me that there never was a case in which the adage was so applicable as
it is in this. Of all the works of God, the one best calculated to fill
us with wonder and admiration, and convince us of our dependence on our
Maker, and the utter nothingness of ourselves, is the mortal coil in
which we live, and breathe, and think, and have our being. Every minute
of our lives functions are performed at our will, the unerring accuracy
of which nothing but Omniscience and Omnipotence could have secured. We
feel and see exactly what takes place, and yet the moment we attempt to
explain what takes place, the instant we endeavour to give a reason for
what we know, and see, and do, the mystery of creation--“God created man
to His own image; to the image of God created He him”--arrests our
course, and we are flung back upon conjecture and doubt. We know in a
sense--we suppose--that the soft medullary substance which is within the
cavity of the head is the seat of thought, of sensation, and of will. We
know that that soft medullary substance is continued down the middle of
the back, protected by a bony duct or canal, within which bony duct or
canal it lies embedded; and we know that from the sides of this bony
duct and from this medullary substance proceed an infinite variety of
nerves, the conduits of sensation from all parts of the body to the
soul, and of muscles connected and dependent on them, the instruments of
voluntary motion. This we know, and we know that by that process all the
ordinary actions of our lives, at our own will, are effected with the
most wonderful precision. Sometimes, however, these nerves and muscles
depart from their normal character, and, instead of being the mere
instruments of the will of the soul, become irregular, convulsive,
tumultuary, vindicating to themselves a sort of independent vitality,
totally regardless of the authority to which they are ordinarily
subject. When thrown into this state of irritation and excitement their
effects are known by the general name of convulsions. It is remarkable,
unlike most other fine names, they are not a modern adaptation. The
ancients had them to express the very same thing; the spasmodic and
tetanic affections were known then, and as much about them hundreds and
thousands of years ago as is known now. Tetanic convulsions have
in later times been divided into two specific branches of
tetanus--idiopathic and traumatic. We have heard a great deal of these
two descriptions of tetanus. One question my lord asked, which was
answered by Dr. Todd--it would have been more satisfactory if my lord
had asked what the meaning of the English of “idiopathic,” viz.,
self-generating, was; the answer given to the question, What does
idiopathic mean? was “constitutional.” True, but that means nothing, or,
if anything, it means “unaccountable.”
LORD CAMPBELL--Without external injury.
Mr. SERJEANT SHEE--Just so, my lord; without external injury, but
attributable to no known cause, unless in some few instances, perhaps,
where there is some injury in the interior of the body; but the meaning
of the word “idiopathic” is unquestionably what I have stated; not that
it follows they never can be traced to a cause, but that they constantly
occur in which the cause may be attributed to one thing or to another,
and in that case we say that it is idiopathic tetanus, because we cannot
with certainty say it is traumatic, that is, arising from any external
injury.
[Sidenote: Serjeant Shee]
Now, gentlemen, we have had a great deal of evidence produced by my
friends directed to show--assuming that the disease of which Mr. Cook
died was tetanus--that it must have been strychnia tetanus. It is a mere
assumption they begin with--the merest assumption in the world. I will
give you my reasons for saying so, and I think I am justified in so
saying. That the deceased died in convulsions is beyond all question, or
immediately after convulsions; that they were convulsions that had
occurred exactly or about the same hours on the previous night, and
something like those which had occurred on the night preceding,
something which he described as madness for two minutes, is beyond all
doubt. What pretence is there for saying they were tetanus at all? Mr.
Jones was examined, and I will read to you presently what the evidence
he gave was. Mr. Jones, in the copy of the depositions delivered to me,
stated that Mr. Cook died of convulsions, and in the copy of the
depositions, which he signed and read over and corrected, there was not
a word of tetanus. My learned friend interposed, and said, on looking
to the original depositions, it did appear that he had mentioned it, and
he said so because in the course of his examination he found a
half-written word, “tetinus”--he availed himself of it, not unfairly, to
suggest, that though he did not positively say it was tetanus, yet that
what he observed was something which put him in mind of tetanus. It bore
some of the characteristics of a tetanic convulsion; but, gentlemen, it
may do so, and yet not be tetanus; and I submit to you that it is bad
reasoning, and I will prove it presently. I put a question to the
witness on the subject. It is bad reasoning to say without positive
proof of the fact that it was tetanus, and it cannot be traumatic
tetanus, because it did not appear it had presented the distinct
features of traumatic tetanus, and therefore it must be tetanus by
strychnia. That is the argument. They assume it cannot be traumatic
tetanus, they have not discovered the poison, but still they say it must
be tetanus by poison!
