his friend, who had spent the foregoing evening with him, and also by
another clergyman. When we were in the Vestry adjoining the Chapel, he
exhorted his fellow-sufferer, who had attempted to destroy himself, but
had been prevented by the vigilance of the keeper. He spoke to him with
great tenderness and emotion of heart, entreating him to consider that
he had but a short time to live, and that it was highly necessary that
he, as well as himself, made good use of their time, implored pardon of
God under a deep sense of sin, and looked to that Lord by whose merits
alone sinners can be saved. He desired me to call in the other
gentlemen, who likewise assisted him to move the heart of the poor
youth; but the Doctor's words were the most pathetic and effectual. He
lifted up his hands, and cried out 'Oh! Lord Jesus, have mercy upon us!
and give, oh! give unto him, my fellow sinner, that, as we suffer
together, we may go together to Heaven!' His conversation to this poor
youth was so moving, that tears flowed from the eyes of all present.
"When we went into the chapel to prayer and the holy communion, true
contrition and warmth of devotion appeared evident in him throughout the
whole service. After it was ended, he again addressed himself to Harris
in the most moving and persuasive manner, and not without effect; for he
declared that he was glad that he had not made away with himself, and
said he was easier, and hoped he should now go to Heaven. The Doctor
told him how Christ had suffered for them; and that he himself was a
greater sinner than he, as he had sinned more against light and
conviction, and therefore his guilt was greater; and that as he was
confident that mercy was shown to his soul, so he should look to Christ
and trust in his merits.
"He prayed God to bless his friends who were present with him, and to
give his blessing to all his brethren the clergy; that he would pour out
his spirit upon them, and make them true ministers of Jesus Christ, and
that they might follow the divine precepts of their heavenly Master.
Turning to one who stood near him, he stretched out his hand, and said,
'Now, my dear friend, speculation is at an end; all must be real! What
poor ignorant beings we are!' He prayed for the Magdalens, and wished
they were there, to sing for him the 23d Psalm.
"After he had waited some time for the officers, he asked what o'clock
it was; and, being told that it was half an hour after eight, he said 'I
wish they were ready, for I long to be gone.' He requested of his
friends, who were in tears about him, to pray for him; to which he was
answered, by two of them, 'We pray more than language can utter.' He
replied, 'I believe it.'
"At length he was summoned to go down into a part of the yard which is
enclosed from the rest of the gaol, where the two unhappy convicts and
the friends of the doctor were alone. On his seeing two prisoners
looking out of the windows, he went to them, and exhorted them so
pathetically, that they both wept abundantly. He said once, 'I am now a
spectacle to men, and shall soon be a spectacle to angels.'
"Just before the sheriff's officers came with the halters, one who was
walking with him told him that there was yet a little ceremony he must;
pass through before he went out. He asked 'What is that?' 'You will be
bound.' He looked up, and said, 'Yet I am free; my freedom is there,'
pointing upwards. He bore it with Christian patience, and beyond what
might have been expected; and, when the men[14] offered to excuse tying
his hands, he desired them to do their duty, and thanked them for their
kindness. After he was bound, I offered to assist him with my arm in
conducting him through the yard, where several people were assembled to
see him; but he replied, with seeming pleasure, 'No, I am as firm as a
rock.' As he passed along the yard, the spectators and prisoners wept
and bemoaned him; and he, in return, prayed God to bless them.
"On the way to execution he consoled himself in reflecting and speaking
on what Christ had suffered for him; lamented the depravity of human
nature, which made sanguinary laws necessary; and said he could gladly
have died in the prison-yard, as being led out to public execution
tended greatly to distress him. He desired me to read to him the 51st
Psalm, and also pointed out an admirable penitential prayer from
'Rossell's Prisoner's Director.' He prayed again for the king, and
likewise for the people.
"When he came near the street where he formerly dwelt he was much
affected, and wept. He said, probably his tears would seem to be the
effect of cowardice, but it was a weakness he could not well help; and
added, he hoped he was going to a better home.
"When he arrived at the gallows he ascended the cart, and spoke to his
fellow-sufferer. He then prayed, not only for himself, but also for his
wife, and the unfortunate youth that suffered with him; and, declaring
that he died in the true faith of the Gospel of Christ, in perfect love
and charity with all mankind, and with thankfulness to his friends, he
was launched into eternity, imploring mercy for his soul for the sake of
his blessed Redeemer."
