Mr Serjeant Parry, in briefly summing up the case for the defence, which then closed, remarked that the letters which had been addressed by the prisoner to the lady whom he afterwards married, were important, as showing the natural state of his mind when his prospects were fair and his position likely to be comfortable. That state was, he urged, entirely antagonistic to the idea of his committing such a deed of violence. The letters exhibited also the then excellent qualities of both the prisoner’s mind and heart. The next piece of evidence went to prove conclusively that immediately before the commission of the murder the prisoner showed undeniable evidences of insanity, or approaching madness. He appeared, in the words of the witness, Mrs Baugh, to have been completely crushed down by some great sorrow, and so utterly prostrated by depression as to be unable to perform his usual duties as a clergyman. At that time, a month before the murder, there was some lurking and gradually developing insanity. The evidence of Mr Henry Rogers on that point was very remarkable, for he proved that the day preceding the commission of the crime the prisoner, whom he had known for 20 years, was walking along the Clapham Road, his eyes glaring in a most unusual manner, making a gurgling in his throat and throwing about his hands in a very strange way. That conduct, itself most singular, had been preceded by other circumstances, just as notable as indications of the unsound state of his mind, which the various witnesses had detailed. The great depression from which he suffered proved the form the disease was taking, and it was during a sudden outburst consequent upon that disease that he killed his unfortunate wife, with whom he had never been known to quarrel previously. He was invariably a kind and humane man, and it was very possible that his own statement as to previous quarrels was a mere delusion.
Commenting upon the medical evidence and the prisoner’s strange conduct in gaol, Mr Serjeant Parry argued that it had been proved conclusively, or as far as any such matter could possibly be proved, that at the time of the murder he was neither a reasoning nor a responsible being; and that he was then ignorant of both the nature and quality of the act. On those grounds he appealed to the jury to return a verdict of acquittal.
Mr Denman, replying on behalf of the Crown, said the trial, though having occupied a considerable time had not been for a single moment prolonged beyond the limits which its great importance demanded. Most important testimony had been given on both sides, and that testimony did, to a certain extent, arraign the established law of this country as laid down by the Judges, upon which, more than anything else, the safety of each member of the community depended. The facts in this case were terribly plain and simple, and nothing had been elicited during the investigation tending to impugn the theory that the crime was the wilful and deliberate act of the prisoner. He admitted that from his previous habits the prisoner was in the last degree unlikely to have been guilty of such a crime, but that he had committed it was fully proved, as far as human testimony was concerned, and proved, moreover, most conclusively by his own statements. He had had the advantage of being defended by the most eloquent member of the bar of England, who had pleaded everything on his behalf that could possibly suggest itself as appropriate to his mind, and his observations were worthy of the most careful attention by the jury
Turning to the evidence of the defence, Mr Denman remarked that the letters written by the prisoner 28 years ago to his wife could have no possible value in furnishing an indication of his mental condition at the time of the murder. It was perfectly clear that the prisoner had experienced considerable disappointment in life, and that it had caused him great depression of mind, but the same might, perhaps, be said of every person in that court. It would be most unsafe to lay down the doctrine that any amount of such depression could be tolerated as a defence to the crime of murder, for if such a defence was once permitted there would be a terrible increase in the risk to human life. The jury should in this case not rely blindly on the evidence of the medical men, but should themselves judge from the admitted facts the probable condition of the prisoner at the period in question. Was he capable of distinguishing between right and wrong, and of judging the nature of the act he was committing? If he had not that capacity then it would be their duty to say that he was ‘not guilty’. It was not impossible that even a man whose mind was in a diseased state could be perfectly competent to distinguish between right and wrong. Terrible was the evidence of the servant Pyne. She observed that Mrs Watson was sometimes a person of hasty temper, and it was not, therefore, improbable that some provocation was given. The heavy weapon, the horse-pistol, must have been brought from the drawer in which it was usually kept for the purpose of committing the murder. His learned friend had said that there had been unnecessary violence, but how could they possibly tell? Repeated blows might have been necessary to accomplish his object. Then the remark as to the absence of deliberation could hardly be well-founded if the pistol was fetched for the purpose of murder. As to the prisoner being afflicted with melancholia it was not for him to deny that medical men recognised such a disease as one of the forms of madness. Where was the difference between melancholia and low spirits? That was one of the most difficult questions to which the human mind could easily be directed, to decide when it was that a man labouring under extreme depression ceased to be responsible for his actions. None of the medical witnesses had been able to draw that line. The letters the prisoner last wrote, including those to his landlady, Mrs Hall, were of a businesslike character, showing that he was a man of sound mind. Mr Serjeant Parry had said that there was more secretiveness in cases where