Lust and Lead.

Around 1:30 a.m. on February 5, 1881, police were summoned to 109 Poplar Street in St. Louis to investigate gunshots. Inside, they found a scene of bloody carnage. At the top of a staircase, a woman lay on her back, the blood from three gunshot wounds slowly dripping down the steps. Sprawled across the bottom steps in a pool of blood lay the corpse of a man with a single wound to the head. It was a murder-suicide. 

The victims were Xavier and Aglae Wilhelm (no relation to the author), who were married in France sixteen years earlier, when she was 16 and he was 25. The age difference was a problem from the beginning; Aglae liked to flirt, and Xavier was profoundly jealous.

They emigrated to America and ended up in St. Louis. Aglae had some money, and they used it to open a coffee restaurant and ice cream parlor. They were raising two children, but business was bad, and Xavier and Aglae were constantly quarreling. Aglae couldn’t take it anymore, and in 1880, she took the children back to France.

Xavier followed soon after and persuaded her to return to St. Louis. They left the children in France and came back to the city with a new business plan. They purchased the two-story building on Poplar Street, opened a saloon on the first floor, and a brothel on the second floor. 

Sometime later, Xavier returned to Paris to recruit new blood for their house of ill-fame. He secured three young girls by telling them they would work as domestics in a fine hotel, for fabulous wages. The authorities in France got wind of his scheme and managed to rescue two of the girls. He returned to St. Louis with one.

During his absence, Xavier put his bartender, Jean Morrel, in charge of the saloon. Upon his return, Xavier began to suspect that Morrel had taken charge of his wife as well. The old jealousies returned, and he swore out a warrant charging his wife and her paramour with adultery. On February 5, the case came before a judge who dismissed it for want of evidence. Racked with jealousy and devoid of hope, Xavier put an end to their problems with four gunshots.

The coroner’s inquest returned the only possible conclusion: 

Verdict: Aglae Wilhelm came to her death from the effects of bullets fired from a revolver at the hand of her husband, Xavier Wilhelm, deceased at 109 Poplar Street. 

Verdict: Xavier Wilhelm, suicide by gunshot wound.

Morbid fascination with the crime was so strong in St. Louis that people visited the scene of the crime all day to gaze upon the place where blood had been shed. Crowds gathered at the morgue, though the bodies were covered and kept behind closed doors. 

Public fascination with the crime was matched by utter disdain in the press for both Xavier and Aglae. The Memphis Daily Appeal called it A “fitting end to a bad pair.” The St. Louis Post-Dispatch said: 

Mr. Wilhelm is to be congratulated upon his success. As a rule, the blackguards who murder women are so exhausted by the manly exercise that they miserably fail when they attempt to do a good turn in the same line for themselves.

---

Sources: 

“Bathed in Blood,” St. Louis Globe-Democrat, February 5, 1881.
“The Bloody End,” The Cincinnati Enquirer, February 6, 1881.
“Fitting End of a Bad Pair,” Memphis Daily Appeal, February 6, 1881.
“Lust and Lead,” St. Louis Globe-Democrat, February 6, 1881.
“News Article,” St. Louis Post-Dispatch, February 5, 1881.
“The Wilhelm Horror in St. Louis,” Illustrated Police News, February 26, 1881.

"Your Time has Come!"

 

--"'Your Time has Come'", Illustrated Police News, December 8, 1883.

Thomas Barrows was found dead in his home in Kittery, Maine, on November 14, 1883.  He was lying in his bed with six bullet wounds in his arms, legs, and head. His wife, Mary, told the coroner that Thomas had committed suicide. The coroner was faced with two immediate mysteries: if Thomas Barrows had committed suicide, why did he wound himself five times before firing the shot to the head that killed him? And how had he shot himself six times with the five-barreled revolver found near the bed?

In fact, his wife, Mary, persuaded her son-in-law, Oscar Blaney, to murder her husband. Blaney ambushed Barrows by the barn, shot him four times, and fled. But Barrows was not dead. Mary brought Blaney back to finish the job. found Barrows sitting on the side of his bed, groaning.

“Oscar, I guess I will go soon,” said Barrows.

“Yes, your time has come now,” Blaney said and fired two more shots.

Read the full story here: The Kittery Crime.

The East Liverpool Borgia.

