They Hanged My Saintly Billy (74 page)

He
appeared
greatly
mortified
when
given
a
grey
suit
of
convict
clothes
and
curtly
told
to
change
into
them.
Having
done
so, he
was
handcuffed
and
fettered.
'You
are
bound
for
Stafford tonight,'
said
the
Under-Sheriff.

A
Black
Maria
stood
waiting
in
the
courtyard,
where
the crowd
had
gathered
thick
for
a
sight
of
the
prisoner;
but
Mr Weatherhead,
the
Governor
of
Newgate
Gaol,
smuggled
him
out by
cab
to
Euston
Square
station.
Though
met
there
with
angry and
derisive
shouts,
he
was
safely
assisted
to
the
eight
o'clock
train and
thrust
into
the
middle
compartment
of
a
first-class
carriage;
the
blinds
being
at
once
drawn.
He
had
pleaded
to
travel
by
the Great
Western
Railway,
over
a
less
direct
route,
on
the
ground that
if
he
went
by
the
London
&
North
Western,
he
would
be recognized
all
along
the
line.
This
favour
was
denied
him.

When
he
arrived,
rather
fagged,
at
Stafford
station
late
that night—only
to
be
greeted
with
prolonged
boos
and
catcalls— Mr
Wollaston,
Superintendent
of
the
Stafford
Police,
took
one of
his
arms,
and
Mr
Weatherhead
the
other.
The
police
having dispersed
the
crowd,
Dr
Palmer
picked
his
way
carefully
through the
puddles,
saying:
'Dear
me,
it
’
s
very
wet!
Have
you
had
much rain
down
here?'

'We
have,'
Mr
Wollaston
answered
shortly.

No
further
word
was
spoken
for
some
time,
but
after
about five
minutes
Dr
Palmer
signed
and
said:
'I've
had
a
wearying
trial of
it:
twelve
long
days!'
Then
he
stumbled
in
the
dark
and
cried: 'Bother
these
chains!
I
wish
they
were
off.
I
can't
walk
properly.'

The
Doctor's
brothers,
George
and
Thomas,
had
leave
to
visit his
cell
a
day
or
two
later.
When
they
begged
him
to
declare whether
he
were
guilty
or
not
guilty,
he
forcibly
replied:
'I
have nothing
to
say,
and
nothing
shall
I
say!'

Within
half
a
week
of
returning
to
Stafford
he
overcame
his fatigue,
and
was
allowed
several
more
visits
from
them;
also from
the
Rev.
Mr
Atkinson,
the
Vicar
of
Rugeley,
who
had baptized,
confirmed,
married,
and
never
ceased
to
feel
affection for,
him;
from
Mr
Wright,
the
philanthropist
of
Manchester;
and from
the
Rev.
Mr
Sneyd
of
Ripstone.
All
diese
urged
on
him
the necessity
of
confessing,
but
he
kept
a
polite
silence.
Serjeant
Shee sent
Dr
Palmer
a
Bible,
carrying
a
sympathetic
note
on
the
flyleaf;
and
he
passed
much
of
his
time
reading
this,
and
other religious
books,
lent
him
by
the
Prison
Chaplain,
the
Rev.
H.
J. Goodacre.
At
his
request,
old
Mrs
Palmer
spared
herself
the
pain of
a
farewell,
and
took
sole
charge
of
little
Will
iam,
his
son.

For
a
day
or
two,
he
was
generally
assumed
to
be
guilty
beyond dispute,
and
the
crowds
at
Newgate
would
have
cheerfully
torn him
to
pieces,
had
the
Police
permitted
them.
Yet
among
medical men
in
Edinburgh,
London,
and
Dublin,
the
prevalent
view
now seems
to
be:
'Hang
Palmer
for
the
insurance
offices,
or
for
the Jockey
Club,
or
for
the
greater
glory
of
the
Attorney-General. Hang
him
as
a
rogue,
if
you
will,
but
it
must
be
on
circumstantial evidence
alone,
not
on
the
medical
evidence;
because
that
has broken
down,
horse,
foot,
and
guns!'

Yesterday,
the
President
of
the
College
of
Surgeons,
lecturing to
a
packed
audience
on
the
subjects
of
tetanus
and
strychnine, referred
pointedly
to
Dr
Palmers
trial:
'I
have
heard
of
grand jurors
and
petty
jurors,
special
jurors,
and
common
jurors,
but these
were
twelve
most
uncommon
jurors—very
respectable
confectioners
and
grocers
into
the
bargain,
I
have
no
doubt—who boldly
cut
the
Gordian
knot,
and
settled
the
most
difficult
problem
in
the
world,
which
is
the
anatomy
of
the
brain!'
He
added that
ninety-nine
parts
in
a
hundred
of
the
surgical
evidence
at
the trial
were
irrelevant
to
the
case,
since
Cook
had
doubtless
died of
no
surgical
disease,
but
of
a
medical
one—namely,
a
convulsion.

Guy's
Hospital
is
in
a
ferment.
One
of
Professor
Taylor's
colleagues
has
represented
the
speech
of
the
Attorney-General
as
one of
the
greatest
examples
of
medical
extravagance
and
folly
ever proffered
to
the
public.
Another
pre-eminent
surgeon
calls
it
'a piece
of
cold-blooded
cruelty,
disgraceful
to
the
nineteenth
century'.
Professor
Taylor
himself
receives
cold
looks
from
his
own associates
and
pupils.
At
King's
College
Hospital,
where
Professor Partridge
lectures,
the
pupils
are
most
indignant
at
the
Attorney-General's
attack
on
Mr
Devonshire,
who
performed
the
first
post-mortem,
and
is
regarded
as
one
of
the
most
promising
young surgeons
in
that
institution.