[Sidenote: Serjeant Shee]
Let us see whether there is any pretence for saying anything of the
kind. My learned friends may tell me, if you venture to impeach the
authority of a man like Dr. Taylor, who, though he had no knowledge on
the subject, undoubtedly is a gentleman of great leading in his
profession, and a gentleman who has written a book, which I will not
treat as a book not worthy of being attended to because I think it right
on this evidence to attack a particular part of it--if you choose to say
his opinion is not to be depended upon, it is incumbent on you to
suggest some other theory of the cause of Cook’s death which will
explain the evidence given, and prove not merely negatively it is not
what we say it was, but prove affirmatively it is something else. I say
I am not called on to do any such thing. The Crown is the party, or
rather those out of whose hands this case has been taken by the Crown,
who have thought proper to impute the death of this gentleman to the
poison of strychnia; they have followed the trail which has been dragged
before them by these toxicologists; and, relying on their judgment and
discretion, they have made quite sure they will be enabled to establish
the fact that it was not either by traumatic or idiopathic tetanus, but
by tetanus of strychnia, that he had died. I say I am not bound to
suggest any theory upon the subject. It cannot be expected that in the
defence I should do so; and, in point of logic, it is not reasonable,
when we contradict the fact which it is for them to prove, that our
denial of that fact and our reasons should be weakened because we cannot
conclusively fix the cause of death, or explain the cause of death in
any other way. If we can satisfy you that into any one of the numerous
varieties of convulsions this gentleman might have fallen, and might
have been either asphyxiated, or by some sudden spasm deprived of life
in a way different from asphyxia--it is quite enough for us to prove
the probability of that, unless they show conclusively that the
circumstances and symptoms which attended his death are irreconcilable
with any other theory than that of strychnia poison. Let us see what the
symptoms were. I will take the liberty of reading them in the first
instance from the depositions, because it is only fair to a person whose
judgment I dispute that you should have placed clearly before you the
evidence on which they rely.
The Court here adjourned for a short time.
Gentlemen, I have observed in the course of this inquiry, whenever there
has been a question of what a witness has said on a previous occasion
before a coroner, my lord has thought it right to have the whole of the
document read. Now, I propose to read--unless I am corrected by my lord,
when, of course, I shall immediately submit--I propose to read, for the
purpose of my present inquiry, only that part of the deposition which
describes the symptoms.
LORD CAMPBELL--You may read any part of them, completing the sense of
the part which you read.
Mr. SERJEANT SHEE--I am much obliged to your lordship; and my object in
so doing is this, I will read all the deposition of Mr. Jones, though in
truth, in my view of the case, the deposition of Mr. Jones is not so
favourable to my case as his evidence in open Court. If there be a
difference, the evidence in open Court is more favourable than the
deposition; but substantially they are the same. What I propose to do
now is to call your attention to the statements of Elizabeth Mills and
Mr. Jones before the coroner of the symptoms they observed in Cook on
the Monday and Tuesday nights; and having done so, without accepting any
challenge which may be made by my friend to account for the symptoms, I
will submit to your judgment, on authority which cannot deceive you,
whether those symptoms are not more probably accounted for by the
convulsions which are not tetanic at all, and certainly not tetanic in
its distinct character of strychnia tetanus, but to be classed under
those general convulsions by which it constantly pleases Providence to
strike man down without leaving a trace of their course in his system.