Daniel Van Fossen and his wife hosted a dinner party for their extended family on January 8, 1885, at their home in East Liverpool, Ohio. Fourteen people were in attendance, including members of the Van Fossen, McBane, and Collins families. Coffee and Tea were served after the meal, and almost immediately, the coffee drinkers complained of a burning, bitter sensation in their throats. Soon, they all became violently ill with symptoms of arsenic poisoning. Around midnight that night, six-year-old Allie McBane died after suffering great agony. Soon after, Ann Collins, Mrs. Van Fossen’s 85-year-old mother, succumbed.

Eleven people who drank coffee became ill, while three who drank tea remained unaffected. An examination of the coffee pot revealed a package of “Rough on Rats,” a popular brand of rat poison, at the bottom of the pot. Daniel’s 19-year-old daughter, Annie Van Fossen, was suspected of intentionally poisoning the group. She had prepared the meal and the coffee, and although she drank some coffee, she was not as ill as the rest of the party.

Annie Van Fossen was a bit unstable. She was addicted to laudanum, and three times in the past two years, she had taken so much that she needed her stomach pumped. Some believed these were suicide attempts.

The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette reported a strange trip Annie took two weeks before the poisoning. She went to Bellaire, Ohio, where she met some young men, “without the formality of an introduction.” She told them that on Saturday, her mother had given her $5 to buy groceries, but she didn’t want to stay at home. She slipped down to the Cleveland & Pittsburgh depot and traveled to Bellaire with a brakeman. She remained until Sunday evening, then went to Wheeling ostensibly to see a sister. She returned to Bellaire on Christmas night in company with a drug clerk from Wheeling. They were both drunk and remained out overnight. She told the Bellaire boys that she “was not going home as long as she could keep on the turf.” After the poisoning, they spoke to the press out of fear that they would be somehow connected to the affair.

When Annie Van Fossen was arrested and charged with first-degree murder, she denied committing the crime. The press quickly turned on her, accusing her of malice and calling her “The Coffee Poisoner” and “The East Liverpool Borgia.” After waiving a preliminary hearing and pleading not guilty, Annie was remanded to the county jail in New Lisbon, Ohio, to await trial.

She spent five months in jail, but her cell was quite comfortable on the second floor across from the sheriff’s sitting room. The cell was carpeted and furnished by her friends and appeared more like a parlor than the cell of a murderess.

She was free to associate with the male prisoners and became quite attached to George Hunter, one of the inmates. Hunter was also awaiting trial for murder; he was accused of killing his sweetheart, Gertie Phillips. Annie’s friendship with Hunter blossomed into romance, and the couple vowed to wed if both were acquitted.

The murder trial of Annie Van Fossen began on June 15, 1865, and lasted a week. More than sixty witnesses were summoned. Annie testified that the “Rough on Rats” had accidentally fallen into the coffee pot without her knowledge. The jury accepted her defense and found her not guilty, though many believed her beauty and graceful figure had also worked in her favor.

George Hunter was ecstatic when he learned of Annie’s acquittal. However, he was found guilty of second-degree murder and sentenced to life in prison. Sadly, the wedding never took place.

---

Sources: 

“Annie Van Fossen,” The Dayton Herald, February 10, 1885.
“Annie Van Fossen Acquitted,” The Sun, June 22, 1885.
“Annie Von Vossen's Trip,” Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, January 14, 1885.
“East Liverpool Briefs,” The Saturday Review, January 17, 1885.
“A Girl Saved from the Gallows,” The Sentinel, June 23, 1885.
“A Girl's Awful Malice,” Morning Journal and Courier., January 10, 1885.
“Miss Annie Van Fossen, the East Liverpool O, Borgia,” Illustrated Police News, January 24, 1885.
“The Murder of Gertie Phillips,” Stark County Democrat, April 2, 1885.
“Pleaded Not Guilty,” Grand Rapids Eagle, January 12, 1885.
“Telegraphic Sparks,” Plain Dealer, January 9, 1885.
“Two of the Victims of the Poisoning Dead,” Canton Daily Repository., January 12, 1885.
“The Van Fossen Poisoning,” Illinois State Journal., January 12, 1885.

A Horrible Butchery.

