On September 9, 1836, Charles Samuel Bartlett was observed in possession of a cavalry pistol. He dispatched an errand boy to purchase gunpowder and percussion caps; the lad watched him roll a piece of lead into a ball. The following day, Bartlett left his lodgings in company with his mother-in-law, Mary Lewis. Before nightfall, she lay dead near a lane leading down to the River Frome. Seven months later, the Gloucester Assizes would bind these disparate acts into an indictment for willful murder.
Bartlett led the vagrant life of an itinerant actor in Ingleby’s strolling company. Pelham depicts him as a man of respectable lineage and decent education, but of dissipated habits. The troupe journeyed from fairgrounds to racecourses and other places of public diversion. In August, their circuit took them to Monmouth. There Bartlett met the daughter of a shoemaker named Lewis, and married her. The match brought him forty-five pounds, accompanied by the family’s promise of a further sum upon the death of the young woman’s father. The couple stayed for a season under the Lewises’ roof, after which Bartlett departed to rejoin his theatrical companions.
On September 5, Mary Lewis learned that her daughter and son-in-law were in Bristol. She journeyed thither and paid them several visits while Bartlett performed at the fair. An acrimonious dispute had already arisen between them. On the morning following the incident with the pistol, Bartlett quitted his lodgings beside Mary Lewis. They were seen walking together along the Stapleton road.
They entered the Mason’s Arms and partook of some refreshment. Bartlett borrowed a knife from the innkeeper, alleging he wished to pare a piece of wood. He stepped into the rear yard, where the firewood was stacked. Upon his return, witnesses remarked his agitation; he seemed intent on concealing his countenance. He discharged the reckoning. The pair set forth together on foot. Shortly afterward, they turned into Tebbutt’s Lane, a passage wending toward the Frome. When they were last seen prior to the fatal discharge, Mary Lewis was walking alongside the man who, the evening before, had molded a leaden bullet.
A gunshot rang out shortly thereafter. Less than an hour later, the lifeless body of Mary Lewis was discovered lying upon the earth. Her garments were in disarray; her bonnet and shawl had been torn away, and one leg was bent beneath her, as though caught in the final convulsions of agony. She was carried to the Mason’s Arms. An examination revealed that a ball had entered the back of the head, having traversed her bonnet.
Bartlett came to view the remains. Upon being admitted to the room, he cried out, in a manner Pelham deemed palpably feigned: "My God! It is my mother-in-law!" The suspicions already gathering around him led forthwith to his arrest. A search of his lodgings brought to light a pistol recently discharged, together with a piece of wood freshly whittled into the shape of a ramrod. Combined with the preparations observed on the previous day, these articles formed the material core of the case as presented by Pelham.
The defense offered an alternate chronology. Bartlett, counsel contended, had parted company with Mary Lewis immediately upon quitting the public house. As for the pistol, he was accustomed to discharging it at fairs to draw spectators toward his employer’s booth. The trial thus weighed the weapon's public utility as a theatrical summons against the clandestine preparations observed on the eve of the murder. The prosecution aligned the firearm with the purchase of powder and caps; the defense severed these material traces from the walk down Tebbutt’s Lane, insisting Bartlett had taken his leave of his mother-in-law after their refreshment.
The trial opened at the Gloucester Assizes on Thursday, April 6, 1837. The courtroom was thronged, the case having excited an uncommon degree of public curiosity. Called upon to plead, Bartlett declared that with the word of God in his heart and upon his lips, he could pronounce himself not guilty. Numerous witnesses gave testimony, their narratives entering into the minutest particulars of that fatal day. The proceedings occupied two full days. At their conclusion, the jury returned a verdict of guilty.
Brought up to receive sentence, Bartlett assumed an attitude of dramatic defiance and delivered a vehement address. He asserted that he would meet his doom with firmness and resignation, while steadfastly proclaiming his innocence. He called down the terrible vengeance of Heaven upon the real slayer of his mother-in-law. The speech, according to Pelham, produced a painful sensation throughout the court. The judge passed sentence of death, and Bartlett was removed from the bar.
On Saturday, April 15, the sentence of the law was carried into execution. Prison chaplains had attended him in his cell, yet he persisted in denying that his guilt could be inferred from his conduct, or that he possessed any knowledge of the catastrophe. Pelham portrays him as grave and respectful, yet unshakeable in his refusal to confess. He walked from his cell to the scaffold without faltering; only the pallor of his features betrayed the approach of death. He held a Bible in his hands and bowed to the assembled officers.
Having mounted the gallows, he gazed upon the multitude as though intending to address them. The executioner called for silence. Bartlett addressed his countrymen, entreating them to bear his words in mind and carry them home to their children and friends. He then turned his exhortation upon the conduct of his hearers: urging them to set their affections less upon worldly vanities and more upon God; to repent sincerely and turn toward their Heavenly Father, without which they could never hope to attain the peace of heaven. He spoke as a man sensible that the engine of death stood ready for him, yet confident he was passing into that eternal rest. He concluded by declaring that those repentant Christians who witnessed his present ignominy might yet behold his glory hereafter. Then came his dying protestation: "I am an injured man!" The cap was drawn over his face, and the drop fell.
On the preceding evening, upon being locked in for the night, Bartlett had inquired whether there was a phrenologist in the town. Being answered in the affirmative, he expressed a desire that his head should be delivered to that practitioner, and that his body should be conveyed to the infirmary for the benefit of society. Pelham records this singular bequest as a final display of chilling composure.