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), who were married in France sixteen years earlier. 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.

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.
 

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?”

"I Myself Have Done This Thing."

 

In 1883, Edward Rowell of Batavia, New York, suspected his wife of cheating and set a trap to catch her. He told her he would be gone for severl days on business but did not leave. That night he caught his wife in bed with their former neighbor, Johnson Lynch. Rowell burst into the room brandishing a revolver and fired wildly wounding his wife and killing Lynch. The murder caused quite a stir and had far reaching consequenes. Lynch’s uncle, Arthur Johnson was so distressed that he shot himself in the chest. He left a note saying “I myself have done this thing. Please ask no questions about it.”

Read the full story here: Caught in the Act.

A Fool and His Folly.

Orange Terrell, of Terrell, Texas, had, for a number of years, been “paying his respects” to Sophia Wickson. In the spring of 1886, Sophia had another admirer, Miles Henderson, who was proving to be a successful rival to Tarrell. Around 9:30, the night of June 7, Tarrell went to the house of Austin Thomas, where he knew Sophia was stopping. Expecting trouble, he took his revolver with him.

When he got to the house, Tarrell found Henderson already there. Without a word, he opened fire on the couple. He hit Henderson in the chest then turned his attention to Sophia. He emptied his pistol, hitting her once on the leg. Then he fled.

While Tarrell was gone, Dr. J. A. Stovall was summoned to attend to the wounded. After reloading his revolver, Terrell returned to the house. He gave his pocketbook to Dr. Stovall and told him the money in it was to pay his room and board, as he did not expect to leave that house alive. He took off his shoes and lay down on a bed in the front room.

When City Marshal, Jim Keller, learned of the shooting and that Terrell was still in the house, he went with several other men to surround the place. Keller went in the back door, through the kitchen, into the front room. Seeing Tarrell lying on the bed, he ordered him to throw up his hands and surrender. Tarrell’s hands went up, but he was still holding the pistol. He fired at Keller, barely missing him. Keller then fired five or six times, riddling Terrell with bullets, killing him instantly.

Two days later, the coroner impaneled a jury. After hearing the evidence, they ruled that Marshal Keller was justified in his action. 

---

Sources: 

“Baffled Lover Multiplies Murder,” Akron Beacon Journal, June 9, 1886.
“A Desperate Lover,” Saint Paul Globe, June 10, 1886.
“A Jealous Lover's Act,” National Police Gazette, June 26, 1886.
“Love Leads to Murder,” Wilkes-Barre Times Leader, June 10, 1886.
“A Texas Love Tragedy,” Lancaster New Era, June 10, 1886.

Morbid and Melancholy.

Cora Marston.

On September 1, 1865, Dr. Carlos Marston, his wife Susannah, and their adopted daughter Cora were found shot to death in their bedrooms. Susannah Marston was said to have a “morbid and melancholy disposition” and suffered for years with depression. Her behavior was increasingly erratic and on that morning she snapped. Susannah drugged her husband and Cora with chloroform then shot them both. She then lay down beside Carlos and shot herself.

Read the full story here: The Dedham Tragedy.
 

A Rejected Suitor.

Dr. Samuel Johnson was a successful physician in Borrah, Connecticut, a quiet little town not far from Norwich. In 1872, the Johnson family was well known and respected in Borrah. Around 1860, a man named William Erving was hired by Dr. Johnson, and boarded in his home. Erving was a good worker and they treated him as one of the family.

Erving’s only flaw was that he was quick to anger and would act out of passion. This was a problem when Erving became infatuated with Dr. Johnson’s daughter, Jane, a highly educated and refined young lady. He repeatedly asked her to marry him and each time she told him, in no uncertain terms, that she was not interested. The family, too, discouraged any notion of a courtship between Erving and Jane. Each rejection increased Erving’s anger.

Caused by Jealousy.

 L.P. Christiansen was the proprietor of the Vienna House in Kansas City, Missouri, in 1888. William E. Bell was the head cook at the hotel until August of that year when Christiansen fired him for paying too much attention to his niece, Annie Christiansen. 

Christiansen was not exactly acting to protect his niece’s virtue; he had eyes for Annie himself. L.P.   scandalized the Vienna house when he left his wife and persuaded Annie to run away with him to Omaha. With her husband gone, Mrs. Christiansen brought back William Bell to help run the hotel. The two soon became intimate, causing further scandal at the Vienna House.

Mrs. Christiansen and William Bell were soon at each other’s throats.  She fired him again and left for Omaha to find her husband. Before she left, Bell told her, “If you bring Christiansen back with you, I’ll kill him.” Despite the warning, Mrs. Christiansen returned to Kansas City with her unfaithful husband.

As soon as Bell learned that Christiansen had returned, he started for the hotel. He was heard muttering, “If he makes a move, I mean to blow him to hell. I’ve stood this razzle long enough and will end it tonight.”

Bell entered the hotel by the rear stairway leading to the second floor and made straight to Christiansen’s room. He drew a 32-caliber bulldog revolver and fired twice— the first shot hit the wall above Christensen’s head, the second struck him in the forehead above the right eye. Mrs. Christiansen opened the door when she heard the first shot, and as her husband fell, bleeding, at her feet, she shrieked, “Oh, God! Will, you are a murderer—you’ve killed my husband!”

Bell ran outside to the pavement and raised the still-smoking revolver to his head. He fired and instantly died. L.P. Christiansen died later that day without regaining consciousness. Mrs. Christensen denied that she had been intimate with Bell and blamed it all on the love of the two men for Annie Christiansen. 

---

Sources: 

“Caused by Jealousy,” Illustrated Police News, March 23, 1889.
“Double Tragedy,” Cheyenne daily leader, March 10, 1889.
“A Sensational Tragedy,” Daily Inter Ocean, March 10, 1889.

The Kaiser Conspiracy.

 On a road outside of Norristown, Pennsylvania, on October 28, 1896, Frank Mancil and his daughter came upon an agitated man shouting, “Murder! Help!” The man was bleeding from his arm, and, in a buggy nearby, a woman lay prostrate.

The man, Charles O. Kaiser, Jr., told Mancil that he and his wife Emma had been attacked by highwaymen who shot them both then left with their watches and her purse containing $53. Mancil thought the woman was only unconscious, so they went in two carriages to the office of Dr. Mann in Bridgeport. Dr. Mann could see right away that Emma Kaiser had died from a bullet wound to the left temple.

The Thirtieth Street Murder.

Residents of West 30th Street, New York City, were startled on the night of October 26, 1858, by the cries of Elizabeth Carr, a servant of the Gouldy family as she ran from the house in her nightclothes, screaming, “Help! Help! Oh, my God! Frank is murdering the whole family. Rouse the neighbors!”

The neighbors, accompanied by several policemen responded by entering the Gouldy home where they found Mrs. Gouldy at the foot of the stairs, staggering and calling for help. She was bleeding from the head, as was her husband, Francis Gouldy, who lay on the floor not moving. Also suffering from head wounds were 11-year-old Nathaniel Gouldy, 7-year-old Charlie Gouldy, and Joanna Murphy, another of the Gouldy’s servant girls. All were alive but semi-conscious. The perpetrator of the crime, Frank Gouldy was found in his room, dead from a self-inflicted gunshot to the head.

An Insane Explorer.

Survivors of Jeannette expedition (James Bartlett, seated second from left)

On July 8, 1879, the U.S.S. Jeanette left San Francisco bound for the Bering Strait. Its mission, funded by James Gordon Bennett, Jr., publisher of the New York Herald, was to make the United States the first nation to reach the North Pole, on the theory that a warm Pacific current would provide a water route. After nearly two years sailing through ice-bound waters, the Jeanette was “nipped” in the ice on June 12, 1881 and sank the following day. The crew set off on foot, hoping to reach the coast of Siberia before winter set in. They struggled for 91 days, living on seal, walrus, polar bear, and sea birds, and covered nearly one thousand miles. Only thirteen of the original crew of thirty-three survived.

