The Sun.
London, England, 1863-11-23 00:00:00

THE SUN, LONDON, MONDAY EVENING, NO 23, 1863.

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Naval and Military Intelligence.

The Late Triple Cab Murder,
- ---

It will be recollected that at the adjourned in-
quest held before Dr. Lankester, at St. INL.ry's
Hospital, on the bodies of Mrs, Hunt and her two
children, when Harriett Blake, the unmarried sister
of the former, was called up to give evidence, she
handed to the coroner a packet of letters which she
had received during the previous 12 months from
the murdered woman, The coroner at the time
thought it was unnecessary to read them, but said
they might be reserved in case it was felt desirable
in the course of the inquiry that they should be
referred to. This was not done, and the jury re-
corded their verdict of " Wilful murder" against
the suicide Samuel William Hunt. A subsequent
perusal of the letters which were placed in the
hands of the Court proves that had they been read
a greater amount of light would have been thrown
by them upon the tragical event and the circum-
stances which led to it than almost all the evidence
produced. are now subjoined, and a perusal
of
them
will not only deepen the interest felt in
thi
shorwr T
horrible murder, but prove beyond a doubt
that from the commencement of the year down
almost to the period of the murder the unfortunate
woman had feared that such would be the end of
her career, in consequence of the repeated threats
and brutal violence of her worthless husband. That
some such suspicion was ever present to the poor.
creature's mind is evident, as, in addition to her
statements as to Hunt's attempts to poison her, she
almost invariably concludes with an injunction to
her sister to keep her letters. The first letter, en-
closed in an envelope, bearing the most-mark the
23d of January, 1863, is addressed (as they all are)
to " Miss H. Blake, 124, St. John-street, Smith-
field, City," and is as follows ;

Friday, January, 1863.

Dear Harriett--I am very unhappy, and sorry to hear
you are the same. Been such a dreadful row. I don't know
what I shall do. Don't come. He said this morning he
shall come and see all our relations to-night, and ask them
all to our house, and then they shOuld see how he treated
me. John, and Ann, and all should come to-night. So
don't, I pray you, any of you come. So unhappy. He
calls me such names, and wished last night a dreadful
wish, and then said, "If he chose to kill me he could do it
in such a manner he would not be found out; he could
melt me to nothing, all but my hair." So don't come, if
he comes to ask any of you. I pray don't. What shall I
do ?—and don't you say much to him, for my sake. I
hope I shall see you some time or other. Good-bye. In
haste.

P.S.—Don't let him think you know anything, Ile
don't know I have sent this letter, mind.

The next bears the postmark Feb. 27, and runs
thus ;

Friday, February.

Dear Harriett,—What am Ito do? I wish I knew. I
laid down last night before he came home, and he had not
got a key to get in with, so he had to get in at the window,
and I did not hear him. Of course there was a row. He
beat my head with both his hands just like a ball. I have
got a black eye this morning. lam not to eat, drink, nor
sleep with him again. I cannot be more unhappy than
now, I don't think. If you get this in time come over to-
night; if not come over to-morrow morning. If you can
come to-night I shall like it.—l remain your unhappy sister,
M. HUNT.

Ann-cottage, Wellington-road, Coal-harbour-lane,
Camberwell, March 11,

Dear Harriett,—My life has come to such a dreadful
thing now I cannot tell what will become of me. Last week
he was out two days and one night. Yesterday he came
home at a quarter to 2 in the afternoon, and then our house
was a very dreadful scene. I have got my shoulder cut open
—in fact, lam bruised from head to foot.. He broke a dish
by throwing at me, but I made an escape by holding down
my head, and then it went through the window. After that
ho knocked me down and kicked me in a most fearful man-
ner. I have got bruises all over me, and the second black
eye in ten days. Now, suppose you were a wife, would you
like your husband to come and tell you he had paid LI Is.
for seats in St. Martin's Churchyard for him and his
woman ? Now, would you like that ? and then to end the
day the, go to the Lyceum to wind up. Now, you must
think it a very good life I lead here. lam in such a fix I
don't know what to do. I don't sleep with him. I wish I
was anywhere but where I write this letter now. Do come
to-morrow night by 5 o'clock. If Ido not see you I must
see some one who will take pity on me.—l remain, your
unhappy sister, M. HUNT.

The next letter bears date Jane 16, 1863, and
proceeds : _

Dear Ilarriett,—l don't think I will be many days before
me and William part, and will you try and come and see
me before we do ?—to-morrow, soon, in the morning. Do
come, pray; lam quite broken-hearted. I have plenty of
faults, I know, but God knows what I am, and now I am
in such a state with blows I can scarcely move. I have got
one three inches long. Do come to-morrow morning. If I
do not see you to-morrow I will write to you where I go
to.—l remain your unhappy sister,
p,S--Pray come.

