The Acquital of Joseph A. Blair.

Joseph Blair of Montclair, New Jersey, had a vicious argument with his coachman, John Armstrong, on June 26, 1879. Blair was angry that someone had seen his wagon in front of a beer saloon, and he went to the stable to confront Armstrong. Armstrong said it was none of Blair’s business where he went. As the argument grew belligerent, Armstrong told Blair that if he came into the stable again, he would blow his brains out. Blair was heard to respond, “When a man tells me he will shoot, I can be the first to shoot.”

Later that night, Blair returned to the stable with a pistol in his pocket. They argued again, and Blair followed Armstrong when he went up to his room above the stable. Two minutes later, a gunshot was heard, and Armstrong was dead.

A coroner’s jury charged Blair with manslaughter. However, after 2,000 workingmen held a rally protesting the light charge against Blair for killing one of their peers, the prosecution, led by the New Jersey Attorney General, raised the charge to first-degree murder.

Joseph Blair’s trial lasted seventeen days, with three days of impassioned closing arguments for and against his conviction of first-degree murder.  When the jury returned a verdict of not guilty, Blair appeared utterly dazed for a moment, then fell over the pile of law books on the table and sobbed loudly.

Read the full story here: The Murdered Coachman.

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Illustration from Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper, November 8, 1879.

Life, Crimes, and Conviction of Lydia Sherman.

When the press learned that Lydia Sherman had poisoned three husbands and eight children, they called her “The Arch Murderess of Connecticut,” “The Modern Borgia,” and “The Poison Fiend.”

Read the full story here: The Poison Fiend.

The Harris-Burroughs Affair.

 

A young woman entered the Treasury Building in Washington, D.C. on the afternoon of January 30, 1865. She went to the office of the Comptroller of the Currency and opened the door just enough to peek in and see the clerks at work. After locating the man she sought, she closed the door and waited in the hall for his workday to end.

The man, A.J. Burroughs (Adoniram Judson, sometimes reported as Andrew Jackson), left the office at 4:00. He hadn’t gone more than three feet when he heard the crack of a pistol. Realizing that he had been shot, he turned around to see the female form standing in the hall. “Oh!” he exclaimed and hurried toward the stairway. A second shot rang out, and he fell to the floor. His comrades, thinking he had fainted, rushed to his aid. They conveyed him to a room nearby where he died fifteen minutes later.

The woman did not try to escape. She put the pistol, a small, Sharps four-barrel revolver, back in her pocket. When the authorities came for her, she gave her name as Louise E. Devlin, from Janesville, Wisconsin. She said that she killed Burroughs because he failed to redeem his promise of marriage to her and married another. He had not seduced her, she said, and added forcefully, “As God is my witness, I am virtuous!”

When in custody, her story changed. Her name was Mary Harris; she was 19 years old, and she had come to Washington from Chicago. The deceased had betrayed her, taken her from her home and friends, and placed her in a house of ill fame in Chicago.

Mary Harris first met A.J. Burroughs at her parents' house in Burlington, Iowa. She was 12 years old, and he was 27. Mary was very fond of Burroughs and would sit on his lap when he came to visit. They became very close, and as she grew older, his attentions took on the character of a suitor. Her parents were opposed to the relationship, not just because of the age difference but because they felt his family was too high for her. Burroughs was from a wealthy family; her parents were poor Irish immigrants.

Burroughs left Burlington and moved to Chicago. In 1863, he wrote to Mary that he was raising a company of men to fight for the Union and expected to get a commission. He requested that she come to Chicago and arranged for her to stay with Miss Louisa Devlin, a friend of his who ran a store where she could work.  Mary defied her parents and moved to Chicago.

Burroughs broke his ankle and was unable to go to war with his company. He maintained a correspondence with Mary, whom he affectionately called “Dear Little Mollie” or “Dear little Rosebud.” He would close his letters affectionately—“With a cart-load of kisses I bid you adieu.”

She sent him a photograph of herself, and he was overjoyed to receive it:

Oh! that beautiful picture! beautiful! beautiful! beautiful! and my beautiful! beautiful! Mollie!...Oh! Mollie, Mollie! you have turned my dry, sterile, old bachelor heart into a gushing fountain of glad emotion and warm, gentle affection; and Mollie, dearest daring Mollie, is the source and end of all.

He wrote that he “…could enjoy life with a certain little black-eyed, curly-haired, mischief-loving girl.” Mary, understandingly, believed that they were engaged to be married.

Then the letters stopped. Mary learned that he had married another woman without telling her and moved to Washington, D.C. She was devastated. She could not return to Burlington because her parents disowned her, thinking she was living in sin with Burroughs. So, she remained in Chicago with Miss Devlin.

In September 1864, Mary began receiving letters from J.B. Greenwood, a man she did not know, professing love for her. Though the handwriting was disguised, she believed the letters were from A.J. Burroughs. He asked to meet her at a house which Mary knew to be “the most notorious in Chicago.” She did not go at the appointed time, but later went to the house with Louisa Devlin’s sister Jane. They showed the lady of the house a photograph of Burroughs, and she recognized the man. He had been there the previous Friday to meet a woman named Harris, waited several hours, then left.

Mary did not know what to make of this, and she fell into a state of despair. She lost weight and became pale and yellow-looking. Sometimes she had violent outbursts or prolonged crying jags. Mary hired a lawyer and sued Burroughs for breach of promise.

Not content to wait for the outcome, Mary left in January for Washington, where she knew Burroughs was working as a clerk in the office of the Comptroller of the Currency. Before leaving Chicago, she purchased the pistol.

After several postponements, the trial of Mary Harris for murder began in July 1865. There was no question that Mary killed Burroughs, but the defense claimed she suffered from paroxysmal insanity and was not in her right mind when she did it. Citing an earlier Washington murder case, the trial of Daniel Sickles for murder, they claimed Mary had acted while temporarily insane.

Over the prosecution's objections, the defense introduced Burroughs’s letters to Mary to show how he had played with her emotions, deceiving her and inciting her insanity. At least ten of his letters were read in court and had a great effect on the jury. They found Mary Harris not guilty.

For the most part, the public was satisfied with the verdict. However, newspapers were critical. The New York World said, "...if she be insane, then are nine-tenths of all women crazy, and furthermore, that this plea of insanity is seriously interfering with the workings of justice.” This sentiment was echoed by newspapers across the nation.

Following the trial, it was reported that Mary Harris moved to Richmond, Virginia. She worked as a milliner, “and has apparently quite recovered from her insanity.”  

