to all bear fruit in the momentous conversation he is permitted to hold.
The chances of the impending trial, his fate if convicted, the means to be raised for his defence, and the effect upon those dependent on him of his present state, have to be eagerly canvassed; and it is all important that not a moment should be lost.
But this very eagerness defeats itself. Just as it often happens, that when people meet after a long absence, and for a limited time, they fail to recall half the topics in which they are vitally interested, and on which they are anxious to compare notes—so with the imprisoned men before us and their friends.
In the other yards we visited men and women were absolutely staring at each other through the bars, in silence; though the latter had come on purpose to talk, and the former would be shut up again in a quarter of an hour.
In some cases it may have been the dumbness of despair which made them tongue-tied; but many seemed so nervously anxious to express all they had to say that they were unable to arrange their ideas sufficiently to give them articulate shape.
Some of the women treated the whole affair lightly, smirked at the warders, and looked boldly round; but these were the exceptions. The rule both in those waiting and those in communication with their male friends was absolute dejection.
Two other kinds of accomodation are provided for special visitors, both similar in character. The first is an enclosed closet in the centre of the principal corridor, and is for the attorneys; the second is for the prisoners who are Roman Catholics, and who are visited by their priest.
Both have glass sides and roof, and realise “the light closets,” upon which Clarissa laid much stress when describing the lodgings she had been entrapped into by Lovelace.
The advice to little children, “to be seen but not heard,” is rigidly enforced upon all people inside these two places.
They live, for the time being literally, in a glass-house, and every movement can be seen from almost any portion of the chamber or corridor in which they stand.
Both places were empty during our stay, the only visitors being the women pressing against the iron bars.
It is easy to fill up their vacancy, however; and all but impossible not to realise the scences which take place in the attorneys’ box, as well as the priests’.
There are seats here, and a resting-place for papers. It is, indeed, a small office under a glass case, and swept and garnished for the next tenants.
The futile attempts at deceit, the half confessions, the miserable equivocations as to the extent and circumstances of guilt on the one hand; the calm business tone, the remonstrances on the suicidal folly of concealment, the penetrating questions, the practised art with which the truth is wormed out, and the astute assurances of help from the professional advisers on the other, this place has heard.
If glass walls have ears like the neighbours of stone and brick, what strange stories could this little cramped cage reveal!
There are more women in the porter’s lodge, as we leave, tearful and miserable as the rest, and waiting their turn for interviews.
They, too, will be conducted to the iron barriers, and utter their broken conversation across the dismal yard of intervening space. The prison of Newgate is so obviously well managed, and the comforts—we had almost written the luxuries—of its inmates are so carefully secured, that its authorities have doubtless sufficient reasons for the rules under which the visits of prisoners’ friends may be paid and received.
Still, a vast majority of the inmates are “remand cases;” and as they are all sent elsewhere as soon as possible after conviction, it is difficult to repress a wish that some less restricted mode of communication could be allowed.
Although many of the evil faces we saw marching round were old prison hands, we presume that the law holds them innocent of the particular offences they are charged with, until it finds them guilty.
Again, it must occasionally happen that guiltless persons who have been committed for trial are detained here, and there is something repulsive in the absolutely penal character of the reception they have in each case to give their friends.
The reader will be able to understand from the foregoing description the most noticeable features of the visiting day at Newgate.
Upon the morning to which our history more immediately refers there were two persons among the throng of visitors outside the gate of the city prison—these being Mrs. Peace and Bandy-legged Bill, both of whom had presented themselves at the prison for the purpose of having an interview with the most celebrated burglar of modern times.
Bill had dressed himself in his best attire, and looked quite respectable.
His female companion was tearful, depressed, and appeared to be quite borne down.
When the prison door was thrown open, the motley throng of visitors passed into the entrance.
They were conducted to the place appointed for the visitors, and behind the bars they beheld the man of whom they were in search.
Peace appeared to be perfectly composed. His wife uttered a deep sigh as she reached the barrier which separated her from her husband.
