A compelling examination of how jury nullification allows raw human emotion to override the cold mechanics of the law. It highlights the uncomfortable truth that legal outcomes are often dictated by social sentiment rather than written statutes.
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Justifiable Homicide: The Murder of Major Harry Larkyns, 1874Added:
The well-known photograph grapher Edward Mobridge was in a terrible mood. The owner of the gallery where he worked, Mr. Ruliffson, begged him to calm himself, but it was in vain. He had vengeance on his mind. He had learned the previous day that his wife was having an affair with a man whom he had previously threatened. So later that day, which was the 17th of October 1874, he took a loaded Smith and Wesson revolver and set out from San Francisco, traveling by the Valio steamer to Kalistoga in California.
From there he took a buggy and horses to the Yellow Jacket mine and arrived at the ranch house there at about 11 p.m.
and knocked on the back door. He asked to see Major Harry Lkins and was invited in. He declined, saying, "No, I will detain him but a moment."
Major Harry Lens, who was playing cribage at a table in the lounge with several people, appeared at the back door. It was pitch black outside. He could see nothing and said, "It's dark. I can't see you. Who is it?"
Edward Mobridge then stepped forward producing his revolver and pointed it directly at Lkins.
My name is Mobridge, he said. I have a message from my wife.
Lkins took one step down from the rear door and there was a loud explosion as Mobridge fired the revolver.
Although it was fired virtually at point blank range, and Larkens was hit in the chest, he managed to run back into the house, pursued by Mobridge. He got as far as the front door, where he fell to the floor dead.
A man called James MacArthur, who was present at the cribage party, drew his own pistol and leveled it at Mobridge, who then dropped his gun to the floor.
Mobridge apologized to the ladies present for the excitement and upset he had caused. The men tied his hands and he was taken to Kalistoga where he was formally arrested. From here he was escorted to Napa jail and held to await his trial for murder.
Edward Mobridge was born Edward James Mugaridge in Kingston upon Tempames in Surrey, England on the 9th of April 1830 to John and Susanna Mugaridge. His father was a grain merchant at 30 High Street and the family occupied the rooms above the premises. At the age of 22, Mugaridge, as he was then called, traveled to America, spending time in New York selling books. At this stage he altered his name from Edward Mugridge to Edward Mobridge, presumably seeking a more distinguished sounding name. It was also during this period he became interested in the burgeoning art of photography, then still in its infancy.
He moved to New Orleans and by 1855 he was in California settling at 113 Montgomery Street in San Francisco. His principal business was selling books and prints. But his interest in photography was rapidly becoming an overwhelming passion and he began selling landscape photographs.
In July 1860, he sold his book selling business to his brother Thomas and departed across country by stage with the intention of touring Europe. He didn't get very far. In July, he was thrown from a stage coach when its horses bolted and he was seriously injured. According to accounts given, he was unconscious, lost his sense of taste and smell, was rendered deaf, and suffered marked behavioral difficulties afterwards.
He was treated for several weeks, first at Fort Smith, Texas, then in New York.
Two others on the stage coach were killed and the rest of the passengers were injured. He received $2,500 in compensation for his injuries from the Stage Coach Company. That's about $100,000 in 2026 terms and then shipped for England in September 1860, where he received further treatment from Sir William Gull, who would later become a physician to Queen Victoria.
Despite his injuries, his energy and ambitions were very much intact.
While in England, he began working in earnest at his interest in photography.
He was also intent on securing patents on various inventions of his. Throughout the 1860s, Mobridge was engaged in a number of entrepreneurial activities in parallel with his burgeoning photographic work. In early 1867, he returned to San Francisco. Those who had known him prior to his return to Europe noticed he was a changed man, more eccentric, very focused on photography, somewhat forgetful and unpredictable.
It seems to be a matter of agreement that Mobridge had been affected by his 1860 accident which had caused a severe injury to his head, but the extent of this it is now impossible to gauge. He was still a man of consuming energy though and he offered his services as a land surveyor, photographer and in other areas in which he had acquired skills.
He sold his prints of photographic plates at Bradley and Rulesson Gallery in San Francisco too was successful and made a good living at this. In 1870, Mobridge became involved with his 20-year-old assistant, Mrs. Flora Shalcross Stone Nay Downs. She worked for him touching up Prince and she divorced her husband and married Mobridge on the 20th of May 1871.