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Sources: 

“A. G. Burroughs,” Alexandria Gazette, January 31, 1865.
“Exciting Tragedy,” Daily Morning Chronicle, January 31, 1865.
“The Harris-Borrough Tragedy,” World, February 3, 1865.
“The Harris-Burroughs Affair,” World, February 11, 1865.
“The Harris-Burroughs Tragedy,” World, February 4, 1865.
“Homicide by a Woman,” New-York Daily Tribune., January 31, 1865.
“The Mary Harris Trial,” EVENING STAR, July 11, 1865.
“The Mary Harris Trial,” EVENING STAR, July 12, 1865.
“The Mary Harris Trial,” EVENING STAR, July 20, 1865.
“The Mary Harris Trial,” World, September 16, 1865.
“Mary Harris' Trial,” The New York Herald, July 20, 1865.
“Tragedy in the Treasury Department,” Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper, February 18, 1865.
“The Trial of Mary J. Harris,” Daily Morning Chronicle, July 11, 1865.
“Trial of Miss Mary Harris for the Murder of A.J. Burroughs,” Daily National Republican, July 10, 1865.
“Trial of Miss Mary Harris for Murder,” National Intelligencer, July 4, 1865.
“The Washington Tragedy,” The New York Herald, February 2, 1865.
“The Woman Harris,” World, July 25, 1865.

Was Abbott Innocent?

Illustrated Police News, February 28, 1885.

Joseph Crue returned from work to his home in Groton, Massachusetts, on January 18, 1880, and found his wife, Maria, lying dead in the bedroom.  She had been shot three times in the face, and the Medical Examiner determined that she had been raped.

A tramp was seen in the neighborhood that day looking for work. A neighbor of the Crues, Jennie Carr, identified the tramp as Stearns K. Abbott from a police photograph. Abbott had recently been released from New Hampshire State Prison, where he had served time for larceny. He had also served prison time in Massachusetts and Connecticut. Abbott had already left town, so the police circulated his photograph among New England police departments. Ten days later, Abbott was arrested in East Weare, New Hampshire.

Abbott was convicted of murder and sentenced to hang, but there was lingering doubt as to his guilt. In February 1885, Chief Wade of the State District Police said:

I never thought Abbot Killed that woman. Why, there was a whole hour of her husband’s time that was unaccounted for, and that length of time was sufficient for him to commit the deed in. It was the old story, though, of giving a dog a bad name and everybody will kick it. Abbott had a bad reputation and no friends to look out for his interests. That Jennie Carr that swore so strongly in the case knew a good deal more than she swore to. She didn’t care to tell all she knew. I have no doubt that the truth will come out in this case and that it will be at last cleared up. Stearns Kendall Abbott is an innocent man, so far as the murder of Mrs. Crue is concerned. 

The truth never did come out, but public pressure led the state governor to commute Abbott's sentence to life in prison. Abbott served thirty years of his sentence before being pardoned in 1911. He never wavered in his assertion of innocence. 

Read the full story here: The Groton Tragedy.

The Prince Street Murder.

 

Bertha Levy entered the house at 111 Prince Street, Manhattan, just before 10:00 a.m. on January 18, 1880. She was a hairdresser, and she had an appointment with Annie Downey, who lived on the second floor. No one responded to her knocks, and the door was locked. The owner of the house did not have a key to the room. Fearing the worst, they summoned the police; the Eighth Precinct Station House was less than a block away.

Officer Sweeny and Sergeant McNally broke the door open and found Annie Downey’s lifeless body lying prostrate on the blood-soaked bed. A pillowcase was tightly bound around her throat. Her left arm was bent, and her fingers were clutching the pillowcase. Ugly gashes on her forehead and bruises marred her face.

Captain McDonnell of the Eighth Precinct came to view the body and proclaimed that he believed she had committed suicide, first by strangling herself with the pillowcase, then beating her head with a weapon of some kind.

Annie Downey—aka Annie Martin; aka “Curly Tommy” – was said to be of unsound mind and had previously attempted to take her own life. She possessed a violent and hysterical temper, which, when excited, took a suicidal tendency.

The detectives handling the case did not share their captain’s view. Downey’s gold watch and chain were missing, suggesting that she was murdered during a robbery. Her diamond ring and other jewelry were still there, so the watch could have been taken to mislead the police. The detectives favored the theory that she had been murdered by a jealous lover. Over the previous few weeks, Downey had changed her abode several times, as if trying to escape someone.

Though the early accounts of the murder downplayed it, the house at 111 Prince Street was a brothel. The owner, Mrs. Blanche Schmidt, known as Madame Blanche, rented furnished rooms where local prostitutes plied their trade. Annie Downey led a life of shame for the past six years and had been arrested several times for intoxication and disorderly conduct.

Mrs. Schmidt told police that six men had called on Downey on the day of her death. The only one she saw was a man who came in at about 6:00.

“He was speaking so rough that I was afraid of him,” she said, “I looked through the door into the front parlor where he and Annie were standing. He asked her if she had pistols in the house; at that I got frightened and called out ‘Annie, what is the matter?’ He again asked if there was a pistol. I said, ‘My God! Don’t speak so, you frighten me by talking about pistols.’ I don’t remember having seen the man before, he was middling tall, I should judge he was between thirty-four and thirty-seven years of age, but he may have been younger, he was stout—rather of medium build; his hair, eyes and moustache appeared to be dark, he seemed to me to be an Irishman. Annie answered, ‘Oh, Mrs. Blanche, he said that for fun, he didn’t mean it.'”

Annie took him upstairs to her room. Half an hour later, she came down and told Mrs. Schmidt that the man would be back later to spend the night. No one in the house heard the man come back in or leave the house that night.

Captain McDonnell held on to the suicide theory for as long as he could, but the results of the autopsy put an end to it. Her death resulted from asphyxia from strangulation, hastened by four scalp wounds from a weapon, possibly the butt of a pistol. The coroner concluded that they could not have been self-inflicted. He began an inquest but suspended it until the police could find a suspect.

The New York press was comparing the case to the murder of Helen Jewett, a prostitute who had been murdered in her bed 44 years earlier. However, in that case, the prime suspect came to light quickly. There were no suspects in Annie Downey’s murder, and very little evidence to go on.

On January 20, a man answering the description of the man who visited Downey was arrested in Newtown, Long Island. He was a Swede named Johnsen, a tramp, with a scratch on his face and blood on his shirt. Captain McDonnell took several inmates of 111 Prince to Newtown to look at Johnsen. None of them recognized him, and Johnsen was released. 

In further investigation of the murder room, police determined that 111 Prince was not just a brothel; it was a “panel house.” This means that the rooms had hidden panels where a confederate could sneak into the room while the prostitute was in bed with her client and steal his wallet. This provided another possible motive and another means of escape for the killer.