A woman who stood next to her, and who was evidently a native of the “Emerald Isle,” set up a most dismal howl as she caught sight of a shock-headed urchin, who was, it afterwards transpired, her youngest son.
“Och, bad luck to the spalpeen as brought you to this!—bad luck to him the murtherin’ baste,” cried the woman. “It’s sorry that I am to see ye brought to this anyhow, but it aint no fault of yours. Oh, murder, but my heart is a breakin’, it’s all through that dirty blackguard, ‘Cakey.’”
Cakey was a London pickpocket of the most pronounced type, and he it was who had suborned the ill-fated young Irish lad and taught him to become a thief. (So his mother affirmed.)
She set up such a howl that the other prisoners could not hear what their relatives had to say.
“Now then, less noise there,” exclaimed one of the turnkeys. “Don’t be howling like that, woman.”
“Oh, bedad, it is meself as is the most miserable ’oman as ever broke the bread of life,” exclaimed Mrs. O’Grady, “and it is well for the likes of you to be bullyragging a poor broken-hearted mother. I’ve six childhre, and never a one av ’em iver done aught as they need be ashamed of—never a one, save my poor Dinnis, and may be he’s got into a bit o’ throuble through that lying, dirty scamp, “Cakey.”
Cakey, as he was termed, was the young gentleman who had made himself so obnoxious to Peace in the exercise yard.
“Hold your row, mother,” said one of the prisoners, “You aint everybody.”
“There now,” exclaimed Mrs. O’Grady. “It’s well for the likes of him to be thryin’ to stop the mouth of a fond and affectionats parent; but hold up your head, Dennis darlin’, and don’t be afther takin’ heed of the dirty spalpeen. Och, but it brings tears into my motherly eyes to see ye behind the bars.”
“Now, then, there’s quite enough of this,” exclaimed one of the warders. “You mustn’t make such a noise. If you are not more quiet, we shall have to turn you out.”
“An’ it’s turnin’ me out ye’d be afther—would it?” cried the woman.
“Yes, unless you behave yourself.”
“Oh, murdher, it’s the first time I was within the walls of a prison, and I hope it ’ill be the last. Maybe I don’t know how to behave mysel’, and am wrong entirely. Och, sure, now, I’ve been as well brought up, and that aint saying much, as ony av ye.”
After this outbreak the Irishwoman was a little more subdued, and conversed with her son in a lower tone.
“I’m sorry to see you in this pickle,” said Bill Rawton to Peace. “It’s a precious bad business.”
“It is,” returned our hero, “but I swear most solemnly that I never intended to do the bobby any harm. I was driven to it—in fact it appears to me to be almost like a dream. How is Sue?”
“She is pretty well,” returned his wife.
“Hark you,” said Peace, in a whisper; “both you and Bill must keep a sharp look-out—watch over her Do you understand?”
Both his visitors nodded.
“Good! so much the better, there is good raason for this.”
“She’s all right” observed Bill. “Don’t trouble yourself about that; she’s right enough.”
His wife at this time had decamped from the Evilina-road, but neither she nor Bill made him acquainted with this circumstance.
Peace hesitated a moment or two, and then said—
“She can come on the next visiting day. Poor soul, she means well, I believe, but there, when she’s had a drop of drink, she will let her tongue run nineteen to the dozen, she’ll want a deal of looking after—and you know as well as I do, that we’ve got a set of gossiping neighbours. What do you they say about me now?”
“Oh, they are all of them very kind and say they are sorry you’ve got into trouble and hope you’ll get through better than you expect.”
“I never intended to hurt the ‘bobby’;—I swear that. Nothing was further from my thoughts, but you see I was half mad at the time, and driven to it.”
“All I intended to do was to frighten him; but it’s of no use talking about that now; when a man’s in trouble people generally look at the worst side of the case.”
“Cheer up, old man, and don’t give way,” cried the gipsy, in a consolatory tone, “Let us hope the judge will look upon the matter in the right light, and deal mercifully with you. How about your defence?”
“I have seen my lawyer and shall be well defended.”
“Who will you have then?”
