JESSIE'S FATE.

Otago Witness, Issue 1843, 18 March 1887, Page 30

JESSIE'S FATE.

£% By Oka Hope. Sentence had» just been passed in the Timaru poisoning case, and we were discussing it — some half-a-dozen of us. We were moralising, too, a good deal, each one of us drawing from il a distinct and original lesson. Two old gentlemen were getting warm over the respective claims to precedence of the educated and uneducated criminal. A gushing young lady ventured the assertion that "no one really saw Hall administering the poison, therefore he should not be hanged." An indignant matron removed her spectacles, wiped and replaced them, and transfixing the maiden with a glance, proceeded to arraign the "despicable sentimentalised 'that induced sympathy with such a beiug." Our little party were getting very angry with each other. It was vain to try to change • the subject- -conversation would dr^ft back to the old groove. At length one of the gentlemen disputants, weary of reiterating argument, appealed to the Doctor, who, from the capacious depths of an easy chair, had been placidly looking on. The young lady, whose chastisement had not yet ended, exclaimed : II Doctor, help me first. Mrs S. is going to annihilate me for saying Hall should not be hanged. Do say you agree with me ?" "My dear young lady, I cannot conscientiously do that. This crime is more prevalent than you suspect. "When a poisoner is caught red-handed, I think he ought to be made an example of." " There ! " said the old lady, triumphantly, " I knew the Doctor would agree with me, ' that no mercy 'should be extended to this vilest of crirainrtls." , 11 1 would let the law take ita course, i madame, but I would hesitate to say vilest of criminals. That is only known to Him who reads the heart as an open book. How long was that man's fiendish nature unsuspected ? How do we know that within our own circle — nay, within our own families— Borne frail and evil nature may not yet rival the wickedness of the miserable being you are speaking of? To my. own knowledge there is one criminal equally vile now at large in Otago, perhaps at this moment paying court to some simple maiden, ' his murdered wife unavenged." The Doctor paused, a pained and solemn look clouding his cheerful face. The grave tones of his usually merry voice echo on our ears. Awesomely we draw together, as fchough the premonition of a tragedy had fallen upon us. Then with a shudder we shrink back a little, each one wondering whether his neighbour may not be the undeveloped criminal. None of us dream of asking: "Is it I, Lord?" But. — I am ashamed to own it — in a flash our most intimate friends pass before our mental vision, their various little proclivities scanned as they never were before. We know some gruesome story lits behind the Doctor's words, but we refrain from speaking. He is not inclined to tales of sorrow, but loves to tease. Patiently we wait ; his next words may be in the same strain, or he may- stride across to the piano and rattle off one of Gilbert and Sullivan's sparkling absurdities. The cloud does not lift. No ; the Doctor cannot be merry again to-night. He is thinking of the gentle Highland girl who left home and frieuds; braving the dangers of the sea, for the lover who was afterwards her murderer. He resumed : " As to whether the uneducated criminal pr his cultured confrere is the greater scourge to society, that must remain an open question.' True, your educated criminal has al r most unbounded resources. He does his work artistically. He has better opportunities than the untaught ruffian, who trusts in. the niafn to brute force rod a certain amctant of

canning, which is as far beneath the cultivated intellect as the instinct of the criminal. But as Christians we must believe that •neither is- allowed to follow the full bent of his evil intentions. We sec the cleverest of them tripped up just when success is within their grasp.- An inscrutable Providence permits a certain amount of wickedness, when, lo ! somo simple precaution neglected, some trivial circumstance, arrests attention, and the schemes of both fall like a house of cards, and retribution U at hand, - I'll tell you a sad story." THE DOCTOB ? S STORY. Many years ago I was practicing in a country district in Scotland. Among my patients was a farmer named Cameron. He was my nearest heighbour and I cherished a warm friendship for him and his family. He had one' daughter and several sons. A tall, graceful girl was Jessie, a winsome lighthearted lassie, worshipped in her home and loved by all who knew her. She had wooers plenty but seemed in no hurry to leave her i wealthy, indulgent- father. It was frequently remarked that "Jessie Cameron waß j ill to please but she'd get the crookit stick at last." Only once did I hear her name mentioned in connection with any man's. It