The Sun.
London, England, 1854-03-25 00:00:00

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A tI P- .
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EXECUTION OF MOSES :•er., , —4
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Yesterday morning sentence of de
~ Atio,x .e . :,,,2--.16+ 4,
front of the new county gaol at A -.1, • ' • .r 44.. 1-.4‘ g 4
Hatto, aged 25, for the murder o ' -fello • .17111L"'.'n,-
i•
Mary Ann Sturgeon, of Burnham Miter: ..„ ,), ' ,'3 47,
Ist of Nov. last. From the time of hiSaoii '.: . ~;- ',v ..-,..4...
the least hope had been held out to Haita„,:.an... ‘- :- V....,7
dently expected the fate which awaited him. Fam te
time of his conviction the chaplain paid the greatest
attention to his spiritual wants, and a great part of the
convict's tine was spent in religious exercises.
Yesterday morning Hatto appeared on the scaffold
attended by two of the warders and the executioner
(Calcraft), at two minutes past eight, and appeared to
be very firm and collected. As soon as the cap was
about to be placed over his head, he uttered in an
audible tone, " Lord, have mercy on my soul." Cal-
craft then adjusted the rope round his neck, and placed
him on the drop, and at four minutes past eight he was
launched into eternity. He scarcely appeared to make
a struggle. .

The town, the night preceding the execution, was
completely filled with the lowest of society, and it was
supposed that there were upwards of 5,000 persons pre-
sent to see the execution, a great number of them being
females, all in holiday attire, and none appeared to enjoy
themselves more on the occasion than a married couple,
formerly fellow-servants of the culprit, who came a dis-
tance of 27 miles on purpose to gratify their curiosity.

THE CONFESSION OF HA.TTO.
The following is a copy of the " confession" made by
Hatt() :

