CHAPTERXC.THE BANNERCROSS MURDER—PEACE’S ADVENTURES AFTER THE DEATH OF MR. DYSON.The Dysons found it impossible to shake off Peace, who continued his annoyances to them with a pertinacity which occasioned them the greatest possible trouble and anxiety.Peace was irrepressible; he was most ingenious in the way of persecution.He followed Mrs. Dyson about, threatened her, and watched outside the house to catch sight of her.It was in vain that Mr. Dyson sent him a communication, requesting a cessation of his visits. This, coupled probably with a discountenance of Mrs. Dyson’s friendship, seemed to almost madden Peace, who swore to be revenged on them both.But too well did he carry out his wicked purpose.In July, 1876, he threatened to blow out their brains, accompanying the threat with pointing a pistol at the head of Mrs. Dyson.A warrant was taken out against him for this, but he evaded apprehension, while continuing to annoy the family, and on October 29 the Dysons removed to Bannercross, with the hope of being free from his disagreeable visits; but on the very night they removed Peace appeared at Bannercross and confronted Mrs. Dyson, saying in a malicious tone of voice, “You see I am here to annoy you, wherever you may go.”Mrs. Dyson remonstrated with him, and told him “he was a wretch.”Peace only laughed derisively at this, and said, “he was not to be shaken off, that he would follow her if it was to the end of the world.”Just one month after this he went to Bannercross at eight o’clock in the evening, and perpetrated the murder for which he afterwards suffered death.Peace proceeded to Sheffield the night after the trial of the unfortunate young man, William Habron, and he went to Bannercross in the evening.At the back of the house where the Dysons lived, which was in one of the houses in the terrace called Bannercross-terrace, there was a low wall.Peace wanted to see Mrs. Dyson—so he afterwards declared—he knew the house very well. He stood on the low wall at the back of the house. He was well acquainted with the back premises as also the front, and he knew that the bedroom was at the back.For some time Peace’s eyes were directed towards the apartment in question; presently he noticed a light at the window.The blind was up, and he could, with tolerable distinctness, see her carrying a candle and moving about the room.The guilty man watched her for some time, and saw that she was putting her boy to bed.He then “flipped his fingers,” as he termed it, and gave a sort of subdued whistle, to attract the attention of Mrs. Dyson, as he had frequently done before at different places.He had not long to wait, the assumption being that she was aware of the presence of her tormentor.Anyway, Mrs. Dyson left the bedroom, went down stairs, and entered the closet.Peace got down off the wall and gained the yard.He then went towards the passage of the house.According to his own statement, the only object he had in paying a visit to the house was to induce Mrs. Dyson to withdraw the warrant which had been taken out against him. Whether this was the real purport of his visit has never been clearly established—we have only his bare word for it, but that is not very reliable testimony. He said “he was tired of being hunted about, and not being able to go and come as he liked.”Mrs. Dyson, according to his account, became very noisy and defiant, and made use of fearful language against him.Peace became angry, and taking his revolver from his pocket, he held it up in her face, and said:“Now you be careful what you are saying to me. You know me of old, and know what I can do.“You know I am not a man to be talked to in that way.“If there is one man who will not be trifled with by you or anybody else, it is Charles Peace.”She was highly incensed, and would not take warning, and continued to threaten Peace, who soon became wild with fury.All the bad passions of the man were now dominant.While loud and angry words were being exchanged, Mr. Dyson made his appearance.It was most unfortunate for him that he came forward.Peace threatened to shoot Mrs. Dyson, who took refuge in the closet.Peace turned round and fired twice, the first shot striking the wall, and the second striking Mr. Dyson in the temple.Peace saw the unfortunate gentleman fall, but was not aware at the time that he had received his death-wound.His murderer rushed into the middle of the road, and stood there for a brief period, apparently hesitating as to his course of action.He was, as may be readily imagined, under the greatest agitation, and as he observed a number of people gathering about, he at last decided to fly.He jumped over the wall on the other side of the road, and as he did so a packet of letters fell from his pocket, just as he was jumping over the fence.Mr. Dyson died in about an hour after he had been shot.Peace managed to effect his escape.How he contrived to get clean off has been a matter of surprise to everybody; and how he afterwards managed to elude the vigilance of the police and continue his lawless career in London and the suburbs, is still more surprising.The following is his own version of his movements after the murder.“I want it to be properly understood,” says Peace, “that, from the moment I left Bannercross on the 29th of September, 1876, I felt sure of making my escape.“I felt I had no cause to do so, for I knew that I had done nothing wrong; for in the first place when it happened, I came down the passage and stood in the middle of the road not knowing what had happened.“I did not know whether to run away or walk away, till I heard Kate (Mrs. Dyson) scream; and then not knowing what had happened, I took across the road and fields to Hentcleff (Endcliffe) crescent. I then walked to Broomhill Tavern, and took a cab into Church-street.“I then went to see my mother, and remained with her for more than half an hour. I then went down to the Attercliffe railway station, and took the train for Rotheram.“I then booked from Masborough for Hull, but having got into the York part of the train (not knowing) in place of the Hull part, when the Hull part of the train was liberated from the York part at Normanton I was taken forward to York.“I remained at York in the Railway Hotel in the station yard all night. I took the first train next morning for Beverley. I took the next train for Cottingham. I went from Cottingham to Hull.