On January 27, the police arrested another suspect. They tried to keep the information secret and requested that the newspaper refrain from naming him. Most complied, but the New York Tribune identified the man as Edward Timm. Captain McDonnell took Timm to 111 Prince, where the inmates recognized him as the man they had seen on the afternoon of the murder. Timm, a married man, denied he had been to the house and denied any knowledge of Annie Downey. However, his mother-in-law, upon hearing of Downey’s death, said it was a good thing because her daughter's husband would no longer run after her.

The inquest restarted, and after a day of testimony, the coroner’s jury returned the following verdict: “We find that the death of Annie Downey was a homicide, and consider the evidence sufficient to hold the prisoner, Edward Timm, for trial.”

It looked as though the case was nearly closed, but in February, Captain McDonnell received some surprises that affected the prosecution of the case.

Edward Timm hired the law firm of Howe and Hummell, the most effective criminal lawyers in New York. William Howe applied to the New York Supreme Court for a writ of habeas corpus. He believed that there was not enough evidence to hold his client. Justice Lawrence of the Supreme Court agreed and released Timm from custody.

On February 2, Inspector Dilks served papers against Captain McDonnell on the charge of permitting disorderly houses to flourish in his precinct. Twenty houses were specified in the charge, including 111 Prince Street, which was “within a biscuit toss of the station house.” Additionally, Detective John Murphy of the Eighth Precinct stood trial for extorting money from the houses. The Schmidts moved out of 111 Prince Street, and the house was closed.

The Downey murder case languished for the next 19 months. Then, in September 1881, some new clues came to light. The missing watch was found in a pawnshop, and a witness emerged who said Annie Downey had been married. The husband, he said, was “a worthless, good-for-nothing fellow” who lived off his wife’s earnings. He had a key to her room, and he visited that night. While the police were confident that the case was nearly solved, nothing came of these clues either.

There were no other revelations, and by 1890, the Annie Downey case was mentioned in newspaper articles as an example of an unsolved New York murder.

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Sources: 

“Annie Downey's Death,” New York Herald, January 29, 1880.
“Annie Downey's Murder,” New York Herald, February 4, 1880.
“Annie Downie's Death,” New York Herald, January 20, 1880.
“Arrest in the Case of Annie Downey,” Evening Post, January 28, 1880.
“Captain M'Donnell to be Tried,” New York Herald, February 3, 1880.
“Clearing Up the Mystery,” Sun., January 28, 1880.
“Coming To Light At Last,” Truth, September 27, 1881.
“Crimes Against Life,” New-York Tribune, January 28, 1880.
“The Death of Annie Downey,” Evening Post, January 19, 1880.
“The Death of Annie Downey,” Evening Post, January 29, 1880.
“Light on a Murder,” New York Herald, September 23, 1881.
“The Murder of Annie Downey,” New-York Tribune., January 22, 1880.
“Murdered in Bed,” New York Herald, January 18, 1880.
“Mysteries of the Morgue,” CHICAGO DAILY NEWS., December 3, 1890.
“New York City,” New-York Tribune., January 21, 1880.
“Murdered Annie Downey,” Sun., January 21, 1880.
“The Prince Street Tragedy,” New York Herald, January 19, 1880.
“Still Seeking a Clew,” New York Herald, January 25, 1880.
“Tim Held for the Grand Jury,” New York Herald, January 30, 1880.
“Tim Set Free by Judge Lawrence,” New-York Tribune, February 4, 1880.
“Trial of Detective Murphy,” New York Herald, May 11, 1880.

Some Very Cold Cases.

In 2014, Murder by Gaslight posted Unsolved, a collection of 19^th-century murders that had never been fully explained. The list included some famous cases, including the murders of Andrew and Abby Borden, Carrie Brown, Benjamin Nathan, as well as several other homicides that were never prosecuted.

Since then, Murder by Gaslight has posted many more murder cases that were never solved. Either the evidence was too thin to charge the prime suspect, or the entire case was shrouded in mystery. Here are a few of Murder by Gaslight’s very cold cases:

	The Assassination of Corlis. On March 20, 1843, Charles G. Corlis was shot outside of the bowling saloon he owned in New York City. Witnesses saw someone running from the scene—maybe a man, maybe a woman, maybe a man dressed as a woman. Suspicion fell on Henry Colton because Corlis was having an affair with his wife, Hannah. The police arrested both Coltons, but Henry had an alibi, and no one could say conclusively that the woman in question was Hannah. The Coltons were released from custody, and no one was ever charged with the murder.
	A Shrewd Rascal. Samuel Smith and his wife Emma appeared to the world as a happy and affectionate young couple. She was pretty and vivacious with a dazzling wardrobe, and he was energetic with a winning personality. But beneath the surface was a hidden turmoil that did not come to light until 1885, when Emma was found dead in their Chicago apartment, her head blown apart by a shotgun blast. Samuel Smith was the prime suspect, but he left Chicago and was never seen again.
	The Snell Murder. In the wee hours of February 8, 1888, burglars broke into the mansion of Amos J. Snell, one of the wealthiest men in Chicago. They went straight to Snell’s office and opened his safe and a strong box, but when they did not find the fortune they expected, they went upstairs and began gathering silver items. Snell heard them in the parlor and fired his pistol through the closed door. The thieves fired back, killing Snell. Despite a large reward and a massive manhunt leading to more than 1,000 arrests, no one was charged with Snell’s murder.
	The Maggie Hourigan Mystery. The body of Maggie Hourigan was found floating in a pool of water on October 20, 1889. Dr. S. Walter Scott performed a hasty autopsy and concluded she had committed suicide. No one who knew her believed that Maggie had killed herself, and a second autopsy discovered a wound on the side of her head, indicating that she was dead or unconscious when she entered the water. With no other suspects, the New York Sun implied that Dr. Scott may have come to a false conclusion to hide his own involvement in the murder. He sued the Sun for libel and received a settlement. The true circumstances of Maggie Hourigan’s death remain a mystery.
	The Mysteries of Mary Tobin. On May 12, 1889, the janitor of the Clifton Boat Club on Staten Island found the body of Mary Tobin floating in the water. The police suspected suicide. Perhaps she had been seduced and betrayed and had drowned herself to hide her shame. But the coroner found no evidence of pregnancy or abortion. He found no marks of violence and no trace of poison. Mary Tobin’s life was filled with mystery; she was engaged to be married but also contemplating joining a convent. The final mystery of Mary Tobin’s life—did she die by murder, suicide, or accident—has never been solved.
	The Stillwell Murder. Fannie Stillwell told police that around 2:00 am on December 30, 1889, she heard a disturbance and got up to find her husband, Amos, lying in a pool of blood, with a terrible gash in his head. Amos Stillwell was one of the wealthiest men in Hannibal, Missouri, and his wife was 30 years younger than he was. The police investigation was futile, but a year later, when Fannie Stillwell married her physician, Dr. Hearne, the couple became the prime suspects. Dr. Hearn was tried and found not guilty; charges against Fannie were effectively dropped as well. The people of Hannibal would remain appalled that one of their most prominent residents could be murdered without retribution.
	15 Corning Street. The strangulation of Alice Brown in her room at 15 Corning Street in Boston’s South End dominated the front page of the city’s daily newspapers in the autumn of 1897. The Boston newspapers aggressively followed clues and gathered background, hoping to scoop each other and the police in their vivid reporting of the crime. In the end, they may have been too aggressive, adding more confusion than clarity. The case was muddled with rumor and innuendo, but not enough evidence to indict anyone. It remains one of the city’s unsolved mysteries.
	The Medford Mystery. Walter R. Debbins was shot twice in the back, in broad daylight, on Highland Street in Medford, Massachusetts, on the afternoon of Saturday, March 27, 1897. Though no one saw the murder or heard the gunshots, there was enough traffic on Highland Street that afternoon for the police to precisely pinpoint the time of the shooting to between 1:00 and 1:05. But that was all they could pinpoint; everything else about the crime was shrouded in mystery that grew more dense with each new revelation. The mystery was never resolved.