He was now 41 and she though on her second husband was just 21. The difference in their ages and temperaments mattered. She liked the theater and going out. Mobridge did not.
He disappeared for days, weeks, and occasionally longer on his photography expeditions, photographing the unfurling wonders of America.
She quickly became bored, but not for long. Another Englishman called Harry Lens arrived in San Francisco around 1872.
He seems to have had pretensions, too.
He called himself Major Harry Lens, spelling his surname with a Y rather than its original I, and professed to come from a highborn British family. He claimed to have been born in Invenesshire, Scotland, had served in the British Army in India, fought with Gibbaldi in Italy with distinction, and in the recent FrancoRussian War as a major, where he was awarded the Leon Donaire.
how much truth there was in all of this.
It's difficult to ascertain, but much of it appears to be fanciful. For one thing, he was actually born in India, not Scotland, his father being a major in the army there, and both mother and father, as well as four of his siblings, were killed in the massacres of the Indian Rebellion in 1857.
He was 14 at this time and in England at school and so escaped the same fate as his family. The family was of modest means and Major Larkens's exploits with Gabaldi and in the FrancoRussian War are open to doubt or at least there is nothing to corroborate them.
Whatever the truth of such things, Lkins was frequently featured in the San Francisco papers. A companion whom he had defrauded of a large sum of money on the basis of his supposed family expectations caused him to spend a brief period in jail. It was said in the newspapers at the time that his grandmother had paid off his debts to the tune of $4,000.
That's $108,000 in 2026.
As both his grandmothers were at this time dead, this is quite impossible. But such was his story. He wrote a play and claimed he had invested in the theater.
He also styled himself as a critic and reporter and began seeking commissions for articles on theater productions.
He was certainly an industrious man and was soon offering his services as a mind surveyor.
In a very short space of time in San Francisco, Harry Lens had attracted a lot of attention and earned a reputation for being a flighty young man. He was still just 30 years old. It was during this time that he met Flora Mobridge. We do not know how, but at some point he entered the Rule of Sun and Bradley Gallery and she introduced him to her husband.
Lkins invited husband and wife to the theater and reluctantly on Mobridge's part they went. Then he appeared at their home. He was apparently given no encouragement by Mobridge who had little time for people who did not share his interests or he theirs. But Flora felt differently. She liked the major.
Mobridge was often away from home, and on one occasion he returned home late at night to find his wife absent. When she came in, he inquired where she had been, and she told him she had been out with Mr. Lens.
He was indignant. He told her he didn't wish for her to be out at night with any man without his knowledge and consent.
She agreed not to do this again. Next day, Mobridge tracked down Lkins at his Montgomery Street rooms and threatened him that if he, Lins, escorted his wife out again, the consequences of his doing so would be dire.
His meaning was clear, and Lkins apparently agreed he would not see Flora again, but the two continued to see each other.
A passionate affair soon developed between them and on the 13th of July 1873, as it was later learned, this became sexual in nature.
How much Mobridge knew or suspected of the affair is unclear. He claimed he knew nothing until October 1874, but it was claimed by some associates that he had occasion to warn Lens on more than one occasion. In any case, on the 14th of April 1874, Flora gave birth to a son whom the Mobrides named Flloro Helas Mobridge.
Edward Moubridge decided that summer upon a fivemon photography trip, he would be absent for almost half of the year. He didn't like the idea of leaving Flora at home alone with the baby, although he later said he had no thoughts in this, of anything other than her safety. And so he sent her and their young infant son off to stay with an uncle of hers in Oregon. It was on his return from this trip that he learned that his wife's nurse, during the period of her confinement, a woman called Susan C. Smith had obtained a judgment against him for the sum of $100.
That's approximately $3,000 in 2026.
He refused to pay this. He owed her nothing. He said all debts were paid to her in respect of her nursing duties.
But she begged to differ and threatened to release certain letters in her possession if he did not pay her what she believed she was owed. Somewhat puzzled by this, Moy visited Mrs. Smith to clarify the matter. As he entered the parlor, he saw a photo of his son, which he hadn't seen before, and asked where she had acquired it. She told him Mrs. Mobridge had sent it to her recently. He picked it up and received the shock of his life. On the reverse side, it read, "Little Harry."