“I went to see my wife and family at 27, Collier-street; this would be about ten o’clock in the morning. I had been away from my family a fortnight, and was talking to them in the kitchen when I heard two dectives (detectives) talking to my wife in the shop, asking if a young man of the name of Peace lived there.“My wife said ‘Yes; but he has gone to Sheffield to see his grandmother,’ thinking that they meant my son.“But I in the kitchen, hearing this, felt that it must be me they meant, went upstairs into my son’s bedroom, put the window up, and went between the two roof’s of the building, and remained there till the detectives had searched the house, and when they had gone out I came back again into the kitchen of my own house, and took my things and began to wash myself; but before I could finish washing myself I heard them in the shop again, so I went upstairs through the windows between the roof till they had searched the house and gone out again. So I then went down again into the kitchen.“My wife and daughter were sobbing fit to break their heart, for they did not know what was the matter and I could not tell them.“So I washed me, and put on my clothes, and bid them all good-bye, and went out through the window again between the roofs. I remained there again for some hours, till just before dusk.“I then went down the spout at the further end of the building, which brought me into the next yard but one, and went to a woman’s house that dealt at our shop, and told the woman I had to get away out of the shop over a warrant, or something of that, and asked her if she would go into our house and ask my wife to send me something to eat out, but mind the detectives did not hear and see her, and I had my tea in this woman’s house.“I then asked the woman to let me go through her kitchen window in her back yard and also go ask the woman in the next yard if she would let me go through her kitchen window, and pass through the house into another yard.“She went and asked and got consent, so that I went through the window and house into the other yard. This was three clear yards away from my house. It was then just dark.“I walked out of the passage end, and turned to the left down Collier-Street, towards the fair ground, and went away—but not out of the town—and got lodgings; and I remained in Hull for nearly three weeks, and done some places for money.“I then left Hull and booked for Doncaster. I then booked from Doncaster to London. I then took the underground railway to Paddington, and booked from Paddington for Bristol. Bristol was the first place I saw a reward out for my apprehension.”“I remained in Bristol till January. I booked from Bristol to Bath. I stopped at Bath all night. I booked from Bath to Oxford, and in the carriage with me there was a police sergeant on his way to Stafford Assizes. We rode and talked together to Dickcot Junction (Didcott Junction), and arrived there in the middle of the night.“We slept together in the waiting-room for four hours, and then went forward to Oxford by first train. We then shook hands and parted; he went forward to Stafford and I remained at Oxford all day.“I then booked for Birmingham. I remained at Birmingham four or five days. I then went on to Derby.“I stopped at Derby at an eating-house oppersite the railway, and there was a young man there just joining the police force, and the police-station was not more than 150 yards from there. I remained at Derby for something more than a week.“I then went to Nottingham, and took lodgeing at a little shop three or four doors from the police-station on the Burton-road right oppersite a timber-yard where I was stopping, and the police-station is at the corner of Leanside.“I remained with them till they left there and went to live with them in a yard a bit lower down, that led out of Leanside into Narrow Marsh, but not more than fifty yards from the police-station.“I remained with them some time, working Nottingham and the towns round about. I then went to live with Mrs. Adamson, a buyer, next door to the ‘Woodman Inn,’ in Narrow Marsh. It was there I became acquainted with Mrs. Thompson.“Upon one occasion I booked from Nottingham to Sheffield, but got out of the train at Ely (Heeley) station, and walking past the police-station at Highfield. Inspector Bradbury was stood at the police-station door, at about seven o’clock at night, and I passed close by him, and he did not know me.“Then I went right away up to Sharrow, and crossed over quite close to Bannercross, down into Hesclehall (Ecclesall) road, turned down towards Sheffield, and crossed through Broomhall Park, into Havelock-square.“I that night did a house over at the corner of Havelock-square. They was away from home. I got about £6 in money and a lot of jewerley.“The watchman on the beat fancied he heard something in the house, but I saw him stop the sergeant when he came his round, and I got away backwards. By certain papers I brought out of the house they called them Barney Swincourse (Barnascone). I went to Ely (Heeley) Railway Station, and from Ely to Nottingham.“At Nottingham I done a big tailor and draper establishment and took a lot of overcoats.”It was at the last-named place, as he declares in the above statement, that he met with the woman who played so conspicuous a part in Peckham.Mrs. Thompson’s name was Susan Gray, and she was lodging at a house where Peace had apartments.It is said that she was married to a commercial traveller named Bailey, but discarded him for Peace; and it was while at Nottingham that a detective surprised them in the night.There had been a robbery in the town, and the officer was in pursuit of the thief. Peace induced the constable to go down stairs, stating that he was a pedlar, and would bring down his pack for examination. He escaped, half dressed, through the window; and the officer, after waiting for some time, returned to find the bird flown.Peace afterwards talked of this with great glee.He afterwards returned to Hull with Mrs. Thompson, and six months subsequently to the murder at Bannercross had the audacity to take apartments with a police-sergeant in Albany-road, near to Hengler’s Circus. Peace and his female companion were the front parlour lodgers, and as the sergeant kept other lodgers, mainly “professional,” Peace was quite at