It was while he was tormented by this unhappy and ungovernable passion that he found that any hopes which he might entertain of preferment in the army were not likely to be realised, and he determined to turn his thoughts to the church. In pursuance of this design he took orders, and he obtained the living of Wiverton, in Norfolk, only about Christmas preceding the shocking deed which cost him his life.
How long he had been in London previous to this affair is not certainly known; but at the time of its occurrence he lodged in Duke’s-court, St. Martin’s-lane. On the morning of the 7th of April, 1779, he sat for a considerable time in his closet, reading “Blair’s Sermons:” but in the evening he took a walk to the Admiralty, where he saw Miss Reay go into the coach along with Signora Galli, who attended her. The coach drove to Covent Garden Theatre, where the ladies stayed to see the performance of “Love in a Village,” and Mr. Hackman went into the theatre at the same time; but not being able to contain the violence of his passion, he returned, and again went to his lodgings, and having loaded two pistols went to the playhouse, where he waited till the play was over. Seeing Miss Reay ready to step into the coach, he took a pistol in each hand, one of which he discharged against her, which killed her on the spot, and the other at himself, which, however, did not take effect. He then beat himself with the butt-end, on his head, in order to destroy himself, so fully was he bent on the destruction of both; but after a struggle he was secured, his wounds dressed, and then he was carried before Sir John Fielding, who committed him to Tothillfields’ Bridewell, and next to Newgate, where a person was appointed to attend him, lest he should lay violent hands on himself. In Newgate, as he knew he had no favour to expect, he prepared himself for the awful change which was about to take place. He had dined with his sister on the day on which the murder was committed, and in the afternoon he wrote a letter to her husband, Mr. Booth, an eminent attorney, informing him of his intention to destroy himself, and desiring him to sell what effects he had, in order to pay a small debt which he owed; but it appears that the letter was not despatched, as it was found in his pocket.
The prisoner was indicted at the ensuing Old Bailey sessions, and it was proved by Mr. MacNamara, that on Wednesday, the 7th of April, he was quitting the theatre, when seeing Miss Reay, with whom he was slightly acquainted, he offered her his assistance in reaching her carriage. She accepted his preferred arm, and just as they were in the piazza he heard the report of a pistol, when he directly felt his arm compressed by the lady’s hand, and she then immediately fell to the ground. He thought at first that the lady had fallen from fright only, but on stooping to raise her up, he found that his hand was bloody, and he then saw that she was wounded. He immediately conveyed her into the Shakspeare Tavern, whither the prisoner soon after followed in custody. He asked him some questions about his reason for shooting Miss Reay, but the only answer which he gave was, that that was not the place to satisfy him. The prisoner afterwards said that his name was Hackman; and he sent for Mr. Booth, who lived in Craven-street. Other evidence was also adduced, from which it appeared that the prisoner followed Miss Reay out of the theatre, and having tapped her on the shoulder to attract her attention, he suddenly drew two pistols from his pocket, one of which he discharged at her and the other at himself. They both fell feet to feet, and the prisoner then beat himself about the head, and called out for some one to kill him. He was secured by a Mr. McMahon, who dressed his wounds, and conveyed him to the Shakspeare Tavern, where Miss Reay almost immediately afterwards died.
On his being called upon for his defence, the prisoner addressed the Court in the following terms:—“I should not have troubled the Court with the examination of witnesses to support the charge against me, had I not thought that the pleading guilty to the indictment gave an indication of contemning death not suitable to my present condition, and was, in some measure, being accessory to a second peril of my life: and I therefore thought that the justice of my country ought to be satisfied by suffering my offence to be proved, and the fact established by evidence.
“I stand here this day the most wretched of human beings, and confess myself criminal in a high degree; yet while I acknowledge, with shame and repentance, that my determination against my own life was formal and complete, I protest, with that regard to truth which becomes my situation, that the will to destroy her, who was ever dearer to me than life, was never mine till a momentary frenzy overcame me, and induced me to commit the deed I now deplore. The letter which I meant for my brother-in-law after my decease will have its due weight as to this point with good men.
“Before this dreadful act I trust nothing will be found in the tenor of my life which the common charity of mankind will not excuse. I have no wish to avoid the punishment which the laws of my country appoint for my crime; but being already too unhappy to feel a punishment in death or a satisfaction in life, I submit myself with penitence and patience to the disposal and judgment of Almighty God, and to the consequences of this inquiry into my conduct and intention.”
The following letter was then read:—
“My dear Frederic,—When this reaches you I shall be no more; but do not let my unhappy fate distress you too much: I have strove against it as long as possible, but it now overpowers me. You well know where my affections were placed: my having by some means or other lost hers (an idea which I could not support) has driven me to madness. The world will condemn me, but your good heart will pity me. God bless you, my dear Frederic! Would I had a sum to leave you to convince you of my great regard! You was my only friend. I have hid one circumstance from you which gives me great pain. I owe Mr. Knight of Gosport one hundred pounds, for which he has the writings of my houses; but I hope in God, when they are sold and all other matters collected, there will be nearly enough to settle our account. May Almighty God bless you and yours with comfort and happiness; and may you ever be a stranger to the pangs I now feel! May Heaven protect my beloved woman, and forgive this act, which alone could relieve me from a world of misery I have long endured! Oh! if it should ever be in your power to do her an act of friendship, remember your faithful friend,
“J. Hackman.”