A paper, of which the following is a copy, had been delivered by Dr.
Dodd to Mr. Villette to be read at the place of execution, but was
omitted as it seemed impossible to make all present aware of its
contents.
"To the words of dying men regard has always been paid. I am
brought hither to suffer death for an act of fraud, of which I
confess myself guilty with shame, such as my former state of life
naturally produces, and I hope with such sorrow as He, to whom the
heart is known, will not disregard. I repent that I have violated
the laws by which peace and confidence are established among men; I
repent that I have attempted to injure my fellow-creatures; and I
repent that I have brought disgrace upon my order, and discredit
upon religion: but my offences against God are without number, and
can admit only of general confession and general repentance. Grant,
Almighty God, for the sake of Jesus Christ, that my repentance,
however late, however imperfect, may not be in vain!
"The little good that now remains in my power is to warn others
against those temptations by which I have been seduced. I have
always sinned against conviction; my principles have never been
shaken; I have always considered the Christian religion as a
revelation from God, and its divine Author as the Saviour of the
world; but the laws of God, though never disowned by me, have often
been forgotten. I was led astray from religious strictness by the
delusion of show and the delights of voluptuousness. I never knew
or attended to the calls of frugality, or the needful minuteness of
painful economy. Vanity and pleasure, into which I plunged,
required expense disproportionate to my income; expense brought
distress upon me; and distress, importunate distress, urged me to
temporary fraud.
"For this fraud I am to die; and I die declaring, in the most
solemn manner, that, however I have deviated from my own precepts,
I have taught others, to the best of my knowledge, and with all
sincerity, the true way to eternal happiness. My life, for some few
unhappy years past, has been dreadfully erroneous; but my ministry
has been always sincere. I have constantly believed; and I now
leave the world solemnly avowing my conviction, that there is no
other name under Heaven by which we can be saved but only the name
of the Lord Jesus; and I entreat all who are here to join with me
in my last petition, that, for the sake of that Lord Jesus Christ,
my sins may be forgiven, and my soul received into his everlasting
kingdom.
"June 27, 1777."
"WILLIAM DODD."
The body of the Doctor was on the Monday following carried to Cowley, in
Buckinghamshire, and deposited in the church there.
During the doctor's confinement in Newgate (a period of several months)
he chiefly employed himself in writing various pieces, which show at
once his piety and talent. The principal of these were his "Thoughts in
Prison," in five parts, from which we cannot doubt but that our readers,
in finishing our life of so eminent, yet unfortunate, a man, will be
gratified by the insertion of a few short extracts. "I began these
Thoughts," says the unhappy man, writing in Newgate, under date of the
23d of April, 1777, after his condemnation, "merely from the impression
in my mind, without plan, purpose, or motive, more than the situation of
my soul.
"I continued thence on a thoughtful and regular plan; and I have been
enabled wonderfully, in a state which in better days I should have
supposed would have destroyed all power of reflection, to bring them
nearly to a conclusion. I dedicate them to God, and the reflecting
serious among my fellow-creatures; and I bless the Almighty for the
ability to go through them amidst the terrors of this dire place
(Newgate), and the bitter anguish of my disconsolate mind! The thinking
will easily pardon all inaccuracies, as I am neither able nor willing
to read over these melancholy lines with a curious or critical eye. They
are imperfect, but in the language of the heart; and, had I time and
inclination, might, and should be, improved.--But----
(Signed)
"W. D."
The unfortunate author's Thoughts on his Imprisonment are thus
introduced:--
"My friends are gone! harsh on its sullen hinge
Grates the dread door: the massy bolts respond
Tremendous to the surly keeper's touch:
The dire keys clang, with movement dull and slow,
While their behest the ponderous locks perform:
And, fasten'd firm, the object of their care
Is left to solitude--to sorrow left.
"But wherefore fasten'd? Oh! still stronger bonds
Than bolts, or locks, or doors of molten brass,
To solitude and sorrow could consign
His anguish'd soul, and prison him, though free!
For whither should he fly, or where produce
In open day, and to the golden sun,
His hapless head! whence every laurel torn,
On his bald brow sits grinning infamy:
And all in sportive triumph twines around
The keen, the stinging arrows of disgrace."