was when visiting an old crone whose sun was a rejected suitor of Jebsio. As I opened tho gate her shrill voice in conversation with a neighbuur reached me. " Love creeps where it daurna walk ! I'se warrant she'd be civil enough to Hector Innes. Donald Cameron should make her take an honest man else he'll sup sorrow in spoonfu's yet owre his bonnie lassie." I took no heed of the words. Hector Innes was a hanger-on about the stables on the estate ; a good-looking fellow enough, but a loud, swaggering boor, as direct a contrast to Jessie as it was possible to conceive. I was then preparing to come to New Zeat land. When I bade them farewell there was no happier family in Scotland than the Camerons. Among the steerage passengers was Hector Innes, He claimed acquaintance directly. I disliked him from the first. There was a large number of women and children on board who were very sick. I frequently accompanied the ship's doctor in his rounds, and I' had an opportunity of acquiring a knowledge of Innes' disposition, i He was an impertinent, forward fellow, aping the manners of his superiors and domineering over his companions. I lost sight of him when we landed, but about four years afterwards he called upon me. > He had certainly improved very much. His i loud, boisterous manner had been toned down | considerably. He looked respectable, and told me that he had done well; that he owned 200 acres of freehold land well sup- I plied with every farming requisite, a couple of cows, and a team of horses. His prospects were so good that Donald Cameron had at | last, consented to give him Jessie, who was then on her way out. She had an uncle in | Melbourne who was to receive her, and Hector was going over to meet her. They \ would be married from, her relative's house, i and come over immediately after the ceremony. I congratulated him on his success and bade him bring Jessie to see us. " Remember," I said to him at parting, " how Jessie has been brought up. She is accustomed to luxuries you cannot give her j in your home in the bush. Give her all the pleasure you can before she takes up the real j labour of lrfo Take apartments ior her in j some good hotel for a while. Show her all that's to be seen in the city. Make her bridal trip a bright and consoling memory for her when' she ia battling with the hardships inevitable to farming life in a new country." He agreed to everything I suggested, seemed overjoyed at the prospoct of meeting Jessie, and full of confidence in his ability to give her a home as good as the one she had left. ■ I must confess that uppermost in my mind was the thought she had " gob the crookit stick at last.*' James returned with his bride in due course, and installed her at the City Hotel, where, with my wife, I several times called upon them. Very reluctantly had Donald Cameron consented to this marriage. . He gave his daughter a handsome outfit, packing trunk after trunk with housekeeping requisites, though, with a touch of characteristic caution, he gaye her only sufficient money to delray her expenses to Melbourne, saying that Hector was doing well, and did not require it, and that she would Bhare J with the rest at his death. Her uncle was a i bachelor and wealthy. Fain would he have kept Jessie for a few years, but poor girl ! she had to go to meet her fate. Ho loaded her with jewellery, and gave her £100 for a wedding gift. She was a charming girl, looking and acting like a true lady. After a few weeks they went to their home in Canterbury. beven or eight months passed, and as unexpectedly as before Hector lunes again made his appearance. Jessie was with him, but oh I how altered. Her face was flushed and haggard ; her sunken eyes preternaturally large and bright. She had been very ill she said. I was much concerned, and and was about to question her when her husband interposed with, | " There is a natural cause for Jessie's delicate looks, Doctor. I have brought her to Dunedin that she may be near you. D,o you know where I can get quiet, respectable lodgings for her?" j Observe that he did not consult me. He j merely made this statement. ' My wife who had conceived quite an [ attachment to Jessie was equally concerned about her. She woujd gladly have taken her into our own house until she got strong, but I could not conquer my aversion to her husi band, and we could not have one without the other. While looking for lodgipgs they had again put up at the City, where I noticed they lived in a atyie far beyond the means of a farmer. I felt troubled for the poor girl's future. Could I only have known all I How little I dreanied that heartache was hpr trouble j that Hector had not an acre of his own ; that the home ho had taken her to was a two-roomed- hut shared by another shep? h%d, tliat alfhxjugh he tried tt> keep tip fJne

