They Hanged My Saintly Billy

by Robert Graves

  On reaching Rugeley from Stafford, the morning of Monday, November 26th, Dr Harland went to visit Dr Bamford and, as he passed The Talbot Arms, was greeted by Dr Palmer, who emerged from the back of his house. 'Why, good morning, Harland,' said Dr Palmer, 'I'm glad that Mr Stevens has chosen you for this post-mortem job. Someone might have come with whom I'm unacquainted.'

  Dr Harland shook hands, and asked: 'What is this case? I understand there's a suspicion of poisoning?'

  ' Oh, no,' replied Dr Palmer.' I don't think so. But it seems that a meddlesome London merchant named Stevens accuses Dr Bamford of treating the case wrong. I have the highest respect for the venerable doctor, and not merely because he brought me and my brothers into this delightful world. He's a wise, kindhearted old man, and I couldn't bear to have doubt cast on his medical ability. So, as I say, I'm glad you're here. There'll be no prejudice.'

  'I feel ashamed to tell you, Sir,' Dr Harland confessed, 'that I carelessly left my instrument case behind at Stafford.'

  'Then by all means use mine,' cried Dr Palmer, 'and get the business done with quick. To be frank, I believe that this queer fellow also suspects me. I can't guess what he's at, or what he wants. He's making a loud hue and cry about a lost betting-book. Not only is it of no use to anyone, but at least fifteen people were in the room while Johnny Cook lay ill'—here he began ticking them off on his fingers—'two servants, a couple of jockeys, the housekeeper, the landlord, a trainer, a barber, our Postmaster, not to mention two qualified doctors beside myself—so why he has picked on me, God alone knows. I feel justly aggrieved.'

  Dr Harland nodded in sympathy. 'Yes,' he said, 'families are apt to turn very nasty on these occasions, as I know to my cost. Death from natural causes don't satisfy them. They nurse a grudge against Heaven, and try to work it off on those who have busied themselves most heartily in attendance on the deceased.'

  After parting with Dr Palmer, he proceeded to the house of another Rugeley surgeon named Freer, from whom it had been arranged that he should receive a stoneware jar to contain parts of the dead body intended for analysis. There he met Charles Devonshire, a medical student at the London University. Mr Devonshire, while apologizing that Dr Monckton, his employer, was unable to open the body as agreed, showed a readiness to do so himself. He had had considerable experience in dissection and post-mortem analysis during his five years at King's College, and with the help of Charles Newton would do what was required of him under the supervision of Drs Harland and Bamford.

  'And who is this Newton?' asked Dr Harland.

  'He assists Dr Salt,' explained Devonshire, 'and, though he can show no diploma of any sort, calls himself a medical man. This will be his first post-mortem.'

  'Rugeley seems to be particularly rich in medical men,' commented Harland.

  'Oh, that's not the half of it,' laughed Devonshire. 'Some of us are veryjuvenile, and some very ancient, with few indeed middle-aged, except Dr Palm er; but he prefers horses to humans.'

  The post-mortem examination was held at The Talbot Arms, next to the room where Cook had died. There were present, besides Drs Bamford and Harland, and their two young assistants: Mr Tom Masters, Jeremiah Smith, Samuel Cheshire, Ben Thirlby, and the minister of a Dissenting Chapel; also Drs Salt, Jones, Richard Freer Junior, and Palmer.

  Dr Palmer and Newton stood alone together, for a few minutes, at the entrance to the Assembly Hall, awaiting the return of Dr Harland, who had gone to buy a pencil and notebook. Dr Palmer gave a little shudder, and said: 'This will be a dirty job, Charles. Let's go to my house and have a brandy!'

  They walked across the road, and the Doctor offered him half a tumblerful of neat brandy. 'You'll find that poor fellow suffering from a diseased throat,' he said, sipping at his own drink. 'He had syphilis and took a good deal of mercury in consequence. Come, let me refill your tumbler!'

  On their return to the Assembly Hall, the examination began. Mr Devonshire, under Dr Harland's surveillance, applied himself to the dissection. Dr Monckton, his employer, had lent him instruments, but neither scales nor measuring glasses; this being a casual, country affair, where one measures bulk and quality by the eye alone. The bowels, stomach, heart, brain, lungs, throat, and private parts were examined, with about half an inch of spinal cord. All appeared to be healthy, except for evidence of former syphilis, also a slight affliction of the throat, some whitish pustules beneath the tongue, and an undue quantity of dark fluid in the lungs, which Devonshire diagnosed as a morbid symptom. The heart was found empty and spasmodically contracted.