crime had been committed by sane persons than there was in this case. What became of the cuffs of the shirt? The shirt itself too had apparently been imperfectly washed; and the blood stain on the stairs was stated by the prisoner to be port wine, which the deceased had spilt. Was that not evidence of secretiveness or of his knowing how to distinguish between right and wrong, and the nature and quality of the act? Then, when he ordered the box he had no doubt entertained the idea of stowing away the corpse in order to get rid of the traces of murder; and the sponge was a very important article in the case, it having been washed to free it of blood. Nothing could be fairer than the observation, when they were enquiring into the sanity of a man at the time a homicide has been committed, that an act of suicide after homicide was far less important evidence of insanity than an act of suicide committed by a man who had never done anything at all like homicide. The prisoner had, no doubt, been a hard-working man, and his works were always of an intelligent description. But, after his dismissal from the school, his acts showed that he was capable of writing and reasoning soundly and judiciously, and considering and making proposals which did not seem wild or irrational. It was not his duty, on the part of the prosecution, to press for verdicts, but to ask the jury to do their duty in the case, to apply their minds honestly, conscientiously, and truthfully to a solution of the case, and not to care or think of the mere result of the verdict they might give. If they found the prisoner not guilty, it must be because they were firmly satisfied that he was not of sound mind, and if they found him guilty they must do so because the law constrained them to do so, and because it had not been made out in the defence of the prisoner that he was not responsible for his acts, and did not know the difference between right and wrong and the nature and quality of his acts.
Mr Justice Byles then proceeded to sum up. After stating the charge against the prisoner, he said there was one matter which was often the question in such cases, but which did not arise in the present enquiry – viz. whether the prisoner did kill the deceased. This was admitted by the prisoner’s counsel. It was also clear that there was no provocation which would reduce the crime from murder to manslaughter. The real and only question in the case to which the counsel had directed their attention was the true question, and it was this: Was the prisoner at the time he committed the act legally responsible for it and was he a responsible agent? That depended upon a question, on which the counsel also agreed, did he at the time he committed this ac
t know what he was doing? If not, of course he was not criminally responsible. Did he also know that what he was doing was wrong? He was perfectly aware that doubts on the universal applicability of this rule had been expressed by many eminent persons for whose opinion he had the greatest respect. But if it was to be altered at all, it must be altered by Act of Parliament. It was the rule laid down by the Judges, and was that which guided the House of Lords in a well-known case, when a learned Judge, perhaps the most learned and the most cautious he could remember, Mr Justice Maule, expressed a doubt upon some parts of the rule not now before the jury, but upon this part of the rule he was of the same opinion as the other Judges. Therefore, the jury must take it from him, and upon the authority of counsel upon both sides. The question then was did the prisoner know what he was doing? The jury must look at the act itself, and say whether they believed upon the evidence that the prisoner was or was not in a condition to know what he was doing, and the nature of the act at the time he committed it. Mr Denman was perfectly right when he said that the burden of proving that lay upon the prisoner. Prima facie, this was a case of murder. They had had a large body of evidence to show that the presumption was rebutted by the circumstances of the case, and that the person who committed it was not of sound mind in this respect, and that he did not know what he was doing and the nature and consequences of his act. There was abundant evidence that after the offence he was conscious that the act was wrong; but the question was, was he conscious that he was wrong not after, but at the time? Something had been said about suicide. He did not think that the attempt to commit suicide was so very material either one way or the other. The learned counsel for the prosecution, who was himself a distinguished scholar, knew perfectly well that in the ancient heathen philosophy, in the times of Zeno and Epicurus, after all the duties and trials of life had gone, and nothing but suffering remained to be endured, it was taught that a man might go quietly out of the world. But one of the wisest men had written that the human frame should be taken to pieces, and was best taken to pieces, by the Power that compacted it and put it together. The doctrine of the Christian Church was plain. They would be doing the prisoner no more than justice by supposing that he believed the doctrines he taught; and, therefore, suicide in a clergyman, who believed in the doctrine of repentance and forgiveness, was a more formidable sin than in ordinary cases, in which persons committing it rushed into the presence of their Maker in the commission of the actual sin. It might be that this act of suicide should be looked at in that light, and not as though it was precisely the case of an ordinary individual. He had endeavoured to state the evidence to the jury on both sides. If they fancied they discovered any leaning in him, he begged them to disregard it altogether. The responsibility was not with him, and he did not mean to assume it. It was entirely with them. Prima facie, it was a case of murder, but if they thought upon this evidence either that the prisoner did not know what he was doing or did not know he was doing wrong, in that case they should acquit him, but they must state the reason why.