M. HUNT.
July 23, 1863.

Dear Harriett,—l hope you got home before the rain
came on. I met William in the Westminster-road, and of
course he don't like the last bonnet I made. You remember
the one I had on, I dare say—the one I had on Monday—
so of course he began to quarrel with me and walk some dis-
tance beyond me, so I had to walk very fast to keep up to
him, and when he got home he said if he had got home be-
fore I did he should have broken the street door open, and
then he went on talking, and got in such a rage that I
thought I should not have been alive this morning to do
this: First of all he jumped up from his tea and took up a
knife and thrust it at me, and said he would kill me if I
spoke a word to him; and I said I must say what I think ;
so then he took up a chair and throw it at me. It fell upon
my thigh, and this morning I have got a bruise the size of
the middle of my hand. So my life is a serious one,
and it makes me very unhappy—indeed, I am now all of
a tremble when I think how will it end. He threatens
me if I say I will do anything, so I don't know what
to do. Keep this letter in your possession; do not de-
stroy it. He says lam dissatisfied with everything, but
you know better than that; and he says I am dreadful
wasteful in everything, and that you know to be false.
Mine is a bad life. Perhaps I shall see you over at my house
some time this week, in the evening. lam very unhappy,
because I have a great deal more to tell you. lam sorry to
have to write such a painful letter to you, but it is not my
fault. _ _

---Goodbye, with a heart full of sorry (sorrow), I remain
Your unhappy sister, M. HUNT.
The postmark on the next letter is July 25 :
Saturday Morning, July —.
Dear Harriett,—We got home at 11 o'clock. He said he
had been out to supper to a Mr. Monday, a friend of his, so
I told him you had come to see me and you waited till after
10. He has injured his left arm in some way ; when he
came he had got it in a sling, so I don't know how that
came—but when he came in the bedroom I said, " Look at
leg," and he said he wished I had got a dozen more like
it (the bruise, I mean)—so he said,
my in a very sneering way,
" I suppose you did not tell everyone what I had done ?"
So he says to me, Hold your tongue, I have got an invi-
tation for you,' so I did not make any reply, but kept look-
ing at my leg all the time he kept talking. Do not destroy
this. Good bye. August 4.
Dear Harriett—l expected you last Friday night, and I
kept the lamp burning until nearly 10 o'clock, and then I
thought you would come on Monday, but I was disap-
pointed. Do you think you can on Wednesday to dinner ?
ill on Saturday that I was obliged to lie down on my bed all
I shall be very happy to see you.. Do come. I was so very
yeth;e
and em—y
the morning. I could not do anything in the shape of work
My life is quite a blank. I have
leg is still very painful to me. Saturday night was a very
sad night for me. I don't think. there are any more happy
iafnadnyyothuinkg7wwahrosew. tshaetvaernnaopyask
lived upon hope for some time, and that has nearly died out ;
days for me in store.
but I don't know who will be first, hope or myself. I
write with a sad heart to you. Do come on Wednesday to
dinner. Come soon. I have a deal to tell you. Now,
come. Farewell to all for present.—Monday night, Angus
4. P.S.—lieep this.

Saturday Morning, August.
Dear Harriett,—Dear IL, I wrote to you Friday night,
and now Saturday morning. I dare say you will wonder
why, but Friday night while I were in bed I was taken ill
and thought 1 was going to die,
s eflefwa andminutes,groan,
ultasaid to W, " What shall
for the pain came on at my
and
heart. I felt I could not breathe fpormya
I do ? and he said, "Do not alarm yourself ; it will be righ'
soon."—Keep this.
ibtawdetuotcuoffuguhftearndsomsiet utipmaen, dauthd

life was not more pleasant
dmhye said, " Yes, we could have
August 29.
Dear Harriett,—Ile is just the same. He went on dread-
fwuel
hl aasdt n ig
betterh t,
saenpda
rla
tsea i; d
ainf
that, but not out of the housa." Mind, I tell you this ; I
don't think my life is safe with him, and I have thought so
for some time. I must not say a word without I receive a
blow, and that I do not understand. It was a fearful night
last night. He says there is not any law for me, I need
DA expect th,at i and the flames 40 called we was each I

should not like to say. He dared me to take any proceed-
ings against him, but, nevertheless, I don't think I am safe
with him. It's a very sad life, mine, I would sooner be
in the workhouse than remain with such a man ; but what