[Sidenote: Serjeant Shee]
Gentlemen, what I have to submit to you is this, that the symptoms
described in the depositions of Elizabeth Mills and Mr. Jones were such
as to make it quite unjustifiable to resort to the hypothesis of tetanus
of any kind, much less of strychnia tetanus. You will recollect--I will
not repeat it--the peculiarity of the constitution of this young man,
and the evidence of occasional functional derangement, not particularly
at that time, which involve grave consequences, to which I have already
called your attention. I submit to you, on the authorities on matters of
this kind, it is much more probable that Cook died in general
convulsions, not tetanic at all, than that he died from idiopathic,
traumatic, or strychnia tetanus.
[Sidenote: Serjeant Shee]
I have mentioned all that I intend to say about his bodily
infirmities--let us now see what has been the state of his mind. He went
to the Shrewsbury races in imminent peril of leaving them a ruined man.
Mr. Stevens told Palmer, and we have heard nothing to the contrary, that
if anybody had claims upon him, there would not be four thousand
shillings to meet them. We know, from the necessity under which he was
to raise sums of money at exorbitant interest, that he must have been in
circumstances of the utmost embarrassment--that it was impossible,
morally speaking, unless some wonderful success on the turf restored his
fortunes, that he could stand his ground at all; and it is in this state
of mind, and with health, at all events, not strong, and a constitution
exceedingly delicate, that he had been for a length of time cherishing
the hope that “Polestar,” which was hardly his, for it was mortgaged,
and which must become another person’s if it did not win at
Shrewsbury--in all reasonable probability he had been cherishing the
hope that “Polestar” would win, and that he by that winning would
possess himself at once of the stakes, which my learned friend stated,
and I think it was proved, amounted to nearly £400, besides some
considerable winnings to the amount of £600 or £700 by bets on the
mare--upwards of £1000 altogether. That has been mentioned several
times. Fancy the condition in which that young man rose from his bed on
the Tuesday morning. He must have known and felt when he went down to
breakfast, “This night I am either a beggar, or a man with hopes of
recovering myself, and with the means, at least for the time, of keeping
up my appearance of respectability.” He goes to the races--another race
takes place before his mare, “Polestar,” is brought to the goal. He
waits for it in a state of feverish anxiety and expectation--the hour
that intervenes appears to him everlasting. At last the horses start,
and his mare wins easily--he is the winner of £1000. We may suppose that
to be the sum. What effect has it upon him? Mr. Jones tells us the
effect. He is unable to speak for three minutes. He is saved, not merely
in purse but in honour and character--saved before his relatives and
friends. He will not be a disgrace to them yet, at all events; he may
retrieve his fortunes, and become an honourable and respectable man.
Conceive him to be a man with right feelings--and it is not because a
man falls into the ways of promiscuous licentiousness that he is devoid
of all honourable feeling--conceive him to be an honourable man, a man
who loved the memory of his father and his mother, who valued the
respectability of his family, and who had a desire to appear before his
sister, Mrs. Bradford, as an honourable man, instead of being known to
her as a levanter and a blackleg, driven from all honourable society.
The effect of his success is that for three minutes he cannot speak,
though he is with his intimate friend Mr. Jones. He goes back to the
inn, though he has to some extent recovered himself, in a state of
elation, of which it is my duty to say that one man said he was not more
elated than other people when they have won, but still, depend upon it,
overjoyed, and with a revulsion from the despair in which he was, which
must have convulsed, though not in a sense of immediate illness, every
fibre of his frame. His first and his natural inclination was to
entertain his friends, and he gives a champagne dinner. The evidence is
that he did not drink to excess; that is the evidence--but he had
champagne, and we all of us know that when there is champagne there are
other things besides, and it very often happens it is not because
champagne is drunk the company do not drink as much of other wines. What
in ordinary parlance is called a champagne dinner is a good, luxurious
