The house, No.28, St Martin’s Road, Stockwell, made so notorious by the murder of Mrs Anne Watson by her husband the Revd John Selby Watson, M.A., M.R.S.L., etc., has been the scene of much excitement. An application for the property and effects of the reverend gentleman to be delivered over to Mr Fraser, his solicitor, was acceded to. A notice was issued that the household furniture and effects of the reverend gentleman would be sold, and Mr Murrell, auctioneer, of Walbrook, was entrusted with the task of disposing of the property. In order to prevent as far as possible the entrance of a large crowd, one shilling was charged for a catalogue. Despite this, a large number paid the entrance fee, in order to satisfy their curiosity by looking at the various rooms and articles within the dwelling which had all been associated with the murder. Many went even so far as to take away leaves and little branches of trees and shrubs in the front garden as mementos. The sale commenced about one o’clock in the afternoon, but long before that time a large number of persons, chiefly composed of the usual brokers and buyers at sales, were present. The room in which the unfortunate lady was found was, as far as possible, kept closed. The catalogue comprised 228 lots. The usual household effects were knocked down to about average price. One lot, comprising a photograph in a gilt frame, two small pictures, and five pictures framed and glazed, fetched £1.14s including the portrait, as announced by the auctioneer, of the reverend gentleman. Some pistols fetched a few shillings, and two silk gowns, cassock and girdle, Trinity M.A. hood and Oxford ditto, realised about £1.10s. A Trinity College medal, gold masonic medals, and other articles of jewelry, fetched fair prices. It will be remembered that, according to the evidence, the reverend gentleman ordered a large, iron-bound chest to be made, in which it is supposed, he intended to conceal the body of his victim. This cost £1.5s, but was sold for 7s. The utmost interest was manifested when the stuffed leather armchair, in which it is supposed the deceased lady was seated when the first blow was struck by her murderer, was brought forward. It had a piece of the leather cut out on which bloodstains had been found. There was much anxiety to catch sight of the chair, but it fell to a purchaser for 16s, the remarks of several about being that they would sooner have it burned than take it home. The valuable books, papers, etc., of which the reverend gentleman was author, were disposed of privately.
Day Three, Jan.12th 1872.
Revd Joseph Wallace. I am vicar of St Andrew’s Stockwell – the prisoner and his wife have had sittings at my church for about the three last years. I have known the prisoner more than ten years, and saw him very frequently to speak to – no man could have a higher character for kindness and humanity. On 3rd November I visited him in Horsemonger Jail – he asked me to go – I had been before – I did not communicate with his advisers – I was with him about three-quarters of an hour. I first of all observed that he had quite forgotten that he had sent for me, and when he did begin to talk it seemed that his conversation was in intelligence very unlike what I had heard from him before; as, for instance, at the beginning he said he thought that if he had opened his mind to me before, perhaps he might have taken a different course. He did not continue long talking on one subject, which was very unlike what had been usual with him; he passed rapidly from one subject to another without much connection – that was not his habit at all, formerly. As an illustration, he spoke about the inquest, “that horrible inquest,” and in the middle of the conversation about it he said “They won’t let me shave here’. I observed also what struck me as a singular absence of remorse for his fault, for his crime, which was strange in a man of religious habits; he was full of anxiety and trouble, but it was all about the dismantling of his house and the sale of his library. He said that he was very hardly dealt with. I mentioned that the Bishop had highly commended a Latin letter which he had written to him, and he said “Here is a man whom the Bishop of Winchester can highly commend, and they have shut him up in a place like this.” He was laying out a plan for writing an essay on the union of Church and State, and he did not know how he should do it without his books, and he hoped the authorities of the gaol would help him in the matter – it was for a competition prize essay which somebody proposed. He did not seem conscious of any peril that he was in; he always spoke of it as a thing which would soon pass away. I wrote a letter to Mr Fraser immediately after that interview.