Three teenage boys made a shocking discovery in Philadelphia’s East Fairmont Park on December 26, 1888. They were in a secluded area near the reservoir where the Water Department stored pipes. Sitting atop a large steel pipe, one of the boys noticed two coarse gunny sacks inside the three-foot mouth of a nearby pipe. He thought they contained the clothes of a tramp. Another boy took a pocketknife and cut a hole in one of the bags, large enough to see that they contained the remains of a human body. Horrified, they ran to inform the clerk at the reservoir office. 

The police arrived with a patrol wagon and took the bags to the station house. They opened them and found that one bag contained a man’s legs, and the other contained his trunk and head. His hands were tied across his breast with a stout cord. He was wearing three shirts, but his legs were unclothed. The head was crushed as if by a blow from an axe or sharp-cornered club. The left leg had been severed near the trunk with a knife, and the bone sawn through. The right leg was similar, but the bone was partly sawn, then broken.

Beside the body was a page from the Philadelphia Record, dated December 6. On the lower margin was written, “Kohler Kelab, Hoboken Hotel.”  The face was covered with clotted blood, but when washed, the features were plain and apparently those of a light-complexioned man about 30 years old. Chief of Detectives Wood stated that the man had been murdered within the last 48 hours, somewhere near where the body was found.

The discovery caused great excitement in Philadelphia, with the population as anxious as the police to identify the body. The Hoboken clue brought Mrs. Kohler, proprietress of the Hoboken Hotel, to Philadelphia to look at the body. She positively identified the man as a Mr. Kreutzman, who had stopped at the Hotel on December 3 and then left for New York City. Despite the identification, the police continued their investigation.

Antoine Schilling had been missing since Christmas Day, and one of his friends thought a picture in the newspaper resembled Antoine. Six of his friends, including Susan Schroop, the daughter of Schilling’s landlord and business partner, Jacob Schroop,  went to view the body. They all identified the dead man as Antoine Schilling. 

The police visited the home of Jacob Schroop, four miles from where the body was found. They asked what had become of Antoine Schilling, and Schroop said, “I don’t know, he left here Monday night.” In the cellar of the house, police found a bloody axe and saw, as well as evidence that the floor had been cleaned and scrubbed. The police took Jacob to the stationhouse and put his wife and daughter under surveillance. 

Schroop was extremely nervous, and he collapsed on the steps of the stationhouse. He was helped inside, where he denied any knowledge of the murder.

Antoine Schilling boarded with the Schroop family, which consisted of Jacob Schroop, his wife Wilhelmina, and Susan, daughter from a previous marriage. Schilling, 24, and Schroop, 49, were business partners. They ran a small grocery and provisions store, but business was not going well. Early speculation said that Schilling had been murdered for his money, but he only had $80. 

Schroop maintained his innocence until Chief of Detectives Wood visited his cell at midnight on the night of his arrest. Around 2:00, Wood came out saying that Shroop had confessed. Schroop told him that he got up at about 5:00 on Christmas morning and found no food in the cupboard. He accused Schilling of eating all that was left. Schilling denied it, and a fight ensued. Schroop knocked him down and beat him to death with a heavy piece of wood. He left the body in the kitchen until that evening, then took it to the cellar and dismembered it, loading the parts into two bags. The next morning, he carried the bags by wagon to the park.

The police were happy to have a confession but did not believe Shroop’s account of the crime. They viewed the murder as a conspiracy involving the whole Schroop family, and it was beginning to break down. Wilhelmina Shcroop was prostrated with grief over the arrest of her husband, so much so that she had to be hospitalized. Under oath, in the presence of her father, Susan Schroop told the police that a few weeks earlier, her mother had begged her to put poison in Schilling’s coffee and became very angry when Susan refused. Her father denied this.

“You know I am telling the truth,” she said to him, “and you ought to be ashamed of yourself to ask me to lie.”

“Your stepmother is innocent,” said Schroop.

“That is not true,” she replied, “Oh, father, if you had never met that bad woman, you would never have killed this man. She has been your ruin.”

On the witness stand at the inquest, Wilhelmina denied any knowledge of the murder. As the coroner read Susan’s sworn statement, Wilhelmina exclaimed, “Oh! My God, such a lie; such a lie. Terrible, terrible! That girl’s down on me; she’s down on me, and that’s why she lies so.”

Other witnesses revealed more dirt on the family. Rosa Hatrick, landlady of Wilhelmina and Jacob before they were married, said that Wilhelmina, who was Mrs. Richter at the time, had left her husband and married Jacob while Mr. Richter was still alive. Special Officer Henry testified that Susan told him that her father wanted her to marry Schilling and then poison him. Owen McCaffery, their current landlord, testified that Jacob had ill-treated his daughter and that Wilhelmina had once told him that Schilling was her brother.