He took this to mean that their son was not his at all, but Harry Larkens's son.
It was a terrific shock. "What does this mean?" he cried out. And in my wife's own handwriting, he was distraught and demanded to know from Mrs. Smith what she knew of Harry Lens and his wife. She obliged. She told him that Lkins had visited Flora throughout her confinement and often stayed the night three times a week at the house with her. On hearing this from Mrs. Smith, Mobridge had wailed, "This is more than I can bear."
Mrs. Smith further told Mobridge that Lkins was planning to take Flora to England with him as his wife.
She received three or four letters from him each day for Flora in which she acted as the goetween.
She also said that Flora had been terrified before the birth that the child would have sandy colored hair like Harry Lens, and it was the first question she had asked after the baby's birth. "It is light," replied Mrs. Smith to her query.
She said that when Lkins came to see the baby, Flora said to him coily, "Major, who is the baby like?" And Lkins grinned and said, "You're to know, Flo."
Later Lkins had spoken to Mrs. Smith, saying, "I want you to take care of that baby. I've got two babies now."
On another occasion, according to Mrs. Smith. Flora said to Lens, "Harry, we will remember the 13th of July. We have something to show for it." She was referring to the baby.
Mrs. Smith later said that as she told Mobridge all of this, he was in deep shock. At one point he fell to the floor trembling. She said he cried out, "How could she treat me so cruy?"
Mobridge was told a great deal more and shown letters exchanged between the couple by the helpful Mrs. Smith, much of which, we are told, was of a nature unfit for publication in newspapers.
But the upshot of all of this, and of several visits he made during the course of the next day, was that Mobridge had collected his Smith and Western revolver from his home in South Park, San Francisco, and from here had taken the steamer to Kalistoga, and then onwards to the Yellow Jacket Mine, where he had exacted his revenge upon Harry Lens.
The trial of Edward Mobridge began on the 3rd of February 1875 at Napa Courthouse before Judge FW Wallace, Thomas P. Stony and District Attorney Dennis Spencer prosecuted the case for the state of California and WW Pendergast along with Cameron H. King and ES Gotchalk acted for the defense.
Mobridge pleaded not guilty, admitting via his council to killing Lkins, but on two grounds, that of justifiable homicide, and that of insanity.
The prosecution case was that Mobridge had learned of his wife's affair and that his son was in fact Lens's son, and having attended to his affairs, he had taken a loaded revolver, and with a single purpose, traveled by steamer and buggy to the Yellow Jacket Mine, and there confronted Harry Lens, and shot him dead. He had then been disarmed and restrained by other men present at the mine house and escorted to the jail to be charged. It was, said the prosecution, a straightforward case of murder.
Witnesses were called to testify to the events leading up to and immediately following the killing. Susan C. Smith, the maternity nurse who had acted as a go-between and confidant to Mrs. Mobridge and her lover told of the affair and how she had informed Mr. Mobridge of this immediately prior to the murder. William Rufson told of Mobrid's visit to him concerning business matters after learning of his wife's infidelity and of his intention to go after Harry Lens and his belief that he would not return either because he would be killed or lynched.
An acquaintance who saw him described Mobyr as being distracted on the steamer trip to Kalistoga.
Another man called ah Connelly, proprietor of Conny's livery stable, Kalistoga, told the court he had tried to dissuade Mobridge from traveling by buggy that late hour of day. It was after 8 and the road was bad, but that Mobyr was determined to travel that evening. Connelly had also informed Mobridge that Harry Lens was not at Pine Flats, but at Yellow Jacket Mine, and had conferred with the mine superintendent, Stuart, who was present when Mobridge made his inquiries.
The mine superintendent had confirmed that Harold Lkins was staying at his house at Yellow Jacket Mine. And as the superintendent was traveling direct to the mine, Mobridge was anxious to get there ahead of him, but was informed that this was not possible.
This showed, said the prosecution, that Mobridge feared Lkins might be forewarned of his arrival. He did not wish to be thwarted in any way, which demonstrated premeditation on Mobridge's part.