Cross-examined. I have assisted at the examination of his school and he came to my house – we did not discuss matters of business, but ordinary conversation. Since he ceased to be master of the Grammar School, he came to me on two or three occasions to ask me to help him to obtain an appointment – he came last at the end of July. I cannot recollect how lately, before July, I had seen him, but, I should say, more or less once a fortnight. I went three times to Horsemonger Lane Gaol. The first time I only saw him through a grating in the door, and we had not an opportunity of conversing – I do not know that I lay more stress on the second time but it was after that I communicated with the lawyer. All the facts I have spoken of took place on the second occasion – on the third occasion I had a conversation with him but nothing occurred to throw any additional light on the state of his mind. He still repeated his complaints as to the sale of his library and his house, but it was a shorter interview – I am not sure whether he talked about his trial, but he used language and expressions which led me to know that he contemplated being tried for the offence. He did not speak to me of the probability of his being acquitted, beyond what I have said, but he seemed to assume it. I went to him voluntarily the first time, and the second time in consequence of a letter – I do not know what I have done with that letter, it was two lines – I put it in the waste paper basket, most likely. He was in a large cell, with plain walls – there was a bed and a chair – two other prisoners were there. After a while I asked him what he asked me to come for – I said “Why did you send for me, Mr Watson?” Each of his sentences was complete – besides the horrible inquest and the Latin letter, and about taking a different course, and not letting him shave, and the essay – he conversed about his library. There were also detached sentences, there must have been, to fill up the time. He asked where Broadmoor was, that is the asylum where criminal lunatics are confined. He did not tell me why they had not permitted him to shave. I understood that the prize-essay had been advertised before this offence, but I do not think he had been at work on it before.
Re-examined. I forget who began the conversation about Broadmoor, but it was in reference, of course, to his prospects – that was on 3rd November, at Horsemonger Lane – I did not write or give any further information to Mr Fraser after the third interview – I did not observe anything on the third occasion beyond what I did on the second.
Robert Colman Hall. I am a tea-dealer and live at Pembroke Lodge, Brixton – I had a boy in the school under Mr Watson, and in the beginning of 1871 I had occasion to call on him respecting my son. I had known him seven years, and I noticed a very great difference in his demeanour and manner on that occasion, to what I had noticed before – he seemed depressed and lost. The interview lasted perhaps ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, and I had ample opportunity of forming a judgment as to whether he was depressed or not.
Cross-examined. I went to him because the gentleman whom my son was going to, in Mark Lane, said that he should like to have a letter from a clergyman.
Court. Q. What do you mean by “lost”? A. He seemed low, and he hardly knew what he was speaking about at times. He said he had been treated badly – that is all the explanation I can give of the word “lost”.
Henry Maudsley. I am M.D. of the University of London – I have paid great attention to the disease of insanity, and have written a work on the physiology and pathology of mind. I was lecturer at St Mary’s Hospital, on the subject of insanity. I was at one time resident physician of a lunatic asylum at Manchester, where there were usually 100 patients of the middle classes. I visited the prisoner first on 27th November, for the purpose of ascertaining, if I could, the state of
his mind – I was with him for an hour, and conversed with him during that time, and at the end of the interview formed the opinion that he was not of sound mind – that was the conclusion I came to. I believe he is suffering from melancholia. The symptoms I observed in him were such as in my opinion would follow an attack of melancholia. I found that his age was sixty-seven or sixty-eight, and in a person of that age melancholia would have greater effect and force than in a younger person. I heard Dr Shepherd examined, and I agree with him in the main in the description he gives of melancholia. A person suffering from melancholia is liable to outbursts of mad violence, and while those outbursts prevail his mind is diseased; gone; his reason is in abeyance, and he is nearly unconscious of what he is doing; his mind