Execution of Frederick Baker. Frederick Baker
This morning, the wretched criminal, Frederick Baker, suffered the extreme penalty of the law at Winchester Gaol, for the atrocious murder of Fanny Adams, at Alton, on the 24th of August last. It is satisfactory to state that since his condemnation, the conduct of the unhappy man underwent a total change for the better, and he began to realize the awful condition in which he was placed, and his callous demeanour was changed into one of deep dejection. The prisoner has been assiduously attended by the chaplain of the prison, and to such a state of religious feeling had he been brought, that he fully acknowledged the justice of his sentence. The sheriffs arrived at an early hour. When the operation of pinioning had been performed, the wretched man thanked the chaplain, the governor, and the other officials for their kindness. The procession was then formed, and slowly took its way towards the scene of execution. The cap and rope was adjusted, the bolt drawn, and the prisoner was launched into eternity.
You tender mothers pray give attention,
To these few lines which I will relate,
From a dreary cell, now to you I’ll mention,
A wicked murderer has now met his fate;
This villain’s name it is Frederick Baker,
His trial is over and his time was come!
On the gallows high he has met his Maker,
To answer for that cruel deed he’d done.
Prepare for death, wicked Frederick Baker,
For on the scaffold you will shortly die,
Your victim waits for you to meet your Maker,—
She dwells with Angels and her God on high.
On that Saturday, little Fanny Adams,
Near the hop-garden with her sister played,
With hearts so light they were filled with gladness,
When that monster Baker towards them strayed;
In that heart of stone not a spark of pity,
When he those halfpence to the children gave
But now in gaol in Winchester city,
He soon must die and fill a murderer’s grave.
He told those children to go and leave him,
With little Fanny at the garden gate
He said, come with me, and she believing,
In his arms he lifted her as I now state;
Oh do not take me, my mother wants me,
I must go home again, good sir, she cried;
But on this earth she never saw thee,
In that hop-garden, there, poor child, she died.
When the deed was done, and that little darling,
Her soul to God her Maker it had flown,
She cannot return at her mother’s calling,
He mutilated her it is well known;
Her heart-broken parents in anguish weeping,
For vengeance on her murderer cried,
Her mother wrings her hands in sorrow grieving,
Oh would for you, dear Fanny, I had died.
The jury soon found this monster guilty,
The judge on him the awful sentence passed,
Saying, prepare yourself for the cruel murder,
For in this world, now, your die is cast;
And from your cell you will mount the scaffold,
And many thousands will you behind,
You must die the death of a malefactor,
May the Lord have mercy on your guilty soul.
What visions now must haunt his pillow,
As in his cell he lays now almost wild,
She points at him, and cries, oh tremble, murderer!
’Tis I, your victim here—that little child!
The hangman comes, hark, the bell is tolling,
Your time has come, nothing can save you,
He mounts the scaffold, the drop is falling,
And Frederick Baker fills a murderer’s grave.