The coroner’s jury charged Jacob Schroop with the murder of Antoine Schilling and Wilhelmina (whom they now called Mrs. Richter) as an accessory before the fact. The crowd around the courthouse was so thick that several policemen had to clear a path to the patrol wagon that took them to jail.

Jacob Schroop was tried and easily convicted of murder in March 1889. He was sentenced to hang. The grand jury indicted Wilhelmina, but her attorney asked for a test of her mental condition to determine if she was fit for trial. She was examined by the prison physician and the prison agent, who determined she was of unsound mind. The Judge committed her to the Eastern Hospital for the Insane.

On February 20, 1890, at a double execution in Moyamensing Prison, Jacob Schoop was hanged on the same gallows with Thomas J. Cole, who murdered his roommate. Both men died quickly.

---

Sources: 

“Accused by Their Daughter,” Chicago Daily News., January 3, 1889.
“Confessed He Murdered Schilling,” Kingston Daily Freeman., December 31, 1888.
“Doomed to the Gallows,” Sunday Inter Ocean, March 3, 1889.
“Foully Slain for $80,” Daily Inter Ocean, January 1, 1889.
“A Horrible Butchery,” Philadelphia Inquirer, December 27, 1888.
“A Human Body in a Water Main,” Illustrated Police News, January 12, 1889.
“Is it Kreutzman?,” Philadelphia Inquirer, December 29, 1888.
“Last Sunday On Earth,” Philadelphia Inquirer, February 17, 1890.
“Mrs. Schoop Adjudged Insane,” New-York Tribune, June 25, 1889.
“Mrs. Schoop indicted for Murder,” Philadelphia Inquirer, March 15, 1889.
“The Murder Rehearsed ,” Philadelphia Inquirer, January 9, 1889.
“The Mystery Solved,” Chicago Daily News., December 31, 1888.
“The Noose,” Evening World, February 20, 1890.
“Park Mystery Solved Important,” Philadelphia Inquirer, December 31, 1888.
“The Philadelphia Murder,” Evening Post, December 31, 1888.
“The Philadelphia Murder,” Cleveland Leader and Morning Herald., January 3, 1889.
“The Philadelphia Murder,” Daily Evening Bulletin, January 16, 1889.
“That Bad Woman,” Daily Saratogian, January 4, 1889.
“Two Executed on One Gallows,” New York Herald, February 21, 1890.

Affairs in Norwich.

On the morning of March 22, 1881, 60-year-old Alby C. Thompson was found in the Thames Hotel on Market Street in Norwich, Connecticut, suffering from a “paralytic fit.” It was a bad part of town, known for crime and prostitution, and it was assumed that Thompson was the victim of a robbery. He was taken to his home.

Three days later, blood oozed from his ears, and doctors discovered that Thompson had a fractured skull. He died soon after. 

The proprietor of the Thames Hotel, Daniel Delanoy, told police that Thompson had fallen down a staircase while intoxicated. A coroner’s jury disputed this account and, after hearing testimony from other residents of the hotel, concluded that Thompson came to his death from injuries received at the hands of Delanoy’s wife, Julia.

Killed With a Cuspidor.

Jerry Shoaff was drinking with a group of young men at Tom Clarke’s saloon in Fort Wayne, Indiana, the night of October 3, 1888. Eight of them decided to go next to Goelecke’s Saloon on East Main Street. Someone proposed that they order drinks there, then leave without paying. They all agreed to the plan.

They stood at the bar and ordered their drinks. As the men finished drinking, they began leaving he saloon. William Goelecke, who was tending the bar, demanded that they pay. Shoaff and his friends, Arthur Hammill and J.W. Hefflinger, stayed at the bar arguing with Goelecke, who was threatening them with a seltzer bottle he was holding by the neck.

William Kanning, one of the entourage, was outside smoking a cigar when he heard a large crash sounding like breaking glass. A moment later, Jerry Shoaff ran out of the bar saying, “Run boys, I have hit him.” They all ran down Main Street and turned down a side street.

During the argument inside the saloon, someone picked up an iron spittoon and hurled it at Goelecke. It hit him on the head and then shattered the bar mirror. Goelecke fell to the ground unconscious. His skull was fractured.