A Honeymoon Tragedy.

Around 3:00, on the afternoon of June 15, 1886, a bellboy heard gunshots while responding to a prolonged ring from room 25 on the second floor of the Sturtevant House in New York City. No one answered his knocks, and the door was locked. He heard groans coming from inside and, together with the hotel carpenter, they burst into the room.

The occupants, a man and a woman, both lay on the floor, their heads upon pillows. They had both been shot but were still alive. The man was holding a revolver. George Hutty, the carpenter, was the first to approach the pair. He raised the man’s head and said, “Why have you done this?”

“Please go for a doctor, quick,”  was the response.

“Tell me why you did this,” Hutty said again.

“Get a doctor, I tell you,” said the man. He refused to say another word.

They sent for an ambulance, but the woman, who had been shot through the back of the head, died before it arrived. The doctors turned their attention to the man. He had wounds to the head and breast. They took him by ambulance to the New York Hospital, but thought he was unlikely to survive.

The couple was Winfield B. Thompson and his wife, Genevieve, both in their early twenties. They were newlyweds on their honeymoon, and after touring New England, they stopped in New York. They were to leave for Philadelphia the following day, before traveling to Mr. Thompson’s home in Kansas City.

For the past two years, Winfield had been studying medicine in New York. That summer, he had the position of surgeon on board a steamer that traveled between New York and Boston. He met Genivieve Kahler at the Stern Brothers department store, where she was in charge of the hat department. They were married on June 2.

The marriage had been somewhat clandestine. No one in Kansas City knew that Thompson was married, and even a friend in New York, whom he saw frequently, was surprised to learn about it. Genivieve’s family learned about it after the wedding. Winfield’s father, Dr. C.L. Thompson, pastor of the Second Presbyterian Church in Kansas City, who was preparing to vacation in Europe, learned of the marriage when he learned of his son’s death.

Those who knew Winfield in Kansas City believed he was still engaged to a woman named Jennie, first reported as the adopted daughter of Phillip Armour, owner of the Armour meat-packing company. Phillip Armour clarified that she was not his adopted daughter, but a young lady who lived, for a time, with his brother’s family in Kansas City. The brother was to accompany Dr. Thompson on his trip to Europe.

Winfield stopped writing to Jennie after he met Genivieve. When he moved out of his boarding house on June 2, he left behind a package to be mailed to Kansas City. On the outside, he wrote:

Dear Jennie—I send you back all your letters. I have kept nothing. Now all is over between us. Yours, WIN.

Genivieve Kahler left her parents’ home after a quarrel four years earlier. She boarded with Mrs. D.B. Pratt, who also worked at Stern Brothers. Mrs. Pratt met the couple at the hotel at 10:00 on the morning of the murder. The three went shopping together, and at one point, Winfield went off alone, saying he would meet them at 1:30. According to Mrs. Pratt, this was when he purchased the revolver. They lunched at the hotel, and Mrs. Pratt left around 2:40. She said the couple appeared to be in a loving mood. Less than half an hour later, the Thompsons were dead.

The motive for the murder/suicide remained a mystery. One theory said that Winfield was so afraid of telling his father about the marriage that he decided to kill them both. Another said that he was in dire financial straits and did not want to tell his wife he could not deliver the luxuries he promised. G.S. Yard, a close friend of Winfield's, doubted that he would act out of fear. He believed that Winfield had accidentally shot his wife, then shot himself out of grief.

There were reasons to doubt this theory as well. The autopsy revealed that Genivieve had been shot in the head twice. Coroner Levy interviewed Winfield at the hospital before he died, but he refused to give a reason.

“What was the cause of the shooting?” Mr. Levy inquired.

“I would rather not tell,”  he replied.

“Was it intentional?”

“So far as the shooting of myself was concerned, yes.”

“Did you shoot your wife by accident?”

“I don’t know why I did it.”

He died soon after. The cause of the tragedy remains a mystery.

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Sources: 

“About the Bride's Coffin,” New York Herald, June 17, 1886.
“A Clandestine Marriage,” TOLEDO BLADE, June 16, 1886.
“A Domestic Tragedy,” Rockford Daily Register, June 16, 1886.
“A Honeymoon Tragedy,” New York Herald, June 16, 1886.
“Thompson Refuses To Talk,” New-York Tribune, June 17, 1886.
“Thompson's Murder Suicide,” National Police Gazette, December 4, 1886.
“Winfield B. Thompson,” Evening Post, June 16, 1886.
“A Young Husband's Crime,” New York Tribune, June 16, 1886.

Views of the Fisk Assassination.

James Fisk Jr. was a robber baron, stock manipulator, and financial fraudster. In spite of this, he was a popular, much-loved public figure. On January 6, 1872, he was assassinated on the staircase of the Grand Central Hotel in New York City by his friend and sometime business partner, Edward “Ned” Stokes. Fisk and Stokes were both in love with Josie Mansfield, considered by some to be the most beautiful woman in America. 

The murder became a national sensation and was graphically illustrated many times in magazines and books.

Read the full story here: Jubilee Jim.
 

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1. Life, Adventures, Strange Career and Assassination of Col. James Fisk Jr. (Philadelphia: Barclay and Co, 1872.)
2. Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper, January 20, 1872.
3. The Life of James Fisk Jr. (Philadelphia: Union Publishing Company, 1872.)
4. “The Stokes-Fisk Assassination,” Illustrated Police News, January 11, 1872.

Liquor and Free Love.