After dwelling on the miseries of that dreary confinement, at sight of
which he formerly started back with horror, he adds,
"O dismal change! now not in friendly sort
A Christian visitor, to pour the balm
Of Christian comfort in some wretch's ear--
I am that wretch myself! and want, much want,
That Christian consolation I bestow'd;
So cheerfully bestow'd! Want, want, my God,
From thee the mercy, which, thou know'st my gladsome soul
Ever sprang forth with transport to impart.
"Why then, mysterious Providence, pursued
With such unfeeling ardour? Why pursued
To death's dread bourn, by men to me unknown!
Why--stop the deep question; it o'erwhelms my soul;
It reels, it staggers! Earth turns round! My brain
Whirls in confusion! My impetuous heart
Throbs with pulsation not to be restrain'd;
Why?--Where?--O Chesterfield, my son, my son!"
The unfortunate divine afterwards thus proceeds:--
"Nay, talk not of composure! I had thought
In older time, that my weak heart was soft,
And pity's self might break it. I had thought
That marble-eyed Severity would crack
The slender nerves which guide my reins of sense,
And give me up to madness! 'Tis not so;
My heart is callous, and my nerves are tough;
It will not break; they will not crack; or else
What more, just heaven! was wanting to the deed,
Than to behold--Oh! that eternal night
Had in that moment screened from myself!
My Stanhope to behold! Ah! piercing sight!
Forget it; 'tis distraction: speak who can!
But I am lost! a criminal adjudged!"
It is not a little singular that Dr. Dodd, a few years before his death,
published a Sermon, intitled, "The frequency of capital punishments
inconsistent with justice, sound policy, and religion." This, he says,
was intended to have been preached at the Chapel-royal, at St. James's;
but omitted on account of the absence of the court, during the author's
month of waiting.
The following extract will show the unfortunate man's opinion on this
subject, although there is no reason to suppose that he then
contemplated the commission of the crime for which he suffered. He says,
"It would be easy to show the injustice of those laws which demand blood
for the slightest offences; the superior justice and propriety of
inflicting perpetual and laborious servitude; the greater utility hereof
to the sufferer, as well as to the state, especially wherein we have a
variety of necessary occupations, peculiarly noxious and prejudicial to
the lives of the honest and industrious, and in which they might be
employed, who had forfeited their lives and their liberties to society."
THOMAS HORNER AND JAMES FRYER,
EXECUTED FOR BURGLARY.
The offence of these prisoners was attended by circumstances of great
daring. From the evidence adduced at their trial, which took place at
the Old Bailey Sessions in the month of April, 1778, it appeared that on
the evening of the 1st of March, the prisoners, with three other men,
were seen at Finchley together, and that while drinking in a
public-house they made many inquiries of the persons present with regard
to the house and family of a Mr. Clewen, a gentleman of respectability
who resided in the neighbourhood. On the same night, between twelve and
one o'clock, Mr. Clewen's house was entered by five persons, whose faces
were disguised, and the noise created by their rushing up stairs being
heard by Miss Clewen and her servant, they immediately ran out of their
bed-chambers to see what was the matter. They were forced to return,
however, and three of the men having entered their room, compelled them
to cover their heads with the bed-clothes, uttering loud threats in case
of their offering any resistance. The men-servants, who slept at the top
of the house, being now alarmed, the thieves proceeded to their
apartment, and one of them named Quick having got up, he received a
severe blow with an iron bar, and, like his mistress, was compelled,
with his fellows, to cover himself up with the bed-clothes. Two fellows
then remained to watch them, while the rest went to Mr. Clewen's room,
and treated him in the same manner, and then they proceeded to the
bed-chamber of his son, whom they forced to go to his father's bed,
holding his hands before his eyes, so that he should not distinguish who
were his assailants. They then ransacked the house, and in about
half-an-hour returned, saying that if young Clewen would tell them
where the money was, they would give him his watch, which they had taken
from under his pillow, but this being refused, they went away, saying
that they were only going for some victuals, and would return. The house
was then immediately examined by Mr. Clewen; and it was found that the
thieves had effected an entrance by means of the back-door, and that
they had fastened up that as well as the front entrance by nailing
staples over the locks. It was afterwards discovered that they had
carried off twenty-two guineas, fifty pounds in bank notes, a quantity
of plate, several gold rings, a silver watch, and other property to a
considerable amount. Information of the robbery was immediately conveyed
to Sir John Fielding, whose officers, recognising the offenders from the
description given of their persons, succeeded in securing the prisoners:
Fryer at a small house which he occupied in the City Road, where there
were found a number of picklock keys, and a hanger; and Horner at his
lodgings in Perkins' Rents, Westminster, a cutlass being concealed under
his bed. Two supposed accomplices, named Condon and Jordan, were also
apprehended, but nothing distinct being proved against them they
escaped: Jordan, however, being afterwards convicted for a second
burglary in Copenhagen House, for which he received sentence of death.
