THE WELLINGTON TRAGEDY.    

A Most Brutal Murder 1889. 

by

Thomas Leathan-drum - 2015

Hawkins had his life insured for $300.00.

I took the three flights of stars; saving the elevator for the pretty ladies, and those with coins to reward them for their services.  Crossing Cuba Street, found myself in the direction of Hampton Quay, and under twenty-minutes at the doors of the Wharf Hotel.     The door man, tall, dressed, in a well fitting uniform, eased ajar the door with his gloved hands, and a tip of his hat.    The foyer is pristine; the windows shining and the floors polished, sparkling, clean enough to eat breakfast from.   The sounds of morning dinning and friendly conversations leads me towards the breakfast lounge; hanging my coat and hat upon brass hooks, I'm ushered in.

'Morning Doctor.   If you would like to sit by the window, I will bring your coffee and toast.    You will find your friend, mr MacArthur sitting to the left of Lord Cunningford's statue.'

Mr Michael MacArthur I meet only yesterday; we arrived in Wellington on the same train.    He is an amateur detective, spending his time covering murder cases.   Not my friend.    He saw me heading his way, he stood, waved, drawing my attention to a vacant chair.

'Morning, mr MacArthur'.

'Please call me Michael.'   

'Michael.   I trust this morning finds you in good spirits?'   I ask.   He is reading, "The Star"   The headline read.

THE WELLINGTON TRAGEDY.    A Most Brutal Murder 1889. 

As I take the chair, he offers a cigarette; his initials are etched upon a silver case.    I decline.   Smoking was a past-time, once enjoyed.    My thoughts are interrupted.

'Your coffee and toast.   Raspberry or apricot jam?    If I may say, Sir, an unfortunate end to that fellow Hawkins.'

'Yes.   It is.'   I answered.        

'Will that be all for now?   Gentlemen.'

'Yes.   Thank you.'

'I'm just reading the coroner's account regarding the murder of that chap Hawkins.   Have you read it?'    Asked Michael.

'No.     But I was there.'

'You were there.   What heavens for?'

'I am the doctor.'

'You a doctor?'      

'Yes.'  I nodded.  I was confident an inquire regarding a possible cure for an illness, secretly held from his own practitioner would surface.    But no.

The paper lay across the table, Michael, with his coffee in one hand, and a slice of my toast in the other.   His reading glasses sitting low on the tip of his nose.   His third cigarette unloved in the ash tray.   He read aloud.    The inquest on the body of the unfortunate mr Hawkins; more detailed account shows the matter in a yet more vivid light.     

The Coroner's office had full occupation, every seat was taken.     The clock shows the time of one-thirty.      The coroner sat at the head of the table; the note taker, a short well built women in her fifties, fingers recording every word.    The three main parties, the inspector, the doctor and the witness, sat opposite.     Journalists, acquaintances, family and friends, plus the interested, sat wherever.  

The clock chimed two o'clock.      The coroner said.   Gentleman, shall we commence.

The witness said that on the left side of the road there was a gorse bush in which a person could have been concealed until the deceased (Hawkins,) came up; Hawkins was in the habit of walking on the left side of his horse, with his right hand on the bridle.      

'I could not find any footprints to show whether deceased had attempted to run away, or not, as the road was very dry and hard.'   The witness told the enquiry.    He sat down.

Then the garments worn by the deceased were produced.    The waistcoat was at one side cut diagonally across the corner of the row of button-holes, being almost severed and there was also a nearly circular rip in the back, two or three inches below the nape of the neck.      The coat had several cuts under the left arm-pit, and another close to the left side pocket.    In the back, quite close to the collar, and corresponding with the rip in the back of the waistcoat, was another big rip, evidently torn by a gun-shot; and surrounding this came a number of small punctures such as would have been made by scattering shot.      There was a cut over the left hand pocket of the trousers, and all the other garments were sodden with blood.      

'It was evident that the shot must have been fired at very close quarters,      The Coroner, made the statement.      The Coroner turned his attention towards the doctor.     'Sir, you performed the postmortem; please state your findings.'