home, and the life and soul of the company.While residing with the sergeant he committed one of his daring burglaries, and frequently had conversations with his landlord about the supposed burglar. The pair stayed here for nearly two months under the names of Mr. and Mrs. Thompson.From Hull they went to Lambeth, changing their quarters to Greenwich, and finally to Peckham. It was here that Mrs. Thompson found out who and what her companion really was.He told her he had never been married; and rummaging among his boxes one day, Mrs. Thompson discovered a funeral card in memory of his son, aged four. The name Peace at once disclosed the real character of the man to whose fortunes she had allied herself.She charged him with being the Bannercross murderer; which he did not deny. Then his whole manner changed. He had been kind to her up to that period; but he now took an opposite course, and tyrannised over her.Mrs. Thompson, it must be admitted, was much addicted to drink and snuff-taking to an inordinate extent.She used to frequent public-houses. She was prohibited from going out, but could have as much as she liked to drink at home.It then occurred to Peace that if Mrs. Thompson had thus found him out his wife and his step-son, whom he had left in Hull, might divulge the secret. He therefore devised a plan, and Mrs. Thompson was compelled to fall in with it.Both went down to Hull, and Mrs. Thompson one fine day presented herself at Mrs. Peace’s home with a letter, in which Peace expressed his penitence for all the misery he had caused her, and said he was most anxious to make her some reparation.He told her he was now in a good position, and could not bear to see her drudging at Hull. Finally he prevailed upon her to go to London with her son Willie, stating that he had bought a business in Tottenham-court-road, and that he would pay a year’s rent in advance, and never come to molest her if she desired him not to do so.She believed him, and journeyed up to London—agreeable to his request—poor confiding woman as she was.On the morning after the murder, according to his account, he walked into his mother’s house, to her great surprise just as she was sitting down to breakfast. Willie Ward and two other relatives were there at the time, and perhaps their presence disconcerted him, for he left again directly for the purpose, as he said, of seeing his brother Dan.He promised to return shortly, but did not go back till ten o’clock the same night, when he had a wild expression in his eye, his face was discoloured, and his clothes daubed with mud.He told his mother that he had “been and shot Mr. Dyson,” assigning as the reason that he had taken out a warrant against him for using threatening language and that if it were brought before a magistrate his prison life would go against him.He hastened at once to clean himself, and after saying “Good-bye” to his mother he left the house never to see her again in this world.Peace, as we have before observed, took great delight in boasting how he could deceive the police, and often declared—“That he could dodge any detective in existence.”The fact of his having baffled his pursuers is doubtless to be ascribed to his facial peculiarities, especially the length and mobility of the lower jaw, and the flexibility of his muscles. This was one of his most remarkable characteristics. He said to some friends one day—“Do you want to know how I dodged the bobbies?” and on receiving a reply in the affirmative he said, “Well, I will tell you,” then he asked them to turn their backs to him a bit.They did so, and were astounded to find that Peace had completely altered the expression of his face, and so protruded his chin and curled his lip that under ordinary circumstances it would have been impossible to recognise him, especially as he had by the peculiar contortion of his features forced the blood into his face until he looked like a mulatto. One of the inspectors said—“No wonder you could get clear from Sheffield when you can change your face like that.”Whereupon Peace laughed and said—“I can do more dodges. I can dodge any detective.”The circumstances surrounding his connection with the Dysons form the most remarkable and inexplicable portion of his career.It would appear that he completely lost himself in his infatuation for Mrs. Dyson; his usual caution forsook him, and he run greater risks in the pursuit of Mrs. Dyson than he did by any of his daring burglaries.The end we know. He paid the last dread penalty of the law for the murder of the unfortunate gentleman who fell a victim to his bloodthirsty spirit of revenge.When the Dyson’s first went to live at Eccleshall, some five weeks before the murder, Peace made it his business to wait upon the vicar, theRev.E. Newman, to warn him against the new arrivals in his parish.He then told Mr. Newman some most incredible stories, making grave charges which it would be indelicate and unjust to even hint at.Mr. Newman was incredulous that things could be as Peace represented them, and asked him how it was that he had chosen to make such statements to an utter stranger.“My object,” promptly replied Peace, “is to put you on your guard.”It struck Mr. Newman at the time that there was something behind, but Peace persistently stuck to his story. As it was not believed he left the vicarage, stating that he would return with proofs such as would leave no doubt of his speaking the truth.The following particulars of a subsequent interview will be read with interest at this time:—“At twenty minutes past six on Wednesday evening (November 29th), ‘a thin, grey-haired, insignificant-looking man’ presented himself at the front door of Eccleshall Vicarage. He rang the bell and announced himself as Peace, stating to the servant that he desired to see Mr. Newman.“When Mr. Newman saw him Peace at once produced what he called his ‘proofs’ of the statements he had made about the Dysons on his first visit. He represented himself as a very respectable man—indeed, taken at his own estimate he was about as near perfection as he could get, and he attributed all the troubles and wickednesses into which he had fallen to the people he has now so fearfully revenged himself upon.“He said he had come to Mr. Newman ‘to make a confession—a clean breast of all his wickedness.’ Mr. Newman tried to turn his thoughts to the only source of forgiveness, but Peace would have none of his counsel. He was determined to confess to Mr. Newman, and then began a narrative, which, in the abundance of the abominable, is beyond belief.“His allegations were not only wicked, but most extravagantly wicked. Peace put himself forward as having been all that was right and proper until Mr. Dyson became jealous of him.“He told Mr. Newman that he said to Mrs. Dyson, ‘That they had better give him (meaning her husband) something to talk about,’ and that from that day commenced all his trouble.“Peace produced to Mr. Newman a vast number of letters, photographs, cards, and other things, and was eager in pressing them upon the vicar, adding that he could bring any number of the same sort. His great grievance against the Dysons appeared to be the issuing of the warrant against him.“Owing to that he had to break up his house and become a fugitive in the land. He consulted a solicitor, who advised him that he was liable to four actions if he did not make himself scarce. So he was obliged to ‘dodge’ the authorities.“This trouble seems to have made him almost mad, and the mere recollection of it roused his wrath as nothing else could. He spoke in words of forgiveness—forgive the word!—of Mrs. Dyson; but nothing could exceed his hatred of her husband, the person whom, if his own story was to be believed, he had most deeply wronged. He said he was determined that wherever the Dysons went he would follow them. He had quarrelled with his own wife, and would never go back to her again.“Peace added that he had come to Sheffield that morning with his daughter to see a relative, and having a little time on his hands he thought he would go up to Mr. Newman’s with the proofs he had promised. On his way up he said he had ascertained—as he had ways and means of doing—that Mr. and Mrs. Dyson were at home, and he knew how they were (making another charge against him).“Going out and while on the door-step, he turned to Mr. Newman and said, ‘I won’t call at the Dyson’s to-night, but I will call at the Gregory’s.’ He then left, bidding Mr. Newman a cheerful ‘good-night.’“He left the vicarage at twenty minutes to seven, Mr. Newman being indeed anxious to get rid of him, as he had a meeting to attend that evening. It afterwards transpired that Peace had gone to Gregory’s shop.“He would get there about seven or shortly afterwards. Mr. Gregory was not in, and Peace left, going down the road as if returning to Sheffield. He was watched as far as a lamp, 150 yards from the house. Very shortly after he must have returned and secreted himself in Mr. Dyson’s garden, with the dreadful purpose of murdering that gentleman.”The following remarks were made by a journalist on the interview at the time:—“There can be no doubt that when Peace sought that remarkable interview with the vicar he had meditated murder and decided upon his diabolical plan.“All the time he was talking in Mr. Newman’s study he must have had murder in his heart, and the revolver with which he meant to do it would be in his pocket, probably loaded.“Had Mr. Newman known the desperate character to whom he had granted the interview he would not have sat so easy in his study chair. Peace could only have one purpose in his visit. He knew that after he had done the deed he would have either to shoot himself or fly the country, and his communication to the vicar therefore was in the nature of a last will and testament.“He evidently desired the public to know his side of the transaction, and the clergyman of the parish would naturally occur to him as the most likely party to entrust it with.“His communication, however, is of such an atrocious character that its publication is simply impossible, apart altogether from matters of truth and justice. There can be little doubt that Peace is a great liar.“He gave Mr. Newman the idea that he was a superior kind of workman and rather a respectable person. He was guarded in his language, composed in his manner, and during the whole of the interview never betrayed the slightest indication of the horrid business he had in hand.“The fine character he gave himself, however, was all a fable. He has been frequently in prison, and small and insignificant as he is he has served a term of penal servitude for a daring burglary at Salford.”It is pretty clearly established that Peace wanted Mrs. Dyson to leave her husband and take up with him, and doubtless he would have had very little compunction in deserting his own wife, and leaving her to shift for herself as best she could.He was a man who would not let anything stand in his way when he was bent on any particular project, and would sacrifice friend or foe without pity or remorse.A more unscrupulous man never lived, and there can be but little doubt as to the fact of his being impelled by a blind fatuous spirit of revenge to commit the Bannercross murder as it has been termed.Every effort was made by the constabulary to find out the perpetrator of this outrage, and the probability is that the real culprit would never have been discovered had it not been for the attempt on the life of the policeman, Robinson.An arrest was made some time after the commission of the crime.On December 9th, 1876, Police-constable Barker apprehended a man at Barrow-in-Furness who was strongly suspected of being Peace, but Inspector Twibell, who was sent up to identify him, found that a mistake had been made. Early last year the same man was apprehended at Hexham, and until Police-constable Boreham had been able to prove his non-identity it was firmly believed that the murderer had been run to earth.Upon inquiry, however, it was found that the man was not, as had been supposed, the celebrated Charles Peace, and he was therefore liberated.The murderer of Mr. Dyson and police-constable Cock now deemed it advisable to bid adieu to the scenes of depredation and heinous crimes. He had succeeded in persuading his wife to hasten at once to the metropolis. The poor broken-down woman had not the heart to refuse the miscreant. As we have already signified she left Hull for London.We now arrive at another phase in the history of this great criminal.
The Dysons found it impossible to shake off Peace, who continued his annoyances to them with a pertinacity which occasioned them the greatest possible trouble and anxiety.
