THE BELLEVUE HOSPITAL CASE
On December 15, 1900, there appeared in the _New York World_ an article
written by Thomas J. Minnock, a newspaper reporter, in which he claimed
to have been an eye-witness to the shocking brutality of certain nurses
in attendance at the Insane Pavilion of Bellevue Hospital, which
resulted in the death, by strangulation, of one of its inmates, a
Frenchman named Hilliard. This Frenchman had arrived at the hospital at
about four o'clock in the afternoon of Tuesday, December 11. He was
suffering from alcoholic mania, but was apparently otherwise in normal
physical condition. Twenty-six hours later, or on Wednesday, December
12, he died. An autopsy was performed which disclosed several bruises on
the forehead, arm, hand, and shoulder, three broken ribs and a broken
hyoid bone in the neck (which supports the tongue), and a suffusion of
blood or hæmorrhage on both sides of the windpipe. The coroner's
physician reported the cause of death, as shown by the autopsy, to be
strangulation. The newspaper reporter, Minnock, claimed to have been in
Bellevue at the time, feigning insanity for newspaper purposes; and upon
his discharge from the hospital he stated that he had seen the Frenchman
strangled to death by the nurses in charge of the Pavilion by the use of
a sheet tightly twisted around the insane man's neck. The language used
in the newspaper articles written by Minnock to describe the occurrences
preceding the Frenchman's death was as follows:--
"At supper time on Wednesday evening, when the Frenchman, Mr. Hilliard,
refused to eat his supper, the nurse, Davis, started for him. Hilliard
ran around the table, and the other two nurses, Dean and Marshall,
headed him off and held him; they forced him down on a bench, Davis
called for a sheet, one of the other two, I do not remember which,
brought it, and Davis drew it around Hilliard's neck like a rope. Dean
was behind the bench on which Hilliard had been pulled back; he gathered
up the loose ends of the sheet and pulled the linen tight around
Hilliard's neck, then he began to twist the folds in his hand. I was
horrified. I have read of the garrote; I have seen pictures of how
persons are executed in Spanish countries; I realized that here, before
my eyes, a strangle was going to be performed. Davis twisted the ends of
the sheet in his hands, round and round; he placed his knee against
Hilliard's back and exercised all his force. The dying man's eyes began
to bulge from their sockets; it made me sick, but I looked on as if
fascinated. Hilliard's hands clutched frantically at the coils around
his neck. 'Keep his hands down, can't you?' shouted Davis in a rage.
Dean and Marshall seized the helpless man's hands; slowly,
remorselessly, Davis kept on twisting the sheet. Hilliard began to get
black in the face; his tongue was hanging out. Marshall got frightened.
'Let up, he is getting black!' he said to Davis. Davis let out a couple
of twists of the sheet, but did not seem to like to do it. At last
Hilliard got a little breath, just a little. The sheet was still brought
tight about the neck. 'Now will you eat?' cried Davis. 'No,' gasped the
insane man. Davis was furious. 'Well, I will make you eat; I will choke
you until you do eat,' he shouted, and he began to twist the sheet
again. Hilliard's head would have fallen upon his breast but for the
fact that Davis was holding it up. He began to get black in the face
again. A second time they got frightened, and Davis eased up on the
string. He untwisted the sheet, but still kept a firm grasp on the
folds. It took Hilliard some time to come to. When he did at last, Davis
again asked him if he would eat. Hilliard had just breath enough to
whisper faintly, 'No.' I thought the man was dying then. Davis twisted
up the sheet again, and cried, 'Well, I will make him eat or I will
choke him to death.' He twisted and twisted until I thought he would
break the man's neck. Hilliard was unconscious at last. Davis jerked the
man to the floor and kneeled on him, but still had the strangle hold
with his knee giving him additional purchase. He twisted the sheet until
his own fingers were sore, then the three nurses dragged the limp body
to the bath-room, heaved him into the tub with his clothes on, and
turned the cold water on him. He was dead by this time, I believe. He
was strangled to death, and the finishing touches were put on when they
had him on the floor. No big, strong, healthy man could have lived under
that awful strangling. Hilliard was weak and feeble."
The above article appeared in the morning _Journal_, a few days after
the original publication in the _New York World_. The other local papers
immediately took up the story, and it is easy to imagine the pitch to
which the public excitement and indignation were aroused. The three
nurses in charge of the pavilion at the time of Hilliard's death were
immediately indicted for manslaughter, and the head nurse, Jesse R.
Davis, was promptly put on trial in the Court of General Sessions,
before Mr. Justice Cowing and a "special jury." The trial lasted three
weeks, and after deliberating five hours upon their verdict, the jury
acquitted the prisoner.