As Police Officers Henry Johnson and Eli Veazie were leaving the Chelsea, Massachusetts City Marshal’s office on the evening of February 17, 1872, they were approached by a man, intoxicated and in a state of agitation.

“I have had my revenge. I want you to go with me,” he said, “I suppose I have killed him and shall have to suffer for it.”

The man, Arzo B. Bartholomew, led them to a men’s furnishings store on Pearl Street, where a crowd had gathered in front of the building. Officer Johnson went upstairs to an apartment on the second floor and found the body of Charles Storer lying face down inside the doorway, stabbed through the heart.

The police were well aware of the animosity between Bartholomew and Storer, but did not take it seriously. Storer was 45 years old, Bartholomew was 61, and both were in love with the same woman.

The three-room apartment was occupied by Dr. Sydney B. West and Mrs. Susan D. Gilbert. The third room they used to manufacture a patent medicine called Dr. West’s Medicated Candy. Dr. West had formerly practiced medicine in Boston and had moved to Chelsea about a year earlier to produce his medicated candy in partnership with Mrs. Gilbert. A few months later, Charles Storer, a well-known builder in Chelsea, joined the firm.

Susan Gilbert was about 40 years old. She was tall and slim with a fair complexion. According to the New York Herald, “She may have been very comely in youth and is not by any means repulsive in appearance now.” She and Dr. West shared an apartment, but they maintained that their relationship was a business partnership, not romantic. The same could not be said of Susan and Charles Storer, who developed a “mutual admiration.” Although he had a wife and four daughters, Storer’s attachment to Susan Gilbert grew much warmer, and he spent much of his time at her apartment.

Arzo Bartholomew lived a sorrowful life. His wife died two years earlier from a fall down the stairs in their South Boston apartment. He had recently been swindled in a property deal, and his furniture was stolen. As a young man, he was a police officer but was dismissed for cowardice. He went with another officer to quell a disturbance, got frightened, and left his partner to go it alone.

Bartholomew met Suson Gilbert in the spring of 1871 at a Spiritualist meeting in Boston. He probably wanted to communicate with his dead wife, whom he referred to as the “dear departed.” At the meeting, he and Susan formed a strong attachment that, for Bartholomew, grew into an absolute infatuation. They met again at a Spiritualist camp meeting in Concord, Massachusetts. Charles Storer was also at the camp meeting, and the two men had a lively quarrel, which Susan pacified to prevent injury.

In the 1870s, many Spiritualists also advocated free love, prompting the New York Herald to headline their story, “Free Love and Murder.”  The Congregationalist declared, “Liquor and free love doctrines have to answer for this crime.”

Back in Chelsea, Bartholomew visited Susan often. He claimed that he and Susan were engaged to be married; an assertion that she would neither confirm nor deny. Storer did everything he could to keep Batholomew away. He would sit on the steps in front of the apartment to prevent Bartholomew’s visits. Sometimes he would stay as late as 2:00 AM, and more than once the police chased him home. Bartholomew entered a complaint with the City Marshal, saying that Storer had threatened to shoot him if he did not stay away from Susan. The officers, aware of the situation, advised him to stay away.

On the day of the murder, Bartholomew arrived at the apartment heavily intoxicated. Seeing his condition, Susan did not want to talk to him. He persisted, saying he wanted an interest in the medicated candy business or employment with the firm. She told him he had to go.

Bartholomew said he would end all trouble, then he took something from his pocket and made a motion as if stabbing himself. He struck Susan in the breast with his fist or the handle of a knife. Dr. West interfered, and Bartholomew pushed him away violently. Knowing Storer would be there soon, Susan tried again to persuade him to leave.

In the midst of the confusion, Storer arrived and said, “I have got something to say about this.”

Bartholomew turned his attention to Storer, and the men immediately clinched. Storer threw Bartholomew to the floor, and Susan begged him not to hurt Bartholomew as he was drunk. Storer got up and said he was going for the police. Bartholomew rose and followed him out the door. Susan and Dr. West went after them and stumbled over the body of Storer on the entry floor. They moved him inside. He was apparently unconscious; they saw no blood.

After two or three minutes, he sat up and exclaimed twice, “What’s the matter?”

He sank down, then up again, saying, “What’s the matter?”

His eyes became fixed and glassy, and he fell dead. They saw the fatal wounds, two downward gashes in the left breast, one of which penetrated the heart.

News of the murder travelled quickly through Chelsea. Charles Storer’s eldest daughter pushed her way through the crowd that had gathered outside the building. When she saw her murdered father, she threw her arms around his neck and cried bitterly, unable to accept that he was dead.  The Boston Morning Journal said, “Her grief was so poignant and so demonstrative that it touched the hearts and moistened the eyes of the few spectators present.”

The police arrested Dr. West and Susan Gilbert as witnesses and took them to the jail where Bartholomew was already in custody. They were held on $5,000 bail to make sure they would be available to testify.

Bartholomew said that Storer had dogged him for weeks. As he was talking with Susan, Storer came in and called him an “extremely hard name” then grabbed him by the collar and threw him on the floor. He could not remember anything after that. On the advice of his counsel, Bartholomew did not testify at his arraignment, where he was indicted for manslaughter.

At his trial the following March, the prosecution entered into evidence a letter from Bartholomew to Susan showing the extent of his infatuation (as well as his inability to spell):

Boston, January 14, 1872
Dearest darling Susie, my sweete angil, I could not goe to bed with out writing you a few lines dareling Susie, you are my dareling sweete bird. I was sorry that I could not staid with you longer to day dareling, but we will be together more soon I hope sweete dareling. God in heaven and the angils will bless ours dareling  dout not enny more sweete susie, my loved one you are all the hopes that I have in the world  Susie dareling you alone make me happy. why should I not ask your hand and heart to be mine dareling presious sweete one? say yes dareling God bless your soul   a thousand kisses for you.

I shall be there about half past 9 o’clock wensdsay night if nothing happens   my cold is very bad  I am all stuft upt to-night   this is from your true lover dareling A. B. Bartholemew  good buy dareling angil birde

The jury found Bartholomew guilty of manslaughter. After a failed appeal, the judge sentenced him to six years in the State Prison.

In 1876, after serving three and a half years of his sentence, Azro Bartholomew was pardoned.

---

Sources: 

“Affecting Scene and Poignant Grief ,” Illustrated Police News, February 29, 1872.
“Brieflets,” Boston Evening Transcript., June 20, 1876.
“Chelsea,” Boston Daily Journal, February 20, 1872.
“The Chelsea Homicide,” Boston Daily Evening Transcript., March 21, 1872.
“The Chelsea Tragedy,” BOSTON HERALD., February 19, 1872.
“The Chelsea Tragedy,” BOSTON HERALD., February 20, 1872.
“The Chelsra Tragedy,” Boston Daily Journal, March 22, 1872.
“Crimes and Criminals,” CONGREGATIONALIST., February 22, 1872.
“Free Love and Murder,” New York Herald, February 19, 1872.
“New-England News-Summary,” Boston Cultivator., March 30, 1872.
“Sad Tragedy in Chelsea,” Boston Morning Journal., February 19, 1872.
“Sentenced for Manslaughter,” Boston Evening Journal, December 9, 1872.