Peace was irrepressible; he was most ingenious in the way of persecution.
He followed Mrs. Dyson about, threatened her, and watched outside the house to catch sight of her.
It was in vain that Mr. Dyson sent him a communication, requesting a cessation of his visits. This, coupled probably with a discountenance of Mrs. Dyson’s friendship, seemed to almost madden Peace, who swore to be revenged on them both.
But too well did he carry out his wicked purpose.
In July, 1876, he threatened to blow out their brains, accompanying the threat with pointing a pistol at the head of Mrs. Dyson.
A warrant was taken out against him for this, but he evaded apprehension, while continuing to annoy the family, and on October 29 the Dysons removed to Bannercross, with the hope of being free from his disagreeable visits; but on the very night they removed Peace appeared at Bannercross and confronted Mrs. Dyson, saying in a malicious tone of voice, “You see I am here to annoy you, wherever you may go.”
Mrs. Dyson remonstrated with him, and told him “he was a wretch.”
Peace only laughed derisively at this, and said, “he was not to be shaken off, that he would follow her if it was to the end of the world.”
Just one month after this he went to Bannercross at eight o’clock in the evening, and perpetrated the murder for which he afterwards suffered death.
Peace proceeded to Sheffield the night after the trial of the unfortunate young man, William Habron, and he went to Bannercross in the evening.
At the back of the house where the Dysons lived, which was in one of the houses in the terrace called Bannercross-terrace, there was a low wall.
Peace wanted to see Mrs. Dyson—so he afterwards declared—he knew the house very well. He stood on the low wall at the back of the house. He was well acquainted with the back premises as also the front, and he knew that the bedroom was at the back.
For some time Peace’s eyes were directed towards the apartment in question; presently he noticed a light at the window.
The blind was up, and he could, with tolerable distinctness, see her carrying a candle and moving about the room.
The guilty man watched her for some time, and saw that she was putting her boy to bed.
He then “flipped his fingers,” as he termed it, and gave a sort of subdued whistle, to attract the attention of Mrs. Dyson, as he had frequently done before at different places.
He had not long to wait, the assumption being that she was aware of the presence of her tormentor.
Anyway, Mrs. Dyson left the bedroom, went down stairs, and entered the closet.
Peace got down off the wall and gained the yard.
He then went towards the passage of the house.
According to his own statement, the only object he had in paying a visit to the house was to induce Mrs. Dyson to withdraw the warrant which had been taken out against him. Whether this was the real purport of his visit has never been clearly established—we have only his bare word for it, but that is not very reliable testimony. He said “he was tired of being hunted about, and not being able to go and come as he liked.”
Mrs. Dyson, according to his account, became very noisy and defiant, and made use of fearful language against him.
Peace became angry, and taking his revolver from his pocket, he held it up in her face, and said:
“Now you be careful what you are saying to me. You know me of old, and know what I can do.
“You know I am not a man to be talked to in that way.
“If there is one man who will not be trifled with by you or anybody else, it is Charles Peace.”
She was highly incensed, and would not take warning, and continued to threaten Peace, who soon became wild with fury.
All the bad passions of the man were now dominant.
While loud and angry words were being exchanged, Mr. Dyson made his appearance.
It was most unfortunate for him that he came forward.
Peace threatened to shoot Mrs. Dyson, who took refuge in the closet.
Peace turned round and fired twice, the first shot striking the wall, and the second striking Mr. Dyson in the temple.
Peace saw the unfortunate gentleman fall, but was not aware at the time that he had received his death-wound.
His murderer rushed into the middle of the road, and stood there for a brief period, apparently hesitating as to his course of action.
He was, as may be readily imagined, under the greatest agitation, and as he observed a number of people gathering about, he at last decided to fly.
He jumped over the wall on the other side of the road, and as he did so a packet of letters fell from his pocket, just as he was jumping over the fence.
Mr. Dyson died in about an hour after he had been shot.
Peace managed to effect his escape.
How he contrived to get clean off has been a matter of surprise to everybody; and how he afterwards managed to elude the vigilance of the police and continue his lawless career in London and the suburbs, is still more surprising.
The following is his own version of his movements after the murder.
“I want it to be properly understood,” says Peace, “that, from the moment I left Bannercross on the 29th of September, 1876, I felt sure of making my escape.
“I felt I had no cause to do so, for I knew that I had done nothing wrong; for in the first place when it happened, I came down the passage and stood in the middle of the road not knowing what had happened.
“I did not know whether to run away or walk away, till I heard Kate (Mrs. Dyson) scream; and then not knowing what had happened, I took across the road and fields to Hentcleff (Endcliffe) crescent. I then walked to Broomhill Tavern, and took a cab into Church-street.
“I then went to see my mother, and remained with her for more than half an hour. I then went down to the Attercliffe railway station, and took the train for Rotheram.
“I then booked from Masborough for Hull, but having got into the York part of the train (not knowing) in place of the Hull part, when the Hull part of the train was liberated from the York part at Normanton I was taken forward to York.
“I remained at York in the Railway Hotel in the station yard all night. I took the first train next morning for Beverley. I took the next train for Cottingham. I went from Cottingham to Hull.