delusion by showing her plans £ov a new; honso he was to have built in the gammer the scales had been torn from her "eyes and she beheld the hero.of her girlish dreams in' his tru'o" colours — a liar and an impostor, but she was loyal to him for all, and gave no hint of her disappointment either to me or to her relative. Would Bhe have been as loyal, I wonder, I had she known that he, too, regretted his' marriage — that he had already tired of her? Her sad face was a standing reproach that roused his slumbering cpnßcien.ce to torment him until he hated her. ' Not getting a dower wi^h her was" a .."bitter - disappointment. Previous to her coming out he had ho inducement to spend, therefore he had drawn no money. His wages had accumulated until in comparison to his condition at home he was a rich man. .Then followed two or three months of pleasure that was too much for that raw uncultured lad. • .Staying at hotels, waited on and cringed to, for' he called himself a squatter, and gave himself the airs of a prinoo, he was not long in getting through his wages. Before he left Melbourne he had started on a course of swindling, borrowing money on false pretences from his shipmates. In Dunedin the uncle's gift baroly sufficed for their expenses. Then came reflection and regret. He had tasted the sweets of idleness and extravagance ; to return to hard work, and haider fare was gall and wormwood to him. He became a prey to vain regrets and dreams of villainy. He felt that Jessie's unaffected piety made her an unfit companion for him. She was an obstacle when she might have been nn ally. Could he have brought her to his way of thinking her rich relatives would have been a mine of wealth for him. To change her was impossible ; to get rid of her was the one alternative. This man was educated enough to make a clumsy attempt at forgery; he could not be easily puzzled in a question of figures ; he spoke with tolerable correctness, but he was not sufficiently educated to make my particular object a stndy. He knew that poison was poison. He did not ktK>v .■{' the various kinds or their different modes of working. Arsenic is a poison most shepherds are familiar with He tried its deadly effects on animals, and then began to operate on his unhappy wife. Dreading that the. frightful contortions he had witnessed in animals he had administered it to would leave too palpable a trace on the human victim he gave it to Jessie in small closes and frequently. He had heard of slow poisoning, and. deemed it was thus accomplished. He did not under, stand how the system becomes accustomed to arsenic, nor how long one may be taking it in this way without its proving fatal. Jessie, who in her Highland home had never known an hour's illness, felt her health breaking down. After a night of intense suffering she cried to him pathetically to take her away, to send her home, send hf>r somewhere that she might have a neighbour's womanly -sympathy.' He consented ; he would go that morning to take lodgings in town for her until she was better. The man who shared the hut with them had gone out to his day's duties. He would not return before sunset. Hector Innes bade his wife goodbye with a Judas' kiss. He, too, would be away until nightfall, when he hoped to iind her a corpse, because, before leaving, he would give her another, and a stronger dose But the " best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft agoe." The other shepherd met on his way one of the few women who lived on the station. She was in quest of a vagrant cow. " Never heed the beast just now;" he said, in answer to her queries, " but away down to our hut, and see if you can do anything for the poor new chum lassie, who wa3 like to die last night." She went, and poor Jessie was nursed back from the grave. Twas but a short respite. It was as soon after as she could bear removal that he brought her to Dunedin and left her in lodgings, resolved to desist from his attempted crime for awhile, lest suspicion should be aroußcd. He said he would sell out his property and get into business — a lonely life did not agree with Jessie. I believed everything he told me at the time, for it was not till too late that I discovered'all that lam now telling you. Late one Saturday night, about six weeks afterward, Innes came to me and said : v • " Doctor, lam so annoyed. I was delayed on the road, and could not get into town until the banks were closed/ I have no money, and Jessio wants some. Would you mind giving me a cheque for, say £15 or £20." • My old distrust revived. I asked : " What can you want so much money for in such a hurry? You cannpt get" my cheque cashed any more than ypur own — the shops are all closing." He answered : ' "Jessie's landlady i 3 bothering her. I paid her a month in advance, but the time expired a fortnight ago, and I had forgotten it. I must leave to-morrow