Breakfast was over, the tables were being cleared, table cloths and the breakfast cutlery, being replaced for the lunch diners.     Michael and I moved to the outside tables. 

'What did your postmortem show?' 

I gave evidence, in detail, a description of each of the numerous wounds.   I spoke for the greater part of two days.       

'There was a gunshot wound at the back of the left shoulder, and smaller wounds caused by single pellets around the large hole.    There was a contusion in the stomach behind the waistcoat pocket.'   I detailed the number, character and size of the stabs.    I advised the body had been stabbed all over.    I told them.

'One cut severed the lower jawbone, another the jugular vein, another reached the heart, and several pierced the left lung.'      I continued. 

'The wounds were mainly inflicted from the back, the majority having a direction downwards and forwards, towards the centre of the body.     Those under the left arm were directed slightly upwards and inwards, towards the heart.    They were all clean cut at both extremities, from which I infer that they were produced by a double-edged weapon.   They were all similar in character, except the gunshot wounds and the contusions on the face, and the left side of the stomach.'   

I told them.   'The holes diminished in size from without inwards, this was well shown by the wound which passed from the left side through the lung, pericardium and heart, where the wound on the surface of the body measured three-quarters to seven-eighths of an inch in length, while that on the heart measured only a quarter of an inch.'     

'The distance,' I said.   'Between the outer wound on the body and the one on the heart being five inches, leads me to believe that the instrument which produced these wounds was sharp, double-edged, tearing and at least five inches in length.   That it was an exceedingly strong instrument, and driven with great force, is shown by the clean cuts made through the bony processes of the vertebra, and the fracture of the lower jaw.'    I continued.

'From the appearance of the small ragged round hole in the right front of the coat, and the long ragged tear in the left corner and pocket of the vest, and the large tear in the pocket and left corner of the coat.'

When I was asked.   I replied.    'I am inclined to believe that these tears were caused by a rounded missile, like a spherical bullet, fired from above.    It entered the right side of the coat, tearing the circular hole dose to the hem, passed in a clear line, tearing the cloth of the waistcoat, and then struck against the knife and whatever silver was in the pocket; after which it emerged through the coat.'

I paused for a moment, taking a slip of water, and glanced around the room.    I continued.

'It is a curious thing that the bruise over the left hypochondriac region shows the mark of the knife, as though the bullet struck the knife and would have entered the body but for being thus deflected outwards.'      I sat down exhausted.

'Doctor,' spoke the Coroner.   'According to your theory, there must have been two shots fired, a bullet and a charge of shot?  

'That is how I believe it was be done.'   Was my reply. 

Michael, the amateur detective was all over the evidence, and was dry of mouth, he'd ordered a bottle of the best house wine.    'Do you know who killed him?'  He asked me.     

'No; I do not.'

Michael read on.

The Coroner had told the enquiry, it's a curious thing we have to note, and that is, the missile would probably carry before it the fragments of the knife.    That knife was found on the inner side of the road, and not on the outer side so that if the man were shot at from the roadside, he would have his left shoulder to the bank.     Here, Inspector Thomson's first theory was that the ambush had been on the left side. 

Six o'clock had come and gone, the Coroner would not cease until all the information had been recorded.

Again the witness spoke.    'The only way I can account for it is, even taking your idea of where the assailant was standing, that he just allowed the victim to get past him to make certain of him that he made a noise in getting up out of the bush, or perhaps shouted to the deceased, who then turned round to face him.     That would cause the knife to be carried to where I understand it was found.'     

'Your thoughts, Doctor?'  Asked the Coroner.

My reply.     'The shot fired from behind which entered the shoulder, must have been fired, when both parties were about level, and within a distance, I should say, of two yards, to judge from the appearance of; the coat and the wound.      I mean that I there would be only about two yards between the muzzle of the gun and the man's back.     The pellets used were about No. 3 or 4 shot.'       I sat down.

