Ruined by Morphine
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Title Ruined by Morphine Date 18 Jul 1889 Locality Newspapers.com Page 4 Periodical San Francisco Examiner Place San Francisco, CA USA Source Type Newspaper URL https://www.newspapers.com/article/the-san-francisco-examiner-maggie-riddel/135616534/ Source ID S1334 Text RUINED BY MORPHINE
A Once Beautiful Woman Found Lying in the Street
HER PATHETIC STORY.
She Spends Her Last Cent for Whisky and Begs for a Bed.
"Help! I'm poisoned"
It was 1 o'clock yesterday morning when Officer L. M. Benjamin heard the faint cry issuing from a little alley leading off McAllister street. Peering into the darkness he saw a frail little woman huddled close in the shadow of the building, She was in a helpless condition and moaned pitifully as he picked her up and carried her into the light.
She was elegantly attired in a gray walking-dress and wrap. A wealth of flaxen hair hung in disorder down her back. Her blue eyes were half closed and her face as pale as death.
The officers placed her in a cab and carried her to the City Receiving Hospital. On the way she told in a half-dazed way that she lived in San Jose. She had come to San Francisco for a purpose, and had taken ergot to accomplish it.
At the hospital she gave the name of Mary Brown. There was no odor noticeable of the pungent drug which she said she had taken, and upon again being questioned she said she had taken morphine and whisky. She was treated accordingly, and at 6 o'clock in the morning left the hospital with the matron to go to the Grand Hotel, where she said she was stopping.
PENNILESS AND HOMELESS.
On the way she said that her name was not Mary Brown, but that she had assumed it to hide her identity; that her family name was Riddell, and that her mother resided in San Jose; that she had been married to a man named Wainwrght. who was at present in Paris, but that her name was now Mrs. Pray.
At the hotel it was learned that she had arrived Tuesday afternoon and registered as Mrs. C. D. Bancroft. She was given a room and immediately ordered a bottle of wine. She left there late in the afternoon and had not been seen afterward.
When she presented herself at the hotel yesterday morning with the matron of the hospital she was refused a room,as she had no money. She opened her trunk in search of same, disclosing an elegant wardrobe and two empty whisky bottles. She then left the hotel.
Inquiry developed the fact that she was once a noted belle of San Francisco. Her parents were wealthy, and she, being an only child, enjoyed every advantage that money could procure. She drove about town in an elegant pony phaeton, her exquisite beauty attracting many admirers. About five years ago she was married to Fred. Pray, the photographer. For a time they lived happily together, but she had acquired a taste for liquor, which soon became uncontrollable. Her first offenses were condoned, but she became so additted to its use that her husband was compelled to separate from her.
HER LOVE FOR LIQUOR.
She afterward suffered from paralysis, and to alleviate her sufferings used hypodermic injections of morphine. It was but a short time before she was a confirmed morphine fiend, uing large quantities of the opiate. Since the separation from her husband, some two years ago, she has frequently visited San Francisco, and, free Irom the restraint of her parents, indulged in liquor and morphine until at times she has been on the verge of insanity.
Time and again has her mother scoured San Francisco in search of her unfortunate daughter and taken her to her elegant home in San Jose.
Long and patient have been her endeavors to wean the daughter from her devouring appetite lor liquor, and each time just when she hoped that her efforts were to meet with success has the daughter fallen.
Yesterday she wandered about the streets all day, hungry, tired, penniless and friendless. In the evening she went from one hotel to another in search of a bed, but always receiving the same reply, " We have none for you."
In her desperation she at last offered her only possession, a tiny silver hypodermic syringe, the instrument of her ruin, to which she had clung to the last, for a place to lay her head.
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