Ah Connelly also said he had loaned Mobyr his overcoat as the night was cold. The buggy driver, George Wolf, gave evidence that Mobridge had offered him $5 if he could overtake the mine superintendent, but was told it couldn't be done. He also said that Mobridge had produced his revolver and asked if he might let off a shot to ensure it was working as they traveled to the mine. He had permitted this and Mobridge had been satisfied that his revolver was working properly.
He further attested that Mobridge had said on the journey that he was going to give Lens a surprise he didn't dream of.
Benjamin S. Pricket foreman at the Yellow Jacket ranch said he was present along with two other men when Mobyridge arrived in the buggy at the back door to the minehouse.
We stepped into the door and waited to see who it was. He said someone got out of the wagon and asked to see Lkins.
Pricket said he could see the outline of a man but couldn't see his face. He spoke of the darkness at the back door and of Moby Bridges asking to speak with Larry Lkins. He said, "We told Lkins and he came out." He said, "It's dark. I can't see you. Who is it?" He said, "My bridge had uttered the words, my name is Mobridge. I have a message from my wife."
Mobridge had then fired, and Lkins turned and ran and fell dead. When I went back, MacArthur disarmed the man, and he was sitting in the lounge.
Although a little unclear as to who was where at the time of the shooting, Prickett's account indicated how the shooting had occurred, and was not subject to challenge by the defense.
Those present at the house were called to give evidence in support of this, and spoke of Larkin playing cribage with Mr. and Mrs. MacArthur when he was called to the door to see a man. They had then heard the sound of the shot and discovered Mobridge standing over the major revolver in hand before surrendering this to them and apologizing to the ladies for the upset he had caused. Dr. SJ Reed of Kalis Stoogga said he had examined the body of Harold Lkins at the Yellow Jacket mine and determined that he had died from a single bullet wound to the chest which had penetrated the heart and passed through him. James MacArthur, who had drawn his weapon and disarmed Mobridge after the shooting and then escorted him to Kalistoga, said Mobyr had spoken to him calmly, explained rationally how he had planned the matter, justified his actions, saying he believed any family man would understand them, and expressed no regret or sorrow for what he had done.
The prosecution case was straightforward. The facts were established. It was abundantly clear in their view that Mobridge was guilty of willful premeditated murder with malice or forethought.
It was murder in the first degree. Only self-defense could offer a justification for Mobridge's actions, and this was obviously absent here. Thomas Stony for the state also said that the court had no interest in the quarrel between the men, nor which of them was right or wrong. only in whether there was sufficient cause for Mobridge to kill Lkins. It was obvious, he said, that there was not.
The defense had a difficult case. Its chief argument was that of insanity, that is, that the defendant did commit the murder, but that he was insane at the time he did so. It also sought to blacken the name and character of Lkins to win the jury's sympathy. There was a great deal of sympathy for Mobridge and even hostility towards Flora. Some newspapers going as far as to say she was culpable in the matter owing to her lentious behavior.
It was also made known that Mrs. Mobridge supported the prosecution of her husband for her lover's death. She had just a few weeks before the trial's commencement filed for divorce against her husband on the grounds of extreme cruelty. It had been refused.
CH King for the defense sought to represent Harry Lens as a rogue, a man who had sought intimacy with Mrs. Flora Mobridge on the understanding that he was a married man, which he was not. He had persuaded Mrs. Mobridge to accompany him to his rooms in Montgomery Street and was known to have boasted of this to his friends. Mobridge had, he said, first learned of the matter of their relationship when he had visited Mrs. Smith, where he had discovered a photo of his son with the name on it of the man whom he had forbidden his wife to associate with.
Mrs. Smith had then told him all and he had gone to seek out and kill the man whom he said had debortched his home.
We claim a verdict both on the grounds of justifiable homicide and insanity. He said the witnesses included Mrs. Susan Smith, the nurse, who gave an account of the affair. She said she had also told Mobyrid that Lens's shirts went to the laundry along with his own.
Mrs. Mobridge serving both men, it seems, in this, as in other respects.
She said Mobridge had been distraught when he discovered from her the extent of his wife's deceit with Lens. Much of her testimony was not reported in the newspapers, because its nature was considered too shocking for publication, chiefly those parts relating to what Mrs. Smith had witnessed in the bedroom.
