Cruel and Inhuman Murder — Of a Little Boy, by His Father — Committal of the Prisoner
On Monday morning a cruel and inhuman murder was committed by the father on a child aged six years, in Neal’s passage, Seven Dials. The father has been separated from his wife for some time, and the boy had been brought up by its maternal grandmother, a poor old woman. The child being an unusally intelligent and nice-looking boy was a great favourite with the grandmother and an aunt who lived in the same room. It appears the mother had been living with another man as his wife, and the father also had formed an illicit connection with another woman. The poor boy had consequently become a source of trouble to both of them, although the merest trifle was required for its maintenance.
On Sunday evening the father (Jeffery) called at the grandmother’s for the boy. She asked him what he wanted with the child, but he became very violent, ordered the child to dress himself, and swore that “he would do for her and the child too,” if she did not mind. Jeffrey then went to his sister, in White Lion street, taking the child with him, and asked for a bed. He was accommodated with one, and went to bed with the boy; but at two o’clock in the morning he rose, and took the child away. He could not have walked many yards away—for Neal’s passage, where the body of the deceased was found, is close at hand. The child was found suspended from a projecting beam or bracket in a cellar to which all the residents had access for water, &c. Horrible as it seems, it is apparent from the condition of the body, that the cruel father tied its hands behind, and had literally enacted the part of executioner of his own child, holding its legs, and forcing down its body to complete the strangulation of the poor boy. The child remained in this position till about half-past six o’clock, when it was seen by a girl who had occasion to go to the cellar, and who gave the alarm. Dr. Harvey, the parish surgeon, attended directly, and pronounced the child to have been dead about three or four hours.
Dr. Lankester, the coroner, held an adjourned inquest on Wednesday, and there being no further evidence the jury returned a verdict of wilful murder by hanging and suffocation of Richard A. Jefferey, by his father, John R. Jefferey. The prisoner was examined at Bow street yesterday, and committed to Newgate.
You kindest fathers, tender mothers,
To this sad tale, oh! list awhile,
Hark you, sisters, too, and brothers,
To a murder on the Seven Dials;
Such a crime indeed,—no never!
Its baseness I can scarce reveal,
In Neal’s Passage, Earl Street, Seven Dials,
In St. Giles’s-in-the-fields.
In all your troubles and your trials,
You never knew, as I reveal,
Such a murder, on the Seven Dials,
In St. Giles’s-in-the-fields.
In Earl Street lived a wretch named Jefferys,
Who a tailor was by trade we find,
A sad, a base, and cruel villain,
Wickedness ran in his mind;
A child, the villain ought to cherish,
His offspring which he should adore,
Seventeen weeks ago he left him,
At his old Grandmother’s door.
His little boy named Richard Arthur,
By the wretched father, we are told,
Was cruelly and basely murdered,—
The child was only seven years old;
The villain took him to a cellar,
Resolved his offspring to destroy,
Tied his little hands behind him,
And hanged the pretty smiling boy.
Vengeance against the boy he threaten’d
Determin’d for to take his life,
And to commit the dreadful action,
He often did produce a knife;
’Twas his only child, he had no other,
A rogue in grain, devoid of fear,
He’d been separated from the mother
Of the little boy for three long years.
The grandmother, his mother’s mother,
Her little grandchild long did keep,
Receiving nothing from the father,
For the space of seventeen long weeks,
And then the villain did demand him,
He clandestinely took him away,
That fatal evening he determined
Was his little boy to slay.
Then he to the cellar took him,—
His heart was harder far than steel,
The wicked, base, inhuman monster,
His actions no one can reveal.
His only chlld, to hold beside him,
With rope he bound his little hands,
When behind his back he placed them,
He in the cellar did him hang.
He flew, but Justice close pursued him,
And taken he has been we see;
When tried, no doubt, they’ll find him guilty,
And he’ll be hanged on Newgate’s tree;
Hanging is too good for such a villain,
He who would his flesh and blood destroy,
The child, we are told, was six years old,
A pretty little prattling boy.
We all have got our cares and trials,
And unto fate compelled to yield,
This deed was done on the Seven Dials.
In St. Giles’s-in-the-fields.
H. DISLEY, Printer, 57, High street, St. Giles, London.
LAMENTATION & CONFESSION
OF
J. R. JEFFERY J. R. JEFFERY
Who now lies under sentence of death, for the wilful murder of his little boy.
Within a dreary cell I lie,
A wretched murderer, condemned to die
For the murder of my darling boy,
Whose precious life I did destroy.
I am doomed to die, my glass is run,
For the murder of my darling son.
John Richard Jeffery, it is my name,
Why did I do that deed of shame?
I confess my crime, but do declare,
No ill feeling to my child did bear.
From my wife I long had parted been,
Which disturbed my mind, as may be seen;
And Satan’s doubts they filled my mind,
Which led me to this dreadful crime.
I could not bear the child to see,
It seemed to increase my misery,
While thinking of my absent wife,
I form’d a plan to take his life.
At his grandmother’s he found a home,
And with fiendish thoughts I’m asham’d to own;
Quick dress that child, to her did say,
For I was determined the boy to slay.
Poor little boy, it seemed filled with fear,
And cried, don’t dress me granny dear;
Don’t let father take me away,
With you, dear granny, I’d rather stay.
But to his wishes I paid no heed
But left with the child, as you may read;
Then proceeded in the dead of night,
To a lonely spot to take his life.
To a dismal cellar I took the helpless child,
The thoughts of which now drives me wild;
Poor boy, he fainted with affright,
And in that state I took his life.
With a handkerchief I bound his hands,
And to the cistern I did him hang;
Poor innocent, unconscious quite,
Knew not his father had took his life.
When this fearful act the hand had done,
From the fearful scene away did run;
With stricken conscience, like the murderer Cain,
But peace of mind could not obtain.
I strove to forget it for a time,
But my murdered boy so haunted my mind,
I gave myself up, as you may read,
To make some atonement for the deed.
I soon upon the drop must stand,
A guilty and heart-broken man;
My darling boy I shall no more behold,
Have mercy, God, on my guilty soul!
H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles.