Who Killed Hawkins?

Wairarapa Daily Times, Volume X, Issue 3285, 17 August 1889, Page 2

Who Killed Hawkins?

ACLUEToTheMJHDEBEft (By Wellington Watchman in The Catholic Times.) For some two or three years prior to his untimely death, I enjoyed the privilege of the friendship of the late Charles E. Bunny, who so ably defended Cliemis at liis trial for the murder of Hawkins. Circumstances brought us into even more intimate friendship immediately after that murder. Mr Bunny told the writer as much concerning his client as his scrupulous souse of duty to that client and keen regard for tho unwritten laws of his profession would permit him to tell living man, On the Tuesday following the murder, Mr Bunny, the present writer, and two others proceeded to Oherais's house, thence, timing ourselves, direct to the scene of the murder, thence to the place where Bowles discovered the

horse and cart, returning via the Butchery, Prom what Mr Bunny told mo, from my own observation of the accused during frequent attendances at the magisterial proceedings and during the trial, from independent inquiries, and aided by such humble logical faculty as I possess, ] have all along held the strongest possible opinion that

Cliomis is Innocent of the murder. That opinion has now become a certainty. Desiring to sail under no false colors I declare

I urn a partisan of those who believe Chemis guiltless. Moreover, I have no wish to conceal that the murder and subsequent events connected therewith have made a strong, painful, and possibly lasting impression on my mind. Believing with

Mr Bunny that his client was wrongFully accused, I have felt, still feel—ihougk unable to say precisely why—that it was incumbent upon me to

leglect- no opportunity of demon-

stalling the innocence of Chemis ii in my power to do so. This, of course, may be mere sentiment-but the

sentiment exists. Rightly or wrongly I believe that I am now in a position to provo that Chemis did not Commit the Murder.

In tho succeeding narrative it is impossible to 'avoid the frequent use of the first person singular. Tho exigencies of the story and not egotism must be my oxcuso. Since Charles Bunny's death, save when fully occupied or sleeping, hardly a moment has passed in which I have not aslted rayselt

Who killed Hawkings ? Up to last Saturday evening I was no

nearer the solution than two months ago. This trick of thinking the matter over had grown so strong a habit that my health, mental and physical, had seriously suffered, and though personally hardly cognizant of the mischief, my wife, she now tolls me, regarded my condition with considerable apprehension. As, last Saturday, I satathome, brooilingjos usual, she quietly asked: " Why don't you go out for a walk?" "Because," replied I, somewhat irritably, " because I have something I want to think over." " Yes, you want to think over that wretched murder business. You think of little else, Now, why don't you walk out this afternoon to Kaiwarra, to the soene of the murder, and sit there and think ? You will get the excuse you so badly want, and your surroundings will he gruesome and therefore appropriate. Seriously," she continued," some light might break on you there," " Why, there ?" I quoried, " Oh, I don't know, but spiritualists and occultists, and the- other

fearful folk with long titles, strongl] insist that our environment has much to do with the chain and sequence oi our thoughts-or some mysterioui stuff of that sort,!'

" My dear," said I, kissing her- " Out of the months of babes ai sucklings—!"

I determined, to go; the advice wa philosophical. On the point of de parturo my wife came hurriedl downstairs, carrying with rigid out stretched arm something whiol might have been a poisonous vipei It was my

Bulldog Revolver,

an instrument which generally reposes at the bottom of a box in a dusty cupboard, and which the mistress of the house, in common with many jf her sex, believes to possess a fatal facility for "going off," unloaded, urged thereto by the innate" cusseduess" of all firearms.

" Whatever do you want mo to do with this ?" I asked. '•'Well," she said, "I don't like you going to that horrid place, all alone, without something iu your pocket. Beside I fcol so much nicer when it is out of the house. Oh! do take care!"

I had taken the pistol and mechanically dropped it into my pistol pocket; a pooket I invariably weir, possibly becauso I uover carry a pistol. As nothing would induco her to handlo the cartridges or allow the pistol to be loaded in her presence, I took five cartridges from my desk and slipped them into my waistcoat, Why I took eithor revolver or cartridges, except to satisfy feminine fancy, 1 am totally unable to guess. These preparations completed, 1 set forth :

Time, 3.30 p.m

I walked at fair gait in tlio direction of CiiEjns's house, and not desiring to be seen from thence, ascended the hill to the left—i.e., on the Wellington side—of the unfortunate man's abode, I readied the crest of the Mil to. the right of OpMis's house at 4,10 p.m. I did not see the house itself, nor could I be seen from ,it. Allowing three minutes for reaching, from the house, the spot where I stood, I arrived at the scene qf tho murder, going very

hard, in 87 minutes, Time, 4,44 p.m. It was of course still daylight, the sky was cloudy, there was littlo wind, hut the air was cold. After leaving the main road I never encountered a soul, I walked straight to the spot whore the body was found; with the exception of some signs of recent trampling the surroundings were much the same as on the Tuesday after the murder. Strolling to a clump of gorse 15 yards below that in which the murderer is supposed to have awaited the

Approach of his Victim I lit niy pipe and sat down thoroughly concealed from the view of any passer by. Every portion of my anatomy was thoroughly tried out by the unwonted exercise, except tho wretched machine that has recently done duty for my brain, that immediately begin the old, ceaseless iteration of (he past fow weeks;

'' Who Killed Hawkins V Leaning back, and desperately con- j centrating my thoughts, I fixed my , eyes on the spot on wbieli the inur- i dered man was probably first at- j tacked. Bach thought, in tlie sequence ] in which it passed, is aj fresh and > vivid now, as on Saturday afternoon. ] " Who killed him ?" I thought. Is , there anything; hiovm about the , matter? lea, it is certain ho was . murdered. Of that there can be no ] doubt. Ten weeks ago poor Hawkins | walked.unsuspectingly to his doom. , He stood there. lam looking at the | scene of the tragedy. This is the | only fad that projects clearly aud , boldly from the gloom'of surmise and ( the fog ot theory-police and medical. , What More do We Know ? We know he was shot, We how he ' was stabbed, but wo do not know whether he was shot with a rifle, a fowling piece or a pistol, and we do not know the precise description of the weapon with which he was stabbed. I, individually, happen to know that the shot marks yield strong presumptive evidence that the murdered ■ man was shot with a choke bore fun or a pistol— not a revolver. I, individually, happen to how that the stilotto found hi tho house of Chejiis could not have been the weapon used, for tho weapon which inflicted wounds in a live man will not, unless similar force be employed, fit these wounds after the viotiin is dead and cold. Moreover, there is evidence almost amounting to certainty, that the weapon employed by the murderer was Not a Stiletto, but i knifes, knife much worn through constant'sharpening; in shape resembling a foreign seaman's sheath knife. ' This is hwvm by measurement of the wounds. Beyond those matters all seems surmise. But stiiy I In that sea of surmise, we approach and oasis of fact. The wounds in the body, etc., were very numerous. Nevertheless, many stabs did not penetrate the clothing. An Italian is accused of the murder. The knife is the national weapon of Italy. Surely Chbjiis must have kuown how to reach the heart in one or two attempts, Why, then, those repeated stabs ? Because the Diurderer was delirious with rage or: satiated rovongo ? But the phenomenalcoo/wss of Oiiemis isself-apparent. Assume him to have been the murderer: It is evident that he had no intention of suffering for his crime. He must have known that his subsequent safety would depend upon his reaching home as soon after the murder 'as possible. Yet we are asked to believe that he wasted valuable time and chanced detection by standiug over a dead body while he inflicted utterly useless and purposeless stabs upon it. The idea is preposterous. It is preposterous to suppose that any sane [man was so foolish—

Any-9aue-Mau.-A.li J By the way, was the man, the stranger, apparently, seen near the scene of the murder on the following'morning ? Was ho seen, aud if so, why did the prosecution seek to throw doubt on the fact? The murderer was prompted not by the hope of plunder, but reyenge, There can be no doubt of tlu.t. Yes there can. There can be doubt of anything. But if not plunder; if not revenge—what object could there bo ? None. Who would commit an objectless crime? Who but AMauUic?

But there is no auspioiou an y man, with homioidal tendencies, has escaped from any asylum,.oris at large, nor do dangerous madmen wander the country without giving any signs of their presence. Still, who was that " Stranger seen uox( day?" At this point I stopped, only to re-commence with the dreadful question which heads this page. Over the same limited area of thought my brain continually traveled. .1 never got further that the idea of stranger, seen or supposed to have been seen, except overy now and again would intervene a dull feeling ot anger at the Wellington polioe who, like most of their kind.formed a theory and then tried to fit some unfortunate man—a foreigner—into it. Why, instead of suffering themselves to be hounded into the arrest of Chemis, had they not reasoned as I was attempting to reason—from something they knew to something they did not know ? With their means, of obtaining information, what might they have 1 I Had been Asleep I . There is no doubt of that. High in heaven, fitfully obscured by passing clouds, shone the moon. I was very cold and all my bones ached. The headache I had homo for weeks had gone. Thank hoaveu for that! I must get up! What will my wife think V If anyone is passing, what will they think ? They will suppose cither 1 am a ghost or the murderer of poor Hawkins unpolled by conscience to revisit ! . . , " Thanh God I brought the revolver !" Without rising, still lying prono on my hack as when I awoke, I reach round, holding my breath, making no sound, silently but swiftly draw and load four chambers of my pistol. Wliy ? Because Someone is uear me! I cannot see living soul—tlio gorse prevents that; neither can I hear aught, but this I know soinetliing—something—something evil; I know that—is closo to me. A land of cold sweat, seems to break out on me. Without again moving hand or foot I peer out on every side. Presently, somewhat reassured, feeling better now I have the pistol ready, I rise cautiously to a sitting position. Just then the moon shines out bright and clear, Two things I seem to see simultaneously; a little packet of white paper-not there when I went to sleep—hanging to the gorse dose to my left hand, and .fifteen yards or so to my left, and on the samo level as myself, and on tlio spot from which Hawkins was first shot at

A Man Crouching? with his back to me, apparently turning over his pockets for some, thing he had lost. Keeping my eyes steadfastly on the man I reached out, grasped the paper with my left hand, and facing him, my revolver in my right hand, glanced hastily at the paper, My rapid scrutiny sufficed to show me that the outside pieces—for there were several printed slips-was a portion of the Evening Press. That the man on my right-had lost the.se slips and was searching for them I felt certain, as ho half tuiwd round and exposed his loft hand apparently with several pieces of paper iu it, while he dived in his left inside breast pocket with his right. At that moment I caught aglimpse—partially obscured by the gorse—of his lace, I will not, for obvious reasons, describe him, but if ever it was given to niuri till wan to look on

TheFnce of tho Damned it was given to me that night. His fuco was terrible in its palor—made more palid by tbe moon's ray's— and in the awful, beastial expression of his countenance. I can honestly say that all mere nervousness had left me, but there was that in this unknown stranger's face which told ine most unmistakably that if he saw me bo would kill me, unless I killed hint. I lay there, watching him and cogitating. No use ip shout for assistance. What awstance could reach in that wild, lonely spot? Beside, the man had as good a right there as I had, and how could.!, by any reasonable theory, excuse my ton presence at that hourl Nothing for it but to wait developments, Presently he relinquished liis search, looked eagerly on every side, hesitated, listened, and arose,. He stood there in the bright moonlight revealing every detail ot face, form, and clothing. faced glared straight into mnnr Involuntarily I, still sitting, raispd my pistol and covered Ins heart—such wa's the lurid light in his eyes that I felt; against my better judgment, that he saw and would instantly attack me, A moment's reflection assured me, however, that he could not see through the' gorse, but mentally I determined I would let him advance towards me five paces and no more; as he lifted his foot for the sixth time I would firo and

A i sn for His Heai^ and nowhere else. He neven-froved, but stood staring as before. .'At last life while lips opened, though no sound came from them. Suddenly lie crouched again, his profile in sight, and I noted he was listening intently and gazing down the road—the road by which I now remembered Hawkins

Came to His Doom. I had, from the moment of awakening, almost forgotten the murfe forgotten almost where I was.tfind why I came. Now,.instintaneously, I knew without shadow of a doubt that I looked upon the murderer, and that he was enacting once again the awful drama of Friday night, May 31st. Again he rose, straightened himself, and walked leisurely into the . road, and peered down the road. Apparently satisfied that he heard his victim coming, he leaped hack into the gorse, and waited. My every sense was quickened, but it seemed an age before the murderer's—for such I felt he was—next movraeut. At lust, without a sound he roSffnce more, presented a large "' Siusjle-barelled Pistol aimed to his left front, up hill, stood a brief moment irresolute, returned pistol, drew what was evidently a knife,-and came rushing back down the hill, aiming desperate stabs to some, to me, invisible figure, Sometimes lie stopped, faced round, and stabbed; anon he ran some yards, almost tumbled over something; tangible to him, and stabbed again! again I again! Houud his lips there hung a bloody foam, as rouritte lips of a savage rabid hound, l^/ao