  Only one incident disturbed the quiet course of proceedings. Devonshire had removed a yard of intestines for insertion in the jar; but as he opened the stomach with a pair of scissors, according to his instructions, Newton lurched against him. Dr Harland cried: 'Stop that!' because Dr Palmer was standing close enough to have given Newton a push. Devonshire then called attention to certain yellowish-white spots about the size of a mustard seed at the end of the stomach. As a result of Newton's push, the stomach, which contained two or three fluid ounces of a brownish liquid, had been punctured and a spoonful splashed on a chair. Dr Harland tied up the puncture with a piece of string but, while he and Devonshire examined the lining membrane, Newton suddenly turned the stomach inside-out. Another half-teaspoonful of liquid fell on the floor as he placed it in the jar, which Dr Harland then scaled with two pigs' bladders, saying: 'So that is that! Little seems to be amiss here. I don't even subscribe to Devonshire's view that the lungs are unhealthy.'

  Dr Palmer clapped Dr Bamford on the shoulder and exclaimed in a stage whisper: 'Well, they won't hang us yet.'

  'Hey, speak up, my boy,' piped Dr Bamford, who is very deaf.

  'I said that they won't hang us yet,' Palmer reiterated in loud tones, grinning about him. While Dr Harland was jotting down his notes and Devonshire collecting his instruments, Dr Palmer carried the jar towards the doorway, where he set it on the floor.

  Dr Harland looked up and called: 'Where's the jar?'

  Dr Palmer replied: 'It's here. I thought it would be more convenient by the door, to take away.'

  'Pray, bring it back!' said Dr Harland, vexed at such officious-ness. He rose to meet Dr Palmer, who was already returning the jar, and then noticed that both bladders had been pierced with a clean cut an inch long.

  Looking around the room, Dr Harland inquired: 'Who made this cut?'

  'I didn't,' said Dr Palmer. 'I haven't even a knife on me.' 'Nor I,' said Devonshire. 'And you, Mr Newton?' Dr Harland asked. Newton mutely shook his head.

  The mystery was never solved, but no harm had been done. Dr Harland untied the bladders, replaced them so that the cut came below the neck of the jar, tied them up again, and secured the knot with sealing-wax. Then he wrapped the jar in stiff brown paper, which he also sealed.

  Where is it going?' Dr Palmer wished to know.

  'To Freer's,' Dr Harland answered.

  'I would rather you took it to Stafford and kept it under your eye,' Dr Palmer complained.

  'No, Mr Stevens wants it left at Freer's,' said Dr Harland. 'It's to be analysed by the celebrated Professor Taylor of Guy's Hospital.' He then carried the jar to Dr Freer's surgery, whence it was taken to London by one Boycott, Messrs Gardiner & Landor's chief clerk.

  Newton sought out Boycott at Rugeley railway station. 'Let me come up with you, Boycott,' he pleaded, 'I must speak to Mr Gardiner.'

  'I'll give him a message, if you like,' said Boycott. 'No,' cried Newton in agitation, 'I'd rather address him personally.'

  When pressed, he explained: 'I'm in a pretty dangerous position, Boycott. You see, on the night of Monday, I did what I shouldn't have done. Dr Palmer stopped at Salt's surgery where I'm employed, and wished me to sell him three grains of strychnine. I told him I couldn't sell it, for that's not Dr Salt's way; besides, he and Salt are on bad terms. Yet I gave it him, wrapped in a paper. You see, Ben Thirlby's working for Palmer and, as you perhaps know, I'm his natural son; that's why I obliged him. B
ut if these spasms of Cook's were due to strychnine poisoning, I'm afraid of being hanged as an accomplice or, at the best, transported.'

  Boycott asked him: 'Why don't you tell the Coroner?'

  'I daren't,' said Newton. 'I made no entry in the Poison Book, as I should have done. However, I'll tell Mr Gardiner on oath, just to clear myself, if there's trouble.'

  Meanwhile Jim, the ostler at The Talbot Arms, had been told to drive Mr Stevens in the hotel fly to Stafford, after having taken tea at home. Dr Palmer presendy met Jim coming back from his tea, and said: ' Good evening, Jim. Boots has the fly waiting for you, I see. Are you going over to Stafford?'

  'Those arc my orders,' Jim answered.