Lkins and Mrs. Mobridge had told Mrs. Smith not to inform the husband of their going to a restaurant 2 weeks after the baby's birth, which seems to have been something of a celebratory dinner for the illicit couple.
Letters were produced in court between the couple, and one in which Mrs. Mobridge had written to Mrs. Smith.
I am not ashamed to say I love him, Harry Lens, better than anyone else upon this earth, and no one can change my mind.
Mr. Rufson was called and described Mobridge as eccentric. He said he often took an unwarranted dislike to people, changed his mind on a matter suddenly following an agreement, and that on the 17th of October he had been beside himself and spoke of vindicating his honor. Several other people testified to Mobrid's odd behavior.
On the 5th of February, Mobridge took the stand. He spoke of his accident some years before in July 1860 in which two passengers on the stage he had been traveling on had died and which had left him with permanent injuries. He had been unconscious for 9 days, he said, and received treatment for a year. This formed a major part of the defense's argument to establish insanity by claiming that the injuries he had suffered some years before had resulted in this moment of madness in which he had killed Harry Lens.
But Dr. Shirtler, a leading specialist in mental cases who ran an insane asylum, said he believed that from all he had seen and heard of Mobridge that the killing was premeditated, and I see no indication of insanity.
The prosecution addressed to the jury was pitched for all or nothing. It was murder or it was not. They said Mobridge was sane and there was no justification for his actions. If the jury determined, as they must, that there was no justification for Mobridg's killing Harry Lens, then they must find him guilty of murder.
CH King rose for the defense for the final time. He was to be followed by WW Pendagast.
They stated that Mobridge's mind was under considerable duress after the discoveries concerning his wife. His injuries sustained in a terrible accident years before had affected his sanity, and his wife's infidelity had tipped him over into blatant madness.
It was made clear, though, that Mobridge wanted either to be found not guilty or to be sent to the gallows. He did not believe himself to be insane.
Pendagass notably declared that it may be the law to refrain from killing a man in such circumstances, but law or no law, every fiber in a man's frame impels him to instant revenge.
The arguments were done. the judge summed up, informing the jury that there were only four possible verdicts available to them. The first was that of guilty of murder in the first degree, punishable by death. The second was guilty of murder, punishable by life imprisonment.
The third was not guilty. And the fourth was not guilty by reason of insanity.
He said that there was no option of justifiable homicide in this case, even if Larkin had seduced Mobridge's wife.
The law did not permit him to take the law into his own hands and exact his revenge upon him. The jury should therefore disregard the defense plea. In this respect, the jury was sent out to consider its verdict. It was a long consideration with an initial majority of 7 to 5 for a quiddle. They retired for the night at 11 p.m. still unable to reach a consensus and Mobridge and the court had to wait until the morning for their verdict. It came on the 9th of February.
To the surprise of all, they decided upon a fifth option, the one specifically excluded by the judge, that of justifiable homicide. They gave their reason for this as being that if their verdict was not in accordance with the law, then it was in accordance with the laws of human nature. It was moreover how they would act themselves in the same circumstances.
They had defied the judge's direction.
Edward Mobridge was reported to have burst into tears and become hysterical and behaved in an unmanly fashion on hearing the verdict. His council urged him to get a grip and not make an exhibition of himself. He was released and greeted by a large crowd outside the courthouse with considerable enthusiasm.
Most of the press were in accord with the crowd's sentiment and fervor with one or two exceptions. The New York Tribune was outraged by the verdict which it considered gave license to lynch law. At the other extreme, some newspapers considered Mrs. Mobridge the guilty party in the affair and ultimately responsible for her lover's death.
The matter of Mobridg's killing of his adversary and love rival, Major Harold Lkins is clear-cut. It was proven beyond any kind of reasonable doubt that he had killed Lkins, and neither he nor his defense team denied it. The only question open to the court's consideration, as the prosecutor and the judge in his summing up made clear, was whether Mobridge was responsible for his actions when he killed Larkkins. Was he insane? The answer to that question was one which Mobridge's defense council, though not Mobridge himself, sought to give substance to. A great play was made of the serious accident which he had been involved in 14 years earlier. An accident which had rendered him unconscious for nine days, requiring treatment for a year and leaving him with long-term disabilities and in particular with mood changes. Friends, acquaintances, and medical were called to the witness stand to attest to the changes the accident had wrought in his character. It had become more forgetful, less predictable. They said, "It is impossible to know whether such witnesses were simply doing what friends will do in such circumstances, seeking to excuse their friend from the terrible consequences of his actions, or genuinely believed they had observed these changes in Mobridge."