For Love of His Landlady.

Benjamin and Mary Merrill lived with their four-year-old son on Illinois Street in Chicago, where they ran a boarding house. During the day, Benjamin worked as a broker, and Mary took care of the house along with their chambermaid, Hattie Berk.

In May 1888, 22-year-old Andrew J. Martin took residence in the Merrills’ boarding house. He worked nights as a stationary engineer for the Union Steamboat Company. During the day, he lounged around the house, trying to ingratiate himself with Mrs. Merrill. 33-year-old Mary Merril, a tall, attractive brunette, was pleasant toward Martin, but was happily married and had no interest in his advances.

By December 1888, Martin was desperately in love and would not leave Mary alone. When other boarders began commenting on Martin’s behavior, Hattie Berk took their concerns to Mary.

Martin learned of this and on December 10, he approached Mary, who was sitting in the parlor, and tried to persuade her to discharge Hattie. He told her that Hattie was a loose character and would bring disgrace upon the house. Mary turned on him and said it was time for him to attend to his own business and leave the affairs of the house alone.  She did not care to have any more of his interference in her business and hoped he would leave the house as soon as he could find another place to live.

“Do you mean that?” Martin asked.

“I certainly do, Mr. Martin,” said Mary, “It will be best all around if you do.”

Martin said no more; he got up and left the house. Mary went upstairs to the room where Hattie was making the bed.

“Hattie, don’t you think I have a right to mind my own business?” said Mary, perhaps feeling guilty about being so harsh with Martin.

“Why certainly,” said Hattie, and they discussed Martin’s disruptive behavior.

Martin came back into the house and quietly climbed the stairs. He stood for a moment outside the room and overheard their conversation. Then he entered the room, and “affecting a devilish suavity,” he drew a pistol from his pocket.

“Who are you gabbing about now?” he said. Then he raised the pistol and fired at Hattie, who was sitting on the bed. The shot missed, and with a terrified shriek, she bounded off the bed and out the door. Martin pointed the pistol at Mary and fired twice, hitting her in the abdomen and in the jaw. Outside the room, Hattie turned and watched as Martin raised the pistol to his right temple and blew out his brains.

Hattie fled downstairs, picked up the Merrills’ son, and ran into the street screaming. She drew the attention of a policeman, who followed her back to the house. The upstairs room was a revolting sight. Martin lay dead, face up on the floor. Mary, lying in a pool of blood, was still alive. Conscious, but unable to speak, she lay that way for three hours before dying.

When Benjamin Merrill heard the news of his wife’s murder, he became hysterical and rushed home from work. Though he knew the killer was dead as well, he screamed, “Let me at him. He should be drawn and quartered.”

Later, he spoke more calmly:

No husband ever loved a wife more than I did mine. She was so sympathetic, and glorified in my success, and sympathized in my failures. She was all that a wife could be, true as steel and pure as a virgin.

Martin was a boy, a country lad. He was a good-hearted fellow, too, and often took our little boy to plays. Of course, he loved my wife. Who could blame him for loving her? But I was not jealous, for she told me everything and only looked on him as I did, as a good-natured country boy.

Benjamin was not well enough to testify at the coroner’s inquest the following day. Hattie Berk, the
eyewitness, told the whole story on the stand. The jury came to the only conclusion possible: that Andrew Martin committed suicide after shooting Mary Merrill twice.

---

Sources: 

“Andrew J Martin,” National Police Gazette, December 29, 1888.
“Double Tragedy in Chicago,” The Philadelphia Inquirer, December 11, 1888.
“Faithful to the Last,” Evening Post, December 11, 1888.
“For Love of His Landlady,” News and Courier, December 11, 1888.
“The Martin Merrill Tragedy,” Chicago Daily News, December 11, 1888.
“Martin's Awful Crime,” Chicago Daily News, December 11, 1888.
“The Merrill Martin Murder,” Daily Inter Ocean, December 12, 1888.
“Sensational Double Tragedy,” Indianapolis Journal., December 11, 1888.
 

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.

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?”

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. 

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.

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.

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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.

Zora Burns.

Illustrated Police News, Nov. 10, 1883.

