The Trial of Lizzie Borden(63)
This was a serious setback for the defense. Joe Howard resorted to even more circumlocution than usual to explain the stakes: if “the prosecution is permitted to utilize the prussic acid incident as corroborative proof of premeditation, a new element will have been added which in all candor it must be conceded by the warmest friends of the prisoner tends somewhat to becloud the defense.” As Julian Ralph succinctly concluded: “Taken altogether, this was Lizzie Borden’s worst day.” The poison story also reverberated outside the courtroom. Ralph added: “These occurrences may not prove important in their effect on the jury, but they have had the result of changing many of Miss Borden’s friends from enthusiasm to thoughtfulness.” Unfortunately for the prosecution, it was time to adjourn.
THURSDAY, JUNE 15, 1893
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Because of the poison cliffhanger, Thursday promised thrills for the aspiring spectator. The New Bedford Evening Standard reported: “At no time since the trial opened has there been any such rush for seats as there was this morning. At the stockade the officers in charge found it almost impossible to restrain the surging crowd, and several women who had taken up their positions near the entrance . . . were crushed until they screamed with pain.” For those fortunate enough to gain admittance, the extreme heat added to the tension in the room. Joe Howard declared: “The atmosphere is supercharged with humidity, and there is not a comfortable individual in town.” The judges had decided to allow the prosecution to present the evidence, but they insisted on hearing testimony about the uses of prussic acid out of the hearing of the jury. The jurors—“each armed with a palm leaf fan, and as full of iced water as human corporosities can be”—waited in another room as the prosecution called its witnesses.
The first witness, Charles Lawton, in partnership with his brother, owned two of the largest drugstores in New Bedford, with the “heaviest retail business in the city.” He had over thirty years’ experience in the trade, so he seemed well placed to know whether prussic acid might be obtained over the counter. Lawton said he kept the drug in stock. But when Knowlton asked him if prussic acid was ever sold in other than a diluted solution, Robinson objected. Knowlton tried another tack, inquiring if Lawton had ever sold prussic acid “other than as a medicine.” Robinson objected. “In your experience as a druggist,” Knowlton tried again, “Is that drug an article of commerce for any purpose other than as a medicine . . . or upon a prescription of a physician?” Robinson again objected. Knowlton rephrased the question: “Is the drug called prussic acid sold commercially for any other purpose than upon a prescription of a physician?” Robinson rose again to object. Knowlton added, “For medicinal purposes . . . ?” Robinson: “The same objection.”
And so it went until Knowlton finally asked, “Do you know of any use to which prussic acid is put other than the purposes of a medicine?” Lawton replied, “Not that I know of.” This was a tepid conclusion after all Knowlton’s efforts.
Unable to show that druggists did not sell prussic acid except by doctor’s prescription, Knowlton called two witnesses with practical and scientific expertise. The first, Henry Tillson, a New Bedford furrier, was prepared to swear that prussic acid was not used to clean furs. When queried on that point by Chief Judge Mason, Knowlton admitted that Tillson was not a scientist but had long practical experience. Knowlton asked: Based on his own experience, did he have “any knowledge of the effects of prussic acid on furs?”
Tillson replied: “Not at all.”
Knowlton attempted to follow up and ask whether he had ever heard of anyone using prussic acid on furs. But Robinson quickly objected and Chief Justice Mason disallowed the query. Knowlton reluctantly surrendered and agreed to call his next witness, an analytical chemist named Nathaniel Hathaway.
Knowlton established Hathaway’s credentials as an expert and asked, “What will you say of the adaptability or suitability of the drug called prussic acid in connection with furs?” Robinson objected. Knowlton admitted the question was broad, explained his rationale, and then revised his question: “Has prussic acid any suitability or adaptability for use in connection with sealskin furs?” Hathaway answered, “It is unsuitable.” Because of its volatility, it could “cause nausea and headache” in evaporated form.
Robinson pursued this point, asking Hathaway whether other volatile gases were in common use, like ether, chloroform, and naphtha. Hathaway warily agreed. Robinson then asked him about a widely available cleaning product called benzene. Hathaway queried what he meant by benzene. Robinson lightened the mood, asking if he was a “family man . . . You don’t know anything about what we call benzene used for cleansing purposes?” Robinson continued in the same vein to make the point that volatile compounds—poisons even—are legitimately used every day in households for purposes ranging from de-greasing to illumination. And such poisons would work very well on vermin and insects, like moths in a sealskin cape. Hathaway thought such volatile poisons unsafe for the person using them and for any other people nearby. Robinson then brought up the many uses of another household poison, asking: “Arsenic is a poison, isn’t it? . . . Is it an ingredient of the common article known as ‘Rough on Rats’?” He continued: “Do you know anything about the use of arsenic to beautify the complexion? What do you kill cats with if you wanted to do it quietly?” he asked. Worn down by Robinson’s salvo, Hathaway agreed reluctantly—with a caveat about endangering humans in the vicinity—that prussic acid would kill the moths.