Mobridge was eccentric all his life. He had undoubtedly been regarded as such before his accident. He had a singleness of mind which set him apart from others.
He was a solitary sort of man devoted to obsessed with his interests and this would pay dividends in his achievements in life especially in the years following the trial. But whether these contributed to his actions in the killing of Lkins is questionable given the pronouncement of Dr. Schlev on his examination of Mobridge and the circumstances of the murder.
The killing was premeditated, he said, and I see no indication of insanity.
I think from that that he understood the nature of the act, its unlawfulness and consequence, but that he felt justified in committing it.
In that assessment, which takes account of the McNorton rules governing insanity as a legal defense, Dr. Schlleft's assessment is unanswerable.
In other words, even if Mobridge was insane, he fully understood that what he did was wrong. The action was premeditated. He took care to ensure his intention was not thwarted, and he understood his action would carry serious consequences for himself. But he did it anyway.
In legal terms, this was sufficient to set aside the question of his sanity because it could not impact on the crime itself or Mobrid's culpability for it.
The prosecution was clear on this, and so was the judge. In offering the jury two options in their choice of verdict, aside from that of insanity and not guilty, the judge proposed a guilty verdict punishable by death or one punishable by life imprisonment, effectively murder in the first degree and manslaughter.
He was nudging them towards the latter because the circumstances were such that the jury were bound to see the obvious mitigating factors in the case. And to the legal fraternity, to the outraged New York Tribune, who believed the verdict of justifiable homicide gave license to taking the law into one's own hands. The verdict proposed of guilty punishable by a life sentence was the appropriate one. But 12 ordinary citizens of California could not be persuaded of this. From the legal perspective, there is little doubt in the matter that Mobridge had been grievously wronged by his wife and her lover was not relevant in the matter of his guilt. Look at the facts. He had procured his revolver and ensured it was loaded. He had been, by his own admission, determined to kill Harold Darkkins. He had taken steps to discover his whereabouts at Pine Flats. He had set his affairs in order, knowing that he was unlikely to return, and spoken of this to Mr. Rufson. He had traveled by steamer to Kalistoga and procured a buggy to take him to Pine Flats, but here learned that Harold Lens was at the Yellow Jacket mine, staying at the superintendent's house. By chance the superintendent was present and confirmed this, and that he was himself returning there at this moment. Mobridge now realized that the superintendent might inform Lkins on his return to the house, that a man was seeking him, an Englishman, and Lkins would likely guess who that man might be. And so he urged the buggy driver to take him there immediately, even offering him $5 to get there before the superintendent.
As they drove there, he inquired of the driver if he might fire off his gun. He wished to check it was functioning, as he hadn't fired it for a while. He was taking no chances on his plan being thwarted. At each stage, he was focused on ensuring that he would be able to see the task through.
Harry Larkkins was going to die.
When he arrived at the house, he declined the invitation to enter the house to see Lkins because it introduced other variables. The hazard of the presence of other people, the possibility of Lkins being concealed or obstructed by others, a slowness of recognition on his part in a room of people, or of other men drawing their firearms before he could discharge his own. He waited at the door in the darkness, stood back from the light so that Lkins could not precipitately identify him and evade his aim or slam the door in his face.
When Lens appeared, his conversation was paired to necessity.
I am Mobridge. I have a message from my wife.
Then he fired his revolver, and at that range his aim was deadly. The bullet passed through his heart and out of his back, but astonishingly Lens was able by some reflexive means to retreat and run through the house and get as far as the front door before he fell dead. And now the others at the cribage table, disturbed by the shot and the commotion, ran out into the hallway and saw Mobridge standing, gun in hand, over the dead body of Harry Lens.
Mobridge surrendered his weapon without quibble. His job was done. He had no desire to injure anyone else, and his mind was clear, too. He apologized to the ladies for the upset he had caused.