evening, as I want to be home on Tuesday, perhaps you have as much cash in the honso that you could lend me ? " I said I would see. Leaving him ia the surgery I went to ujy wife, and asked her if shehad any money by her, I told her of my visitor, and his request. I opened the cash box and took out its contents, counting out £20, 1 reached the door with it, but acting on a second thought, I turned back and replaced it. "I'll not give him one shilling," I said, turning the key with a snap, " not one shilling." " Oh, my dear," pleaded my wife, " don't be disagreeable. You know it's all right, and $hen it's for Jessie." " No ; not one shilling to him, but Jessie shall get whatever she want*. She can only owe for $ fortnight's, board. You can write a kind little note to her on Monday morn- | ing- enclosing four guineas ; I shall go down ; and tell him tha£ I'm .eorry | cannot oblige him." Hector had not left when Jessie received . mywife'? note on Monday. .She must have felt keenly his appealing to jtqe for Kidney,

and^reproached him .for it. [t was doubt- " less to silence her that he sent me a cheque for the amount, trusting that I should | pay it into the bank in the -usual course and that, some little time might elapse before the fraud was discovered. So it might have' been but for accident, if we rej cognise no higher influence in those things. i The same evening that I received it a gentleman, to whom I had been called in professionally , some' days before, tendered my ■ wife-X.^S.^lote, asking her to take from it !my usual fee. I had" been at the bank that morning and left only some silver in the house. - .Hector Innes' cheque had come in afterwards.- She told the gentleman she could not give him change unless he took the cheque/adding,,- " You heed not be afraid : it is drawn by a friend." He said-he would take it, and if it wns not all right he could easily return it. He was back the rjfcxt morning. ■ * " Here. Js your cheque, Doctor. I have presented/at overy bank in Dunedin. None of them know your friend's name." I examined the cheque carefully, and thought I discovered the reason. I refunded the four guineas, tolling my patient that this friend lived in the country, and had omitted putting in .the name of the branch with which his business was transacted. Never dreaming of fraud, I enclosed the cheque in a note to Jessie, stating that Hector had made a mistake in filling it. Would she ask him, when he returned, to mark Geraldine branch on if? Poor Jessie ! She whitened to her very lips when she read my note. Her landlady afterwards asked me if I had sent her bad news. When Hector came in there wns a scene. Jessie's sobs were audible in the kitchen, and her husband's voice was loud and angry, but they spoke in Gaelic, and the cause of - the quarrel was consequently a mystery. They left Dunedin that evening. I never s^w her alive again. I saw him once, but'it was in prison. We next hoard of them in Christchurch, where he sold by auction all Jessie's belongings. The boxes of household linen, the silverware, the books— the gifts of tho dear friends at horne — were all sold ; bnt she was spared the pain of knowing it. She was led to believe that her boxes were being stored until they should settle. The sale realised £100; and on the strength of this their stay at a fashionable hotel was prolonged. Again Hector termed himself a squatter and lived accordingly. Before his quiet, refined wife the suspicions aroused by his boastful manner disappeared, and they were regarded as wealthy people. Here he appeared to have completely lost his head. At a land sale he bought a large tract of country, giving a cheque for the deposit, which he privately requested the auctioner not to present for 10 days, in order to allow him time Lo communicate with his agent in Dunedin. That day Mrs Innes appeared to be rather better. She wrote letters in the afternoon, and was brighter and more cheerful than usual. At daybreak the bell from their apartments rang furiously, and Hector Innes' cries and lamentations startled the household. His wife was dead ! His story was that she had called "Hector!" in a sharp tone, and he answered, asking if she wanted anything, but she did not speak agaiu. He thought she had gone to sleep, but he could not rest afterwards. ' So he soon arose and dressed, Wondering at her lying so still, ho looked closer and found she was dead. So much was with difficulty elicited from hini. He appeared frantic with grief and would suffer no one but himself to touch the body. It was not. until late in the afternoon — indeed nearly dusk — that they could get him out of the room to perform the last offices for the dead. The utmost sympathy was shown for him. Tho funeral was conducted on the grandest scale and an expensive tombstone ordered forthwith, He waited to see it erected