The Mysterious Murder.

A boatman working near the foot of Little Street in Brooklyn, on October 3, 1864, saw a package floating on the water. Thinking it might contain something of value, he took it into his boat. He unraveled the enameled oilcloth surrounding the package, and inside, covered in sheets of brown paper, was the trunk of a human body. The head, arms, pelvis, and legs had been cut off with a saw or sharp knife, as if by a butcher.  The clothing had not been removed. He took the package to the 42^nd Police Precinct.

Coroner Norris examined the trunk and believed, from the healthy-looking flesh, that the body had been living no more than six or eight hours before it was found. It had been thrown in the water so recently that a portion of the clothing was still dry.  It was a young man dressed in a fashionable style. He wore a white muslin shirt with a small, narrow pleated bosom, a white flannel undershirt, a section of coat, and a gray vest. A soft gray hat had been in the package, along with a piece of iron to weigh it down. The coroner concluded that the man had been murdered.

One week later, on October 10, a package wrapped in the same manner was found at the foot of Corlears Street in New York City. Inside was the pelvis that went with the trunk. In one of the pockets of the pants connected to the pelvis was a ring of six keys, including one fancy bureau key with a brass top. The same day, the thighs were found, twelve miles away in Gravesend Bay. On the 13^th, the legs and feet, still wearing boots and clothing, were picked up off Yellow Hook. The Common Council of Brooklyn offered a reward of $1,000 for the discovery of the murderer or murderers.

Several people who had recently missed friends and relatives called on the 42^nd Precinct to view the remains.  No one was able to recognize the man, and the authorities feared that without the head, identification would be impossible.

Finally, on October 17, the head was found, floating in the water, near Fort Hamilton. It was packaged like the other pieces, wrapped in oilcloth. Coroner Norris sent a messenger to bring the head to Brooklyn. The head was that of a handsome young man, about thirty-five years of age, with chestnut brown hair, inclined to curl, whiskers thick and short, with mustaches of a sandy color. It was perfectly matched to the other body parts.

It was certain, now, that the man had been murdered. The head had a bullet wound in the right temple and another below the right eye.  The head was in such good condition that the coroner determined that it had to have been floating for less than 14 days. A cast was made of the face, the head, and the remains were photographed, and the head was put on public display in the rotunda of the Brooklyn City Hall.  The mayors of New York and Brooklyn each offered rewards of up to $1,000 each for information on the murder. Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper, a national publication, printed an engraving of the photograph in the hope that one of its readers would recognize the man.

But, there were very few serious identifications. A young man named Meechum left Lovejoy’s Hotel on September 30 and had not been seen since. No one was able to identify the head as Meechum’s.  A woman positively identified the murdered man as her missing son, but this was proven untrue. Another claimed it was her missing husband. He was a discharged soldier, and they had recently married. The next day, he got his civilian clothes and disappeared. This claim was debunked when the coroner asked for her marriage certificate showing that she was married on October 7. The first body part appeared on October 3.

By November 11, the head and other remains were so decomposed as to be beyond recognition. Coroner Norris ordered a post-mortem examination. Dr. Spiers performed the post-mortem and gave a full report to the coroner’s jury, who concluded that the man had died of a gunshot wound to the brain, on or about the 2^nd or 3^rd of October 1864. They were unable to say at whose hands the deceased received his wounds. The jury recommended increasing the rewards offered for information and expressed hope that Coroner Norris would continue his work on the case until it was successfully solved. However, following the jury’s verdict, the case was essentially closed.

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Sources: 

“The Mysterious Murder,” Evening Post, October 11, 1864.
“The Mysterious Murder,” Evening Post, November 11, 1864.
“The Mysterious Murder-,” Evening Post, October 17, 1864.
“The Body of a Murdered Man Found in the River,” New York Herald, October 4, 1864.
“Brooklyn Intelligence,” Journal of Commerce, Jr., October 26, 1864.
“Information Wanted,” Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper, November 5, 1864.
“The Late Mysterious Murder,” Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper, November 5, 1864.
“The Murder Mystery,” Press., October 19, 1864.
“The Mutilated Remains Found in the River,” Journal of Commerce, jr., October 5, 1864.
“The Mysterious Murder,” New York Herald, October 19, 1864.
“The Mysterious Murder,” Daily Times., October 19, 1864.
“The Mysterious Murder,” New-York Daily Tribune, November 15, 1864.
“The Mysterious Murder Case,” Journal of Commerce, Jr., October 18, 1864.
“New York Matters,” Newark Daily Advertiser, October 25, 1864.

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.

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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.
 

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.