“I went to see my wife and family at 27, Collier-street; this would be about ten o’clock in the morning. I had been away from my family a fortnight, and was talking to them in the kitchen when I heard two dectives (detectives) talking to my wife in the shop, asking if a young man of the name of Peace lived there.
“My wife said ‘Yes; but he has gone to Sheffield to see his grandmother,’ thinking that they meant my son.
“But I in the kitchen, hearing this, felt that it must be me they meant, went upstairs into my son’s bedroom, put the window up, and went between the two roof’s of the building, and remained there till the detectives had searched the house, and when they had gone out I came back again into the kitchen of my own house, and took my things and began to wash myself; but before I could finish washing myself I heard them in the shop again, so I went upstairs through the windows between the roof till they had searched the house and gone out again. So I then went down again into the kitchen.
“My wife and daughter were sobbing fit to break their heart, for they did not know what was the matter and I could not tell them.
“So I washed me, and put on my clothes, and bid them all good-bye, and went out through the window again between the roofs. I remained there again for some hours, till just before dusk.
“I then went down the spout at the further end of the building, which brought me into the next yard but one, and went to a woman’s house that dealt at our shop, and told the woman I had to get away out of the shop over a warrant, or something of that, and asked her if she would go into our house and ask my wife to send me something to eat out, but mind the detectives did not hear and see her, and I had my tea in this woman’s house.
“I then asked the woman to let me go through her kitchen window in her back yard and also go ask the woman in the next yard if she would let me go through her kitchen window, and pass through the house into another yard.
“She went and asked and got consent, so that I went through the window and house into the other yard. This was three clear yards away from my house. It was then just dark.
“I walked out of the passage end, and turned to the left down Collier-Street, towards the fair ground, and went away—but not out of the town—and got lodgings; and I remained in Hull for nearly three weeks, and done some places for money.
“I then left Hull and booked for Doncaster. I then booked from Doncaster to London. I then took the underground railway to Paddington, and booked from Paddington for Bristol. Bristol was the first place I saw a reward out for my apprehension.”
“I remained in Bristol till January. I booked from Bristol to Bath. I stopped at Bath all night. I booked from Bath to Oxford, and in the carriage with me there was a police sergeant on his way to Stafford Assizes. We rode and talked together to Dickcot Junction (Didcott Junction), and arrived there in the middle of the night.
“We slept together in the waiting-room for four hours, and then went forward to Oxford by first train. We then shook hands and parted; he went forward to Stafford and I remained at Oxford all day.
“I then booked for Birmingham. I remained at Birmingham four or five days. I then went on to Derby.
“I stopped at Derby at an eating-house oppersite the railway, and there was a young man there just joining the police force, and the police-station was not more than 150 yards from there. I remained at Derby for something more than a week.
“I then went to Nottingham, and took lodgeing at a little shop three or four doors from the police-station on the Burton-road right oppersite a timber-yard where I was stopping, and the police-station is at the corner of Leanside.
“I remained with them till they left there and went to live with them in a yard a bit lower down, that led out of Leanside into Narrow Marsh, but not more than fifty yards from the police-station.
“I remained with them some time, working Nottingham and the towns round about. I then went to live with Mrs. Adamson, a buyer, next door to the ‘Woodman Inn,’ in Narrow Marsh. It was there I became acquainted with Mrs. Thompson.
“Upon one occasion I booked from Nottingham to Sheffield, but got out of the train at Ely (Heeley) station, and walking past the police-station at Highfield. Inspector Bradbury was stood at the police-station door, at about seven o’clock at night, and I passed close by him, and he did not know me.
“Then I went right away up to Sharrow, and crossed over quite close to Bannercross, down into Hesclehall (Ecclesall) road, turned down towards Sheffield, and crossed through Broomhall Park, into Havelock-square.
“I that night did a house over at the corner of Havelock-square. They was away from home. I got about £6 in money and a lot of jewerley.
“The watchman on the beat fancied he heard something in the house, but I saw him stop the sergeant when he came his round, and I got away backwards. By certain papers I brought out of the house they called them Barney Swincourse (Barnascone). I went to Ely (Heeley) Railway Station, and from Ely to Nottingham.
“At Nottingham I done a big tailor and draper establishment and took a lot of overcoats.”
It was at the last-named place, as he declares in the above statement, that he met with the woman who played so conspicuous a part in Peckham.
Mrs. Thompson’s name was Susan Gray, and she was lodging at a house where Peace had apartments.
It is said that she was married to a commercial traveller named Bailey, but discarded him for Peace; and it was while at Nottingham that a detective surprised them in the night.
There had been a robbery in the town, and the officer was in pursuit of the thief. Peace induced the constable to go down stairs, stating that he was a pedlar, and would bring down his pack for examination. He escaped, half dressed, through the window; and the officer, after waiting for some time, returned to find the bird flown.
Peace afterwards talked of this with great glee.
He afterwards returned to Hull with Mrs. Thompson, and six months subsequently to the murder at Bannercross had the audacity to take apartments with a police-sergeant in Albany-road, near to Hengler’s Circus. Peace and his female companion were the front parlour lodgers, and as the sergeant kept other lodgers, mainly “professional,” Peace was quite at home, and the life and soul of the company.