Zora Burns was a beautiful and captivating young woman with “…abundant hair of yellow-golden tint clustered about features as perfectly regular as those which Phidias chiseled from the marble of Greece. Her form was grace and symmetry personified, and despite her lack of educational advantages, her natural tact and quickness of intellect atoned in great measure for her deficiencies.”  She was 19 years old in 1881 when she left her home in St. Elmo, Illinois, and took a job as a domestic servant for the family of Orrin Carpenter in Lincoln, Illinois.

Zora was unhappy and left her employer in 1883. She returned to her father’s home in St. Elmo, but on Friday, October 12, she went back to Lincoln, telling her father she was going to get $20.00 that Orrin Carpenter owed her. The following Monday, her body was found on the road outside Lincoln. Her head was bruised, and her throat had been cut from ear to ear. There was no apparent motive for the murder and no suspects.

The mystery cleared somewhat when a post-mortem examination revealed that Zora had been several months pregnant. Orrin Carpenter became the prime suspect in Zora’s murder.

Carpenter was tried for murder, but the evidence was slim and circumstantial. The jury found Carpenter not guilty, but he was convicted by the court of public opinion. 4,000 citizens of Lincoln agreed to banish Carpenter from Logan County and drove him out of town at gunpoint.

Read the full story here: The Mystery of Zora Burns

Shot by a Prodigal Son.

Foully slain by his scapegrace son -- Emanuel Breist meets a terrible fate at Kikngerstown, Pa.

Emanuel Breist was one of the wealthiest farmers in Mahantongo Valley, Pennsylvania. He had four daughters and one son. In 1880, Breist fought with his 17-year-old son, Henry, and as a result, Henry ran away from home.

The family heard nothing from Henry for four years; then, on December 4, 1884, the prodigal son returned. The hatchet was buried, the fences were mended, and Emanuel welcomed his son with open arms. He was so happy to have his son back that he gave Henry all the money he asked for.

Henry, however, had not changed his prodigal ways. He spent his father’s money on wild women, and he became notorious around Klingerstown for drunkenness and dissipation. Henry became intimate with Mary Heckman, the wife of William Heckman, proprietor of the Klingers Gap Tavern. The Heckmans had always borne a bad reputation.  Mary Heckmen was described as “34 years of age and very ugly.”  William, apparently, had no problem with his wife’s dalliance with young Henry.

When reports of this relationship reached Emanuel, he was livid. He told his son to have nothing more to do with Mrs. Heckman. Henry agreed, but later that evening, he and Mary Heckman went on a sleigh ride and came home intoxicated. Emanuel drove his son out of the house. After some friends intervened and Henry solemnly vowed to cease intimacy with Mrs. Heckaman, Emanuel relented and let Henry back in.

On December 29, Emanuel’s son-in-law, Isaac Mock, told him that Henry and Mrs. Heckman were enjoying themselves at the Klingers Gap Tavern. Emanuel did not believe him, so Isaac took him to the tavern. William Heckman told them that Henry was not there, but Emanuel pushed his way into the back room. There, he found his son and Mrs. Heckman sitting at a table with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

“This is no place for you,” Emanuel said to Henry, “Go home.”

“I guess I know what is good for myself. I’m old enough now,” Henry replied and burst out laughing.

Enraged, Emanuel struck a sharp blow across his face. He was ready to strike again when Henry drew a revolver and shot his father, point blank, in his right side. The old man fell to the floor. Henry dropped the pistol and fled the scene.

Emanuel Breist died at 11:00 the following morning. The search for Henry proved fruitless; he was never apprehended.

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Source: 

“A Fatal Infatuation,” St. Louis Post-Dispatch, December 31, 1884.
“Killed by His Rake of a Son,” Illustrated Police News, January 17, 1885.
“Killed His Father,” Wilkes-Barre Times Leader, the Evening News, January 1, 1885.
“Killing His Father In A Tavern,” New-York Tribune., December 31, 1884.
“A Rake Kills His Father,” New York Herald, December 31, 1884.
“Shost by a Prodigal Son,” Alexandria Gazette, December 31, 1884.

Bloody Butchery.

Robert Kever and William Lowman were walking together on Mississippi Street in Indianapolis around 10:00 the night of January 15, 1880. Without warning, a man jumped from behind a tree and plunged a butcher knife into Kever’s throat. The perpetrator was a butcher named Louis Antenat.