To MacArthur he showed great composure of mind and a full understanding of what he had done. He told him of the photo of what he had hitherto believed to be his own son, that he had discovered with Harry's name on the reverse side, and had learned that the son was Harry's, and that his wife and Lens had deceived him. He also expressed to MacArthur his satisfaction at what he had done. Said he didn't regret it, whatever the consequences for himself might be. All of these things remove any possible doubt that Mobridge was, according to law, guilty of the murder of Harold Barkkins on the 17th of October 1874.
But the jury returned a verdict of justifiable homicide. The prosecution had said that justifiable homicide could not apply in this case. It was not self-defense. The judge likewise directed the jury to set this aside.
Yet they claimed to the conclusion that they agreed with Mobridge's actions. If his actions were not lawful, then they were in accord with their own beliefs that he had acted in a way natural to any man faced with the same exigency.
How could they send a man to jail or condemn him to execution for acting as they would act themselves?
It happens only occasionally that a jury willfully sets aside the judge's directions and takes it upon itself to return a verdict which accords with their own consciences rather than the strict prescription of the law. But although it is frowned upon by legal authorities and those responsible for administering justice, it has a long and noble history and has been much in the news recently. In theory, the police gather evidence and in conjunction with the public prosecutor submit possible breaches of it to the courts where juries assess the evidence. It is a system absolute in its division of responsibilities.
The duties of the jury are thus prescribed and restricted. They are required to swear an oath to reach their verdicts based on the evidence before them. But the jury as an institution much threatened in western societies today is one of the cornerstones of a free society. The notion that a person accused of a crime may be judged not by some remote authority or by a legal expert well-versed in the law but by 12 ordinary intelligent people with life experience underpins our system of justice in the western world.
That principle that gained precedence over the medieval practice of trial by ordeal and was probably introduced in some measure to England by the Normans and gained currency in the reign of Henry II was settled by the advent of Magna Carta at Runny in 1215 where King John was forced by his nobles to sign what amounted to a bill of rights. This contained the principle that the king may not act against any citizen in a matter of law without the consent of reputable men of the neighborhood.
This at once laid the foundation for the principle of a democratic system in England and as Lord Patrick Develin said in 1956 astutely associating the two vital freedoms.
The jury is in effect a little parliament, the lamp that shows that freedom lives.
The principle that power rests in the hands of ordinary people was adopted in the United States and in respect of the jury system, it was etched into permanence by its enshrinement in article 3 of the constitution that all crimes must be tried by jury.
It is a source of perennial irritation to governments, to many judges, and to prosecutors that juries have such power, and that only a small percentage of criminal offenses are successfully prosecuted because of that pesky impediment of the need to convince a jury.
The temptation to abolish the jury system is great and must, in my view, be resisted as fiercely as the attempt to abolish the right of ordinary people to elect representatives of their government. Both democratic systems are no doubt flawed, but the alternative is too grim to be permitted.
The jury is the ultimate authority in a court of law. Judges rule on points of law and make directions to the jury, sometimes to elucidate a point of law, sometimes to procure a particular verdict they favor. The tension between judge and jury is thus ever present. But it is the will of the jury that counts.
In 2021 in Bristol, UK, a statue of Edward Coloulston, whose fortune was made through the slave trade was unceremoniously dumped into the harbor by members of the public.
Of course, this was a crime against public property, and those responsible were arrested and sent to trial. But the jury declined to find those responsible for this act of public vandalism guilty against the direction of the judge. They had produced what is known as a perverse verdict, an act of jury nullification.
The jurors had on this occasion exerted their moral right to ignore the law in favor of what they believed to be right.
The legal basis for this in Britain, which extends to other English-speaking countries, is chiefly established by the case of Edward Bushel in 1670.
That year, two Quaker preachers called William Meade and William Penn, the latter of which later gave his name to the state of Pennsylvania were charged with unlawful assembly for religious practice not associated with the Church of England in Grace Church Street, London. The jury refused the judge recorder Thomas Howell's direction to find the Quakers guilty, and he, furious to have his direction set aside, ordered the jurors to be starved of food and water until they delivered an appropriate verdict.
They returned to court after 2 days of starvation and submitted a verdict of not guilty and were each fined a large sum of money for contempt of court.
Edward Bushell, one of the jurors, refused to pay the fine and was ordered to be detained until he did. He filed a writ of habius corpus to challenge his detention.