The intense interest taken in the case, not only by the public, but by
the medical profession, was increased by the fact that for the first
time in the criminal courts of this country two inmates of the insane
pavilion, themselves admittedly insane, were called by the prosecution,
and sworn and accepted by the court as witnesses against the prisoner.
One of these witnesses was suffering from a form of insanity known as
paranoia, and the other from general paresis. With the exception of the
two insane witnesses and the medical testimony founded upon the autopsy,
there was no direct evidence on which to convict the prisoner but the
statement of the newspaper reporter, Minnock. He was the one sane
witness called on behalf of the prosecution, who was an eye-witness to
the occurrence, and the issues in the case gradually narrowed down to a
question of veracity between the newspaper reporter and the accused
prisoner, the testimony of each of these witnesses being corroborated or
contradicted on one side or the other by various other witnesses.
If Minnock's testimony was credited by the jury, the prisoner's
contradiction would naturally have no effect whatever, and the public
prejudice, indignation, and excitement ran so high that the jury were
only too ready and willing to accept the newspaper account of the
transaction. The cross-examination of Minnock, therefore, became of the
utmost importance. It was essential that the effect of his testimony
should be broken, and counsel having his cross-examination in charge had
made the most elaborate preparations for the task. Extracts from the
cross-examination are here given as illustrations of many of the
suggestions which have been discussed in previous chapters.
The district attorney in charge of the prosecution was Franklin Pierce,
Esq. In his opening address to the jury he stated that he "did not
believe that ever in the history of the state, or indeed of the country,
had a jury been called upon to decide such an important case as the one
on trial." He continued: "There is no fiction--no 'Hard Cash'--in this
case. The facts here surpass anything that fiction has ever produced.
The witnesses will describe the most terrible treatment that was ever
given to an insane man. No writer of fiction could have put them in a
book. They would appear so improbable and monstrous that his manuscript
would have been rejected as soon as offered to a publisher."
When the reporter, Minnock, stepped to the witness-stand, the court room
was crowded, and yet so intense was the excitement that every word the
witness uttered could be distinctly heard by everybody present. He gave
his evidence in chief clearly and calmly, and with no apparent motive
but to narrate correctly the details of the crime he had seen committed.
Any one unaware of his career would have regarded him as an unusually
clever and apparently honest and courageous man with a keen memory and
with just the slightest touch of gratification at the important position
he was holding in the public eye in consequence of his having unearthed
the atrocities perpetrated in our public hospitals.
His direct evidence was practically a repetition of his newspaper
article already referred to, only much more in detail. After questioning
him for about an hour, the district attorney sat down with a confident
"He is your witness, if you wish to cross-examine him."
No one who has never experienced it can have the slightest appreciation
of the nervous excitement attendant on being called upon to
cross-examine the chief witness in a case involving the life or liberty
of a human being. If Minnock withstood the cross-examination, the nurse
Davis, apparently a most worthy and refined young man who had just
graduated from the Mills Training School for Nurses, and about to be
married to a most estimable young lady, would have to spend at least the
next twenty years of his life at hard labor in state prison.
The first fifteen minutes of the cross-examination were devoted to
showing that the witness was a thoroughly educated man, twenty-five
years of age, a graduate of Saint John's College, Fordham, New York, the
Sacred Heart Academy, the Francis Xavier, the De Lasalle Institution,
and had travelled extensively in Europe and America. The
cross-examination then proceeded:--
_Counsel_ (amiably). "Mr. Minnock, I believe you have written the story
of your life and published it in the _Bridgeport Sunday Herald_ as
recently as last December? I hold the original article in my hand."
_Witness._ "It was not the story of my life."
_Counsel._ "The article is signed by you and purports to be a history of
your life."
_Witness._ "It is an imaginary story dealing with hypnotism. Fiction
partly, but it dealt with facts."
_Counsel._ "That is, you mean to say you mixed fiction and fact in the
history of your life?"
_Witness._ "Yes, sir."
_Counsel._ "In other words, you dressed up facts with fiction to make
them more interesting?"
_Witness._ "Precisely."
_Counsel._ "When in this article you wrote that at the age of twelve you
ran away with a circus, was that dressed up?"
_Witness._ "Yes, sir."
_Counsel._ "It was not true?"
_Witness._ "No, sir."
_Counsel._ "When you said that you continued with this circus for over a
year, and went with it to Belgium, there was a particle of truth in that
because you did, as a matter of fact, go to Belgium, but not with the
circus as a public clown; is that the idea?"