“Aha, God damn you, I’ve got you now!” Shouted Antenat, and with one slash of the knife, he severed Kever’s carotid artery and jugular vein. “He never cut the throat of a hog and drew the dripping knife away more deliberately and with more complacency.” Said the Indiana State Sentinel.

With his dying breath, Kevers said, “I’m gone. Go, Billy, I’m killed.”

Antenat tried to stab Lowman in the chest, but Lowman dodged it and fled down the street. Antenat chased him for half a block, then turned back the other way and went to the home of his employer, Frederick Grafenstein. 

He told Grafenstein what he had done, and Grafenstein advised him to go to the police station and turn himself in. Antenat agreed. On his way downtown, he was overtaken by Police Officer Minor, who escorted him to Central Station.

Lowman told the police that the attack had been unprovoked. He and Kever had stopped into Sprandel’s Saloon to get a beer. They saw the murderer in the saloon but had no difficulty with him. Antenat told a different story. He said the two men had tried to make him pay for their beers, and when he refused, they abused him for being a butcher.

The victim, Robert Kever, was a 23-year-old grocer of German descent. His reputation was generally good, but he was quarrelsome and known to be a bully. “In short,” said the Sentinel, “he was full of expressive bluster and made enemies thereby.” 

40-year-old Louis Antenat was a French immigrant from Alsace-Loraine who had been in the country for seventeen years but had trouble speaking English. He was said to be of a quiet yet sullen disposition. But when excited, his fury knew no bounds. His wife had divorced him for drunkenness and cruel treatment, and he was arrested twice for assault.

He told reporters his version of the story:

I tell you how it was. I left the butcher shop, expecting to get me a bottle of beer, went to the little saloon at the corner of Second and Mississippi Streets and stopped up to the bar and called for me a bottle of beer and "pony whisky." The saloon keeper put it on the counter, when two fellows that I don't know stopped up and said they would take a drink too, and told him (the saloon keeper) that the butcher would pay for it. I said no, and the saloon keeper ( he is a good man) told them I was all right and not to make me no trouble; that I paid for my drinks and go about my business. Then one of them said to me, " You are the butcher what whips five men," and said I was no game and would not fight, and began to punch and kick me around...They kept pushing me around, and I left, and they followed me. When I got down to the corner of First and Mississippi Streets, one of them, I did not know any of the men, jumped on me and choked me, and another hit me on the back of the head. I was so mad I don't know what to do, and if I had two revolvers, I would shoot them both.

Antenat was tried for first-degree murder in March 1880. He was easily convicted and sentenced to life in Indiana State Prison North.

His attorney moved for a new trial on the grounds that one juror was asleep during the defense’s closing argument. The juror, Mr. Wakeland, filed an affidavit saying that he felt drowsy and had closed his eyes during the defense argument, but he was not sleeping. He heard every word of the argument. The judge overruled the motion. Antenat was taken to prison to serve his sentence.

In 1889, Indiana Governor Gray commuted Antenat’s life sentence to sixteen years. His good behavior in prison also reduced his sentence by six years. He was released in October 1890.

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Sources: 

“Another Murder,” Indianapolis leader., January 17, 1880.
“The Antenat Case,” Indianapolis Daily Sentinel, April 13, 1880.
“The Antenat Homicide,” Indianapolis leader., January 24, 1880.
“Bloody Butchery,” Illustrated Police News, January 31, 1880.
“City News,” Indianapolis leader., March 13, 1880.
“Home Notes,” Indianapolis Daily Sentinel, February 9, 1880.
“Indianapolis,” Cincinnati Daily Star., March 4, 1880.
“Stabbed to Death,” Indiana State Sentinel., January 21, 1880.

The Terrible Tragedy at Uniontown.

Illustrated Police News, January 13, 1883.

Nicholas L. Dukes of Uniontown, Pennsylvania, was outraged to learn that his fiancée, Lizzie Nutt, had been intimate with other men. Instead of confronting Lizzie, he sent a letter to her father, A.C. Nutt, explaining that Lizzie was promiscuous and probably pregnant. Dukes stressed that he was not the daughter’s seducer and, using proper Victorian innuendo, implied that abortion would be the best course for all involved. The resulting conflict between the two families was so divisive and violent that it would take two murders and two controversial trial verdicts to restore honor to Uniontown.

Read the full story here: A Matter of Honor.

A Friend Indeed.

Michael Gorman's Last Look at Sing Sing Prison.