Parting from Her Doomed Lover.

National Police Gazette, December 29, 1888.

Franklin Asbury Hawkins murdered his mother on October 29, 1887, and dumped her body, beaten and shot, by the side of the road in Islip, Long Island. 22-year-old Hawkins was angered that his mother objected to his desire to marry Hattie Schrecht, a servant girl. Hawkins was easily convicted of first-degree murder and sentenced to be hanged in December 1888.

Hattie Schrecht visited Hawkins in his jail cell the night before his execution. She blamed herself for the murder, but the weeping girl assured her doomed lover that they would meet again in heaven.

Read the full story here: The Hawkins Matricide. 

Shot Down in Court.

Police Officers Farson and Conway were patrolling the neighborhood of Orleans and Washinton Streets in Memphis, Tennessee, on the night of April 28, 1890, when they heard a cry of,” Help! Murder!” They hurried to the source and opened the door to find a woman lying on the floor with a heavy-set man over her with a death grip on her throat. They arrested the man and took him to Central Station, where they learned that they had captured Jake Ackerman, one of the most successful and dangerous criminals in the country.

Jake Ackerman, alias Soloman S. Markes, was a burglar, sneak thief, and “all-around crook,” remarkably adept at evading capture. He was also known as “Natural Jake” for his ability to feign innocence when arrested and avoid prison when convicted.

Ackerman had been a criminal since his childhood in Memphis when he was the leader of a gang of young thieves known as the Mackerl Brigade. Several robberies were traced to the gang, but the police were unable to secure evidence to convict the culprits. Between the ages of 13 and 17, Ackerman was arrested at least 50 times.

In 1883, Ackerman and an accomplice robbed a drunken man of $600. When arrested, Ackerman thrust something into his mouth. The police officer grabbed his throat and choked him until he coughed it up. It was a $500 bill. The victim, a Mississippi planter visiting Memphis, was so happy to get his money back that he tipped the officer $100 but did not press charges. When the case went to trial, Ackerman was acquitted due to his youth, and on the condition that he leave the city.

In the years that followed, Ackerman committed crimes throughout the country. He was married in Indiana, and they moved to Topeka, Kansas. From there, he went to Des Moines, Iowa, where he was arrested for robbing a jewelry store.  His father-in-law put up $1,000 bail to release him from jail, but Ackerman did not stay for his trial. He skipped to Jacksonville, Florida, and his wife divorced him. 

He was arrested in Canton, Mississippi, for assaulting and attempting to rob a man on a train. He was convicted and taken by train to the penitentiary in Jackson, Mississippi. En route, Ackerman made a daring escape. Although handcuffed, he jumped through the window of the moving train and fled. He was arrested several more times and at least twice escaped by putting soap in his mouth and feigning an epileptic fit, then easily breaking out of the hospital.

In 1888, Ackerman met Lizzie Broderick in Missouri. The well-dressed, fast-talking Ackerman charmed the innocent young girl. Her parents were against Ackerman because he was Jewish, and they forbade her from seeing him. But Lizzie was infatuated and left her home to travel with Ackerman to Fort Scott, Kansas, where they were married.

But, Ackerman did not change his ways. 

Lizzie Ackerman

“Our married life has been a very trying one,” said Lizzie. “Jake would be with me one day and in some jail or penitentiary the next. With repeated promises made on bended knees to reform and live an honest life, I stood by Jake in all his troubles.”

During one prolonged absence, she moved to Memphis and changed her name to avoid the stigma associated with “Ackerman.” He tracked her down in Memphis, and they had a pleasant reunion until he found some letters implying that she had cheated on him. This led to the altercation, interrupted by the Memphis police officers.

Jake Ackerman was charged with assault and attempted murder and was arraigned in Police Court on April 30, 1890. In court, he handed Lizzie a note:

Lizzie: I hope you will send me my shirt; you have got three, and my collars and cuffs and also my knife. Put them in a big valise, also my socks and handkerchiefs so I can take them with me; send my check too.

J.N. Ackerman

This was the last straw for Lizzie. When the case was called and they both stood before the bench, Lizzie pulled a revolver from beneath her cloak and fired three shots.

Pandemonium broke out in the courtroom. The police took Lizzie into custody and carried Ackerman to an adjoining room. Everyone else in the room ran for cover.

“My God! Lay me down,” said Ackerman as someone removed his coat, “I am terribly shot. I can feel myself bleeding inside.”

Ackerman continued to talk as he lay dying. He asked God to forgive him and requested that the $35 in his pocket be given to the poor, but he had no kind words for Lizzie. He wanted to make sure the incriminating letters were introduced at her trial to show how badly she treated him. He died about an hour later.

Lizzie was cool and calm in custody. She explained to a reporter why she killed Ackerman. After he handed her the note, he leaned over and whispered, “There ain’t much of a case against me. I will be out of this without any trouble, and as soon as I get out, so help me God, I’ll kill you.”

“I did not wait for more,” said Lizzie, “but pulled my pistol and fired the shots straight at him…I have been abused all my married life, and I have lived in daily fear of my life for seven years.”

Lizzie was tried in June and found guilty of second-degree murder. She was sentenced to ten years in the penitentiary. 

Public opinion was always on Lizzie’s side, and many believed she did the world a favor by killing Jake Ackerman. Her cause was taken up by the Women’s Christian Association, who won her an absolute pardon from Governor Taylor. She served less than six months of her ten-year sentence.

---

Sources: 

“'Natural Jake',” Jasper weekly courier., May 9, 1890.
“He Called her Pet Names,” Public Ledger, April 29, 1890.
“Killed Her Husband in Court,” New York Herald, May 1, 1890.
“Killed in Court,” Public Ledger, April 30, 1890.
“Lizzie Ackerman Free,” Memphis Daily Commercial, January 17, 1891.
“Lizzie Ackerman's Victim,” Memphis Avalanche, May 2, 1890.
“A Long Career of Crime,” Memphis Daily Commercial, April 30, 1890.
“A Noted Criminal Caught,” Memphis Avalanche, April 30, 1890.
“Shot Down in Court,” National Police Gazette, May 17, 1890.
“Tragic,” Memphis Daily Commercial, May 1, 1890.
“A Verdict of Ten Years,” Memphis Avalanche, June 20, 1890.
“A Wife Kills Her Husband,” Alexandria gazette., May 1, 1890.