_Witness._ "Yes, sir."
_Counsel._ "So there was some little truth mixed in at this point with
the other matter?"
_Witness._ "Yes, sir."
_Counsel._ "When you wrote that you were introduced in Belgium, at the
Hospital General, to Charcot, the celebrated Parisian hypnotist, was
there some truth in that?"
_Witness._ "No, sir."
_Counsel._ "You knew that Charcot was one of the originators of
hypnotism in France, didn't you?"
_Witness._ "I knew that he was one of the original hypnotists."
_Counsel._ "How did you come to state in the newspaper history of your
life that you were introduced to Charcot at the Hospital General at
Paris if that was not true?"
_Witness._ "While there I met a Charcot."
_Counsel._ "Oh, I see."
_Witness._ "But not the original Charcot."
_Counsel._ "Which Charcot did you meet?"
_Witness._ "A woman. She was a lady assuming the name of Charcot,
claiming to be Madame Charcot."
_Counsel._ "So that when you wrote in this article that you had met
Charcot, you intended people to understand that it was the celebrated
Professor Charcot, and it was partly true, because there was a woman by
the name of Charcot whom you had really met?"
_Witness._ "Precisely."
_Counsel_ (quietly). "That is to say, there was some truth in it?"
_Witness._ "Yes, sir."
_Counsel._ "When in that article you said that Charcot taught you to
stand pain, was there any truth in that?"
_Witness._ "No."
_Counsel._ "Did you as a matter of fact learn to stand pain?"
_Witness._ "No."
_Counsel._ "When you said in this article that Charcot began by sticking
pins and knives into you little by little, so as to accustom you to
standing pain, was that all fiction?"
_Witness._ "Yes, sir."
_Counsel._ "When you wrote that Charcot taught you to reduce your
respirations to two a minute, so as to make your body insensible to
pain, was that fiction?"
_Witness._ "Purely imagination."
_Court_ (interrupting). "Counsellor, I will not allow you to go further
in this line of inquiry. The witness himself says his article was almost
entirely fiction, some of it founded upon fact. I will allow you the
greatest latitude in a proper way, but not in this direction."
_Counsel._ "Your Honor does not catch the point."
_Court._ "I do not think I do."
_Counsel._ "This prosecution was started by a newspaper article written
by the witness, and published in the morning _Journal_. It is the claim
of the defence that the newspaper article was a mixture of fact and
fiction, mostly fiction. The witness has already admitted that the
history of his life, published but a few months ago, and written and
signed by himself and sold as a history of his life, was a mixture of
fact and fiction, mostly fiction. Would it not be instructive to the
jury to learn from the lips of the witness himself how far he dressed up
the pretended history of his own life, that they may draw from it some
inference as to how far he has likewise dressed up the article which was
the origin of this prosecution?"
_Court._ "I shall grant you the greatest latitude in examination of the
witness in regard to the newspaper article which he published in regard
to this case, but I exclude all questions relating to the witness's
newspaper history of his own life."
_Counsel._ "Did you not have yourself photographed and published in the
newspapers in connection with the history of your life, with your mouth
and lips and ears sewed up, while you were insensible to pain?"
_Court._ "Question excluded."
_Counsel._ "Did you not publish a picture of yourself in connection with
the pretended history of your life, representing yourself upon a cross,
spiked hand and foot, but insensible to pain, in consequence of the
instruction you had received from Professor Charcot?"
_Court._ "Question excluded."
_Counsel._ "I offer these pictures and articles in evidence."
_Court_ (roughly). "Excluded."
_Counsel._ "In the article you published in the _New York Journal_,
wherein you described the occurrences in the present case, which you
have just now related upon the witness-stand, did you there have
yourself represented as in the position of the insane patient, with a
sheet twisted around your neck, and held by the hands of the hospital
nurse who was strangling you to death?"
_Witness._ "I wrote the article, but I did not pose for the picture. The
picture was posed for by some one else who looked like me."
_Counsel_ (stepping up to the witness and handing him the newspaper
article). "Are not these words under your picture, 'This is how I saw it
done, Thomas J. Minnock,' a facsimile of your handwriting?"
_Witness._ "Yes, sir, it is my handwriting."
_Counsel._ "Referring to the history of your life again how many
imaginary articles on the subject have you written for the newspapers
throughout the country?"
_Witness._ "One."
_Counsel._ "You have put several articles in New York papers, have you
not?"
_Witness._ "It was only the original story. It has since been redressed,
that's all."
_Counsel._ "Each time you signed the article and sold it to the
newspaper for money, did you not?"