  'It's a humbugging concern!’ cried the Doctor. 'This meddle-some fool arranges a post-mortem, and sends Cook's stomach up to London in a jar for analysis! Gardiner's clerk is taking it by train. Hark'ee, Jim, if you'll upset old Stevens into a ditch of stinking mud, it'll be worth ten pounds to you.'

  Dr Palmer was laughing as he spoke, but Jim replied with mock gravity: 'I don t think as I could do it for ten pound, Doctor; why, I might end in jail, or the Infirmary, which would be worse!'

  Dr Palmer then offered Jim a drink, which he declined, being already two minutes late. At nightfall, Dr Palmer caused a stir in Rugeley by reeling through the streets, drunk and muttering to himself. He had never been seen in such a condition before.

  Professor Taylor, the toxicological expert at Guy's Hospital, and his assistant Dr Rces, received the jar. Professor Taylor made some harsh remarks about it, saying that the contents had been so jolted and shaken on the train journey that the feculent matter from the intestines and the liquid contents of the stomach were all mixed together. He judged these remains inadequate for the close investigation demanded by Mr Stevens, and telegraphed at once for further organs. This time Dr Monckton and Dr Freer, who took charge of the examination, sent him up, in another sealed jar, the kidneys, part of the liver, the spleen, what remained of the dissected heart and brain, and three teaspoonfuls of blood from the

  lungs.

  The Stafford Coroner summoned a jury for Thursday, November 29th, at The Talbot Arms Hotel; but all they did that day was to view the body, the inquest being then adjourned until December 5th.

  Here, while observing that Dr Palmer showed no fear of strychnine being found, we may express the opinion that it was Newton who pushed Devonshire; Newton who punctured the jar with a lancet; Newton who, when he emptied the stomach, unasked, into the jar, deliberately spilled some of the contents; and Newton who vigorously shook this jar, while Boycott left the carriage at Rugby for refreshment. His motive throughout is clear: to make the strychnia, which he believed Dr Palmer to have administered, less easily discoverable.

  Cook was buried on November 30th, not in the family vault near London, but in Rugeley churchyard. Dr Palmer attended the funeral service with Jeremiah Smith. Among the other mourners were Mr Stevens, his son-in-law Mr Bradford, and George Herring, the commission-agent, who grew very angry indeed when he learned from Mr Stevens that Cook had never received the money entrusted to Dr Palmer, and that the betting-book was missing. Yet because the Doctor walked weeping miserably behind the bier, Herring did not have the heart to speak his mind until the funeral was well over—but then found that he had slipped away. Afterwards, Dr Palmer frequented The Talbot Arms bar and stood treat to all the assembled riff-raff, who voted him a jolly good fellow. Of his former friends only Myatt, the saddler, Jeremiah Smith, the solicitor, Ben Thirlby, the chemist, and Samuel Cheshire, the Postmaster, remained loyal. When Dr Palmer complained of being almost universally called a poisoner, Cheshire asked what he could do to clear him of so cruel a suspicion.

  'God bless you!' said the Doctor. 'Just keep your eyes and ears open, like a dear fellow!'

  On the Sunday evening, December 2nd, Dr Palmer visited Cheshire's house in a pitiable state of anxiety and inquired, in his wife's presence, whether he had heard or seen anything fresh. Cheshire led him into another room and said: 'Billy, if you are tempting me to show you the contents of a sealed letter, that I dare not do.'

  ' Oh, no,' the Doctor cried, 'you mustn't injure yourself on my account! But I can't sleep of nights for worrying what Professor Taylor will report to Mr Gardiner about that damnable analysis. Though it's true that I've done nothing wrong, what if Mr Stevens should have manufactured evidence against me? He's quite capable of bribing Gardiner's clerk to put poison in Cook's remains and so getting me hanged. No, Sammy! All I ask, all I beg of you on my knees, is that you'll steam open Professor Taylor's letter, and if he says he's found poison, tip me the wink, and I'll give them the slip. I'll ride off to Liverpool and board a vessel for America. You know I could never kill a man, don't you, Sammy ?'

  Cheshire weakly consented; and on December 5th, three days later, intercepted and read Professor Taylor's letter to Mr Gardiner, afterwards reporting its gist to the Doctor, whom he found in bed, seriously ill of a liver complaint brought on by his excessive consumption of brandy.

