The leafy suburb of Burnside hardly conjures up images of bizarre killings – not today, at least. But nearly 131 years ago, it was the place of a vicious murder, from which questions of motive still remain unanswered.
Death awaited William Wyatt at the home of his part-time gardener on
a Saturday evening in 1872. He was said to have had several drinks
before he called on James Slape, at around 8pm on December 28.
Slape lived near Wyatt in Burnside, then a quiet foothills village
a few kilometres east of Adelaide. That setting scarcely befitted
the ghastly incident that would follow.
Wyatt, the 34-year-old son of South Australia’s Chief Inspector of
Schools, Dr Wyatt, had supposedly visited Slape to discuss work. Only
minutes after he arrived, 41-year-old Slape, himself worse for drink,
entered and ordered Wyatt out of his house.
Impassive, Wyatt ignored the order. Slape left the room, before
his 41-year-old wife, Catherine – in her final month of pregnancy
– entered from an adjoining room. There, she would later say, she
had been attending to her children. She would also say she asked Wyatt
to leave, as she knew that, under the influence of drink, her husband
was dangerous. Wyatt, however, refused to leave. He said he was not
frightened of Slape.
Moments later, Slape returned to the house carrying a mattock (a
type of pickaxe). He said nothing, but raised the deadly instrument
high above Wyatt’s head. Catherine, rather than see the instrument
descend, ran screaming to the house of the nearest neighbour.
But descend the mattock did, and when several neighbours entered
the house seconds later, they found Wyatt dead on the floor in a pool
of his own blood. The blow had left a gaping wound in his head. Standing
over his corpse was Slape, apparently sobered from the shock of his
fatal action. (Catherine’s later statements would describe him as
decidedly drunk before the murder.)
Dr Benson was quickly summoned to the scene, but his services were
of virtually no use. From the police barracks came Troopers Fisher
and Briggs, who initiated steps necessary to hold an enquiry.
At the subsequent inquest, Slape maintained a stolid demeanour. To
onlookers, he might have appeared stupidly indifferent to the entire
proceeding. He asked no questions and made no statement, except to
say he had no detailed knowledge of the killing, until he heard his
wife describe it to the police.
Slape, it emerged in testimony, was naturally simple, quiet, inoffensive
and respectful, except when he was intoxicated. Then, he could be
very dangerous.
He had married Catherine in 1858, several months after his first
wife, Nancy, had died of complications after the stillbirth of their
second child. The second marriage – from which came several children
– seemed to have been a relatively happy one.
Slape, it was said, had at one time been a habitual drunkard, but
had totally abstained for the previous 10 years. In the months preceding
the tragedy, however, something had caused him to return to his old
habits. And, drinking again, he had seemed, when under the influence,
even more excitable and aggressive than he had before.
Some of the first to arrive on the scene of the tragedy said that
Slape, who seemed calm yet bewildered and remorseful, made a variety
of brief statements. To some he said: “I did not mean to harm him,
but he is as bad as I am. He should not have lost his self-respect.”
Then, pointing to Wyatt’s lifeless body on the floor of his cottage,
Slape said to another witness: “I would not for the world that he
should be there. I did not think it would come to anything like this.”
After the Coroner, Dr
Charles Davies, heard all the witnesses’ statements, he addressed
the jury. He said he had no doubt the evidence would be as conclusive
to the jury as it was to him. He explained that no evidence had been
presented to provide a motive for the fatal attack, but added that
that was of no concern to the jury. He said that, while Wyatt’s killing
had not seemed premeditated, he did not think it possible for anyone
to show it to have been manslaughter. There could be no doubt, he
continued, as to who the victim was and, likewise, who had committed
the act.
After a 30-minute retirement, the jury presented the Coroner with
a written verdict, which read:
We find that the deceased, William Wyatt, Jnr, came to his death
by a blow inflicted by James Slape; but we desire to add that knowing
the kind disposition of the prisoner and the extreme influence exercised
upon him by drink, under which we have no doubt that he laboured at
the time, we believe that he was not in his right mind at the time
of the occurrence.
The Coroner rejected this verdict, as the jury had failed to nominate
an offence – murder or manslaughter – of which they considered the
prisoner guilty. The Coroner recommended that the jury reconsider
its verdict.
After a brief consultation, the jury returned a verdict of “unpremeditated
murder”.
Slape was committed to stand trial in the Supreme Court for murder,
taken into custody and transported to the Adelaide Gaol.
After he arrived at the prison – a few minutes before 8pm on a Sunday
evening – Slape was escorted to a cell in yard number four. There,
he was given bread, a pannikin of tea and some bedding, and locked
in for the night.
When the turnkey unlocked the cell at around 6am the next morning
– December 30, 1872 – Slape spoke to him in a quiet, rational manner,
saying: “It’s drink that’s brought me to this. I have never given
trouble to anyone before, and I have never been locked up ’til now.”
Then, of his victim, Slape said: “Poor young Bill. This should not
have happened for all the world if I could have helped it now.”
Other turnkeys, who visited Slape during the day, said he appeared
rational and remorseful. They heard him say he knew nothing of his
crime until he heard his wife speak of it to the police. He also said
he was sorry for the trouble he had caused, but knew he had offended
while he was drunk. He added that he wished Wyatt had killed him.
A midday meal was brought to his cell a few minutes before noon,
when Slape requested a Bible. A short time later, a Douay Bible was
delivered to him. He rejected it and asked for a New Testament instead.
Slape received a New Testament Bible in his cell at 3:30pm. He was
grateful and, after a few minutes’ conversation, was left alone to
read it.
About 30 minutes later, another visit was paid to Slape’s cell. This
time he was found dead. One end of a piece of rope had been taken
from the hammock in his cell and attached to a window bar above the
door. It seemed Slape had then tied the other end around his neck
as he stood on an upturned chamber pot. He then apparently kicked
the pot out from under his feet and slowly strangled to death.
The New Testament was lying open on the hammock where Slape had likely
read it. It was open at St Luke, chapter 22, verses 12 to 61.
A Coroner’s inquest followed Slape’s death. After the jury heard
the pertinent evidence, it returned a verdict of fel de se (suicide).
To summarize the murder and subsequent suicide, a newspaper journalist
wrote:
So far as the facts have as yet been disclosed, there is a singular
lack of motive for what has taken place.
The son of an old and highly respected colonist had been set upon
and killed like a dog upon what seems to be the very slightest of
provocation; his murderer lying in his cell awaiting trial upon the
finding of a Coroner’s Jury, which refused to look upon his offence
as one of extreme heinousness, has taken his own life; and the public
are left pretty much in the dark as to what has caused matters to
take such a serious turn.
Assuming that the madness produced by drink induced Slape, who
is spoken of as being for the most part a quiet inoffensive man, to
brain his Saturday night visitor, why should he in his sober moments
have deliberately set to work to kill himself?
Probably the real ground of grudge against Mr. Wyatt will never
be known, and that is now of no great consequence that it should be.
Had Slape lived to stand his trial it would have been necessary that
all extenuating circumstances should have been brought to light, but
as he has seen fit to execute sentence upon himself, the only grounds
for strict enquiry are consideration for his memory and for those
whom he has left behind.
Slape’s body was later interred in the West Terrace Cemetery.
Ten days after his suicide, his wife gave birth to a baby girl. And,
exactly one year to the day after Slape hanged himself, his sister-in-law’s
stepsister, Elizabeth Woolcock, was hanged in the same prison for
poisoning her husband.