and then disappeared. The landlord feared his mind had given way under his bereavement and that he had committed suicide. No, he had not committed suicide ; ho had fi^d in . terror to the ranges. He had travelled a good deal before coming to Christchurch, making a short stay in many places, .paying his way with valueless-, cheques. The sight of a landlord he had victimised accompanied by a policeman had scared him, and he had left the town lamenting, - , Then people. began to, wonder at their simplicity in "being so duped. . Circum - stance?, unhejklea^at., t£ e time, recurred' to • memory r uutil suspicion frrow into a certainty that Hector Innes wa*-* ;t murderer as well as a swindlerT'"'A! T gentleiiian wbWceupied the adjoining -appartinent on the night of the death remempered hearing a smothered shriek from their r<3pm some time' in the small hours. Another had" heard a Stealthy footstep in the passage. Looking out he saw Inneß. returning to his room, trying, doubtless, to discover if any one had been disturbed by his poor wife's last struggle. The housemaid remembered when she touched the corpse but a few miuutes after the alarm was giyen it was cold — cold and rigid as though it had long been dead ; and the woman who shrouded the body remembered seeipg a/blue mark on the chest which ought not to have been there. The certificate was not signed .by a practitioner of standing but by a hapless ne'er-do-well who was rarely found sober. . , •• After a month's search Hector Innes was arrested on a charge of murder. I was summoned to Christchurch as a witness. My evidence was unimportant. I had never prescribed for Jessie. I knew nothing of her illness but what her husband told me, and thai was false. The body was exhumed. True enough there .was the cruel mark on her poor chest, I where her murderer had knelt while he I pressed the pillow on her face until heryoung life was crushed out. The b9dy bore j no sign ' pt decptrioosition ; the argehip had always, been! giving h,er possessed prej servativß properties fait lie had no know- ; ledg<Tof v ~ Nevertheless he was acquitted of the charge ot murder. The evidence, was purely: circumstantial, and the scruples of I the juxy were successfully appealed to- by ! his cifever CQiiaffel, Fur uttering valueless

cheques he waa~ sentenced "td*two y ears' i'^ prisonment. His craven nature showed It, self in every lineament while in the dock His terror when the foreman brought in the verdict was pitiable, and when he found l ie was acquitted of the main charge, the rcvu) sion of feeling was so great that he had to be assisted from the court, , Hearing that ho was very ill in. gaol, r sought an interview with him before I left The miserable wrotch thought he was d^W and confessed all to me, He had ■written without her knowledge to her father and uncle for a Joan of meney. . In(a sudden burst, of confidence she told^him that she had written home to her fattier, telling him that they had, been unfortunate, that they were now very poor, and asking i£ he wouK\ pay their passage home again/ "She had also written to her uncle, telling him all, j a tho hope that he too might help them ; b«t she was ashamed to ask for assistance. This was a blow that shattered his hopes of gain in both- quarters. In his letters he had spoken bo boastfully of his -wealth of tho splendid tract of land l^ was taking up, tn the purchase of which he required these loans, that 1,| } wife's exposure meant ruin for him. There was nothing left but her .jewellery and that was so little for two. All attempts at poisoning her had failed. She seemed to bear a charmed life. That night he smothered her as she slept. When he had finished the story of his crime he said excitedly : "You'll not betray me, Doctor; will you? I too have a father and mother at home who would feel my shame. You must not tell this for I'll deny it if I get better. It will be only oath against oath and you won't be believed. They all knew I was ill, I was delirious, I did not know what I was saying What is the good of your telling it ? Your English laws don't allow a man to bo tried twice for the same crime. I havo been tried and acquitted. You will not tell the story Doctor 1 " . h I did not make his confession public ; I did not cover his name with infamy as he deserved. Although after thi6 lapse of time 1 feel no scruple in telling Jessie's sad story. I do not feel justified in giving you her busband's name. The names I have used arc fictitious, but the incidents are too true. This being, the case I feel no scruple in putting "Jessie's fate " into print, Although my esteemed friend, the Doctor, does not at present expect it will ever confront him in the pages of his Witness. I trust when he sees it i here he will agree with me that auch things, should be made public were it only to "point a moral."