_Court._ "Excluded."
_Counsel_ (with a sudden change of manner, and in a loud voice, turning
to the audience). "Is the chief of police of Bridgeport, Connecticut, in
the court room? (Turning to the witness.) Mr. Minnock, do you know this
gentleman?"
_Witness._ "I do."
_Counsel._ "Tell the jury when you first made his acquaintance."
_Witness._ "It was when I was arrested in the Atlantic Hotel, in
Bridgeport, Connecticut, with my wife."
_Counsel._ "Was she your wife at the time?"
_Witness._ "Yes, sir."
_Counsel._ "She was but sixteen years old?"
_Witness._ "Seventeen, I guess."
_Counsel._ "You were arrested on the ground that you were trying to drug
this sixteen-year-old girl and kidnap her to New York. Do you deny it?"
_Witness_ (doggedly). "I was arrested."
_Counsel_ (sharply). "You know the cause of the arrest to be as I have
stated? Answer yes or no!"
_Witness_ (hesitating). "Yes, sir."
_Counsel._ "You were permitted by the prosecuting attorney, F. A.
Bartlett, to be discharged without trial on your promise to leave the
state, were you not?"
_Witness._ "I don't remember anything of that."
_Counsel._ "Do you deny it?"
_Witness._ "I do."
_Counsel._ "Did you have another young man with you upon that occasion?"
_Witness._ "I did. A college chum."
_Counsel._ "Was he also married to this sixteen-year-old girl?"
_Witness_ (no answer).
_Counsel_ (pointedly at witness). "Was he married to this girl also?"
_Witness._ "Why, no."
_Counsel._ "You say you were married to her. Give me the date of your
marriage."
_Witness_ (hesitating). "I don't remember the date."
_Counsel._ "How many years ago was it?"
_Witness._ "I don't remember."
_Counsel._ "How many years ago was it?"
_Witness._ "I couldn't say."
_Counsel._ "What is your best memory as to how many years ago it was?"
_Witness._ "I can't recollect."
_Counsel._ "Try to recollect about when you were married."
_Witness._ "I was married twice, civil marriage and church marriage."
_Counsel._ "I am talking about Miss Sadie Cook. When were you married to
Sadie Cook, and where is the marriage recorded?"
_Witness._ "I tell you I don't remember."
_Counsel._ "Try."
_Witness._ "It might be five or six or seven or ten years ago."
_Counsel._ "Then you cannot tell within five years of the time when you
were married, and you are now only twenty-five years old?"
_Witness._ "I cannot."
_Counsel._ "Were you married at fifteen years of age?"
_Witness._ "I don't think I was."
_Counsel._ "You know, do you not, that your marriage was several years
after this arrest in Bridgeport that I have been speaking to you about?"
_Witness._ "I know nothing of the kind."
_Counsel_ (resolutely). "Do you deny it?"
_Witness_ (hesitating). "Well, no, I do not deny it."
_Counsel._ "I hand you now what purports to be the certificate of your
marriage, three years ago. Is the date correct?"
_Witness._ "I never saw it before."
_Counsel._ "Does the certificate correctly state the time and place and
circumstances of your marriage?"
_Witness._ "I refuse to answer the question on the ground that it would
incriminate my wife."
The theory on which the defence was being made was that the witness,
Minnock, had manufactured the story which he had printed in the paper,
and later swore to before the grand jury and at the trial. The effort in
his cross-examination was to show that he was the kind of man who would
manufacture such a story and sell it to the newspapers, and afterward,
when compelled to do so, swear to it in court.
Counsel next called the witness's attention to many facts tending to
show that he had been an eye-witness to adultery in divorce cases, and
on both sides of them, first on one side, then on the other, in the same
case, and that he had been at one time a private detective. Men whom he
had robbed and blackmailed and cheated at cards were called from the
audience, one after another, and he was confronted with questions
referring to these charges, all of which he denied in the presence of
his accusers. The presiding judge having stated to the counsel in the
hearing of the witness that although he allowed the witness to be
brought face to face with his alleged accusers, yet he would allow no
contradictions of the witness on these collateral matters. Minnock's
former defiant demeanor immediately returned.
The next interrogatories put to the witness developed the fact that,
feigning insanity, he had allowed himself to be taken to Bellevue with
the hope of being transferred to Ward's Island, with the intention of
finally being discharged as cured, and then writing sensational
newspaper articles regarding what he had seen while an inmate of the
public insane asylums; that in Bellevue Hospital he had been detected as
a malingerer by one of the attending physicians, Dr. Fitch, and had
been taken before a police magistrate where he had stated in open court
that he had found everything in Bellevue "far better than he had
expected to find it," and that he had "no complaint to make and nothing
to criticise."