The jury retired at five minutes past 5 o’clock to consider their verdict, and returned into court at 25 minutes to 7. Their names having been called over, and the prisoner having been brought to the dock, the Clerk of Arraigns (Mr Avory) asked them if they had agreed upon a verdict. The foreman replied that they had.
Mr Avory: Do you find the prisoner Guilty or Not guilty?
The Foreman: We find him Guilty, but we wish strongly to recommend him to the mercy and clemency of the Crown on account of his advanced age and previous good character.
Mr Avory, amid profound silence, asked the prisoner if he had anything to say for himself why the Court should not give him judgment to die according to law.
The prisoner in a low voice answered – I only wish to say that the defence which has been maintained in my favour is a just and honest one.
Mr Justice Byles, assuming the black cap, said – Prisoner at the bar: Nobody who has heard this trial can regard your case otherwise than with the deepest compassion. My duty is simply to pronounce the sentence of the law – that you be taken to the place whence you came, and then be delivered to the custody of the Sheriff of Surrey; that you then be taken to a place of execution, be hanged by the neck until you be dead, and that your body be buried within the precincts of the prison. May the Lord have mercy on your soul.
He was taken down to the condemned cell and searched to the skin. He was convinced that some mistake had been made and that it would be remedied. His own clothes were taken away and he was handed a pair of moleskin trousers and a loose-fitting blouse. They shaved his beard and examined the hair on his head for lice. Then he was given a plug of tobacco, which he declined and, later, his dinner. He had read that Calcraft, the hangman, charged half a crown for administering a flogging, and ten shillings for dropping a man into eternity, and it seemed to him that both sums were inadequate. He ate everything on his plate and wiped it clean with a piece of bread. Then he lay down and instantly fell asleep.
He slept almost continuously for several days, only waking at meal times when he sat at a rickety table and devoured his food as though in the hours between he had been employed at building roads.
At intervals Fraser visited him; he talked of appeals and petitions. A woman named Gattie was indefatigable at getting signatures. Two more former pupils of the Grammar School had come forward with offers of help. Did he remember H.H. Hudson, and Caldwell who was now a Fellow and Bursar of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge? A lady had written to the Home Secretary confiding that many years before, on holiday at some resort or other, she had met the prisoner and been told by him of a murderous attack by sailors. She understood that his mouth had been stuffed with sand like an hour-glass, and his skull cracked. Such an injury, she felt, might have a bearing on what had transpired at St Martin’s Road. Was there any truth in the story, asked Fraser? If so, was it likely that there would be any medical records to substantiate it? Watson replied that he had never had a holiday in his life.
The prison chaplain came often. He mumbled about contrition and God’s abiding love. Watson sat slumped on his bed; it was all he could do to keep his eyes open. Besides, what had either contrition or the love of God to do with him? The one was inappropriate and the other inaccessible.
Sometimes while he munched his food he considered the evidence which had brought him to such a place, in particular the remarks made by Longman, the publisher. To have told the court that his author’s works were ‘moderately successful’ was bad enough, but then to have judged them ‘not successful’ at all was criminal. It seemed to him that it was Longman and not Anne Armstrong who had pushed him into the condemned cell.
When he thought of that other evidence, that detailed and bloody analysis of his clothing, he looked down at the mess on his plate and waited, as he had waited in court, for some sensation of nausea to take hold of him, and, as before, he felt nothing. On that fateful, now distant Sunday afternoon he supposed he had suffered such a cataclysmic surge of passion that he had emptied himself of feelings forever. I have waded in blood, he thought, and it was not of my doing.
Then one night his own voice, crying out, woke him up. The warders, who had been dozing at the table, swivelled on their chairs to look at him. He frowned and turned his face to the wall. He had to bite on his lip to stop from whimpering. In imagination he took that walk towards the dreadful dark. Calcraft, that one time shoemaker, butler and pidgeon fancier, was waiting in the shadows of the yard, his sweet, grey eyes searching for him. They were both old men, but on different ends of the rope. The last thing I shall see in the whole world, thought Watson, before the hood is slipped over my head, will be the little white flower that the hangman wears in his buttonhole.