"Bucks County Prison, Aylesbury,
March 9, 1854, 8 p.m.
" Moses Hatto, in the presence of the governor and
the chaplain, says that for the relief of his own consci-
ence, and in order that what he is about to state may
prove" The
fit
a warningrs
make the following confession, to go forth to the public :
of it was on the Wednesday be-
fore Old Michaelmas-day last, when Mary Ann Stur-
geon asked me to lend her a sovereign to send home to
her friends. This was said in the kitchen, in the pre-
sence, but not in the hearing of Willis's cook from Nor-
folk, and it was plain that Sturgeon wished to have the
money without the knowledge of Mr. Willis's cook. They
were both of them dressed, and just starting to drink tea
at Burnham. I went upstairs and fetched my money,
amounting to about a guinea. I asked her when she
thought she should be able to return it again, as I
was going to leave. I told her that I had beforetime
lent money, and that I could never get it again. She
said she had been served the same. She said she had
never been so insulted in her life, as she felt to be by
that question, adding that she could easily send it me
wherever I might be, by post, at the same time turning
herself away from me, and saying, I will never speak
a good word of you again. On the following Sunday
week, in the afternoon, I was accompanying her as
usual part of the way to Burnham Church, when I told
her I would lend her either one or two sovereigns if she
liked. She made little or no reply, but in the course of
that week she twitted me several times with having re.
fused her ; whereupon I begged her not to tell me of it
again, promising to treat her with half-a-crown's worth
of anything if she would not do so. She replied that
she would not tell me of it again, but repeated that she
would never speak a good word of me any more. On
Monday, October 31, as we sat together at dinner, she
began twitting me and all the farm labourers, and the
master as well, with being a shabby lot, saying that she
had heard the character of Burnham Abbey before ever
she came there. I said, I know where you got all that
from ; two women have been telling you that.' She
denied it. I persisted that I knew. She got up from
dinner, shook her head at me, and said, ' I meant to have
told you, but I won't, and you shall never know.' The
rest of that evening she would not speak to me nor sit
with me, but went up-stairs. All that afternoon she
was very angry with me. The next day it was worse—
I mean, she was more angry all day. I was employed
that day in cleaning the tin and copper ware, the silver
plate, and at other in-door work. When I asked her
for anything, she said I might get it from where I
liked, or do what I liked, for she would not speak to me
again. That evening again she would not speak to
me, nor sit with me. She set my supper out, and
afterwards went to Bunce's, and I went to my stable.
Soon afterwards I suspected that something wrong
was going on about me, between her and the
Bunces, at Bunce's house; so I went with my
shoes in my hand, and listened at Bunce's door,
which was about a foot open. I heard them talking
about me, and Bunce said, 'He's a very big eater,
isn't he ?" Yes,' said she, 'he's a very big eater.' Well,'
said Bunce, Mrs. Finch said he was a very big eater,
but that he did not eat much bread, but I thought she
was joking.' Sturgeon said, 'He's not a big bread eater,
but he eats so much meat.' " Mrs. Bunce said, I am
glad that he has got his master.' (Sturgeon had
often before jeered me, and said that she was 'more of a
man than I was.' She was a very haughty woman.)
Leave him alone,' said Sturgeon, he's hanging
himself every day. He'll soon do it. Leave him
alone.' That throwed me at once. I was drove
into an agony with it. To think that I had been work-
ing for her ; neglecting my own work all day ! How
often had I favoured her and denied myself, and stayed
at home while she went out, and now for me to hear
this! It drove vengeance upon me to hear her running
me down to all eternity. They were then about parting,
when, to prevent being seen by them, I leaped over the
palings, went into the stable, finished my work, and
went indoors for my supper. Then to throw more mad-
ness upon me, instead of bringing me a pint of beer as
usual, she brought me the pint half full. I could not eat
my supper, but I drank my beer, and she asked me if I
had had sufficient. I said have had sufficient.' Those
were the last words I ever spoke to her. She looked so
evil at me, and I was so throwed, that I hardly know—
indeed, I did not know—where I was or what I did. I
could not. Then she went into the larder. I then took
the iron lard-beater, and stood at the door, thinking to
strike her down as she returned, but I could not do it,
and thinking to drive it out of my mind, I went out of
doors. I wished I might hear my master returning
home. Then I went in again. She again went into the
lard-house. I again took up the lard-beater, and, on
her return, I knocked her down in the passage. As
she was very strong, she threw me over once, but she
was no more than a child to me. She said, Don't,
my good fellow !' I accidentally dropped the lard-
beater. I kicked her with vengeance. She screamed
very loudly. We had a great struggle in the passage. I
kicked her two or three times. It was in the dark, for her
candle had fallen, and the light had been put out. I
left her where the grease and blood and tooth and
hair-pin were found, and I returned into the kitchen,
I think, to fetch a light. She got up and ran
up stairs. I followed her, and caught her at the
bed-room door, and I threw her up in the passage. She
screamed again. I kicked her two or three times. She
cried, Lord have mercy on my soul !' I caught hold
of her and pulled her into her bed-room ; struck her
on the head with the poker two or three times, and
broke the poker. I pushed her clothes against the
grate, and they caught fire from the fire in the fire-
place. I left her room. Then I went to my own
bed-room, and changed my trousers and shirt;and stock -
bed-
room bend lookedcaus howetheyw the
were bloody.
was going
I went back
and
toh e
tookbe d
-
m a
down a dress that was hanging on a peg and threw
it over her. Then I went to Mr. Goodwin's room
to take away something for a blind, to make be-
lieve that some thief had been in the house. I wiped
the lard beater on a dishcloth, and I burnt the bloody
string by which it is usually hung. Then I cut my
bloody shoes to pieces with one of Mr. Goodwin e
razors. Then I bolted the passage door inside, and
went out by the south front door, Then I went and
hid, among the scrubs, the pieces of my shoes. I also
hid, under the tree in the meadow, the articles taken
from Mr. Goodwin's room. They are still under the
tree, between the tree and the ditch. The tree is a
withy pollard, about the second or third near the Chip-
penham footpath. I have never seen the latter since,
but the former I removed from among the scrubs the
next morning, and threw the soles into a shallow well,
in the meadow, by the garden gate, and the upper
leathers into the drain leading to it. They are there
now. To go back to the Tuesday night :—After I had
hidden the pieces of shoes in the scrubs, I went and hid
my shirt in the pond, close to the house, treading it
into the mud, and my trousers under the roof of the
coal-pen. Then I went and lay down. Then the dogs
began to bark. Then I called Bunce from my window
—then he and I went round the premises as has been
deposed. Mr. Goodwin returned home. About six
o'clock on the Wednesday morning I went and removed
my shirt from the pond, and my trousers from under the
roof of the coal-pen, and I hid them in the ditch
of the meadow. Then, too, it was that I cut
the feet off my stockings, burnt the legs in the
kitchen fire, and hid the feet under the tiles
of the mud wall in the paddock, where they must
now be. It was near the pond, and opposite the dove-
house. On Thursday morning I again removed nay shirt
and trousers from the meadow ditch, and put them into
a dry ditch, not far from the other, covering them with
grass. On Thursday night I again removed them when
I went out on horseback, and threw the trousers, torn
in two parts, the one smaller part, torn from the back,
over a quickset hedge, close to the river, between the
two bridges, and the other larger part into the river—
they had formerly been Mr. Goodwin's trousers, I
took my shirt back home, and buried it in the floor of
the middle stall of the stable, under the manger, where
it must now be. The drawers which I wore at the time
of the murder were bloody at the right knee ; but it
escaped the notice of the constable, because the drawers
fell down in a wrinkle when I was stripped. It was
Symington who first gave me in charge to Webb. When
I first struck Sturgeon, it must have been between
nine and half-past nine o'clock. I did not break up
the deal table in Sturgeon's bed-room, but it caught
fire, and
anyndwas burnt in two, and fell upon her. I never
fallennapkins
on
o r
the fl
anythingo o r
from
emuonader her.thed Theyressing
might have.
table. I think that if Bunce, or any good (strong) fvona)me an,had come in when she was screaming,
at-
tacked laim. I thought of that at the I e
time. Sometime
in the last fortnight of October Sturgeon threatened to
stab me if ever I mentioned a word about her—even half
a sentence—either to my master or any one else. I said,
Oh, but I should get out ot*
•t ' Perhaps I might have thrown
it would be of no use ; I should your way.' She replied,
meet with you some-
time, and I would do .
it my
two dresses instead of one upon her ; but after the fire
had burnt through the floor it seemed to burn with a
draught. I consider
duty to uncover ray sin.
do not hope for any gain in this world ; but I hope for
one
in the next.
"The above statement is true, and I have nothing },oadd to it. "MOSES HATTO.
" March 9, 1854.
"H. SHERIFF, Governor,
, Witnesses."
"G. A. CITXBON, Chaplain,