  The letter ran:

  Guy's Hospital, Tuesday, Dec. 4th, 1855

  My dear Sir,

  Dr Rees and I have compared the analysis today. We have sketched a report, which will be ready tomorrow or the next day. As I am going to Durham on the part of the Crown in the case of Regina v. Wooler, the report will be in the hands of Dr Rees, No. 26, Albemarle St. It will be most desirable that Mr Stevens should call on Dr Rees, read the report with him, and put such questions as may occur. In reply to your letter received here this morning, I beg to say that we wish a statement of all the medicines prescribed for the deceased until his death to be drawn up and sent to Dr Rees. We did not find Strychnia, nor Prussic Acid, nor any trace of Opium. From the contents having been drained away, it is now impossible to say whether any Strychnine had or had not been given just before death. But it is quite possible for tartar emetic to destroy life if given in repeated doses; and, so far as we can at present form an opinion, in the absence of any natural cause of death, the deceased must have died from the effects of antimony in this or some other form.

  I am, Sir,

  Yours very truly,

  Alfred S. Taylor

  Dr Palmer gleefully told Cheshire: 'Of course, they found no poison! And of course, almost every man's stomach has some traces of antimony in it. I'm as innocent as a babe.'

  The news afforded him great relief because, in addition to those three grains of strychnine given him by Newton at about eleven o'clock on the Monday night, he had bought six more grains from Messrs Hawkins, another Rugeley chemist, between eleven and twelve on Tuesday morning—also two drachms of Batley's solution of opium, and two drachms of prussic acid. He knew that Mr Stevens had obtained evidence of his purchases from Hawkins' Poison Book. All these drugs, by the way, were found in the Doctor's surgery after his arrest—all, that is, except the strychnine.

  While visiting London on December ist, Dr Palmer had taken the precaution of sending a gift-hamper to Mr William Webb Ward, the Stafford Coroner. This contained a 20-lb. turkey, a brace of pheasants, a fine cod, and a barrel of oysrers, and was sent by railway to Mr Ward's private residence at Stoke-on-Trent, without a sender's name. It is understood that Dr Palmer wrote to Mr Ward by the post, but that Mr Ward destroyed the letter in disgust and very correctly sent the hamper to the Stafford Infirmary for the benefit of pauper patients. Whether the patients, rather than the medical staff, enjoyed them, is, however, highly doubtful.

  Dr Palmer could never leave well alone. The news of Professor Taylor's findings so elated him that, the next morning, he sent two letters to Stafford by the hand of George Bate. The first was sealed, and addressed to Mr Webb Ward; the second, an open note, ordered Mr France, the poulterer,' to supply the bearer with some nice pheasants and a good hare'.

  Bate found a boy who for threepence would take the hamper of game to Mr Ward's house, and delivered the letter to Mr Ward himself at The Dolphin Inn, as he played billiards in the smoking-
room. This letter, which Mr Ward at once handed to Captain Hatton, the Chief Constable of Police, bore no date, but ran as follows:

  My dear Sir,

  I am sorry to tell you that I am still confined to bed. I do not think it was mentioned at the inquest yesterday that Cook was taken ill on Sunday and Monday night in the same way as he was on the Tuesday when he died. The chambermaid at The Crown—Master's hotel— can prove this. I also believe that a man by the name of Fisher is coming down to prove that he received some money from Cook at Shrewsbury. Now here Cook could only pay Jeremiah Smith £10 out of the £41 he owed him. Had you not better call Smith to prove this?

  And again whatever Professor Taylor may say tomorrow, he wrote from London last Tuesday night to Gardiner, to say: 'We have this day finished our analysis and find no traces of either strychnine, prussic acid, or opium.'

  What can beat this from a man like Professor Taylor, if he says tomorrow what he has already said—and Dr Harland's evidence? Mind you, I know and saw it in black and white, what Professor Taylor said to Gardiner, but this is strictly private and confidential; but it is true. As regards the betting-book, I know nothing of it and it is of no good to anyone.

  I hope the verdict tomorrow will be that Cook died of natural causes, and thus end it.

  Ever yours,

  Wm Palmer

  The inquest did not, in the event, take place on the next day, being postponed for another week. Since neither of the hampers was returned to him, Dr Palmer concluded that he had the Coroner 'in his breeches' pocket', as the cant saying is, and therefore on Thursday, December 13 th, wrote him another letter. This should have gone in a sealed envelope with a present of money; but finding that he had only a £50 note in his possession, he asked Bate to borrow a 'pony' from Ben Thirlby. Bate went off and presently returned with a £5 note.