Inspector Thomson here produced a double-edged dagger, about six inches in length, the same that was found by the police on Saturday, and asked whether it was such an instrument as had made the wound. 

'Is this the instrument?'  His question directed towards me.

'Inspector, I believe all the incised, wounds and fractures could have been; made with an instrument of this description.    Some of the wounds on the face and neck might have been inflicted while deceased lay on the ground, or while he would be running down the hill; but the incised wounds close to the jaw on either side would seem to indicate that deceased must have been lying on the ground and been deliberately struck, the face being turned round for the purpose.      The assailant might escape getting blood on his clothes.    Many of the wounds would of themselves have caused almost instant death.    There was absolutely nothing about the hands or arms that seemed to prove that deceased had had a chance of graphing with his assailant.    The wounds which penetrated the jugular vein and, divided the jaw, and those under the armpit, would probably be inflicted as deceased lay on the ground.'    This was my reply.

Inspector Thomson asked for an adjournment of the enquiry until Monday next.    Such additional evidence as the police had in their possession it would be neither desirable nor prudent to bring forward at the present stage of the proceedings.   The Coroner granted the adjournment, and said that in the meantime he would make an order for the interment of the body.    Hawkins had his life insured for $300.00.

We ordered lunch of salmon, scallops and a salad.    Replenished the wine, cigarettes and reading material.    We promised to keep in touch, and exchanged addresses.

Based on a story printed in the 

 "Wellington The Star" 1889. A Most Brutal Murder.

Eighteen-months passed, a package arrived.   It contain a manuscript and a jar of Raspberry jam.    The covering note read.

Dear Rodney.  I visited the street, seven months back, to discover the truth about the murder of that chap Hawkins.    I first established who would benefit most by his (Hawkins,) life insurance of $300.00.       Secondly, why or what was he was doing, or going to do, on that street, and why, on that night?

By the way, the gorse bush is no longer there, and as for finding any footprints, I found mine, in the soft soil.

I note, there was no description of either the victim or his attacker.       No mention, either, of the horses disappearance.

Rodney.    You reported all the injuries inflicted upon the deceased (Hawkins,) were multiple.      His waistcoat cut diagonally and circular, plus rips to the neck, several cuts under the left arm-pit, and to his back.

Quite a vicious attack would you not say?   And as a busy road, why did no one come to his aid?

Rodney.    Did you ask yourself, why was he stabbed seven times, and shot more than once?    Could there have been two or more attackers?       From the stabbings afflicted, one dissecting the jugular vein, another deep in the heart, and one piercing a lung.      I'd say he, or they, knew anatomy.    Was the double-edged weapon, or the gun ever found, were they ever looked for, and why did no one hear the shots?    As there are a number of houses close by.     Were any of those people in those houses questioned?    I fear not.

I enjoyed our time together at the Wharf Hotel.     Plus the information you kindly shared with me.    As you are aware of my interests in murders, I'm sure you understand my needing to know why mr Hawkins was killed.     In my mind I believe it was for the $300.00 life insurance money.  So to return to the question, of who will benefit from his death.    Are you aware mr Hawkins has a wife and a brother, both now, living far beyond their incomes of last year. As coincidences go, they now, live in a house, adjacent to the place of her husband's murder; and his brother also has a new horse.

For the record, I enquired with the bar tender of the Kingshead Traven; after polishing off a bottle of his best whiskey, he let slip, Joe Hawkins (the deceased's brother,) and a chap called Robert Firth; left together the night of the murder.       Joe and Robert returned about an hour later, but not Joe's brother.   Also the bar tender told me Robert Firth had blood on his trouser.     I have interview the brother of the deceased, asking questions of his whereabouts on the night of his brother's death.    It goes without saying he was none to impressed.    However he did tell me, it was he who stabbed his brother, and it was Joe who shot him, to make sure his was dead, and now, I can inform you of were the knife is.    Once it was removed from my back, I forwarded it to Inspector Thomson, along with a copy of this manuscript.

Your friend,  Michael MacArthur.