On October 9, 1888, convicted murderer Michael Gorman walked out of Sing Sing Prison a free man after serving 33 years of a life sentence. Gorman, who entered the prison as a young man, was 60 years old when he was pardoned by New York Governor David Hill. During his incarceration, Gorman lost both parents, two brothers died in the Civil War, and his old friends and family forgot him. But one friend, James Dolan, never gave up on him. Dolan petitioned governors through twelve administrations until finally winning a pardon from Governor Hill.

Michael Gorman’s crime occurred on July 1, 1855, in Brooklyn, New York. Three brothers, Charles, Robert, and William Johnson, along with Patrick McDonough and James Campbell, were walking home around midnight on Raymond Street. They came across three men lying face down in the gutter, apparently passed out drunk. They tried to rouse the men, shaking them and telling them they should go home.

One man, Michael Gorman, jumped up in a rage and said he would go home for no one. He drew a dirk knife from his pocket and stabbed Charles Johnson in the abdomen. He then attacked Robert Johnson, wounding him in the back and abdomen, and stabbed Patrick McDonough in the right thigh.

The cries of the wounded attracted the attention of five police officers from the Fourth District. They hurried to the scene and found the three men on the ground bleeding. Officers Skidmore and Casler chased after Gorman. They managed to secure Gorman after a desperate struggle that left Casler severely injured.

The wounded men were taken to City Hospital. 17-year-old Charles Johnson died later that day. Robert Johnson, 25, died twelve days later.  Patrick McDonough, 18, recovered from his injuries. All of the men on both sides of the melee were Irish immigrants.

Michael Gorman was indicted for the murders of Charles and Robert Johnson. He pled not guilty to both counts. Gorman’s trial for the murder of Charles Johnson began on October 23, 1855, and ended three days later. The jury deliberated for 20 hours but ultimately could not accept Gorman’s plea of self-defense. They found him guilty of murder. The judge sentenced him to hang on December 21.

Friends of Michael Gorman worked to have his sentence commuted to life in prison. They managed to get a respite from the hanging until January 18 while they prepared to petition the Governor. They succeeded on the day before the scheduled hanging when Governor Myron H. Clark agreed to commute Gorman’s sentence to life in Sing Sing Prison.

In the years that followed, Michael Gorman was forgotten by all but his closest friends. Chief among them was James Dolan, a boyhood friend who was born in the same parish in Ireland as Gorman. Dolan never stopped working for his friend's release. In the intervening years, he won the support of hundreds of prominent citizens, including the judge who tried Gorman and the district attorney who prosecuted him. He persuaded Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, America’s most influential clergyman, to plead for Gorman’s release. Dolan petitioned governor after governor with no success until 1888, when Governor David Hill agreed to pardon Michael Gorman.

Governor Hill was initially reluctant, worried the 60-year-old Gorman would be unable to support himself. Dolan signed a bond to provide for his friend the rest of his days. The Governor yielded and granted Gorman’s release.

"I have made up my mind to stop thinking of my prison days and to enjoy the rest of my life as best I can,” Gorman told reporters. 1,200 inmates cheered as the old man walked down the corridors of Sing Sing for the last time and through the door to freedom.

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Sources: 

“Brutal murder in Raymond Street,” Evening Post, July 2, 1855.
“The Commutation of Gorman's Sentence,” Brooklyn Eagle, January 18, 1856.
“Death of Robert Johnson,” CITIZEN., July 14, 1855.
“The End Of A Long Imprisonment,” New-York Tribune., October 9, 1888.
“A Friend Indeed,” Daily Inter Ocean, October 18, 1888.
“The Fulton Avenue Tragedy, Brooklyn,” New York Herald., July 4, 1855.
“Horrid Murder,” New-York Daily Tribune., July 2, 1855.
“Kings County Court of Oyer and Terminer,” New York Herald., October 25, 1855.
“King's County Court of Oyer and Terminer,” New York Herald., September 19, 1855.
“A Lifetime in Prison,” Sun., October 9, 1888.
“Must Be Hung,” New-York Atlas., December 16, 1855.
“News Article,” New York Herald., December 27, 1855.
“No More Thought of Prison,” evening world., October 10, 1888.
“Released From Prison,” Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper, October 27, 1888.
“Respite,” Albany Journal, December 20, 1855.
“Sentence of Death Commuted,” The Sun, January 19, 1856.