He in the cellar did him hang.
He flew, but Justice close pursued him,
And taken he has been we see;
When tried, no doubt, they’ll find him guilty,
And he’ll be hanged on Newgate’s tree;
Hanging is too good for such a villain,
He who would his flesh and blood destroy,
The child, we are told, was six years old,
A pretty little prattling boy.
We all have got our cares and trials,
And unto fate compelled to yield,
This deed was done on the Seven Dials.
In St. Giles’s-in-the-fields.
Г. ДИЗЛИ, печатник, 57, Хай-стрит, Сент-Джайлс, Лондон.
ПЛАЧ И ПРИЗНАНИЕ Дж. Р. ДЖЕФФРИ, который сейчас лежит под смертным приговором за умышленное убийство своего маленького сына.
Within a dreary cell I lie,
A wretched murderer, condemned to die
For the murder of my darling boy,
Whose precious life I did destroy.
I am doomed to die, my glass is run,
For the murder of my darling son.
John Richard Jeffery, it is my name,
Why did I do that deed of shame?
I confess my crime, but do declare,
No ill feeling to my child did bear.
From my wife I long had parted been,
Which disturbed my mind, as may be seen;
And Satan’s doubts they filled my mind,
Which led me to this dreadful crime.
I could not bear the child to see,
It seemed to increase my misery,
While thinking of my absent wife,
I form’d a plan to take his life.
At his grandmother’s he found a home,
And with fiendish thoughts I’m asham’d to own;
Quick dress that child, to her did say,
For I was determined the boy to slay.
Poor little boy, it seemed filled with fear,
And cried, don’t dress me granny dear;
Don’t let father take me away,
With you, dear granny, I’d rather stay.
But to his wishes I paid no heed
But left with the child, as you may read;
Then proceeded in the dead of night,
To a lonely spot to take his life.
To a dismal cellar I took the helpless child,
The thoughts of which now drives me wild;
Poor boy, he fainted with affright,
And in that state I took his life.
With a handkerchief I bound his hands,
And to the cistern I did him hang;
Poor innocent, unconscious quite,
Knew not his father had took his life.
When this fearful act the hand had done,
From the fearful scene away did run;
With stricken conscience, like the murderer Cain,
But peace of mind could not obtain.
I strove to forget it for a time,
But my murdered boy so haunted my mind,
I gave myself up, as you may read,
To make some atonement for the deed.
I soon upon the drop must stand,
A guilty and heart-broken man;
My darling boy I shall no more behold,
Have mercy, God, on my guilty soul!
Г. Дизли, печатник, 57, Хай-стрит, Сент-Джайлс.
УБИЙСТВО ЖЕНЫ В ЭШБЕРНЕМЕ, БЛИЗ ХАСТИНГСА.
Шокирующее убийство жены было совершено в воскресенье в Эшбернеме, деревне близ Хастингса. Рядом с деревней находится участок земли под названием Гарденерс-Фарм, который возделывают старик по имени Стабберфилд и его сын Джеремайя. Сын, который женат, имеет отдельное жилье примерно в шестидесяти ярдах от дома своего родителя. В том же доме с сыном жили его жена Матильда, их сын, Мэри Дипроуз (компаньонка миссис Стабберфилд) и несколько сельскохозяйственных рабочих и слуг. Мальчик восьми лет, который занимал одну комнату с родителями, утверждает, что рано утром в воскресенье он видел, как отец стоял на коленях на его матери и сжимал ей горло. Услышав, как мать слабо говорит «О!», как будто от боли, он сказал отцу: «Ты делаешь больно маме». «Придержи язык», — ответил отец, — «Я только щекочу ее». Мальчик снова сделал подобное замечание, на что отец сказал, что если он не придержит язык, то он «займется им». Затем Стабберфилд оделся и, поцеловав жену и ребенка, спустился вниз. Мальчик немедленно разбудил других обитателей дома, которые вскоре оказались в спальне убитой женщины. Была послана полиция, и вскоре около двухсот человек прочесывали окрестности в поисках Стабберфилда, и только после обеда он был обнаружен, причем он направлялся домой. Он спрятался в яме и пытался утопиться, но не смог этого сделать, потому что все время всплывал на поверхность воды.
A dreadful deed, as you may read,
I am going to unfold,
A base and cruel murder,
That will make your blood run cold;
At a village called Ashburnham,
A few miles from Hastings town,
Where the family of the Stubberfields
Was known for miles round.
Jeremiah Stubberfield killed his wife,
At Ashburnham, we see,
Which caused many a tear both far and near,
The Sussex tragedy.
There lived old Farmer Stubberfield,
An aged, wealthy sire,
At Gardner’s Farm, and near him lived,
His son, named Jeremiah;
Who had a wife, Matilda,
Virtuous, good, and kind,
Who had a son, and her companion,
Labourers and servants, too, we find.