“Oh, one of the very best in the whole profession—Mr. Montague Williams.”
“Couldn’t have a better, I should say.”
“No; but, Lord bless me! what defence is there?”
Rawton looked down upon the ground, and shook his head.
“Not much,” said he.
“I make up my mind for a long lagging—that’s bound to follow as a natural consequence—and if the ‘bobby’ had died I should have had something worse.”
“Ah, but he has recovered—there is no doubt about that,” returned Bill, quietly.
Peace nodded significantly, and said, “So I hear.”
“Be thankful for that.”
“I am thankful.”
“And I say, Charlie,” whispered Rawton, as he put his face closer to the iron bars, “I saw Lorrie the day before yesterday.”
“Yes. What did she say?”
“Sends her love and all that sort of thing, and told me to let you know that if you needed it she would let you have what you want to pay the costs incurred for your defence.”
“Umph, it’s jolly good of her. Tell her I don’t want anything at present. I’ve got enough to last me till after the trial, but possibly I may avail myself of her offer after then. Ah, Bill, but they’ve got me pretty tight now. There aint much chance of slipping out of this—none whatever.”
A long conversation now took place between the prisoner and his wife. This chiefly related to the disposal of certain sums of money and domestic matters generally.
Mrs. Peace was tearful and broken down, but she strove to bear up against this new misfortune as best she could.
Peace had but little consideration for her. His thoughts were engaged upon his own terrible position.
While he was conversing with his wife, the woman O’Grady set up one of her wild howls again, and interrupted the conversation.
“Can’t you be quiet, woman?” said Peace. “A fellow is notable to hear himself speak.”
“Och, but it’s nearly mad that I am—I’ve seven childhre, and none on ’em iver did anything as they need be ashamed ov, barrin’ this poor lad, who has been brought into throuble through that dirty blackguard, Cakey, and bad luck to him.”
“I think you told us that before, missus,” suggested one of the other prisoners. “The story is a little old.”
“It’s ould—is it?”
“Well, I think so, but that don’t matter. Hold your row.”
The Irishwoman began uttering a series of anathemas against the speaker and lawless persons in general, when a turnkey took her by the elbow, and conducted her away from the scene, telling her, as he did so, that they had had quite enough of her for that day.
Everybody was greatly relieved when she had gone, and the conversation was carried on between the prisoners and their friends without any further interruption.
When the time had expired, accorded to visits of this character, Bill Rawton and Mrs. Peace took leave of our hero, and went sadly on their way home.
For the next few days Peace occupied himself in writing letters, and having interviews with his lawyer, for the purpose of preparing his defence.
Some of his letters were literary curiosities, and as a sample of them we give the reader a faithful verbatim copy of some he addressed to his friend, Mr. Brion.
We have, in the course of this work, made allusions to the inventions of the hero, and it has been pretty generally admitted by those who are competent judges that these were by no means of a contemptible character.
His partner in these inventions was a Mr. Brion, who was a near neighbour of Peace’s.
This person was under the full impression at the time that our hero was a respectable gentleman, who was possessed of independent means, and he was never more surprised in his life than when he learnt the real character of the man with whom he had been dealing.
After Peace’s conviction for the attempted burglary and attack on Police-constable Robinson, Mr. Brion, of Peckham, made the following statement:—
“The invention spoken of was for the raising of sunken ships; and for the purpose of having it patented, specifications were deposited in the names of Henry Brion, geographer, and Henry Thompson, gentleman.
“Becoming bold over their invention, they offered to the Admiralty to raise the ‘Eurydice’ and ‘Vanguard,’ and a similar proposal was made to the German Government in regard to the ‘Grosser Kurfurst.’ Peace was told by the Admiralty that outside assistance was unnecessary, and that the naval authorities could do their own work.
“Brion’s connection with Peace ended in an estrangement.
“One day Brion had fetched from Peace’s house one of the fittings which they had decided to use in their plan of operations, as he required it in order to satisfy a gentleman who was ready to advance £500 to carry out the experiment.