The Globe
26th January, 1872
Mr Watson, as was announced yesterday, is not to be hanged for the murder of his wife. Against the equity of this decision it is not our intention to protest. There was so much that was painful
and piteous connected with the story of the wretched old man, that it is hardly possibly to feel righteous indignation, even if justice had erred somewhat on the side of mercy. In all that we have written on the case, we have carefully avoided saying anything which might seem to be an argument against Mr Watson’s being deemed an object for Royal clemency. However, now that Mr Bruce, with the concurrence of the presiding Judge, has taken upon himself to decide that Watson’s crime is not one which should be visited with the extreme penalty of the law, we are able to speak more plainly about the character of the offence than we felt justified in doing while his life hung in the balance. We gather from the terms of the respite that the verdict given by the jury is not to be reversed; and that therefore the plea of insanity submitted on Watson’s behalf has been discarded by the Home Secretary. Indeed, upon the evidence adduced at the Trial, the plea was palpably and almost absurdly untenable; and there is no reason to suppose that any more satisfactory testimony on the point was forthcoming. We are, therefore, to understand that Mr Bruce agreed with the jury in their recommendation to mercy, and held that the prisoner’s age and previous good character were extenuating circumstances which removed his crime from the category of wilful murder. It is, of course, possible that facts may have been brought to Mr Bruce’s notice, which, had they been disclosed to the jury, might have influenced their verdict. If so, it is a matter for grave regret that those facts should not be made public. As things are, we know that Mr Watson beat his wife to death under circumstances which showed deliberation and vindictive violence. Putting aside the plea of insanity, the only excuses alleged on his behalf were that he was in straitened circumstances, and that his wife had a bad temper. Opinions may differ on how far incompatibility of temper, distaste for a wife’s society, and insufficiency of income are adequate excuses for beating the wife’s brains out with a horse pistol. A good deal has been said about Mr Watson’s high character and blameless life, but it must have struck everybody that there was an ominous absence of all testimony with respect to his domestic relations, though we are aware that this lack of testimony may be accounted for by the peculiar circumstances of the unhappy man’s existence. Still, for any proof to the contrary, it may have been Mrs Watson and not her husband who was the sufferer in this wretched household. In a great city like ours there must be thousands of homes made miserable by a woman’s ill temper, and by narrow means. It must be a comfort to all respectable elderly gentlemen in Mr Watson’s position, who are tired of their wives, and find some difficulty in making both ends meet, to reflect that, if they think fit to murder their wives with singular brutality, they cannot, after the reprieve of the Stockwell murderer, be sentenced to any worse punishment than imprisonment for life. It is, no doubt, unfortunate for poor SHEWARD – who was hanged, on his own confession, for murdering his wife, in spite of having led a blameless life for twenty years after instead of before the deed – that Mr Bruce had not yet made up his mind as to the fact of general respectability being an apology for this description of crime. Possibly WRIGHT, the man who was hanged for cutting, in a fit of drunken passion, the throat of the woman with whom he lived, might regret, if he could hear of Mr Watson’s case, that he had not lived respectably and taken holy orders before he yielded to the dire temptation of committing murder. Our criminal law is in a curious state. Watson was found guilty, and as everybody agrees, properly according to the law as it exists. One of the Judges is said to have expressed the opinion that he ought not to be executed. This seems odd, but then it is an odd case in all respects. Watson is the ‘Revd Mr Watson’, Mr Watson ‘the clergyman’, the ‘venerable looking prisoner’. Would the same sympathy have been felt if a Mr Mick Connor had knocked his wife’s brains out with a pick-axe? There are cases which make one wonder if an unconscious feeling for respectable people has not influenced exertions to save such persons. While on this subject, attention may be called to a strange state of the law. Some years ago a commission recommended that unpremeditated murder should not be punished capitally. The report was of such a character (to say no worse of it) that legislation did not follow on it, but the Home Office acts on that recommendation, so that, pro tanto, it has repealed the law to murder. The present state of things is most unsatisfactory. If the Home Secretary is not strong enough to deal with these questions (and none is more capable than the present) let some tribunal be constituted which can. At present it is chaos.
Watson’s Apology Page 24