Miss Tobin's Mysterious Death.

National Police Gazette, June 1, 1889.

On May 12, 1889, the janitor of the Clifton Boat Club on Staten Island found the body of a young woman floating in the water. Though badly decomposed, Dr. S.A. Robinson identified her as Mary Tobin, who had recently resigned from her job in his office. 

Mary Tobin’s life was clouded with mysteries and contradictions. She had come to Staten Island from Franklin, Pennsylvania. However, when her family learned of her death, they thought she was in Clifton, South Carolina. 

The police suspected suicide. Perhaps she had been seduced and betrayed and drowned herself to hide her shame. But the coroner found no evidence of pregnancy or abortion. He found no marks of violence and no trace of poison. 

In the two years that she lived on Staten Island, she went from being an active Methodist to an avid and very vocal atheist to a High Church Episcopalian. Her pastor said that prior to her death, Mary had consulted him about joining the Episcopal Sisters and moving to a convent. 

It was well known that Mary was engaged to be married, but none of her friends or relations knew the identity of her fiancé. At the inquest, Dr. William Bryan revealed that he was engaged to Mary. Though the date had not been set, they planned to be married.

The final mystery of Mary Tobin’s life—did she die by murder, suicide, or accident—has never been solved.

Read the full story here: The Mysteries of Mary Tobin.

The Hill's Grove Mystery.

Two days after her disappearance, search parties formed to look for any trace of Emma between Hill’s Grove and Pontiac. They focused on the river and ponds in the area, fearing that she may have fallen in and drowned. On November 14, when the search was all but abandoned, a group of searchers discovered Emma’s body in the bushes on a knoll, near the road.

The coroner and the medical examiner went to the scene and determined that Emma had been the victim of foul play. Her neck was bruised with distinct marks of fingers and thumbs, and her face was purple and swollen, indicating that she had been strangled. Her clothes had been drawn up to her waist. They later determined that she had probably been raped. There were no clues at the scene to identify the assailant.

Emma Pearson, age 30, was a Swedish immigrant who spoke little English. She was pleasant and industrious but tended to keep to herself. She was said to have an antipathy for the whole male population and shunned the company of men.

In Sweden, Emma had an illegitimate child. The papers called it “the one error of her life.” Alexander Berg, the man involved, was ready to marry her, but his family forbade it. So, Emma came to America with her 3-year-old son. The boy, John Berg, now 5, was living with Emma’s sister in East Greenwich, Rhode Island.

Agnes Loomis, who had planned to go with Emma to Pontiac, decided to leave an hour earlier that day. She reported that a man wearing a light overcoat, driving a horse and wagon, overtook her and asked if she wanted a ride. She declined, but he insisted until she turned to go to the main road. Another witness saw a man in a light overcoat walking with a young woman near the murder scene. Her description of the girl’s clothing did not match Emma’s.

A suspect began to emerge, though the evidence against him was weak and circumstantial. John Anderson, known as the “Big Swede,” lived in a cabin about five hundred yards from the knoll where Emma’s body was found. He was a 45-year-old grim-looking man who was acquainted with Emma. On the day of the murder, his wife was out of town. Earlier that week, Anderson appeared to have a seizure of some kind while shopping in a store. The villagers thought it had been caused by hydrophobia or insanity, but an examining doctor found nothing wrong with him.

Anderson was questioned through an interpreter because he appeared to speak only Swedish. However, during the interview, he became excited and answered in English.

The investigation was hampered from the beginning by errors and other difficulties. The undertaker burned all of Emma’s clothes along with any evidence they contained. Multiple reward offers amounting to $2,200 led to overzealous detective work. Postmaster Tilley arrested John Anderson, but the District Attorney denied issuing an arrest warrant.

Authorities had hoped that the large Swedish community in the area would be helpful in solving the mystery of Emma Pearson’s murder, but they found the opposite. Coroner Green said that the Swedes “hang to each other like glue.” Regarding John Anderson, they all asserted, “He could not have done it; our people do not do such things.”

When John Anderson was arraigned on December 7, the attorney general, the coroner, and the medical examiner refused to participate in the trial. Postmaster Tilley attempted the prosecution on his own. Due to lack of evidence and Tilley’s inexperience, John Anderson was not indicted.

As Anderson’s trial proceeded, another Swede, Gustaf Lindstrom, was ending a three-week drinking binge. After Anderson’s release, Lindstrom, in the throes of delirium tremens, said to his wife, “They have cleared the old man Anderson, and they will be after me next.”

On the morning of December 9, he told her, “I killed Emma Pearson; they are after me, and I am not going to await arrest.”

He then tried to shoot himself, but she took the pistol away from him. He went into an outhouse and cut his own throat. The more prominent newspapers like the Boston Globe and the New York Tribune reported that Mrs. Lindstrom believed her husband was the murderer. However, in the Rhode Island papers, Mrs. Lindstrom called the assertion a “malicious falsehood.”

While some took the suicide of Gustaf Lindstrom as an admission of guilt, the case remained open. Gradually, the murder faded from memory. It was briefly revived on the death of John Anderson. After his release, the “Big Swede” became a tramp, wandering aimlessly around Rhode Island, and was, for a time, an inmate of the State Asylum for the Insane. When he died in February 1889, any secrets he kept about the murder were buried with him. The case, once again, was forgotten.

---

Sources: 

“An Unsolved Mystery,” Providence Sunday Journal, February 24, 1889.
“Big Swede Anderson Under Arrest,” Morning Journal and Courier., November 30, 1886.
“The Big Swede Goes Free,” Morning Journal and Courier., December 8, 1886.
“Did the Swede Kill Emma? ,” New York Herald, December 7, 1886.
“Emma Pearson's Murder,” Sun., December 7, 1886.
“Emma Pearson's Murderer,” Evening Bulletin, November 29, 1886.
“A False Scent,” Providence Daily Journal, November 20, 1886.
“The Hill's Grove Mystery,” Evening Bulletin, November 15, 1886.
“The Hill's Grove Mystery,” Providence Daily Journal, November 16, 1886.
“The Hill's Grove Tragedy,” Providence Daily Journal, November 18, 1886.
“The Hill's Grove Tragedy,” Providence Daily Journal, November 19, 1886.
“The Linstrom Suicide,” Evening Bulletin, December 9, 1886.
“A Murderer Confesses And Commits Suicide,” New-York Tribune., December 9, 1886.

“One More.,” National Police Gazette, December 4, 1886.
“The Pearson Murder,” Evening Bulletin, December 1, 1886.

An Illustrated Encyclopedia: The 1891 Murder Of Carrie Brown.