“While doing this Peace came into the house, and was very angry at what Brion had done, and on his going away said that he would settle the matter in a way that Brion did not dream of.
“Mrs. Thompson told Brion afterwards that, as he had put him out so, the wonder was that Peace had not shot him, and added that if Brion had come round to Peace’s house, as he asked him to do, Peace told her that he would have shot him.
“The convict had also told her that he could get into Brion’s house and despatch the whole of them.
“Brion saw nothing more of Peace until he received a letter from Newgate, which was couched in the following terms:—
“‘From John Ward, 1 D for trial,H.M.Prison.Newgate,Nov.2, 1878.
“My dear Sir.—Mr. Brion,—I do not know how to write to you or what to say to you, for my heart is near broken, for I am nearly mad to think that I have got into this fearful mess, all with giving myself up to drinking; but O, Mr. Brion, do you have pity on me, do not you despise me, as my hone famery has don, for I do not know ware they are, for they have broken up there home and gon I do not know where. So O, my dear Sir, I must beg of you to have mercy upon me and come to see me.
“O do not say nay, for I now that when you do see me, and know what I am here for, you will weep for me; but I cannot tell you till I can see you, for I have something that I want you to do for me, that is for you to try and find out for me, for I do not know whare they are gon to.
“Give my love to Mrss. brion and to little fredey, but not disspse me now that I am in Prison, and for meary sakke write a letter back to me direct at once, to give hease to my trobel hart. I finish with my love to you all. I am yours recherdJohn Ward. But do have mercy upon me and come to see me. You can see me heney week day from one till two o’clock, and inquire for John Ward for trial.’
“On November 2nd Brion went to Newgate and asked to see the writer of the letter. To his surprise he was shown his old acquaintance, Thompson.
“Peace said he was a wicked, dreadful man; that he had shot a policeman, but that he only did it as he was driven for money, and asked him (Brion) to come to the court and give him a character. The prisoner also asked him to call on a publican in Middlesex-street, Whitechapel, with whom he had had some dealings, and ask him to give him a character.
“This person, in reply to his request, said that a character would do Peace more harm than good.
“Other letters were received by Brion before the trial at the old Bailey.
“From John Ward, 1 D for trial,H.M.Prison,“Newgate,Nov.. 4, 1878.
“‘O my dear Friends, Mr. and Mrs. Brion,—I know that you are full of trouble for me been such a nod fool to give way to drink and bring myself into this most fearful afarer; but do forgive me for writing to you and have Pity upon me; and do all you can for me, a moust wretched and miserbel man, that is not fiet to live nor dei, for I am not fiet to meet my God, and I am not fiet to live now that I have disgraced myself, but O do have Pity upon me, and do all you can for me, and I will Pray to God to re Pay you for it agane.
“‘Sir, if you have seen my Solictor, or seen Mr. Levy, or heard from or seen my wife, do be kind as to come and see me at once, for O, Sir, I have vely much thet I do want to see … bring me the stamps and envelops … you for, and it will do me much beter than you writing to me, so do be so kind and see to-morrow, the 5th, if you can do and if you have seen my wife or friends tell them to come and see me at once, for I must see them.
“I do also want to see Mr. Levy very much, if you will write and tel him. Sir do not let Doctor Sargent nor heney oughter frinds know of my drisgrase, I conclude with my best love to you all, but come and see me.
“‘Yours, “‘John Ward.
“‘Dear Sir,—I think that the shesions will be on the 18th ofNovem.
“‘Henry Brion, 22, Philip-road, Peckham-rye,S.E., London.’
“The third letter was as follows:—
“From John Ward,“for trial, H. M. Prison, Newgate.
“‘My dear Sir,—Mr. Brion, will you be so kind as to send me the directions of Mr. Nash, direct at once for I do want to suppine him to come on my trial to prove that I bougth my guitors of him, for the police have got them for to say that I stole them, but I bought them of him when I bought my ship of him. So do be so kind as to send me his directions this very day, and my dear sir you be so kind as to come and see me yourself on Monday, for I do want to see you Mr. Brion.—I am your an unhappy man,John Ward.’”