decidedly deranged – after such an attack of disease the mind sometimes regains comparatively its tone; that is a matter in which I agree with Dr Shepherd entirely – the mind may be restored within an hour after such an attack, decidedly in some cases, and before the very act itself he might appear calm and comparatively rational. I mean by comparatively, that his conversation would be coherent and rational. In the course of my experience I have known patients suffering from this disease, and who have exhibited violence under it – it is essential that I should form a regular diagnosis of the disease, as I should in any other, and enquire into the history of the patient, the circumstances under which he had lived, and so on. If he had never exhibited any symptoms of violence, unkindness, and inhumanity before, that would be an element of consideration. I remember the questions you put to Dr Shepherd with reference to suicidal acts on the part of patients labouring under melancholia. I don’t agree with him in the answers which he gave. Suicide by an insane person may be entirely impulsive, as well as crafty – I understood Dr Shepherd to say it was not so in such cases. Persons suffering from melancholia are sometimes aware that they are liable to homicidal and suicidal propensities. I had a patient of my own who told me that he would do it unless we took care of him, and it ended by his doing it – he was under certificate as an insane person, and under the charge of attendants. The case of Charles Lamb and his sister is a well-known instance – that was homicidal madness. Miss Lamb killed her father. Method and design is very commonly exhibited by the insane, and the concealment of an act is very frequent; I mean of an act committed whilst in a state of insanity. I was very much impressed, at my interview with the prisoner, at the entire indifference which he displayed with regard to the crime, and the position in which he was placed.
Cross-examined by Mr Denman. I asked him about the events that had immediately preceded the crime, and he said very much as he said in that letter that was read yesterday, that she was rather of a hasty temper, she said something angrily to him, and he was provoked – he did not tell me what she had said to him. He said that he had struck her on the head with a pistol. I asked him about it, and he said it was one that he had inherited from his grandfather, that he had always had by him. He did not say whether it was in his hand at the time, or whether he fetched it – he said that he had had in the course of his life quarrels of that kind.
Dr George Fielding Blandford. I am a Fellow of the Royal College of Physicians – I have, for about sixteen or seventeen years, entirely devoted my time and attention to the study of insanity – I have written a book upon “insanity and its treatment” – I am lecturer on psychological medicine at the school of St George’s Hospital, I am also visiting physician at Blackland’s and Otto House lunatic asylums, private asylums of the late Dr Sutherland. One is for ladies the other for gentlemen – I have, in company with Dr Maudsley, examined Mr Watson – I agree with Dr Maudsley that there is a well known form of insanity called melancholia – when a person of advanced age becomes insane, that is, very often, the form of insanity which attacks him, more often perhaps than any other form. When a very self-absorbed and reserved man becomes insane, that may be the form of madness which it takes. I saw Mr Watson on 27th November, I was with him about an hour in the gaol of Newgate – I came to the conclusion that he was of unsound mind then – I should say it was certainly not an affair of a few days or even weeks, but I could not state any limited time. I was in Court yesterday – I heard the evidence of Mr and Mrs Baugh and Mr Henry Rogers – the symptoms described by them were such as in my experience I have observed in some patients suffering under melancholia.
Dr Joseph Rogers. I am a physician of Scotland, a member of the College of Surgeons, and of the Apothecaries’ Company – I have been in the profession thirty years – I was for twelve years in charge of the infirmary of the Strand Union. In the course of my practice I have made insanity a study, and made myself acquainted with it – I have seen a great many cases, and certified a great many insane persons before the Magistrate – that was a part of my duty; they have been persons who came into the hands of the police for some criminal offence. I have had the opportunity of seeing the prisoner five times; once in Horsemonger Lane Gaol, and four times in Newgate – I agree with what Dr Maudsley and Dr Blandford have stated – from my observation of the prisoner at those five visits I believe him to be of unsound mind.