On Sunday morn, the twenty-third of May,
The little boy, but eight years old,
Saw his father squeeze his mother’s throat,
Most awful to unfold;
He called unto his father,
While trembling with fear,
Saying, oh, cruel father,
You are killing mother dear.
The murderer kissed his wife and child,
After that he did slay,
Then placed his coat upon his arm,
And from the farm did stray;
The servants and the labourers,
Went to the fatal bed,
And there beheld Matilda
Quite cold, and lying dead.
They did pursue the murderer,
They in numbers went along,
Searched the hedges and the ditches,
Dragged the rivers and the ponds;
But late on Sunday afternoon,
As they in numbers on did stray,
They saw him wandering to his home,
Where his murdered wife did lay.
He says he dearly loved her,
A kind, good, and tender wife,
Oh, whatever could possess him,
To take away her life;
It has caused great excitement,
Far round the country,
A farmer’s son the murder done,—
The Sussex tragedy.
To end this dreadful tale of woe,
Confined within a gaol,
Lies Jeremiah Stubberfield,
In anguish to bewail;
He loved his wife, far more than life,
He her corpse sweet kisses gave,
He has brought his aged parents,
In sorrow to the grave.
Г. Дизли, печатник, 57, Хай-стрит, Сент-Джайлс, Лондон.
ПЛАЧ И ПРОЩАНИЕ С МИРОМ ДЖОНА ФЛЕТЧЕРА И ЭНН ЛОУРЕНС
Которые сейчас лежат под смертным приговором в тюрьме Мейдстона.
A poor unhappy man and woman,
Does in agony bewail,
Sentenced to die, alas for murder!
In separate cells, in Maidstone gaol.
Ann Lawrence aged eight-and-twenty,
For the wilful murder of her child,
And John Fletcher, only twenty,
For the dreadful murder of James Boyle.
In agony, now lies lamenting,
John Fletcher, who is frenzy wild,
In Chatham prison killed the warder,
And Ann Lawrence her own darling child.
Ann Lawrence is a married woman,
Who with a man named Highams did dwell;
He also had a wife still living,
Highams and Lawrence lived at Tunbridge Wells,
They lived unhappy, often quarrelled,
Faults on both sides we may see,
Ann Lawrence in a fit of frenzy,
Overpowered with jealousy.
Determined was to kill her offspring,
Revengeful, shocking to unfold,
To aggravate her own paramour,
Her little boy but four years old;
At Tunbridge Wells she basely murder’d.
Wickedness ran in her mind,
When her child she’d slain, said with disdain,
The innocent child was killed by Highams.
The little boy named Jeremiah,
Looked in his mother’s face with tears
When her little boy she did destroy,
Aged only four years;
Her counsel for her pleaded clever
To free her every way he tried,
When the Judge the sentence passed upon her,
The dreadful murder she denied.
John Fletcher who must die beside her,
A convict was for seven years,
He in Chatham prison killed the warder,
To give the blow he was prepared,
He says the warder did illuse him,
And tantalized him day by day,
And in a fit of desperation,
He with a hammer did him slay.
At Maidstone they were tried and sentenc’d
To die a murderer’s death of scorn,
In youth and health they are lamenting,
In grief and agony forlorn;
The awful moments are approaching,
And there is nothing can them save,
They soon must leave this world of sorrow,
And sleep within a murderer’s grave.
Oh male and female curb your passions,
Think and consider ere too late,
Passion, jealousy, and vengence,
Has caused those wretched person’s fate;
Let their fate be an example,
Oh! pray be guided one and all,
Think of John Fletcher and Ann Lawrence,
Remember what caused their downfall.
Passion, jealousy, and vengeance,
Was the cause, we plainly see,
Of bringing John Fletcher and Ann Lawrence
To die on Maidstone’s dismal tree.
Дизли, печатник, Хай-стрит, Сент-Джайлс, Лондон.
КАЗНЬ МАЙКЛА БАРРЕТТА,
Который был казнен сегодня утром в Олд-Бейли за умышленное убийство Сары Энн Ходжкинсон, одной из пострадавших при взрыве в Клеркенвелле.
Сегодня утром несчастный осужденный фенианец Майкл Барретт понес высшую меру наказания в Олд-Бейли. Заключенного опекал преподобный мистер Хасси, римско-католический священник, который оставался с ним значительное время каждый день. Он был очень молчалив, и хотя, несомненно, знал об усилиях, которые предпринимались для получения отсрочки, примечательным фактом было то, что он никогда не пытался заявить о своей невиновности. До недавнего времени он регулярно посещал службу в тюрьме, но после того, как мистер Хасси побывал у него, он полностью воздержался от этого. С момента вынесения приговора его никто не навещал. По-видимому, все его родственники проживают в Ирландии, и, похоже, у него не было никаких связей или друзей в этой стране.
