as had been offered in evidence in that court. This evidence itself, said he, they must weigh; certain parts of it, such as those which “exhibited a state of almost unparalleled wickedness”, must not be allowed undue importance. Unless they vigorously strove against preconceptions, the prisoner might be deprived of that justice to which as a citizen he was entitled. He then proceeded in these words:
Regarding him [the prisoner] as the author of the diary, and if you believe this contains the outpourings of his mind, you must not take the picture of this man’s mental state as portrayed by the counsel for the defence; for there is before you, not a man, but a fiend, a monster in human shape. Against this conception you will have to struggle; for though steeped in wickedness and malignity scarcely equalled by the Tempter of mankind, the question to be decided by the evidence is, Did he murder Kinder?
Having thus made clear his own opinion of the prisoner, the Lord Chief Justice went on to consider, and dispose of, the accident theory. Supposing, said he, that Kinder did himself press the trigger of the pistol at Bertrand’s suggestion; could it be denied that the object and the criminality were the same—the compassing of Kinder’s death? Too many circumstances led to the belief that Bertrand wished him to die; it was difficult to assume, in face of these circumstances, that the result of Kinder pulling the trigger was both unexpected and undesired.
The staunching of the blood might be allowed to throw a favourable light upon the prisoner; on the other hand, “had he allowed the man who so wounded himself in his presence to bleed to death, he, as a dentist acquainted with the means to stop haemorrhage, might conceive that he ran some risk.” The staunching of the blood, therefore, though inconsistent with the idea of guilt, was not conclusive of innocence.
The defence pleaded that only an innocent man could have prosecuted Jackson for threats which it was in Jackson’s power to execute. His Honour disagreed; a man not in full possession of his senses equally might do so, or a man to whom the gratification of revenge meant more than his own safety might do so. “This point, like that of the staunching of the blood, rests on the threshold of your deliberations, and you must get rid of it before proceeding to other matters.”
After dealing with the evidence of Jackson, His Honour delivered a further expression of opinion. “There is perhaps nothing so revolting in this case as the fact that this woman [Mrs. Kinder], whilst living with her husband, should be challenged to express her preference for one of two paramours in their presence.”
He then passed to the diary, from which he read extracts. “Those passages in which he speaks of what the power of love can perform are pure nonsense, befitting only a madman.” His Honour, in fact, laid no great stress upon the evidence offered by the diary, except in so far as it clearly depicted the state of mind of the writer, which was not that of a normal person.
In conclusion, he urged the jury to decide whether Bertrand’s own confession (alleged to have been made to his sister) was to be believed, and warned them that confessions were rarely to be relied on. They must set this confession beside other circumstances offered in evidence; and only if they found that these circumstances corroborated the confession, should they allow it any weight. With the usual adjuration to allow the prisoner the benefit of any doubts they might have, His Honour dismissed the jury at one o’clock.
At two o’clock the foreman reappeared, to announce that there was no likelihood of any agreement being reached. His Honour adjourned the court for three hours. At five, and again at six, they were still undecided. An hour later they were locked up for the night. At ten next morning, after a night of argument, the position of the two opposing parties was unchanged. His Honour had no alternative; he dismissed the twelve men who had taken his warnings too closely to heart, and announced that the matter must be re-tried with another jury.
On Friday, just a week after the first trial began, proceedings were recommenced before the same judge. The evidence was heard again, summed up again, and the jury again dismissed to consider it at six in the evening. Two hours later they returned with the unanimous verdict: Guilty.
The prisoner, asked in the usual formula if he had anything to say why sentence of death should not be passed on him, uttered a long and coherent protest; his voice, the newspapers thought, “betrayed no trepidation, and perhaps only a natural weakness.” This statement was so long and circumstantial that the Judge, in his final address, felt called upon to reply to it point by point. Said His Honour:
It is no infrequent thing for me to hear protestations of innocence after conviction; but I have never found it consistent with duty, truth, or the interests of society to accord them any serious consideration. Even under the gallows I have known their innocence protested by men of whose guilt I have felt as certain as of anything I have known personally myself, and whose guilt was demonstrated by evidence so clear that no human being possessed of the power of reason could doubt for an instant that the result arrived at had been right. Of course these protestations with many persons go for much, but by those with more experience, equal feeling, more responsibility, who desire to see justice and nothing more, they really pass unheeded.
You are evidently a person of great ability, acuteness, and considerable cunning, with sufficient cleverness to seize upon weak points and make them appear an excuse, which to reflecting persons could be no palliation whatsoever.
You say you are not afraid to die, and I trust you are not, but believe me that in the opinion of the majority of thinking men, wherever this evidence will go, you ought not to hope for forgiveness here.
You say you desire only to clear your character. For whose sake? For the sake of your wife and children. Can it be possible that any human being that has heard what has passed at this trial, who has read the diary, who knows your intercourse with that abandoned woman, supposes that you attempt to clear your character for the sake of your wife and children? How can you, who in the same breath utter a falsehood, be believed in this?
The jury having now pronounced their verdict, I am now at liberty to look at other matters I did not think proper to refer to before. I did not read one line of that to which I am now going to allude. I was informed that Mrs. Kinder might possibly have been tried upon evidence to be given by your wife. Upon inquiry I then made I found that she had indeed given some information that she was stated to have given to your sister in a confession, but having been permitted to see you, I believe she has receded from it.
BERTRAND: I have never seen my wife since I have been in gaol.
HIS LORDSHIP: Then it may be possible she has not receded from it. I shall feel myself called upon after your addresses to lay before the public that statement. If she was not called as a witness with the intelligence that you possess you must have known that she could not be called. She has made a statement which, unless your sister is perjured, positively confirms the verdict of the jury.
BERTRAND: My sister is perjured.
HIS LORDSHIP: Then the case displays unparalleled wickedness, but this, the deepest in dye—that a sister, for no object of her own, should falsely state that your wife admitted to her that you had shot Kinder. She may have some remains of affection for your children, and even for the character of their father, but can I doubt that your sister spoke the truth when she said she heard this extraordinary statement from you?
I do not believe you are an insane man, but a perfectly sane man would never have made the declaration you have made; and I thoroughly believe your sister when she related this: “I said to his wife, Good God, has Henry really shot him”; and she answered, “Yes, he has.” Her details, too, are consistent with my idea of the mode in which the deed was done.
Can anyone doubt the guilt when a man is accused by his wife and sister, and their statement sustains and accords with all the probabilities of the case? I hear your declaration with sorrow and with pain, but