 

An Illustrated Encyclopedia: The 1891 Murder Of Carrie Brown, a new book by Howard and Nina Brown of JTRForums.com, is a comprehensive summary of the people, places, and things associated with one of New York City’s most sensational murder cases. The brutal murder of Carrie Brown shocked the people of New York and challenged their police force. Many believed that it was the work of London’s Jack the Ripper, making the investigation even more urgent. The Browns’ new book profiles all of the characters involved and views the case from all angles.

Available at Amazon.

Mary and Oscar.

 

Mary Barrows and Oscar Blaney.
Illustrated Police News, May 9, 1885,

In 1883, Mary Barrows of Kittery, Maine, persuaded her son-in-law, Oscar Blaney, to murder her husband, Thomas Barrows. Mary had been married before and had a daughter by her first husband. Thomas never got along with his stepdaughter, and he despised Oscar. He went into a rage whenever they visited because he believed Mary planned to transfer the deed of their farm to her daughter.

Mary and Oscar agreed that there would be no peace in their lives until Thomas was dead and they decided to make it happen. On November 14, 1883, Oscar ambushed Thomas near the barn, shot him three times, and fled. The shots did not kill Thomas, and he managed to crawl back to the house. Mary went to get Oscar to finish the job. Oscar shot Thomas twice more, killing him.

Mary tried to claim that Thomas had committed suicide but had trouble explaining five bullet wounds. Mary Barrows and Oscar Blaney were both convicted of murder.

Read the full story here: The Kittery Crime.

Mother and Son Murderers.

 

A driverless horse and wagon wandered aimlessly in the prairie between Fort Gibson and Tahlequah in Indian Territory on December 3, 1883. Jim Merrill heard the wagon come up to his front gate and went out to investigate. In the bed of the wagon, he found the body of Arch Casey with a large bullet hole in his left breast.

The wagon tracks were clearly visible in the dirt. They followed a meandering route, sometimes on the road, sometimes off. Then, at one point, they stuck to the road as if someone had guided the wagon to that spot and then abandoned it. The tracks led back to the house of Mrs. Mary Matoy, about a hundred yards north of the road to Tahlequah.

Mrs. Matoy was a widow who had "...born the reputation of being loose in character—a hard case—shrewd, bold and dangerous." Her son Jimmie (age reported variously 12-15) also had a bad reputation. They claimed to have no knowledge of the murder, but the Indian Police searched the house and found blood stains under a bed and a splotch of blood where the wagon had stood. The day before, Jimmie had borrowed a large-bore gun and four cartridges from a neighbor. He returned it the next morning, having shot two of the cartridges.

Captain Sam Sixkiller of the Indian Police was convinced of their guilt. He arrested them both and conveyed them to Muskogee. From there, they were taken to Fort Smith, Arkansas to await trial in the U.S. District Court.

Arch Casey was an Irishman who came to Fort Gibson in 1866 with the 19^th Regiment of the U.S. Infantry. After discharge, he remained in the district. He married a native woman and had three children. Casey was described as industrious and peaceable but sometimes drank too much. His wife died several years earlier, and he began a relationship with Mary Matoy. He lived, off and on, at her house during the last three years.

While in jail in Fort Smith, Mary Matoy had her four-year-old daughter in the cell with her. They lived that way for the next six months until her trial the following June.

Both Mary and Jimmie persistently denied all knowledge of the killing until a few days before their trial, when they acknowledged the crime but claimed self-defense. On the witness stand, Mary explained what happened:

Casey came to my house shortly after dinner time, and alighting from his wagon came in and began to abuse me. I went out in the yard. He followed and pushed me down over a pile of rocks. Jimmie ran into the house and got a gun. When he came out, Casey chased him around behind the house with an ax-handle. I then heard the gunshot, and going around there saw Casey lying on the ground. He died almost instantly. We were scared, and concluded the best thing we could do was to conceal the crime; so we dragged the body into the house, and taking the bedding from the slats laid Casey on them, and then put the bedding back on top of him. We did this to prevent anyone from seeing him who might chance to pass during the evening. After dark, we dragged the body to the wagon in the yard, and placed it in such a way as to make it appear that he had been shot in the wagon, and fallen off the seat. We then got in the wagon, taking my little girl along, and drove in a round-about way to where the team was found next morning, sometimes driving out of the road to make it appear that the team had got there without any driver. After abandoning the team we walked back home through the woods, a distance of nine miles, arriving there about daylight, carrying my little girl all the way back.

The Matoys had been charged with murder, but Mary’s explanation was enough to convince the jury to find them guilty of the lesser charge of manslaughter. The judge gave them the maximum sentence—ten years in prison and a $1,000 fine.

Chief Deputy U.S. Marshal C.M. Barnes took Mary and Jimmie, along with nine other convicts, to the House of Correction in Detroit, Michigan. Mary was not allowed to take her little daughter to prison with her. They had an emotional farewell in Arkansas before leaving. The girl was adopted by a family in Fort Smith.

---

Sources:

“[Capt John A,” Cherokee Advocate, December 14, 1883.
“[Casey; Fort Gibson; Mrs,” Cherokee Advocate, December 7, 1883.
“[Matoy; Casey],” Cherokee Advocate, December 14, 1883.
“Arrested for Murder,” Rockford Daily Register., December 19, 1883.
“Capt.Hyde,” Indian chieftain., December 28, 1883.
“Mother and Child Acting as Murderers,” National Police Gazette, July 26, 1884.
“Mother And Child Take a Sad Farewell, the Former Leaving for a Prison Cell,” Daily Arkansas Gazette, July 23, 1884.
“Mother and Son Sentenced,” Fort Worth daily gazette., June 20, 1884.
“Woman Convicted of Murder,” Rockford Daily Register., June 20, 1884.

Kitty Mulcahey's Fury.

National Police Gazette, January 14, 1882.

In January 1882, Kitty Mulcahey was jailed in St. Louis for the murder of Alfred Tonkin. Kitty was a prostitute who said Tonkin had offered her two dollars and a sealskin hat if she would go with him to his room. She did not like his looks and refused the offer. Later, while walking with a man whose looks she did like, Tonkin approached them looking for trouble. The other man handed Kitty a pistol, and she shot Tonkin. 

The police and reporters were not satisfied with her story. The newsmen wanted the name of the other man and the location of the pistol, and they pressed her to implicate her pimp, Billy Scharlow. Kitty was unhappy with the way she was portrayed in the press and became increasingly annoyed by their incessant questioning. In January, she had enough, and with a fierce outburst of temper, she doused the reporters from head to foot with water from a bucket in her cell.

Before her trial, Kitty recanted her confession, and without it, there was very little evidence against her. She was found not guilty and released from custody.

Read the full story here: Kitty Mulcahey.