Шерифы тюрьмы прибыли в ранний час и немедленно направились в камеру смертников, где застали заключенного за религиозными упражнениями с преподобным мистером Хасси. Он объявил себя готовым умереть и, казалось, считал себя мучеником. Когда пришло время, Калкрафт, палач, был представлен заключенному, который немедленно приступил к его связыванию, после чего заключенный поблагодарил губернатора и других должностных лиц тюрьмы за их доброту к нему. Затем была сформирована процессия, которая медленно направилась к месту казни. Заключенный поднялся на эшафот твердым шагом. Когда все было подготовлено, колпак был натянут ему на глаза и веревка поправлена, засов был отодвинут, и он, казалось, лишь слегка боролся, прежде чем жизнь угасла.
КОПИЯ СТИХОВ.
Adieu, vain world, I now must leave you,
Here I cannot longer dwell,
I have been tried, and I am sentenced
To die for the deed in Clerkenwell;
Oh! that dreadful sad explosion,
Which did so much destruction cause,
Brought me to the tree at Newgate,
My sufferings sure no one knows.
I must leave this world of sorrow,
On earth I must no longer dwell,
Sentenced to be hanged for murder,
For the sad affair in Clerkenwell.
Alas! my name is Michael Barrett,
Born and brought up in Erin’s isle,
I did adore my native country,
Wheron I oft did sweetly smile;
Oh yes, my own dear native Erin,
Behold me on the fatal tree,
A miserable malefactor,
In a murderer’s grave I soon shall be.
A traitor did swear hard against me,
A wretch, Mullany known by name,
Worse by far than any other,
And many persons know the same;
Only one amongst the prisoners,
And that poor one, alas! was me,
Poor unhappy Michael Barrett,
Condemned to die upon a tree.
I twice have been respited,
I did not expect to die,
But I must go in grief and woe,
On Newgate’s tree so high;
That I should gain my liberty,
Some thousands did believe,
But, oh, alas! all hope is passed.
And I have been deceived.
Farewell, my friends, I’m doomed to leave you,
With you I can no longer stay,
Let not my departure grieve you,
I die upon the twenty-sixth of May,
On the fatal tree at Newgate,
For the affair at Clerkenwell,
Called a Fenian, Michael Barrett,
Friends and kindred, farewell!
I see the hangman now before me,
Standing on the fatal drop,
In the prime of life and vigour,
Hard is Michael Barrett’s lot:
Only one of all the number,
All the rest, alas! but me,
Acquitted was, but Michael Barrett
Dies on Newgate’s fatal tree.
A last adieu, vain world, I leave you,
I am going to the silent bourne,
Lovely Erin, I grieve for you
But I never shall return;
Approaching is the Tuesday morning,
I am summonsed far away,
Erin, remember Michael Barrett,
Who died upon the twenty-sixth of May.
КАЗНЬ АЛЛЕНА, ГОУЛДА И ЛАРКИНА,
В тюрьме Нью-Бейли, Манчестер, в субботу, 23 ноября, по обвинению в умышленном убийстве сержанта Бретта в Манчестере 18 сентября 1867 года.
Сегодня утром, в субботу, 23 ноября, трое несчастных осужденных, Гоулд, Аллен и Ларкин, понесли высшую меру наказания в тюрьме Нью-Бейли, Манчестер. С момента осуждения преступники вели себя самым образцовым образом и уделяли большое внимание преподобным джентльменам, которые их опекали. Они продолжали заявлять о своей невиновности до самого конца, казалось, считали себя мучениками за великое дело и выглядели вполне готовыми к событию. Толпа была очень велика, но не так велика, как могла бы быть, если бы не меры предосторожности, принятые властями, которые возвели баррикады примерно через каждые тридцать ярдов и тем самым предотвратили сильное давление, которое могло бы возникнуть. Заключенные были на ногах в ранний час, причастились и в назначенное время. Был представлен палач Калкрафт, после чего была проведена операция связывания. Заключенные тем временем проявляли удивительную уверенность и, казалось, были меньше всего обеспокоены. Они все пожали друг другу руки и нежно обняли друг друга, заявив, что готовы. Затем была сформирована скорбная процессия, которая сразу же направилась к эшафоту, где при их появлении раздалось легкое проявление аплодисментов. Когда все было подготовлено, веревки поправлены, был дан сигнал, и несчастные люди были отправлены в вечность. Заключенные, казалось, умерли очень легко.
