In the second statement he gives details of his administration of the strychnia, declaring that even when he got the second portion of that poison from Mr. Morley’s pupil he had no intention of poisoning his wife, but only intended it for the cats. His first attempt was with the jelly his sister Jane had sent, of which, it may be remembered, the wife, on the score of its bitterness, took only a spoonful. He then goes on:—

“On the Saturday, after Fisher left,[91] I took the paper containing the strychnia out of my razor-case and put it in my waistcoat-pocket, and then went to my mother’s house. In the afternoon I had previously called at Mr. Morley’s for my wife’s medicine. It was an effervescing draught, in two bottles. At my mother’s that evening I took the cork out of one of the bottles and touched the wet end of it with the strychnia. On that Saturday evening my wife took some of the draught in Mrs. Witham’s presence. Mrs. Witham tasted it, and said it tasted bitter. The draught was not shaken that night before taken. My wife did not suffer from the effects at all. On my way from my mother’s that night I threw away the remainder of the strychnia. I cannot tell you the feelings of my mind when I put the strychnia into the jelly and the mixture. I did not think at the moment as to its effects and consequences. On the Sunday following, which was the 24th of February, I went to the surgery; and there being no person there at the time, I took perhaps ten grains of strychnia and folded them in paper, and when I got home placed it in the stable. On the Monday morning I gave my wife her medicine—the effervescent mixture—about half-past nine, and at ten she had the attack mentioned by Mrs. Fisher and Mrs. Witham. At the time she took it she complained very much of the bitterness, and said she would tell Mr. Morley about it. There were three or four doses left in the bottle after that draught was taken, and I broke the bottle in my wife’s presence, fearing Mr. Morley might taste it. The mixture was changed on the Monday; the mixture then given was very bitter. On Tuesday night or Wednesday morning I applied the wet end of the cork of the medicine-bottle to the strychnia, as before. I think there might be from half to a grain of strychnia on the cork when I put it into the bottle. I shook the mixture up. There were only two or three doses in the bottle. I don’t remember my wife having an attack on the Wednesday. She took her medicine that day. On Thursday I got another bottle of medicine from Mr. Morley, and I again applied the wet end of the cork to the strychnia as before. About the same quantity adhered. The last dose of that medicine was taken on Friday night about ten, and my wife was taken seriously ill in half an hour, but she had no arching of the back, as far as I can remember. Mrs. Fisher is mistaken in that point, but her statement in other respects is true, I believe. On that Friday night I got another bottle of medicine from Mr. Morley’s, directed to be taken four times a day. I did not put any strychnia into that bottle, or upon its cork. Mrs. Witham gave a dose out of that bottle in the afternoon of Saturday.[92] The strychnia was in the stable, where I had first placed it, and there was none in the razor-case on that day, nor during any part of that week. I was drinking at Sadlefee’s public-house on that Saturday, and was more or less affected with drink all that afternoon and evening. About three in the afternoon I went to the stable and took a grain and a half of strychnia out of the stable and put it in another paper, which I placed in my waistcoat-pocket. I put that strychnia into the wine-glass which contained a little water—I believe the water left in the glass by Mrs. Witham after giving my wife the third dose in the afternoon, but I have no recollection as to the time I put the strychnia into the glass. I gave the mixture in the evening, as stated by Mrs. Witham and Mrs. Wood in their evidence. I poured the mixture into the glass which contained the water and strychnia. I did not put the strychnia into the wine-glass in the presence of Mrs. Witham and Mrs. Wood. I know that I put it in before, but cannot tell how long before giving the medicine. I did not, when I gave the medicine on the occasions mentioned, think of the consequences; but when I saw my wife suffering on the Saturday night, it flashed across my mind that I had given her medicine, and that she would die from the effects. I was muddled before this, and did not know what I was doing. When the thoughts of her death crossed my mind, I regretted what I had done, and believe that if Mr. Morley had come in at that moment I should have told him what I had given her, so that he might have used means to restore her. I cannot disguise the anguish I felt when I returned from Mr. Morley’s and found her dead. Palmer’s case first called my attention to strychnia, but I never should have thought of using that or any other poison for the purpose of taking my wife’s life but for Harrison, who was always telling me that I should never have any happiness till my wife was out of the way.”[93]

TRIAL OF SILAS BARLOW FOR THE WILFUL MURDER OF ELIZA SOPER.

Before The Honorable Mr. Justice Denman, at the Central Criminal Court, November 27, 1876.

For the Prosecution: Mr. Poland and Mr. Beasley.
For the Defence: Mr. Fulton and Mr. Grubbe.

HISTORY OF THE CASE.

The prisoner, an engine driver on the South-Western Railway, about a year before the trial, on being left a widower, had formed a connection with the deceased, who, with their infant, came to lodge at the house of a Mrs. Wilson, in Leopold Street, Vauxhall, in August, 1876, under the name of Smith, where she was occasionally visited by the prisoner, who passed as her husband. Apparently they lived together on kindly terms, and were in fairly comfortable circumstances. On the 3rd of September the prisoner visited her about half-past eight in the evening, and stayed an hour. Up to that day the deceased had been in good health. As soon, however, as the prisoner had left, she came down from her room, knocked at the landlady’s door, and complained to her that she was very sick from the sarsaparilla which he had given her. “Her lips were white, she was very nervous, and appeared hardly able to stand,” said Mrs. Wilson. “I had never seen her so before. She went upstairs, and when I went to bed I went to her. She was retching very much, and sitting in a chair. I then went away. Next morning I saw her; she came downstairs and said she was very bad—worse. She could not stand, and had to lean against the wall. During the day she became better.”

THE SYMPTOMS.

The prisoner came again on the Sunday following, the 10th, at the same time as before.

“The deceased,” said Mrs. Wilson, “was at the street door, talking to me, with her baby, and in perfect health. They went up into their room, and in about an hour the prisoner knocked at my room door and said his wife had had two fits. I ran upstairs and found her lying across the bed; the prisoner was in the room. She was in a kind of fit or convulsion. I sent the prisoner for some brandy and water. She became a little conscious, and taking me by the hand said ‘Don’t touch me.’ She had been unconscious, but the moment she was touched she went into convulsions. Her feet and hands were clenched, and she was drawn quite backwards, her back forming an entire arch. She was not conscious then. The prisoner was holding her all the time. About half past ten I sent him for Dr. Miller, who came at once, and applied mustard plasters, remaining with her about five minutes, and the prisoner going back with him for medicine. She was slightly conscious when Dr. Miller came, and more so afterwards. Her feet were quite white(?)[94] the toes being drawn backwards to the soles of the feet. I did what the doctor told me, but it did not do her any good. I tried to give her the medicine, but she could not take it, and went off in a swoon. She had licked the spoon. She then had dreadful convulsions, one in particular, when it took the prisoner and me to hold her. Her neck was drawn backwards and quite arched. After that she became quite conscious, and said it was the nasty sarsaparilla that made her ill. The prisoner said ‘Oh no. I have taken more of it than you.’ He also said ‘I have given her two pills and taken two myself.’ She complained of a dreadful pain in her heart, and continued unconscious, coming to herself a little at times, but very slightly. The convulsions were dreadful, and she died about two o’clock on the eleventh. She seemed to drop instantly after a dreadful convulsion. I gave her two doses of the medicine the doctor sent. I had not seen any sarsaparilla in the room.”