I saw the Murderer I I was determined to capture or to kill him. No thought of my self obtruded; only a mad horror and loathing, and a desire to rid the world of a devil in human shape, Presently he knelt a fow yards below me. He seemed to be talking to something, mocking someone. Now was my time. I cared little if this brute, whether fiend or madman, saw me. Virst I crept on hands and knees, my pistol ready. As nearer I drew I became less cautions and, dislodging a stone, made some slight noise. He never heard, _ Then 1 rose to my feet and advancing rapidly, but silently as I could. When within fifteen paces he turned round, saw me, and with a fearful shriek of rage and terror, and with an activity superhuman, faced to the right and bounded up the bank. For one brief second I covered and thought of firing at him—the next ho had vanished into the scrub. Ho had a pistol and a knife— I knew I should pay the my life did I follow. T heardf/urn only for a fow seconds. Then

All was Silent For a momont or two I stood considering, Then' reflecting that I might be making a target of myself, went swiftly down the hill, and avoiding the butchery—the dogs wherein wero loudly barking—soon got on the road, My first inanition was to seek the police. MyMt to take legal advice. I prooeeded straight to the residence of a wellknown lawyer. To him I told not only the foregoing story, but several details which.l havo hero purposely suppressed. Ho heard mo iu silence, his first impression being—as lie subsequently acknowledged—that

I had {jone M.ad, When, however, I recounted how I hod found the packet of papers he simply said: "Where arc they?" I first concluded my story, thon, as I drew tlio papers from my pocket, \ noticed that my friend was slightly astonished. When I read the fiM paper his expression of astonishiafrt had given place to a look of fooi intelligence, He perceived, for the first time the full significance of the drama I hail witnessed. The first paper is a copy of an advertisement which appeared in the Evening Press en Saturday, June Ist, 1889 The day after the Murder Hero it is: NOTICE Yet forty days, aud Wellington shall be overthrown. The earthquakes have told that God is not pleased at &U with men in New Zealand., There is no taith and no love for God in thn lot, nothing but sin of all kinds, Ho will servo them all alike It is far bettor to bo buried alive very deep than to go in sin more and moro every day, even in ouo they shall not be JJany infants born of krlots arc murdered, sorao buried alive, some given away and slaves madoofthem, Many live in pleasures of Bin as if mad, and do no morcy, but cruelty more than ever to men, horses, beasts, etc, until they sco they must dio, then do they weep bitterly, and howl, and lament, and pray hard for mercy, but.havo to obtain none, seeing {fa. thoy havo shown no mercy to the friends of God, but tormented them instead. Churches, Chapels,-Temples, etc, are got up by men most wicked of all. Their hearts aro full of deciot, tho same as i thief and a robber, with too much learning, but Rood for nothing, too lazy for business and for work; they spoak fair and good words to servo Jjdir own belly and not God; they pray and spout much about the Word of God, and deal deceitfully with like Korah and Comp, Numbers XVI. Yo people of God bo ye not deceived by those evil servants that know the will of God and do it not shall suffer very vory much, Many fast and pray not in secret, and give no alma in scciv.t, avo not converted by a Buint, not repented, not sanctified, not junlicd, not regenerated. These things are commaded by the Lord Jesus Christ to bo dono every year .instead of burnt offerings and sacrifices. I am a Saint from Germany to convert everybody free of charge. Any person who receives

mo mul docs what I toll them shall ho saved for otcnml happiness, anyone doing it not shall bo soon iu denial lioli and great torments. Five days onlv, and I shall ho gone. Address J.M., Post OQicc. 15115 wl. The remaining papers, folded inside the first, woro cuttings from Southern nowspapors relating to the Wsntahuna Murder, which is supposed to have boon perpotrated on last May 20/ A Iht. find, or 23rd; the murder of the unfortmiato Mr Hawkins having been committed on May 81st. The victim of the Waitalnuu was James Bradford, a miner, whoso mate, Kobert Waddeia, after being arrested AT suspicion was released, thoro being not Ik slightest evidence against him. Tho questions I now call upon the police to answer are: (1.) Who murdered Bradford ? (2.) Who murdered Hawkings? (3.) Who was the man seen near tho scene ol the Kaiwarra murder on tho following morning (June 1) ? (4.) Who was the maniac who inserted tho advertisement (above quotod) in the Evening Press ot Juno Ist ? Thoro aro two moro questions, I -will myself answer, They are: (1) Who was the man seen by me on the night of Saturday, August 10th 1 (2) Did I actually see a living man, or have I simply been the unconscious instrument of working out a terrible mystery and phychological problem ? Time will prove. [We believe that Mr Inspector Thompson is honestly anxious to (solve the Hawkins mystery. We ask him therefore to follow up the forogoing clues, If, as we believe, tho murderer is a homicidal maniac still at large, publicity can do no harm, but much good. For this reason we publish this article.—Ed. C.T.]