You true friends of liberty, and sons of the Emerald Isle,
Attend with an ear of sympathy to what I now relate,
And to my sad story, I’d have you to list awhile,
Its of those poor unhappy men who now have met their fate;
Its Allen, Larkin, and Gould I mean, who of treason have convicted been,
Coupled with the crime of murder, for which we all deplore,
To the scaffold were condemned we see through struggling for liberty,
Of that poor unhappy country, the poor old shamrock shore.
Now its well known that Irishmen have oft upon the battle field,
Nobly fought our battles, against old England’s foes.
And with the hearts of lions have forced her enemies to yield;
But to friends they are warm-hearted, as all the world well knows.
Its but for their rights they crave, old Ireland’s honour for to save,
That has led to this calamity, for which we all deplore,
But by treachery they were betrayed, and these poor men have the forfeit paid,
And Allen, Gould, and Larkin, alas! are now no more.
It was at Manchester, as I now state, they sought their comrades to liberate,
And where is the man in such a state, would not have done the same?
Those poor men they were taken, for whom many hearts are aching,
For there is no one in reason their conduct can well blame.
It was in the midst of that strife, that poor Brett he lost his life,
That has caused the sons of Ireland most deeply to deplore,
And through that sad unhappy day, there’s many a pitying heart will say,
Poor Allen, Gould, and Larkin, alas! are now no more.
These men they were convicted, and by the judge was sentenced,
And for murder and treason they were condemned to die,
And left to meet their fate to the gaze of all spectators,
Tho’ that their lives would be spared it was the country’s cry.
To God I recommend them, in his mercy to defend them,
May their souls shine in glory upon that blessed shore,
Safe within his keeping where there will be no weeping,
Now Allen, Gould, and Larkin, alas! are now no more.
Г. Дизли, печатник, 57, Хай-стрит, Сент-Джайлс, Лондон.
Последние минуты и признание УМ. ШЕВАРДА.
Во вторник, 20 апреля, последний грозный приговор закона был приведен в исполнение в отношении Ум. Шеварда, осужденного на последних Норвичских ассизах за убийство своей жены. Преступник умер без каких-либо очень болезненных мучений. Он проявил значительное количество выдержки, хотя сильно дрожал на люке, к которому его пришлось нести из-за ревматизма. В своем признании заключенный заявил, что убил жену в июне 1851 года, а затем расчленил тело. Он положил голову в кастрюлю и поставил ее на огонь, чтобы скрыть вонь. Затем он раздробил ее и разбросал по Торпу. Затем он положил руки и ноги в ту же кастрюлю в надежде, что они выварятся. Части тела он выносил в ведре и выбрасывал в разных частях города. Длинные волосы по возвращении из Торпа он отрезал ножницами на мелкие кусочки, и они разлетелись, пока он шел. Одеяла, где была кровь, он разрезал на мелкие кусочки, разбросал их по городу и избавился от всего, что имело вид крови. Заключенный также заявил, что никогда не видел и не знал свою нынешнюю жену до 21 июня 1852 года, через двенадцать месяцев после происшествия. — Признание было принято в присутствии магистрата, губернатора и капеллана.
I am a sad and wretched man,
Borne down in care and woe,
I am doomed to die for a murder done
Near eighteen years ago;
A dreadful deed, as you may read,
I long kept in my breast,
I’had no comfort day or night,
Until I did confess.
With the dreadful knife I slew my wife,
And her body round did throw,
Now I must die for a murder done,
Near eighteen years ago.
I her body into pieces cut,
And scattered it around,
Here and there, I scarce knew where,
I placed it on the ground.
I now must die for that foul deed,
And in a murderer’s grave lie low,
I did her kill, her blood I spilled,
Near eighteen years ago.
I boiled her head, how sad to tell,
I was mad without a doubt,
I threw it in the different parts,
I placed it round about;
Kept the secret eighteen years,
Within my guilty breast,
And till the same I did divulge,
I day nor night could rest.
For eighteen years, in grief and tears,
I passed many a dreary night,
I had not one moment’s happiness,
Since I killed my own dear wife;
At length I did confess the deed,
For which I now must die,
For a murder eighteen years ago—
The which I don’t deny.
There was letters sent from different parts,
To say my wife did live,
To save me from the gallows,
But none would they believe;
I could not from Justice flee,
I do deserve my fate,
No pen can write, or tongue can tell,
My sad and wretched fate.
My moments they do swiftly pass,
I soon shall sleep below,
I done that dreadful awful deed,
Near eighteen years ago;
I cut and mangled that poor soul,
My heart was flinty steel,
Her limbs and body strewed about,
In hedges, lanes, and fields.
Г. Дизли, печатник, 57, Хай-стрит, Сент-Джайлс, Лондон. — W.C.
КАЗНЬ ДЖОНА ДЕВАЙНА перед Ньюгейтом за убийство ДЖОЗЕФА ДАКА в Мэрилебоне.