It will be seen by these documents, that Peace was a very illiterate man, but it must be admitted, however, that, in conversing with him, he did not appear, from his conversation to be nearly so ignorant as he really was.
He had a very small amount of education, but he had natural gifts, and was, moreover, a hypocrite and deceiver of the most pronounced type.
Peace’s arrest caused much consternation in the house in the Evalina-road.
On the morning that Mr. Thompson was missing, there was trouble atNo.4. Mrs. Thompson went to Mrs. Long in great distress. The infatuated woman seemed to be fond of the wretch she had taken up with, despite all his ill-usage.
She said, however, at this time that she did not care anything about him, “if she only knew where he was.”
She took to advertising in the newspapers. These brought no response.
She found, on her return, that the old woman had gone away with the boy, and taken with her two boxes filled with valuables.
She instantly took precautions to secure the rest, which she stored away in her own name in a house at Peckham—all except the articles we have already described as having been left elsewhere.
She stayed with Mrs. Long, to whom she first told the story that her husband had gone off to America with another woman, and that she would never see him more.
Her stay extended over ten days, and then, chancing to get a hint somehow as to her husband’s whereabouts, she left, telling Mrs. Long that she should write and send her address.
Mrs. Long never heard from her afterwards, but believed in her still, and trusted in the information she had given us she might not do “the poor woman any evil turn.”
Two days after Peace disappeared, Mrs. Thompson went to Mrs. Cleaves, a greengrocer a few doors off, whose husband had identified some of the property, and asked her as a great favour to come into the house with her.
She said Mrs. Ward had gone as well as her husband, and there were several boxes, saying, “I am afraid to open them myself. I don’t know what he may have been up to. I can’t open them unless somebody will help me, because the old devil may have killed somebody, and have packed their bodies in these boxes.”
Mrs. Cleaves did not relish the ghastly suggestion, and declined to have anything to do with Mrs. Thompson’s boxes, which were ultimately obtained by the police, who had no scruples about searching the contents.
Mention was made at this time of a suspicious-looking crucible in the house in the Evalina-road. It was found, however, that Peace never made use of this. One of his “fences” had brought it to the house in the hope that arrangements might be made for reducing on the spot a large haul of goods to a concentrated shape.
But Mr. Peace preferred to dispose of his plunder in the rough, and did not care to set up a furnace, whose discovery would have been fatal.
He did once try melting silver in this crucible over an ordinary fire, but the attempt was a failure, and it was not renewed.
Peace was quite right when he observed that Mrs. Thompson required watching. But who was to undertake the task now that her lord and master was in durance vile?
Mrs. Peace became duly impressed with the fact “that the game was up” and she was not disposed to remain any longer in her old quarters at Peckham.
The consequence was, that Mrs. Thompson was left to fight her own battles in the best way she could. A description of this woman is given by a journalist, and it is a tolerably accurate one.
“I was privileged yesterday,” says he, “to see Mrs. Thompson, the lady who has been so intimately identified with the convict Charles Peace. Mrs. Thompson is a woman of gaunt stature, wizened features, and altogether the very antithesis of the saucy Mrs. Dyson, for whom Peace seemed to have formed such a consuming passion.
“This preference for two women of such opposite appearance may be taken, I presume, as an instance of the happy impartiality of Mr. Peace in his loves. Possibly Mrs. Thompson may owe some of her present uncomeliness to her experience while under the protection of the burglar. That she has undergone much suffering I think certain, from the hard and leather-looking hue of her shrunken face.
“There is an abiding distrust lurking in her cold, restless eyes, which is confirmed by the twitching of her fingers as she speaks to you.
“There are moments when Mrs. Thompson thaws, as it were, when the curiously Mephistophelian mouth, the corners of which curl upwards instead of downwards, with a sharp precision of ominous intent, loses somewhat of its rigidity.
“That is when Mrs. Thompson is face to face with the whiskey bottle. It is then the lady becomes communicative.