Conviction having followed the production of this evidence, sentence of
death was passed. Upon the sacrament being administered to Horner and
Fryer, they admitted their guilt, and were executed at Tyburn on the
24th of June, 1778. The other offenders were subsequently also
apprehended and executed.
THE REV. JAMES HACKMAN.
EXECUTED FOR MURDER.
The case of this unfortunate gentleman was long the topic of general
conversation. Pamphlets and poems were written on the subject; and the
fate of Mr. Hackman was generally pitied, as it was conceived that he
was the victim of an insane love--a conclusion which will now be the
more readily arrived at when the circumstances under which the murder,
of which he was found guilty, was committed are considered.
It appears that Mr. Hackman was born at Gosport in Hampshire, and was
originally designed for trade, in which his father was engaged. It was
found, however, that his disposition was of too volatile a nature to
admit of his success in any business; and his parents, willing to
promote his interests to the extent of their power, purchased for him a
commission as ensign in the 68th regiment of foot. He had not been long
in the service before he was entrusted with the command of a recruiting
party, and going to Huntingdon, in pursuance of his instructions, he
there became known to the Earl of Sandwich, who had a seat in the
neighbourhood, and by whom he was frequently invited to dinner. It
appears that he now first became acquainted with the object of his
passion, and the victim of his crime.
Miss Reay was the daughter of a staymaker in Covent Garden, and served
her apprenticeship to a mantuamaker, in George's-court, St. John's lane,
Clerkenwell. She was bound when only thirteen; and during her
apprenticeship was taken notice of by the nobleman above mentioned, who
took her under his protection, and treated her with every mark of
tenderness. At the time of her being introduced to Mr. Hackman, she had
lived with her noble protector during a period of nineteen years, and in
the course of that time had borne him nine children; but although she
was nearly twice the age of Mr. Hackman, no sooner had he seen her than
he became violently enamoured of her.
It was while he was tormented by this unhappy and ungovernable passion
that he found that any hopes which he might entertain of preferment in
the army were not likely to be realised, and he determined to turn his
thoughts to the church. In pursuance of this design he took orders, and
he obtained the living of Wiverton, in Norfolk, only about Christmas
preceding the shocking deed which cost him his life.
How long he had been in London previous to this affair is not certainly
known; but at the time of its occurrence he lodged in Duke's-court, St.
Martin's-lane. On the morning of the 7th of April, 1779, he sat for a
considerable time in his closet, reading "Blair's Sermons:" but in the
evening he took a walk to the Admiralty, where he saw Miss Reay go into
the coach along with Signora Galli, who attended her. The coach drove to
Covent Garden Theatre, where the ladies stayed to see the performance of
"Love in a Village," and Mr. Hackman went into the theatre at the same
time; but not being able to contain the violence of his passion, he
returned, and again went to his lodgings, and having loaded two pistols
went to the playhouse, where he waited till the play was over. Seeing
Miss Reay ready to step into the coach, he took a pistol in each hand,
one of which he discharged against her, which killed her on the spot,
and the other at himself, which, however, did not take effect. He then
beat himself with the butt-end, on his head, in order to destroy
himself, so fully was he bent on the destruction of both; but after a
struggle he was secured, his wounds dressed, and then he was carried
before Sir John Fielding, who committed him to Tothillfields' Bridewell,
and next to Newgate, where a person was appointed to attend him, lest he
should lay violent hands on himself. In Newgate, as he knew he had no
favour to expect, he prepared himself for the awful change which was
about to take place. He had dined with his sister on the day on which
the murder was committed, and in the afternoon he wrote a letter to her
husband, Mr. Booth, an eminent attorney, informing him of his intention
to destroy himself, and desiring him to sell what effects he had, in
order to pay a small debt which he owed; but it appears that the letter
was not despatched, as it was found in his pocket.