entertainment, in which there is no stint and not much self-restraint. I
do not mean to say he was drunk. The evidence is he rose from table not
drunk, and therefore it is not for me to say, and the evidence will not
justify me in saying, he was. That evening he did not spend in the
company of Jones. I do not think it is very clear in whose company he
spent it after the dinner was over; but we find him the next night,
Wednesday, at the Unicorn, with Saunders, the trainer, Mr. Palmer, and a
lady. The next morning is cold and wet. He went on the ground, and was
observed by Herring standing in the wet, who remonstrated with him for
so doing. He was taken ill that night, and you will hear what his
symptoms were. I shall call your attention to those under the third head
of what I have to address to you. He sent for a doctor, who recommended
an emetic. The poor man seemed to know more about it than the doctor. He
said he could do it with hot water and a toothbrush. Perhaps he had
often relieved his stomach in that way. He was unwell that day, and was
ailing till his death at Rugeley. That is the general history, as far as
the mental excitement can be referred to--great reason to apprehend ruin
when he went to Shrewsbury; immediate, sudden, yet only partial recovery
from his embarrassments at Shrewsbury; and home to Rugeley to meet them
again in their full intensity, all the winnings and twice the sum,
unable to save him from the ruin he had brought on himself. All the
property he appears to have had at the time was “Polestar” and “Syrius,”
and they were mortgaged for debts due to Pratt. He may have had some few
hundreds in money. It is with a weakened body and an irritated and
excited mind that he is affected with a sickness at Shrewsbury, which
clings to a system incapable of being recruited by the ordinary
necessary food, without which the strongest man gives way, excites his
nerves, and makes him in imminent danger of falling a victim to any
convulsive attacks to which his constitution would be likely to be
disposed. Depend upon it, the thoughts of that young man, when he
retired to bed, were not the thoughts with which you lay your heads upon
the pillow. He had much to think of which he regretted, much to
deliberate upon which was of a nature to excite in his mind the most
serious apprehensions. There was neither credit, nor honour, nor
anything in his career which would make him respect himself, or
respectable in the eyes of others. His rest was only imperfect at the
best, and after the gratifications of the animal appetite to which
people in some instances resort to alleviate the unhappy recollections
of the moment, he had no resource. He desired no society so much as the
society of Palmer. His residence was at the Talbot Arms, which was, in
fact, a residence with Palmer. He does not appear to have had a
sitting-room to himself; he does not appear to have frequented the
coffee-room. He had a bedroom at the Talbot Arms, and his real home,
where he often was, and would have been nearly altogether but for his
illness, was Palmer’s house over the way. That was his condition at
Rugeley. He is taken violently ill on Sunday night. We had nothing but
his own description of it; but what is that description? He had been
poorly for some time. For two nights he had been taking opium pills
prescribed by Mr. Bamford. Mr. Bamford is an aged man, but there is no
doubt a respectable man, and a man who would be likely, I think we might
fairly infer, to consider what the complaint was and prescribe
accordingly. In the middle of the night, at twelve o’clock, he was
awakened from a dream in a state of affright. He says he was nearly mad;
he rang the bell, but nobody would come.
LORD CAMPBELL--He thought they would not hear him; he thought they had
gone to bed.
[Sidenote: Serjeant Shee]
Mr. SERJEANT SHEE--Yes; that is so; I am much obliged to your lordship.
He states he was mad for two minutes, and what did he ascribe it to?
Nothing but sudden alarm at the noise of a quarrel in the street. Does
that happen to us, gentlemen? Does it happen to those of us who live
regular lives, and who are of good average constitution? Do we awaken in
a state that we can describe as madness, and without any mode of
accounting for the paroxysm but a quarrel in the street? It must have
been a very high state of nervous excitement. It must have been
something violent while it lasted--transient in its character--but
something that arose from a disordered state of the stomach and an
agitated and anxious mind, probably in some degree weakened by the
medicine he was taking, the calomel and the morphia.