The witness's mind was then taken from the main subject by questions
concerning the various conversations had with the different nurses while
in the asylum, all of which conversations he denied. The interrogatories
were put in such a way as to admit of a "yes" or "no" answer only.
Gradually coming nearer to the point desired to be made, the following
questions were asked:--
_Counsel._ "Did the nurse Gordon ask you why you were willing to submit
to confinement as an insane patient, and did you reply that you were a
newspaper man and under contract with a Sunday paper to write up the
methods of the asylum, but that the paper had repudiated the contract?"
_Witness._ "No."
_Counsel._ "Or words to that effect?"
_Witness._ "No."
Counsel. "I am referring to a time subsequent to your discharge from the
asylum, and after you had returned to take away your belongings. Did
you, at that time, tell the nurse Gordon that you had expected to be
able to write an article for which you could get $140?"
_Witness._ "I did not."
_Counsel._ "Did the nurse say to you, 'You got fooled this time, didn't
you?' And did you reply, 'Yes, but I will try to write up something and
see if I can't get square with them!'"
_Witness._ "I have no memory of it."
_Counsel._ "Or words to that effect?"
_Witness._ "I did not."
All that preceded had served only as a veiled introduction to the next
important question.
_Counsel_ (quietly). "At that time, as a matter of fact, did you know
anything you could write about when you got back to the _Herald_
office?"
_Witness._ "_I knew there was nothing to write._"
_Counsel._ "Did you know at that time, or have any idea, what you would
write when you got out?"
_Witness._ "Did I at that time know? _Why, I knew there was nothing to
write._"
_Counsel_ (walking forward and pointing excitedly at the witness).
"Although you had seen a man choked to death with a sheet on Wednesday
night, you knew on Friday morning that there was nothing you could write
about?"
_Witness_ (hesitating). "I didn't know they had killed the man."
_Counsel._ "Although you had seen the patient fall unconscious several
times to the floor after having been choked with the sheet twisted
around his neck, you knew there was nothing to write about?"
_Witness._ "I knew it was my duty to go and see the charity commissioner
and tell him about that."
_Counsel._ "But you were a newspaper reporter in the asylum, for the
purpose of writing up an article. Do you want to take back what you said
a moment ago--that you knew there was nothing to write about?"
_Witness._ "Certainly not. I did not know the man was dead."
_Counsel._ "Did you not testify that the morning after you had seen the
patient choked into unconsciousness, you heard the nurse call up the
morgue to inquire if the autopsy had been made?"
_Witness_ (sheepishly.) "Well, the story that I had the contract for
with the _Herald_ was cancelled."
_Counsel._ "Is it not a fact that within four hours of the time you were
finally discharged from the hospital on Saturday afternoon, you read the
newspaper account of the autopsy, and then immediately wrote your story
of having seen this patient strangled to death and offered it for sale
to the _New York World_?"
_Witness._ "That is right; yes, sir."
_Counsel._ "You say you knew it was your duty to go to the charity
commissioner and tell him what you had seen. Did you go to him?"
_Witness._ "No, not after I found out through reading the autopsy that
the man was killed."
_Counsel._ "Instead, you went to the _World_, and offered them the story
in which you describe the way Hilliard was killed?"
_Witness._ "Yes."
_Counsel._ "And you did this within three or four hours of the time you
read the newspaper account of the autopsy?"
_Witness._ "Yes."
_Counsel._ "The editors of the _World_ refused your story unless you
would put it in the form of an affidavit, did they not?"
_Witness._ "Yes."
_Counsel._ "Did you put it in the form of an affidavit?"
_Witness._ "Yes."
_Counsel._ "And that was the very night that you were discharged from
the hospital?"
_Witness._ "Yes."
_Counsel._ "Every occurrence was then fresh in your mind, was it not?"
_Witness_ (hesitating). "What?"
_Counsel._ "Were the occurrences of the hospital fresh in your mind at
the time?"
_Witness._ "Well, not any fresher then than they are now."
_Counsel._ "As fresh as now?"
_Witness._ "Yes, sir."
_Counsel_ (pausing, looking among his papers, selecting one and walking
up to the witness, handing it to him). "Take this affidavit, made that
Friday night, and sold to the _World_; show me where there is a word in
it about Davis having strangled the Frenchman with a sheet, the way you
have described it here to-day to this jury."
_Witness_ (refusing paper). "No, I don't think that it is there. It is
not necessary for me to look it over."