lamto do I don't know. He has got all my faults by
heart, he says; of course not any of his own, but I know
his very well. I say good-bye with an aching heart, and
it won't be changed until there is a change in some way.
Keep this (on the top of the last side).
Friday Morning (no date).
Dear Harriett,—Pray do come over this evening as soon
as you can, for I think William is mad, Pray come, for he
has killed all the birds this morning (Friday), and I feel
quite unsafe with him. Do come. My thigh is very bad.
I don't know what to do for the best, for my life is quite a
trouble to me through him. Do not destroy this. Do come.
Saturday, Sept., 1863.
Dear Harriett,—I am very ill this morning and very. un-
happy. You can ask John what I had better do about the
paper I am to agree to. You heard what he said last night,
that he should not allow me any money to keep me with ;
so ask John if he was ma whether he would do that. You
may tell him lam very badly treated. We cannot go on
in the unhappy state we are going on in; there must be
some change one way or other—not a word, not a look is
right. You can say that I ache very much. Tell John to
send word by you on Monday. I shall expect you either to
dinner or in the evening ; do come. If you come in the
evening I shall have something to say to you, but come to
dinner if possible. You heard the dreadful way he talks to
me ; it's quite shocking to bear with. lam very unhappy.
You heard him say, too, if I died he should send me to the
surgeons, and not bury me;--there's dreadful talk I There's
not any reason in him, see, in anything I So unhappy 1
De come ; only you to say a word to. Good .bye. With an
aching heart. Keep this.
Monday Morning, Sept., 1863.

Dear Harriett,—Will you come and see me soon as you
can this week ? If you do not come Ido not think you will
ever see me again. I have had a very bad eye ; it's just
getting better. I thought I should have lost the sight of
it; it's very weak now. Do come, if it's only for an hour.
I am in great trouble—worse than I ever was. Good-bye.—
I am, your unhappy sister, M. RUNT.

The last letter was written by the unfortunate de-
ceased in October last, only a week or so before her

tragical end ; but the postmark on the envelope,
showing the actual date, is not legible. It was as
follows, and appears to furtell her death ;
Saturday, October, 1863,

Dear Harriett,—Never let it surprise you when you hear
am dead. I feel quite certain I cannot go on much

longer with my husband. He gets worse every day and
night of my life. If you knsw and could see all—a dog
would pity me; but I know you feel for me all you can. I
cannot say much in these lines to you, but pity me, and
come on Monday. Do not let a shower of rain prevent you.
If I do not see you on Monday I shall think I have not a

friend in this world. I wish I was good enough to die, but
I must try and make myself good, as what he wants, he
says, is to see me dead ; then he would laugh, and think
what a good thing to think I am gone from this world.
What will become of me ? I speak the truth when I say I
shall die with a broken heart. We have all our faults,
but I have got more than any one, so he says. I con-
clude with a sad heart, and my eyes so full I can scarcely
see what I am writing to you. I don't think I have a
friend; if I have, they should have seen last night—they
would pity me. This letter is quite wet with my tears.
Seep this.

It will be observed as a remarkable circumstance
;hat throughout the poor woman never once men-
jons a word about her children.

RAILWAY INTELLIGENCE,

METROPOLITAN DISTRICT.
Notice has been given of intended applications to Parlia-
ment to incorporate a company for the purpose of comple-
ting an inner circle of railways within London, north of the
Thames, and also an outer circle round the metropolis, north
and south of the Thames, consisting of 34 railways and
junctions with existing railways. The main outer circle is
proposed to commence at Wandsworth by a junction with
the London, Chatham, and Dover Railway—there to form
a junction with the Crystal Palace line at Clapham—also to
form two junctions with the West London Extension Rail-
way at Battersea—thence to Old Brompton and Notting-
hill, forming three junctions with the West London Rail-
way, a junction with the Hammersmith and City Railway
at Kensington, a junction with the Great Western at Pad-
dington, the London and North-Western at Kilburn and
the Edgware-road, the Midland extension by two junctions
at Kilburn-lane, the Hampstead junction near the Finch-
ley-road station, and also a junction with the Midland ex-
tension in Finchley-road, the Hampstead junction at Ii en-
tish-town, the Great Northern at Seven Sisters-road, the
Great Eastern near Stamford-hill and its Stratford branch
at Hackney, the North London Railway with two junctions
at Hackney Wick station, the London and Blackwall near
Stratford, the London, Brighton, and South Coast at Old
Kent• road and New-cross station, the South-Eastern at
New-cross. The main inner circle is proposed to commence
at Brompton, thence to Cannon-row, Westminster, to Can-
non-street, city, and the Blackwall Railway, Fenchurch-
strect. Power to enable all those companies to subscribe
and make traffic arrangements.

OXFORD-STREET AND CITY,
Notices of intended application to Parliament has been
given for power to incorporate a company to construct an
underground railway from Park lane along Oxford-street,
New Oxford-street, High Holborn, Greville-street, and
Charles-street, to Farringdon-road, city, near the station of
the Metropolitan Railway.

WEST NORFOLK JUNCTION.
This proposed line is to commence by a junction with the
Lynn and Hunstanton Railway at Meacham, and pass
through Docking, Barham, and liolkhain to the Great
Eastern Railway at Wells-next-the-Sea,