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A BABY KILLER.

(From the Home Neies.) A poor half-witted girl, twenty years of age, is now lying under sentence of death, having been found guilty of murdering her baby. The following letter hearing upon the subject has been published, and will serve to indicate a state of life in our modem civilisation only too common. The writer signs himself “ A Barrister,” and evidently knows what he is writing about. The name of the convicted woman is Mary Coward, and the correspondent says ; “ I was iu court while the poor wretch was tried. I heard her sentenced, and saw her carried shrieking out of the dock. I read the depositions in her case, and I venture now to lay before your readers her story in the very words iu which I think she would tell it herself, if she were able to do so. It is fiction of the kind that is not half so strange as fact. Tbe real facts of the case—and the freemasonry of the Bar allowed me to ascertain them —are too horrible to be more than even hinted at. Indeed, I have suggested a great deal that I dare not put in precise phrase ; “ ‘ Father was a bricklayer and mason, and there used to be seven of us in family—father, mother, three boys, and two girls. I was the eldest girl, and there was always a deal of trouble about me. Neighbors used to say I was half-witted, and called me a natural. I was always stupid and half-silly, and they used to take advantage of me. Mother died when I was a child. I don’t remember when ; but it was a long time ago. Brothers are all out at work. One is at Plymouth, and the other two emigrated and went to Australia. Sister married. She was a pretty girl, and married a carpenter, and is doing very well. When she married there was only father and me. Father used to be very hard to me. _ I wasn’t quick, and he used to say I was an idle hussy, and to beat me dreadfully. I bad to keep house for him, and to find my own clothes. It was dreadful work, and I don’t know how I did it. Sometimes I- used to beg and to sell matches, aud sometimes I used to get a job and make a shilling. When I made any money father used to take it, and I was so starved that the neighbors used to give me a bit to eat... One would give me a bit of bread and another a bit of dripping, and I used to make a few pence. It wasn’t so bad if father had been kind. But he was dreadfully cruel. You see, I was ugly, and not quite right iu my head, and dirty, and I didn’t look respectable. Father used to be kind to the others. But I was a trouble to him, and he never showed me any mercy. “ ‘ I know I went wrong, and I was a fool to do it. Sister would have known better, aud would have taken care of herself. But I was never taught different, and didn’t know. I was very hungry, and I was standing by the Nag’s Head trying to beg a penny, and a gentleman came up and spoke to me. He was quite a gentleman, and had a beautiful silver watch, and was smoking a cigar. He gave me something to eat, for I was dead faint and hungry, and then he gave me some braudy-and-water. He was very kind, and I don’t know what made him speak to such a dirty, ragged girl as I was. Of course he got the better of me, and when I got home father was in, and he called me all the names he could lay his tongue to, and beat me dreadfully. I saw the gentleman once or twice. He used to he outside the Nag’s Head at nights, and I used to meet him, and I was very glad to do so, for it was always a shilling or two in my pocket. When I left him I always used to take something home for father. Perhaps it was a hit of steak, or perhaps it was a quartern. Father used to say, “You haven’t made this out charing. You've been like all the rest of ’em. Don’t let me catch you at it.” It used to go on in this way, till at last I found X was wrong, and then I spoke to the gentleman and asked him what I was to do He swore at me just like father, and said it was my business and no concern of his. And he gave me half-a-orown, aud said if ever I spoke to him again he would have me locked up. ' Father very soon found out what was the matter, and he was dreadfully angry. He boat me till all the neighbors came in and cried “ Shame.” He said he wasn’t going to have any parish brat in his house, and I could lie iu at the workhouse if I wanted. It was worse than that, because he said I was bad all along, aud he called me the vilest of names. God knows I wasn’t a bad girl. But it’s dreadful to be hungry ; and when I first met the gentleman I was black and blue with father's beating, and that starved I would have picked a crust out of the gutter. Aud the gentleman spoke kind, and gave me half-a-crown in silver aud a lot of coppers. Besides, I thought, perhaps, that nothing would come of it. There are lots of girls do the same, and never get into trouble. But I was always silly, and I suppose I didn’t know. “ ‘ When father turned me out of doors ho said, “ If you come back again with your bastard,” he said, “ I’ll knock your head off. The workhouse is the place for you,” he said. “ I’m a respectable man,” he said, “ and 1 don’t have any bastards in my house.” I went to a neighbor’s first, and she spoke kind to me, and gave me a cup of tea. She told me to bear up, and she took me to the workhouse, aud at the workhouse the matron spoke to mo, and I was taken in.

“ ‘ I was confined on the Monday, and I had a dreadful time of it. They were very kind to me at the workhouse. I had lots to eat and drink, and they were as careful of me as if I was a regular lady. I was afraid, perhaps, they would tell me I was a wicked girl, but they never did. The nurse she said I was like the rest of ’em, and it was always the foolish ones that men took unawares. I told her about father, and she cried shame on him. “ But you see, my dear,” she said, “you weren’t good-looking and handy. If you had been, your father *ud have stood in with you, and you wouldn't have been here.” “ ‘ When I left the workhouse, Thursday fortnight after baby was born, I didn’t know what to do. It was twelve in the afternoon, and I went begging at all the corners, but I couldn’t get a halfpenny. Baby was with me all the time, and taking all my strength, till I couldn’t stand on my legs, or see out of my eyes. The police kept worrying me about, and I couldn’t stand still for a minute, and there was a nasty drizzle of rain, and it wetted mo and the baby through and through. I began to get silly at last, and sort of dazed. It was dreadful to look in at the shops, and see lots to eat and drink, and mo with not a penny, and the child drawing all the strength out of me. 1 never was quite right in my head, and I think I got silly at last with being so weak, for I went up to a gentleman and asked him to give me a trifle, and told him I’d do anything for a few ponce. He was a x-egular gentleman, dressed quite handsomely ; and he looked at mo and at the child, and ho burst out laughing, and said if I was drunk he wasn't. God knows I wasn’t drunk, hut I was dreadfully hungry, and my head going all round and round.

“‘ It came on to rain very hard. I was by the canal, and I got under one of the arches to keep as dry as I could. I hadn’t had any food for twelve hours, and there was no milk for the child. The houses were, all shut up, and I was getting weaker and weaker and quite dizzy and sick. I daren’t go home, for fear of father ; and there I was with the baby under the bridge. I know it was wicked, but what was Itodo ? I looked at it, and it was all blue and stiff with cold. It might as well have been dead. Anyhow, I threw it in, and ran away as hard as I could. ‘“I don’t know what happened the rest of that night. There was a load of straw by the canal a little way on, and I lay down and went to sleep. When I woke a barge was going by, and one of the men gave me a bit of bread and a bone of meat. I got a little strength out of that, and I found my way home to father’s. Father was as hard as ever. He called me dreadful names, and shut the door ri“ht in my face. He said he was a respectable man, and I’d brought shame on him, and the best thing for me to do was to go about my business. Then the neighbors came and spoke to him, and told him how bad I was, and cried shame on him for leaving his own daughter to starve in the street. There was a great disturbance, but he let me in at last. When the neighbors had gone, he said, “ Where’s your bastard ?” I began crying, and told him I daren’t bring the baby home. All he said was, “A good thing too. My house ain’t going to be made a leaving house. If you do as other girls do you must take care of yourself. God knows,” said he, “you are ugly enough, and as ragged and dirty as a cadger.” “ ‘ Some days after that I was taken up. The minute I saw the policeman I knew what it was, and I told him what I’d done, and said_ it was all because father wouldn’t take me in. I was had up before the magistrate, and then I was had up again before the Judge. There was an old gentleman in a wig, and he said I’d killed the baby, and then there was a young gentleman, and he said it was very hard. I thought, perhaps, father would come to say a word for me; and if he had, perhaps the judge might have let me off, for I know when sister was in trouble a gentleman spoke up for her, and the magistrates let her go. But father wasn’t there, and the gentlemen all talked, and then one of them told me that the policeman had said that I had thrown my baby into the canal, and he said I was to be hanged. He wasn’t as angry as father used to be, and he was crying while he spoke. But he said it was the law, and he said I had broken the law, and'that I was a bad wicked woman. And he said what little time X had X was to make the best of.

“ 1 X haven’t seen .anyone since, I want to see father, but he won’t come. The lacly who has care of me is very kind, and says there’s lots like me, and perhaps I shall get off. She says I was recommended to mercy, and that I shan’t be hanged, but only go to prison for a long time. She says I shall know in a day or two, and that lots of gentlemen are trying to ask the Queen to let me off. X think she wouldn’t say so if it wasn’t true. I never had anybody so kind to me before.’ “ I assure you I have added nothing of essential importance to the simple series of facts that came out before Mr. Justice Archibald.”

Permanent link to this item
Hononga pūmau ki tēnei tūemi

https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/NZTIM18750715.2.17

Bibliographic details
Ngā taipitopito pukapuka

New Zealand Times, Volume XXX, Issue 4468, 15 July 1875, Page 3

Word count
Tapeke kupu
2,114

A BABY KILLER. New Zealand Times, Volume XXX, Issue 4468, 15 July 1875, Page 3

A BABY KILLER. New Zealand Times, Volume XXX, Issue 4468, 15 July 1875, Page 3

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