_Counsel_ (shouting). "Don't _think_! You know that it is not there, do
you not?"
_Witness_ (nervously). "Yes, sir; it is not there."
_Counsel._ "Had you forgotten it when you made that affidavit?"
_Witness._ "Yes, sir."
_Counsel_ (loudly). "You had forgotten it, although only three days
before you had seen a man strangled in your presence, with a sheet
twisted around his throat, and had seen him fall lifeless upon the
floor; you had forgotten it when you described the incident and made the
affidavit about it to the _World_?"
_Witness_ (hesitating). "I made two affidavits. I believe that is in the
second affidavit."
_Counsel._ "Answer my questions, Mr. Minnock. Is there any doubt that
you had forgotten it when you made the first affidavit to the _World_?"
_Witness._ "I had forgotten it."
_Counsel_ (abruptly). "When did you recollect?"
_Witness._ "I recollected it when I made the second affidavit before the
coroner."
_Counsel._ "And when did you make that?"
_Witness._ "It was a few days afterward, probably the next day or two."
_Counsel_ (looking among his papers, and again walking up to the
witness). "Please take the coroner's affidavit and point out to the jury
where there is a word about a sheet having been used to strangle this
man."
_Witness_ (refusing paper). "Well, it may not be there."
_Counsel._ "Is it there?"
_Witness_ (still refusing paper). "I don't know."
_Counsel._ "Read it, read it carefully."
_Witness_ (reading). "I don't see anything about it."
_Counsel._ "Had you forgotten it at that time as well?"
_Witness_ (in confusion). "I certainly must have."
_Counsel._ "Do you want this jury to believe that, having witnessed this
horrible scene which you have described, you immediately forgot it, and
on two different occasions when you were narrating under oath what took
place in that hospital, you forgot to mention it?"
_Witness._ "It escaped my memory."
_Counsel._ "You have testified as a witness before in this case, have
you not?"
_Witness._ "Yes, sir."
_Counsel._ "Before the coroner?"
_Witness._ "Yes, sir."
_Counsel._ "But this sheet incident escaped your memory then?"
_Witness._ "It did not."
_Counsel_ (taking in his hands the stenographer's minutes of the
coroner's inquest). "Do you not recollect that you testified for two
hours before the coroner without mentioning the sheet incident, and were
then excused and were absent from the court for several days before you
returned and gave the details of the sheet incident?"
_Witness._ "Yes, sir; that is correct."
_Counsel._ "Why did you not give an account of the sheet incident on the
first day of your testimony?"
_Witness._ "Well, it escaped my memory; I forgot it."
_Counsel._ "Do you recollect, before beginning your testimony before the
coroner, you asked to look at the affidavit that you had made for the
_World_?"
_Witness._ "Yes, I had been sick, and I wanted to refresh my memory."
_Counsel._ "Do you mean that this scene that you have described so
glibly to-day had faded out of your mind then, and you wanted your
affidavit to refresh your recollection?"
_Witness._ "No, it had not faded. I merely wanted to refresh my
recollection."
_Counsel._ "Was it not rather that you had made up the story in your
affidavit, and you wanted the affidavit to refresh your recollection as
to the story you had manufactured?"
_Witness._ "No, sir; that is not true."
The purpose of these questions, and the use made of the answers upon the
argument, is shown by the following extract from the summing up:--
"My point is this, gentlemen of the jury, and it is an unanswerable one
in my judgment, Mr. District Attorney: If Minnock, fresh from the
asylum, forgot this sheet incident when he went to sell his first
newspaper article to the _World_; if he also forgot it when he went to
the coroner two days afterward to make his second affidavit; if he still
forgot it two weeks later when, at the inquest, he testified for two
hours, without mentioning it, and only first recollected it when he was
recalled two days afterward, then there is but one inference to be
drawn, and that is, _that he never saw it, because he could not forget
it if he had ever seen it_! And the important feature is this: he was a
newspaper reporter; he was there, as the district attorney says, 'to
observe what was going on.' He says that he stood by in that part of the
room, pretending to take away the dishes in order to see what was going
on. He was sane, the only sane man there. Now if he did not see it, it
is because it did not take place, and if it did not take place, the
insane men called here as witnesses could not have seen it. Do you see
the point? Can you answer it? Let me put it again. It is not in mortal
mind to believe that this man could have seen such a transaction as he
describes and ever have forgotten it. Forget it when he writes his
article the night he leaves the asylum and sells it to the morning
_World_! Forget it two days afterward when he makes a second important
affidavit! He makes still another statement, and does not mention it,
and even testifies at the coroner's inquest two weeks later, and leaves
it out. Can the human mind draw any other inference from these facts
than that he never saw it--because he could not have forgotten it if he
had ever seen it? If _he_ never saw it, it did not take place. He was on
the spot, sane, and watching everything that went on, _for the very
purpose of reporting it_. Now if this sheet incident did not take place,
the insane men _could not_ have seen it. This disposes not only of
Minnock, but of all the testimony in the People's case. In order to say
by your verdict that that sheet incident took place, you have got to
find something that is contrary to all human experience; that is, that
this man, Minnock, having seen the horrible strangling with the sheet,
as he described, could _possibly_ have immediately forgotten it."