The next day, the Monday, he was well the whole day; not well in the
sense of being strong and able to take a walk in the fields, or mount
his horse and gallop about the country, but well in the sense of being
able to get up, after trying to breakfast in bed, to talk of sending for
the barber, and, I believe, actually sending for him; of seeing his
trainer and his jockeys, and discussing his plans for his next
campaign--well to that extent, but not out of his bedroom, taking no
substantial food, not vomiting much that day, though a little I think in
the morning, which is ascribed by the theory of the Crown, or by those
whose case the Crown has been forced by public opinion or by public
excitement to take up, to Palmer’s absence all that day. We do not hear
that Cook took anything solid. We do not hear that he lunched at one
o’clock, and then, as most probably he was in the habit of doing, took
his beefsteak and his leg of mutton, or his chicken, at five or six
o’clock. He had no insuperable dislike to brandy and water; he could, on
occasion, take his glass or two, though Palmer was not there; but he
does not appear to have been in the condition, ill as he was, to have
any gratification in food or drink of any kind; and Palmer was in London
all the time. Then, in the middle of the night, at twelve o’clock, he
was seized with a paroxysm, which Elizabeth Mills describes. We will
take her description. That is the account of Cook’s illness on Monday
night. It might have been a much less serious fit than the one on the
Sunday night. Nothing took place which could justify any man in saying
that he was mad for a minute--nothing of the kind. But let us be fair.
Afterwards, in talking of it, he says, speaking to Elizabeth Mills, “Did
you ever see anybody in such agony as I was last night?” We have the
description of Elizabeth Mills, and his own statement afterwards; “I saw
him again about seven o’clock, and he asked me whether I ever saw
anybody in such agony as he was the previous night.” Not to tie the
young woman down to a word, the fair inference of the whole of that
statement is that for some time during the whole of that paroxysm he was
in pain, and in great pain, but that he never lost his senses. He could
not very well be in such a state as that which he described on the
Sunday night. Now, let us have the statement of Mr. Jones, who is, we
must take it, a perfectly competent man, and whose evidence must be
attended to. Mr. Jones was requested to go there by Palmer, Palmer
having written to him on the Sunday. He was not able to go then, being
himself indisposed, and he could not get there till Tuesday. He went
there on the Tuesday, and got there by three o’clock, and he was for
some time with Cook alone.
[Sidenote: Serjeant Shee]
Now, just observe the consequence of that, looking at the circumstances
of this case. Mr. Jones was the most intimate friend, as far as we can
judge, that Cook had. Probably he was. He had a great regard for Mr.
Stevens, who had been the husband of Cook’s mother, but he was not so
intimate with Mr. Stevens. Mr. Stevens was probably a gentleman who did
not approve--in fact, he frankly told us he disapproved--of the course
Cook was pursuing. Probably he was more austere to him during life than
we should imagine from the way he speaks of him after death. His best
friend seems to have been Mr. Jones. No doubt Mr. Jones, though he was a
respectable man, did not take on himself to rebuke or reprove Cook for
what he might think it not correct to do. He lived in his house at
Lutterworth, and appears to have been on such good terms with Cook that
Palmer knew it would not be disagreeable to Cook if Mr. Jones would come
and stay and sleep in the same bedroom, and so long as he required the
attendance of a friend; and, as far as we can understand, Mr. Jones has
Cook to himself from three to seven o’clock. He has him to himself for
some considerable time. You know part of the suggestion in this case for
the Crown is that Cook thought that Palmer had played false with him at
Shrewsbury; part of the suggestion in this case is that Cook thought at
Shrewsbury Palmer laid a plan for circumventing him, and of getting his
money. Mr. Jones had the opportunity, during the afternoon, if Cook had
wished it, of being the recipient of the whole confidence of Cook; Cook
might have said to Mr. Jones, “I am glad you have come; I have been
acting the fool with Palmer; I suspect him; I think he means to get my
money.”
The ATTORNEY-GENERAL--You must not say that. You would not let me ask
him any questions about it.
Mr. SERJEANT SHEE--I do not say that it did pass. I use it in this way,
it might have passed, and that it did not is clear, because Mr. Jones
entertained no suspicion of the kind; he having been with Cook during
the whole of the evening shows that it did not pass, and that nothing
occurred in the entire and unbounded confidence which may be supposed to
have existed between Cook and Mr. Jones to raise a suspicion in the mind
of Mr. Jones; and so much was that the case that, at the consultation
which took place between seven and eight o’clock on Tuesday evening,
between Mr. Jones and Palmer and Mr. Bamford, as to what the medicine
ought to be, the fit of the Monday night was never mentioned; it was not
alluded to at all.
[Sidenote: Serjeant Shee]