Chief Justice John Vaughn of the Court of Common Please heard the case and famously found in Bushel's favor. He ruled that jurors cannot be fined or imprisoned for their verdict. The practical importance of this ruling is that it established as sacrosan the principle that a juror cannot be forced to vote against his or her conscience.
And this is enshrined in a plaque on the wall of the old Bailey itself.
It is frequently pointed out by those who dislike the jury system that jurors are bound by oath to consider the evidence alone. To do otherwise is to break their oath. That seems a persuasive argument. But against this, it must be acknowledged as a truth of far greater force, that no oath can require a person to act wrongly or immorally. That is self-evident. To seek to impose such an oath upon a jury voids that oath as surely as does one that is precured under duress or torture.
For this reason, the case of Edward Mobridge is an important one, not just in America, but in the world, which acts upon the universal principle of trial by jury, that the voice of the jury is the one that matters.
Flora Mobridge was devastated at the loss of her lover, Harold Lkins, and the failure of the prosecution against her husband. She tried again with a fresh petition for divorce following the outcome of the trial and was this time successful being awarded alimony in April 1875.
She didn't recover from the shock of the events of that autumn of 1874 nor the approprium which ensued as its consequence. She became ill, suffered some kind of paralysis, which may have been a stroke, although she was only 24, and she died in July 1875, just 9 months after her husband had shot her lover dead.
Her son, Flor, known as Flaudy, was placed in the care of a French couple, and thereafter in an orphanage. Mobridge paid for his upkeep and visited him a few times. He never believed Fllorardo was his son, but presumably felt an obligation to the boy, as he was responsible for his father's death, and his mother was dead, too. But Mobrid's visit soon ended. It has been stated that Flor probably was Moid's son. The reasons cited for this are the close resemblance is said to have borne to Mobridge. I can find only one photo of taken in old age and can detect no physical similarity between them. We can never be certain, but the three principles most immediately involved all believed that was sired by Harry Lens.
It may count for something. Whatever the case, lived an unobtrusive life as a ranch hand and gardener in California until he was hit by a truck in 1944 and killed at the age of 70.
Edward Mobridge was released following the verdict of not guilty on the 9th of February 1874.
It was acknowledged widely that he had got away with the murder of Harry Lens, but it was also recognized that he had acted in a way which was understood by most people. His achievements in the field of photography soon swept away all memory of the murder from public recollection.
He spent a few months in Central America initially photographing Panama. In 1878, he produced the famous serial images of a galloping horse by setting up a series of cameras in line to photograph each movement in split-second sequence. When these images were run together, they produced the moving image of a horse. It was a stunning moment in the development of photography. For the first time, actual moving photographic images could be shown by means of projection devices he invented and represented a faximile of movement in the real world. He went on to produce many more moving images of animals and people indulging in everyday activities. His achievement in the development of moving pictures was prodigious and within his own lifetime he would see his creative process develop into the earliest movies.
It has been said that Edward Mobridge froze time.
I think that is quite wrong. He did the exact opposite. The image of the world in faximile had been frozen by the advent of the first fixed image in 1826.
It reached its apex in those long exposure plates developed of people sitting for portraits rigid as corpses sometimes actual corpses in accord with Victorian fashion for photographing their dead.
These rigid photos of the living froze the occupants of such photos in eternal suspension, stiff and natural.
Edward Moubridge freed them from the rigger mortise of the plate camera by presenting the world as one of movement.
It was his extraordinary gift to the world and it made him famous.
Mobridge never seemed to have doubted the rightness of his action in killing Harry Lens. It does not appear ever to have played upon his mind in the years afterwards. He was a single-minded man all his life, capable of putting great energy into the achievement of his goals. Those actions which we see so clearly in the accounts of those who gave witness to them at his trial and which resulted in the killing of Harry Lens are strung together in a sequence leading to an inevitable conclusion like a moving picture. It was a process he understood well and would explore to his own and the world's advantage in the years afterwards. And it is for these achievements that he is remembered today rather than the brief salacious interlude in Kalistoga in the winter of 7475.
Edward Mobridge returned to England in 1894. He lived at Kingston upon tempames where he was born and continued to work and write and lecture. He died here on the 8th of May 1904 at the age of 74.
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