The contents of the two affidavits made to the _World_ and the coroner
were next taken up, and the witness was first asked what the occurrence
really was as he now remembered it. After his answers, his attention was
called to what he said in his affidavits, and upon the differences being
made apparent, he was asked whether what he then swore to, or what he
now swore to, was the actual fact; and if he was now testifying from
what he remembered to have seen, or if he was trying to remember the
facts as he made them up in the affidavit.
_Counsel._ "What was the condition of the Frenchman at supper time? Was
he as gay and chipper as when you said that he had warmed up after he
had been walking around awhile?"
_Witness._ "Yes, sir."
_Counsel._ "But in your affidavit you state that he seemed to be very
feeble at supper. Is that true?"
_Witness._ "Well, yes; he did seem to be feeble."
_Counsel._ "But you said a moment ago that he warmed up and was all
right at supper time."
_Witness._ "Oh, you just led me into that."
_Counsel._ "Well, I won't lead you into anything more. Tell us how he
walked to the table."
_Witness._ "Well, slowly."
_Counsel._ "Do you remember what you said in the affidavit?"
_Witness._ "I certainly do."
_Counsel._ "What did you say?"
_Witness._ "I said he walked in a feeble condition."
_Counsel._ "Are you sure that you said anything in the affidavit about
how he walked at all?"
_Witness._ "I am not sure."
_Counsel._ "The sheet incident, which you have described so graphically,
occurred at what hour on Wednesday afternoon?"
_Witness._ "About six o'clock."
_Counsel._ "Previous to that time, during the afternoon, had there been
any violence shown toward him?"
_Witness._ "Yes; he was shoved down several times by the nurses."
_Counsel._ "You mean they let him fall?"
_Witness._ "Yes, they thought it a very funny thing to let him totter
backward, and to fall down. They then picked him up. His knees seemed to
be kind of muscle-bound, and he tottered back and fell, and they
laughed. This was somewhere around three o'clock in the afternoon."
_Counsel._ "How many times, Mr. Minnock, would you swear that you saw
him fall over backward, and after being picked up by the nurse, let fall
again?"
_Witness._ "Four or five times during the afternoon."
_Counsel._ "And would he always fall backward?"
_Witness._ "Yes, sir; he repeated the operation of tottering backward.
He would totter about five feet, and would lose his balance and would
fall over backward."
The witness was led on to describe in detail this process of holding up
the patient, and allowing him to fall backward, and then picking him up
again, in order to make the contrast more apparent with what he had said
on previous occasions and had evidently forgotten.
_Counsel._ "I now read to you from the stenographer's minutes what you
said on this subject in your sworn testimony given at the coroner's
inquest. You were asked, 'Was there any violence inflicted on Wednesday
before dinner time?' And you answered, 'I didn't see any.' You were then
asked if, up to dinner time at six o'clock on Wednesday night, there had
been any violence; and you answered: 'No, sir; no violence since Tuesday
night. There was nothing happened until Wednesday at supper time,
somewhere about six o'clock.' Now what have you to say as to these
different statements, both given under oath, one given at the coroner's
inquest, and the other given here to-day?"
_Witness._ "Well, what I said about violence may have been omitted by
the coroner's stenographer."
_Counsel._ "But did you swear to the answers that I have just read to
you before the coroner?"
_Witness._ "I may have, and I may not have. I don't know."
_Counsel._ "If you swore before the coroner there was no violence, and
nothing happened until Wednesday after supper, did you mean to say it?"
_Witness._ "I don't remember."
_Counsel._ "After hearing read what you swore to at the coroner's
inquest, do you still maintain the truth of what you have sworn to at
this trial, as to seeing the nurse let the patient fall backward four or
five times, and pick him up and laugh at him?"
_Witness._ "I certainly do."
_Counsel._ "I again read you from the coroner's minutes a question asked
you by the coroner himself. Question by the coroner, 'Did you at any
time while in the office or the large room of the asylum see Hilliard
fall or stumble?' Answer, 'No, sir; I never did.' What have you to say
to that?"