While residing with the sergeant he committed one of his daring burglaries, and frequently had conversations with his landlord about the supposed burglar. The pair stayed here for nearly two months under the names of Mr. and Mrs. Thompson.
From Hull they went to Lambeth, changing their quarters to Greenwich, and finally to Peckham. It was here that Mrs. Thompson found out who and what her companion really was.
He told her he had never been married; and rummaging among his boxes one day, Mrs. Thompson discovered a funeral card in memory of his son, aged four. The name Peace at once disclosed the real character of the man to whose fortunes she had allied herself.
She charged him with being the Bannercross murderer; which he did not deny. Then his whole manner changed. He had been kind to her up to that period; but he now took an opposite course, and tyrannised over her.
Mrs. Thompson, it must be admitted, was much addicted to drink and snuff-taking to an inordinate extent.
She used to frequent public-houses. She was prohibited from going out, but could have as much as she liked to drink at home.
It then occurred to Peace that if Mrs. Thompson had thus found him out his wife and his step-son, whom he had left in Hull, might divulge the secret. He therefore devised a plan, and Mrs. Thompson was compelled to fall in with it.
Both went down to Hull, and Mrs. Thompson one fine day presented herself at Mrs. Peace’s home with a letter, in which Peace expressed his penitence for all the misery he had caused her, and said he was most anxious to make her some reparation.
He told her he was now in a good position, and could not bear to see her drudging at Hull. Finally he prevailed upon her to go to London with her son Willie, stating that he had bought a business in Tottenham-court-road, and that he would pay a year’s rent in advance, and never come to molest her if she desired him not to do so.
She believed him, and journeyed up to London—agreeable to his request—poor confiding woman as she was.
On the morning after the murder, according to his account, he walked into his mother’s house, to her great surprise just as she was sitting down to breakfast. Willie Ward and two other relatives were there at the time, and perhaps their presence disconcerted him, for he left again directly for the purpose, as he said, of seeing his brother Dan.
He promised to return shortly, but did not go back till ten o’clock the same night, when he had a wild expression in his eye, his face was discoloured, and his clothes daubed with mud.
He told his mother that he had “been and shot Mr. Dyson,” assigning as the reason that he had taken out a warrant against him for using threatening language and that if it were brought before a magistrate his prison life would go against him.
He hastened at once to clean himself, and after saying “Good-bye” to his mother he left the house never to see her again in this world.
Peace, as we have before observed, took great delight in boasting how he could deceive the police, and often declared—
“That he could dodge any detective in existence.”
The fact of his having baffled his pursuers is doubtless to be ascribed to his facial peculiarities, especially the length and mobility of the lower jaw, and the flexibility of his muscles. This was one of his most remarkable characteristics. He said to some friends one day—
“Do you want to know how I dodged the bobbies?” and on receiving a reply in the affirmative he said, “Well, I will tell you,” then he asked them to turn their backs to him a bit.
They did so, and were astounded to find that Peace had completely altered the expression of his face, and so protruded his chin and curled his lip that under ordinary circumstances it would have been impossible to recognise him, especially as he had by the peculiar contortion of his features forced the blood into his face until he looked like a mulatto. One of the inspectors said—
“No wonder you could get clear from Sheffield when you can change your face like that.”
Whereupon Peace laughed and said—
“I can do more dodges. I can dodge any detective.”
The circumstances surrounding his connection with the Dysons form the most remarkable and inexplicable portion of his career.
It would appear that he completely lost himself in his infatuation for Mrs. Dyson; his usual caution forsook him, and he run greater risks in the pursuit of Mrs. Dyson than he did by any of his daring burglaries.
The end we know. He paid the last dread penalty of the law for the murder of the unfortunate gentleman who fell a victim to his bloodthirsty spirit of revenge.
When the Dyson’s first went to live at Eccleshall, some five weeks before the murder, Peace made it his business to wait upon the vicar, theRev.E. Newman, to warn him against the new arrivals in his parish.
He then told Mr. Newman some most incredible stories, making grave charges which it would be indelicate and unjust to even hint at.
Mr. Newman was incredulous that things could be as Peace represented them, and asked him how it was that he had chosen to make such statements to an utter stranger.
“My object,” promptly replied Peace, “is to put you on your guard.”
It struck Mr. Newman at the time that there was something behind, but Peace persistently stuck to his story. As it was not believed he left the vicarage, stating that he would return with proofs such as would leave no doubt of his speaking the truth.
The following particulars of a subsequent interview will be read with interest at this time:—
“At twenty minutes past six on Wednesday evening (November 29th), ‘a thin, grey-haired, insignificant-looking man’ presented himself at the front door of Eccleshall Vicarage. He rang the bell and announced himself as Peace, stating to the servant that he desired to see Mr. Newman.
“When Mr. Newman saw him Peace at once produced what he called his ‘proofs’ of the statements he had made about the Dysons on his first visit. He represented himself as a very respectable man—indeed, taken at his own estimate he was about as near perfection as he could get, and he attributed all the troubles and wickednesses into which he had fallen to the people he has now so fearfully revenged himself upon.