The prisoner was indicted at the ensuing Old Bailey sessions, and it was
proved by Mr. MacNamara, that on Wednesday, the 7th of April, he was
quitting the theatre, when seeing Miss Reay, with whom he was slightly
acquainted, he offered her his assistance in reaching her carriage. She
accepted his preferred arm, and just as they were in the piazza he heard
the report of a pistol, when he directly felt his arm compressed by the
lady's hand, and she then immediately fell to the ground. He thought at
first that the lady had fallen from fright only, but on stooping to
raise her up, he found that his hand was bloody, and he then saw that
she was wounded. He immediately conveyed her into the Shakspeare Tavern,
whither the prisoner soon after followed in custody. He asked him some
questions about his reason for shooting Miss Reay, but the only answer
which he gave was, that that was not the place to satisfy him. The
prisoner afterwards said that his name was Hackman; and he sent for Mr.
Booth, who lived in Craven-street. Other evidence was also adduced, from
which it appeared that the prisoner followed Miss Reay out of the
theatre, and having tapped her on the shoulder to attract her attention,
he suddenly drew two pistols from his pocket, one of which he discharged
at her and the other at himself. They both fell feet to feet, and the
prisoner then beat himself about the head, and called out for some one
to kill him. He was secured by a Mr. McMahon, who dressed his wounds,
and conveyed him to the Shakspeare Tavern, where Miss Reay almost
immediately afterwards died.
On his being called upon for his defence, the prisoner addressed the
Court in the following terms:--"I should not have troubled the Court
with the examination of witnesses to support the charge against me, had
I not thought that the pleading guilty to the indictment gave an
indication of contemning death not suitable to my present condition, and
was, in some measure, being accessory to a second peril of my life: and
I therefore thought that the justice of my country ought to be satisfied
by suffering my offence to be proved, and the fact established by
evidence.
"I stand here this day the most wretched of human beings, and confess
myself criminal in a high degree; yet while I acknowledge, with shame
and repentance, that my determination against my own life was formal and
complete, I protest, with that regard to truth which becomes my
situation, that the will to destroy her, who was ever dearer to me than
life, was never mine till a momentary frenzy overcame me, and induced me
to commit the deed I now deplore. The letter which I meant for my
brother-in-law after my decease will have its due weight as to this
point with good men.
"Before this dreadful act I trust nothing will be found in the tenor of
my life which the common charity of mankind will not excuse. I have no
wish to avoid the punishment which the laws of my country appoint for my
crime; but being already too unhappy to feel a punishment in death or a
satisfaction in life, I submit myself with penitence and patience to the
disposal and judgment of Almighty God, and to the consequences of this
inquiry into my conduct and intention."
The following letter was then read:--
"My dear Frederic,--When this reaches you I shall be no more; but do not
let my unhappy fate distress you too much: I have strove against it as
long as possible, but it now overpowers me. You well know where my
affections were placed: my having by some means or other lost hers (an
idea which I could not support) has driven me to madness. The world will
condemn me, but your good heart will pity me. God bless you, my dear
Frederic! Would I had a sum to leave you to convince you of my great
regard! You was my only friend. I have hid one circumstance from you
which gives me great pain. I owe Mr. Knight of Gosport one hundred
pounds, for which he has the writings of my houses; but I hope in God,
when they are sold and all other matters collected, there will be nearly
enough to settle our account. May Almighty God bless you and yours with
comfort and happiness; and may you ever be a stranger to the pangs I now
feel! May Heaven protect my beloved woman, and forgive this act, which
alone could relieve me from a world of misery I have long endured! Oh!
if it should ever be in your power to do her an act of friendship,
remember your faithful friend,
"J. HACKMAN."
The jury immediately returned their fatal verdict. The unhappy man heard
the sentence pronounced against him with calm resignation to his fate,
and employed the very short time allowed murderers after conviction in
repentance and prayer.