_Witness._ "That is correct."
_Counsel._ "Then what becomes of your statement made to the jury but
fifteen minutes ago, that you saw him totter and fall backward several
times?"
_Witness._ "It was brought out later on before the coroner."
_Counsel._ "Brought out later on! Let me read to you the next question
put to you before the coroner. Question, 'Did you at _any time_ see him
try to walk or run away and fall?' Answer, 'No, I never saw him fall.'
What have you to say to that?"
_Witness._ "Well, I must have put in about the tottering in my
affidavit, and omitted it later before the coroner."
At the beginning of the cross-examination it had been necessary for the
counsel to fight with the Court over nearly every question asked; and
question after question was ruled out. As the examination proceeded,
however, the Court began to change its attitude entirely toward the
witness. The presiding judge constantly frowned on the witness, kept his
eyes riveted upon him, and finally broke out at this juncture: "Let me
caution you, Mr. Minnock, once for all, you are here to answer counsel's
questions. If you can't answer them, say so; and if you can answer them,
do so; and if you have no recollection, say so."
_Witness._ "Well, your Honor, Mr. ---- has been cross-examining me very
severely about my wife, which he has no right to do."
_Court._ "You have no right to bring that up. He has a perfect right to
cross-examine you."
_Witness_ (losing his temper completely). "That man wouldn't dare to ask
me those questions outside. He knows that he is under the protection of
the court, or I would break his neck."
_Court._ "You are making a poor exhibit of yourself. Answer the
questions, sir."
_Counsel._ "You don't seem to have any memory at all about this
transaction. Are you testifying from memory as to what you saw, or
making up as you go along?"
_Witness_ (no answer).
_Counsel._ "Which is it?"
_Witness_ (doggedly). "I am telling what I saw."
_Counsel._ "Well, listen to this then. You said in your affidavit: 'The
blood was all over the floor. It was covered with Hilliard's blood, and
the scrub woman came Tuesday and Wednesday morning, and washed the blood
away.' Is that right?"
_Witness._ "Yes, sir."
_Counsel._ "Why, I understood you to say that you didn't get up
Wednesday morning until noon. How could you see the scrub woman wash the
blood away?"
_Witness._ "They were at the farther end of the hall. They washed the
whole pavilion. I didn't see them Wednesday morning; it was Tuesday
morning I saw them scrubbing."
_Counsel._ "You seem to have forgotten that Hilliard, the deceased, did
not arrive at the pavilion until Tuesday afternoon at four o'clock. What
have you to say to that?"
_Witness._ "Well, there were other people who got beatings besides him."
_Counsel._ "Then that is what you meant to refer to in your affidavit,
when speaking of Hilliard's blood upon the floor. You meant beatings of
other people?"
_Witness._ "Yes sir--on Tuesday."
The witness was then forced to testify to minor details, which, within
the knowledge of the defence, could be contradicted by a dozen
disinterested witnesses. Such, for instance, as hearing the nurse Davis
call up the morgue, the morning after Hilliard was killed, at least a
dozen times on the telephone, and anxiously inquire what had been
disclosed by the autopsy; whereas, in fact, there was no direct
telephonic communication whatever between the morgue and the insane
pavilion; and the morgue attendants were prepared to swear that no one
had called them up concerning the Hilliard autopsy, and that there were
no inquiries from any source. The witness was next made to testify
affirmatively to minor facts that could be, and were afterward,
contradicted by Dr. Wildman, by Dr. Moore, by Dr. Fitch, by Justice
Hogman, by night nurses Clancy and Gordon, by Mr. Dwyer, Mr. Hayes, Mr.
Fayne, by Gleason the registrar, by Spencer the electrician, by Jackson
the janitor, and by several of the state's own witnesses who were to be
called later.
By this time the witness had begun to flounder helplessly. He
contradicted himself constantly, became red and pale by turns, hesitated
before each answer, at times corrected his answers, at others was silent
and made no answer at all. At the expiration of four hours he left the
witness-stand a thoroughly discredited, haggard, and wretched object.
The court ordered him to return the following day, but he never was seen
again at the trial.
A week later, his foster-mother, when called to the witness-chair by the
defence, handed to the judge a letter received that morning from her
son, who was in Philadelphia (which, however, was not allowed to be
shown to the jury) in which he wrote that he had shaken from his feet
the dust of New York forever, and would never return; that he felt he
had been ruined, and would be arrested for perjury if he came back, and
requested money that he might travel far into the West and commence life
anew. It was altogether the most tragic incident in the experience of
the writer.