Among the survivors of the Jeanette expedition was James R. Bartlett, who, in 1892, was living in San Francisco with his wife and their niece. Mentally, Bartlett never recovered from his arctic hardship; and had previously been confined in an insane asylum.

Around 1:30, the morning of October 30, 1892, Bartlett went into his house and told his wife he was going to kill her. He drew his revolver and shot his wife in the shoulder. As she ran screaming from the room, their young niece, Lottie Carpenter, came in and tried to intercede. Bartlett shot her in the head and she died moments later. He then went to a back room and shot himself in the head.

The newspapers all agreed that the tragedy was a direct result of hardships Bartlett suffered as a crewman of the ill-fated Jeanette expedition. The Oregonian questioned the value of such ventures, “Neither science, humanity nor common sense warrants a man in putting so severe strain upon his physical and mental powers as to render his crippled existence a misfortune to himself and a constant menace to those about him. The Jeannette expedition was one of the most costly in life, hardship and money that has ever been sent out in quest of an “open Polar Sea,” while its profits are so meager that science takes no note of them.”

Originally posted on 11/26/2016.

---

Sources:
“[San Francisco; Miss Lottie Carpenter; James R.,” Oregonian, November 1, 1892.
“An Insane Explorer.,” Plain Dealer, October 31, 1892.
“An Insane Murderer,” San Diego Union, October 31, 1892.
“Crazed By His Arctic Sufferings.,” New York Tribune, October 31, 1892.
National Geographic: The Hair-Raising Tale of the U.S.S. Jeannette's Ill-Fated 1879 Polar Voyage . “James R. Bartlett Dead,” Daily Register-Gazette, October 26, 1893.
USNI News: The Jeannette Expedition.
“News in Brief.,” Huntsville Gazette, November 5, 1892.

A Day of Blood.

Adolph Stein was a 35year-old Polish immigrant living in Cedar Rapids, Iowa when he met Lizzie Loering, a widow with two little children and $30,000 in assets. After a whirlwind courtship, the two were married in June 1880.

Stein had been prominent in political circles in Cedar Rapids, but earlier that spring he was indicted for illegally selling liquor. He decided to move his new bride to Iowa City and open a saloon there with his wife’s money. Lizzie’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Hess packed up and moved to Iowa City as well.

Before long, the marriage turned sour. There were several opinions as to what had gone wrong. Lizzie’s mother, who was always present, had never liked Stein and Lizzie, began to share her mother’s opinion. Together they made Stein’s life miserable. The saloon had acquired a bad reputation, and Stein took to drink. Some said that Stein had been determined to marry money and had only married Lizzie for her $30,000. He treated her badly, and when he turned violent, she left him and moved back with her parents. 

Butler County Tragedy.

Christina Hassler, 50-years-old, grew quite wealthy from several oil wells operating on her farm in Butler County, Pennsylvania, but she was not so fortunate in her personal life. She married a man named Nordheim and had four children by him. They lived together until, for some unspecified reason, Nordheim made a murderous assault against her father. He was sent to the penitentiary and Christina secured a divorce and resumed her maiden name. 

In 1878, one of Christina's three daughters married a man named Harper Whitmire. They borrowed money from Christina, giving her a mortgage on the property. Whitmire later induced her to cancel the mortgage and put the farm in his wife’s name and consider it her full share in her mother's estate. But Whitmire had already borrowed money on the farm, representing himself as the owner. When the loan came due, he had to continue borrowing money to stay out of trouble. 

The Ruttinger Mystery.