“She croons over her connection with ‘Charley,’ referring to the criminal in terms of admiration and horror combined. It is quite erroneous to say, as some papers have done, that Mrs. Thompson was educated at a boarding school, and is a woman of culture.
“To use her own words ‘No, sir, as I was I am. I have brothers andsisters—thatis true. But myself, all I can say of myself is, that I disgraced them.’ The woman seems to have money, but she appears to be oppressed by a dread that ‘Charley’ Peace will escape and cut her throat.”
Mr. Brion was certainly hardly dealt by. In the first place he had been greatly deceived by the hero of this work, and in the end he had lost a considerable amount of time in rendering assistance to the Government in the prosecution of the Bannercross murderer, and had no adequate compensation for the same.
A writer for the press gives the following faithful account of his visit to Mr. Peace’s “friend” at Peckham:—
“How Peace came to live at Peckham is a story which has not yet been told, and, I suspect, will not be known unless it is told by Peace himself or by another party whom I called upon yesterday, and who, I suspect, could say a great deal if he could be induced to say it.
“This gentleman, who occupies a good house in a leading road, was a great friend of Peace’s. The people say that he and Peace were ‘always together.’
“Considering Peace’s manner of life, that is more than I can receive as gospel; but it is certainly a fact that this gentleman was more in Peace’s company than any other person in Peckham. My interview with him was not very encouraging.
“A sharp-witted Peckham boy, who acted as my guide in showing me the residences of the people whose names I had on a card to visit, pointed to the street in which the house was situated, and said, ‘You will easily find it; it is the only house on that side where the lower windows arefrosted, to prevent people looking in.’
“The boy added that the windows were frosted after this gentleman began to be seen a good deal in Peace’s company. Sometimes he went and visited Peace at 5, East-terrace, and sometimes Peace came and visited him.
“With the exception of Mrs. S. Smith, who let the house to Peace, the latter kept himself very ‘reserved’ so far as his neighbours were concerned, and as the neighbours thought that the Thompsons—as they called themselves—were well-to-do people, considerably above their station—they did not like to intrude themselves upon the newcomers’ notice.
“The house of this gentleman is a better one than that occupied by Peace, and is in a more pretentious road. There is an apartment underneath the level of the roadway, with a large open window, and it was this window which was ‘frosted.’
“I saw no other window on the road treated in that fashion. Of course it may have been done simply to prevent prying people from looking in, though none of the neighbours seem to have thought it necessary to take similar precautions.
“Three knocks with the knocker failed to elicit any answer, and I was leaving to try my luck elsewhere, when a comely-looking lady put her head out. Happening to look back at the time, I noticed her, and returned.
“She kept me standing at the door for some time, but eventually, on my telling her as much of my business as I thought it prudent to mention, she asked me in, adding, as she showed me into a parlour, ‘I don’t think he will tell you anything about that.’
“She closed the door, and left me to myself. The parlour, I had been told, was mainly furnished with articles from Peace’s house.
“I sat down in one of the chairs belonging to the walnut suite which had adorned Peace’s parlour, and here I may say that if the walnut suite is a fair sample of the ‘luxurious furnishings’ at 5, East-terrace, you must not suppose that there was anything very palatial about the place.
“In fact, the longer I inquire into this man’s establishment the glory of it seemeth to fade away. The suite is a fairly good one, covered with rep, in green and gold stripes, considerably faded by wear—such a suite as the esteemed auctioneer over the way from your office would knock down any day for fifteen or sixteen guineas, and think he had done fairly well for the seller, and not badly for the buyer.
“In the room was also a harmonium, on which ‘Mr. Thompson,’ ‘Mrs. Thompson,’ and the boy ‘Ward’—of whom more anon—used to play sacred and other music.
“It is a fair-looking instrument, worth perhaps a ten-pound note. There are other nick-nacks which had also been obtained from Peace’s establishment.
“While I had been using my eyes in this way a conversation had been conducted in undertones in another room.
“The wife was evidently telling the husband who I was. Then the door opened and there came close up to me a little man, wearing spectacles, through which he peered at me, with his small keen eyes, rather curiously, and ‘took me in’ from head to foot.