Cross-examined by Mr Poland. The form of insanity he is suffering under is melancholia – I first saw him on 11th November – Mr Fraser, the prisoner’s solicitor, requested me to go and see him – I have known Mr Fraser since he was a child – I practice in Dean Street, Soho, and Mr Fraser lives opposite to me – he asked me to go and see Mr Watson, knowing from my previous position that I had seen a great deal of insanity. He was suffering from melancholia – that is very different to low spirits – a person may be low-spirited and yet in sound health – a person who has melancholia has something the matter with his brain. The prisoner had not any delusions that I noticed. It would be a difficult thing to describe the difference between extreme low spirits and melancholia, because in melancholia you have an exaggeration of extreme low spirits. A man who is low-spirited may pass on into melancholia, and he may pass out of it. The difference between melancholia and low spirits is as I tell you; low spirits may arise from a transient affection of the mind, perhaps arising from a disordered state of body, or a transient trouble, which the mind is strong enough to resist; but melancholia is a disease where the mind has given way; there is some defect of the brain structure, or something of that kind. The first thing that I noticed about the prisoner was this – I put him in a good light in the cell at Horsemonger Lane Gaol, and I watched his countenance while talking to him, and I noticed that he had a dazed appearance of the eye when his countenance was at rest – he was lost – there was an expressionless appearance about his countenance, a lost look about the face when the countenance was at rest – he showed, as the other witnesses have said, great indifference to the condition of things, a singular indifference – I don’t mean that he was hopeless as to the result of the trial – I will give you an instance of what I mean – I was talking to him about the affair generally, with a view to leading him on to make some remarks, and in the midst of it he saw a piece of fluff on his trousers, or something, and he put down his hand and picked it off, and jumped up and gave himself a shake down in a manner that struck me as very singular in a man I was talking to – I should have looked at it as a piece of rudeness in an ordinary individual, but in his particular case I looked at it as real evidence of a want of mind – he was guilty of what I considered irrational conduct in that one act that I have spoken of – then there was another thing, he told me he thought he was entitled to consideration for what he had done in the past, which certainly appeared to me to be a very irrational thing, seeing that he had only kept a school. He talked of the labours of Hercules. I referred to the crime itself – he said that something was said to him and he became angry, and did what he did – he did not say what it was that was said to him; something was said to him by his wife which made him angry, and then he did the deed. I did not ask him where he got the pistol from, but it was asked in my presence, and the remark was made that it had belonged to his grandfather
– he did not say where he had fetched it from, or how he had got it – I saw him four times in Newgate – Mr Gibson, the surgeon, was present each time, and the third time I saw him Dr Shepherd drew my particular attention to the difficulty he had in collecting his thoughts – he did not tell me anything of the circumstances that occurred after he had committed the deed. In a light and frivolous manner he told me, at Newgate, how he attempted to commit suicide in Horsemonger Lane Gaol; and it so struck me, the light and frivolous way in which he told me the story, as if it in no way referred to himself, that I put to him what appeared to me this crucial question: “How could you, as a Christian minister, dare to rush into the presence of your God, unprepared,” and he said, “There is no prohibition against suicide, the law only applies to murder” – I thought that, coming from a clergyman, was not an evidence of sanity, quite the reverse – I did not ask him what it was his wife had done or said that made him angry; it was asked in my presence, and he made no answer – I believe he shook his head; I am not certain – he may have said “I can’t say” – I think he said something of this kind, that she had provoked him on previous occasions, and that they had had quarrels – he stated that in his paper – I am in a difficulty about whether he said it then or not, because I saw him so many times; whether he said it to me, or in my hearing, I can’t say. I did ask him a question about the box – I think I said “What did you want the box for?” or “How did you come to order the box?” and he shrugged his shoulders and said something to the effect that it was not for the purpose that was assumed – I did not speak to him about his trial – I said nothing to him individually as to whether he was to be defended on the ground of insanity. My treatment for melancholia would be to send the patient away from the place where he had become the subject of it; to make a radical change in his habits; to give him an opportunity of amusement. If it were a lady I should encourage her to dance, if a gentleman I should try to give him some intellectual interest.
Watson’s Apology Page 23