“He said he had come to Mr. Newman ‘to make a confession—a clean breast of all his wickedness.’ Mr. Newman tried to turn his thoughts to the only source of forgiveness, but Peace would have none of his counsel. He was determined to confess to Mr. Newman, and then began a narrative, which, in the abundance of the abominable, is beyond belief.
“His allegations were not only wicked, but most extravagantly wicked. Peace put himself forward as having been all that was right and proper until Mr. Dyson became jealous of him.
“He told Mr. Newman that he said to Mrs. Dyson, ‘That they had better give him (meaning her husband) something to talk about,’ and that from that day commenced all his trouble.
“Peace produced to Mr. Newman a vast number of letters, photographs, cards, and other things, and was eager in pressing them upon the vicar, adding that he could bring any number of the same sort. His great grievance against the Dysons appeared to be the issuing of the warrant against him.
“Owing to that he had to break up his house and become a fugitive in the land. He consulted a solicitor, who advised him that he was liable to four actions if he did not make himself scarce. So he was obliged to ‘dodge’ the authorities.
“This trouble seems to have made him almost mad, and the mere recollection of it roused his wrath as nothing else could. He spoke in words of forgiveness—forgive the word!—of Mrs. Dyson; but nothing could exceed his hatred of her husband, the person whom, if his own story was to be believed, he had most deeply wronged. He said he was determined that wherever the Dysons went he would follow them. He had quarrelled with his own wife, and would never go back to her again.
“Peace added that he had come to Sheffield that morning with his daughter to see a relative, and having a little time on his hands he thought he would go up to Mr. Newman’s with the proofs he had promised. On his way up he said he had ascertained—as he had ways and means of doing—that Mr. and Mrs. Dyson were at home, and he knew how they were (making another charge against him).
“Going out and while on the door-step, he turned to Mr. Newman and said, ‘I won’t call at the Dyson’s to-night, but I will call at the Gregory’s.’ He then left, bidding Mr. Newman a cheerful ‘good-night.’
“He left the vicarage at twenty minutes to seven, Mr. Newman being indeed anxious to get rid of him, as he had a meeting to attend that evening. It afterwards transpired that Peace had gone to Gregory’s shop.
“He would get there about seven or shortly afterwards. Mr. Gregory was not in, and Peace left, going down the road as if returning to Sheffield. He was watched as far as a lamp, 150 yards from the house. Very shortly after he must have returned and secreted himself in Mr. Dyson’s garden, with the dreadful purpose of murdering that gentleman.”
The following remarks were made by a journalist on the interview at the time:—
“There can be no doubt that when Peace sought that remarkable interview with the vicar he had meditated murder and decided upon his diabolical plan.
“All the time he was talking in Mr. Newman’s study he must have had murder in his heart, and the revolver with which he meant to do it would be in his pocket, probably loaded.
“Had Mr. Newman known the desperate character to whom he had granted the interview he would not have sat so easy in his study chair. Peace could only have one purpose in his visit. He knew that after he had done the deed he would have either to shoot himself or fly the country, and his communication to the vicar therefore was in the nature of a last will and testament.
“He evidently desired the public to know his side of the transaction, and the clergyman of the parish would naturally occur to him as the most likely party to entrust it with.
“His communication, however, is of such an atrocious character that its publication is simply impossible, apart altogether from matters of truth and justice. There can be little doubt that Peace is a great liar.
“He gave Mr. Newman the idea that he was a superior kind of workman and rather a respectable person. He was guarded in his language, composed in his manner, and during the whole of the interview never betrayed the slightest indication of the horrid business he had in hand.
“The fine character he gave himself, however, was all a fable. He has been frequently in prison, and small and insignificant as he is he has served a term of penal servitude for a daring burglary at Salford.”
It is pretty clearly established that Peace wanted Mrs. Dyson to leave her husband and take up with him, and doubtless he would have had very little compunction in deserting his own wife, and leaving her to shift for herself as best she could.
He was a man who would not let anything stand in his way when he was bent on any particular project, and would sacrifice friend or foe without pity or remorse.
A more unscrupulous man never lived, and there can be but little doubt as to the fact of his being impelled by a blind fatuous spirit of revenge to commit the Bannercross murder as it has been termed.
Every effort was made by the constabulary to find out the perpetrator of this outrage, and the probability is that the real culprit would never have been discovered had it not been for the attempt on the life of the policeman, Robinson.
An arrest was made some time after the commission of the crime.
On December 9th, 1876, Police-constable Barker apprehended a man at Barrow-in-Furness who was strongly suspected of being Peace, but Inspector Twibell, who was sent up to identify him, found that a mistake had been made. Early last year the same man was apprehended at Hexham, and until Police-constable Boreham had been able to prove his non-identity it was firmly believed that the murderer had been run to earth.
Upon inquiry, however, it was found that the man was not, as had been supposed, the celebrated Charles Peace, and he was therefore liberated.
The murderer of Mr. Dyson and police-constable Cock now deemed it advisable to bid adieu to the scenes of depredation and heinous crimes. He had succeeded in persuading his wife to hasten at once to the metropolis. The poor broken-down woman had not the heart to refuse the miscreant. As we have already signified she left Hull for London.
We now arrive at another phase in the history of this great criminal.