“After he had finished his examination he retired to a chair in the corner. The wife stood by his side, and he pointed me to a seat near the window.
“‘What’s your name?’ he asked me abruptly.
“‘Had I not better tell you my business first?’ I replied.
“‘Your name, sir, your address, and your occupation?—ifyou please.’
“I told him my name.
“‘Have you your card?’
“I handed him my card, which he carefully examined, then looked at me carefully as if to see if he could detect any discrepancy between the name on the card and the person who presented it.
“‘Now, sir, what do you want?’
“I soon told him what I wanted.
“‘You knew Peace very well, did you not?’
“‘I knew Mr. Thompson; but before I say any more let me tell you that I have been before the authorities, and expressly cautioned not to say anything to anybody. They have heard my story, and if I am wanted they know where to find me.’
“‘Oh, I didn’t know you were going to be a witness?’
“‘I did not say I was going to be a witness. The Greenwich police have asked me what I know, and I may tell you have warned me against saying any more. I must decline to give any information which may be used——’
“Here the wife interrupted, ‘You have said quite enough; don’t say any more.’
“The husband drew up abruptly. I told him he had quite mistaken my mission.
“I had been informed that he was more in Mr. Thompson’s house than anybody else, that he had frequently had Mr. Thompson at his house; that Mrs. Thompson and Mrs. Ward had also been there, and that I simply wanted to know what kind of people they were, and how they lived, and was not anxious to know anything about the Blackheath business.’
“‘Before I say any more,’ he answered, ‘I must ask you to promise me as a particular favour that you will not mention my name in any way.’
“‘Well,’ I said, ‘your name has been hinted at already. You have been spoken of as Mr. B——, and I expect the Peckham people know very well now who Mr. B—— is.’
“He did not seem pleased at this information, and was about to tell me something more, when his wife again put the drag on, and kept it on all the time I was in the room.
“‘You were working with Mr. Thompson on a patent for raising sunken ships—were you not?’
“‘I must decline to answer any questions about that.’
“‘Well, but that is a matter about which there is nothing to be gained by reticence. In fact, I know you have got that model in your house now, and that it is enclosed in a box like a plate-chest. I should really, as a mere matter of curiosity, like to have a look at it.’
“It was no use. He entrenched himself behind his spectacles, the wife assisted him to hold the fort of his lips, and nothing further could I obtain from him.
No.81.
Illustration: PEACE AT HIS PRISONPEACE AT HIS PRISON TOILET AFTER HIS LIFE SENTENCE.
PEACE AT HIS PRISON TOILET AFTER HIS LIFE SENTENCE.
“If it had not been for that excellent lady, I think ‘Mr. B——’ would have been induced to tell something which has not yet been made public, though he was evidently very anxious not to say anything which could in anyway connect him any further with the ‘Thompsons.’
“As I was leaving I tried a parting shot.
“Mrs. Thompson when she left promised to write to you, stating where she could be found. You have had a letter, I am told. There is now no doubt that Mrs. Thompson is merely wanted as a witness. There can be no harm in saying if you have had that letter.”
Mr. B—— was about to speak, but his good wife was before him, and with her ‘don’t say any more—you have said too much already’—a point which I politely disputed with her—‘Mr. B——’ shook his head, and I left the interesting couple.
“Someone has said that a woman can’t keep a secret, and an old cynic offered a reward for the first female who could be found capable of holding her tongue.
“I want the address of the gentleman, for I can conscientiously claim the reward.
“I have found in the person of my friend, Mrs. B——, a lady who can not only hold her own tongue, but that of her husband also.
“I left that house with mingled respect for the excellent good wife, and disappointment that she did not happen, at the time I called, to be out taking a five o’clock tea with some estimable neighbours in the region of Evalina-road, or anywhere else except in her own house and by her husband’s side.
“I am convinced that this gentleman and his wife could have told me a great deal as to Peace’s life at home, and perhaps something about his life abroad, which he may have guessed at or picked up in his frequent interviews with his friends the Thompsons, ofNo.5, East-terrace.”