Samuel Mortin, who was employed to keep watch over six coasting schooners laid up for the winter just below Tottenville, Staten Island, New York, found the body of a man lying in the mud, half floating, next to one of the vessels on March 11, 1891. The man's arms were crossed behind his back tied together at the wrists and above the elbows with heavy packing twine. Mortin secured the body and went to tell the police.

The Rockville Tragedy.

21-year-old Alfred Egbert, better known as Pete, lived with his parents, a brother and a sister in Rockville, Indiana. He was a quiet man who led an exemplary life; when not working as a carpenter he was a voracious reader, often reading well into the night. April 1896, his sister Florence was dying of typhoid and Pete was under considerable stress from worry and lack of sleep.

The morning of April 25, Pete Egbert was outside chopping wood when he saw the next door neighbor, Mrs. Haske walk through the alley to get her cow for milking. Something suddenly enraged him and he attacked Mrs. Haske with the axe. He knocked her to the ground then gave her another blow to the head, killing her. He walked back to the house got his shotgun and left the house again. 

The Act of a Mad Man.

Mrs. Emma Marrs and her sister-in-law, Ida Marrs, were preparing breakfast the morning of February 13, 1897, in their home at 129 South Upper Street, Lexington, Kentucky. Around 7:45 Mrs. Marrs sent the servant girl upstairs with a bowl of warm water so her husband John could wash up. When she entered the room, John jumped out of bed with such a peculiar expression on his face that she quickly set the water down and hurried out of the room. She was halfway down the stairs when she heard a pistol shot from the bedroom.

The Dedham Tragedy.

Finding the Bodies

In September 1865, the family of Dr. Carlos Marston rented rooms in a house that had previously been a hotel in South Dedham, Massachusetts. The family consisted of the doctor, a forty-year-old homeopathic physician; Susannah, his wife of fifteen years; and their 10-year-old adopted daughter Cora, whose natural mother had been Susannah’s sister. They slept on the second floor, while on the first floor Miss Susan Hill, an invalid being treated by Dr. Marston, had a room.

The Marston Residence

At around 2:00 am, the morning of Friday, September 1, Miss Hill was awaked by the sound of a scuffle from the room above, followed by a thud, as if someone had fallen to the floor, then a pistol report. She ran out to the stairs, but afraid to go up she called loudly asking if everything was alright. She received no response, but a few moments later Mrs. Marston appeared in the darkness at the head of the stairs and said in a calm but firm tone, “Be still—go to your room—or I’ll blow your brains out!”

For a Wanton’s Smile.

Frank Whittaker came to Chicago in September 1892, accompanied by four or five young women from his New York City brothel. He planned to run a similar business in Chicago and set up an establishment in a somewhat weather-beaten version of the gilded palaces in the city’s red light district near the levee.

Around the first of November, Charles Ryan, a tall, silent man with piercing eyes and a small mustache, began to regularly visit Whittaker’s house. Ryan was a gambler, and from the size of his bankroll was a successful one.

One of the girls who followed Whittaker from New York was a capricious and whimsical, black-haired, blue-eyed, beauty named Susie Hess. Ryan fell madly in love with her and within two weeks of his arrival in Chicago, he was begging Susie to leave her wanton life and come live with him. Susie was fickle, and led him on, promising to go with him one day and rescinding the promise the next.

Ryan was in Whittaker’s brothel in the early hours of Sunday, November 14, 1892, and he asked Susie Hess again to come with him. They began to argue loudly, attracting the attention of Frank Whittaker. Whittaker, who had not previously met Ryan, tried to defuse the situation by suggesting that they all have a drink. Ryan said nothing; he pulled a revolver from his pocket, pressed the muzzle against Susie’s right side and fired. He then turned the gun on Whittaker and fired twice. Ryan looked at his victims for an instant, then walked into an adjoining room and shot himself in the head. By dawn all three were dead.

---

Sources:

"Chicago Shooting Affray." Kokomo Daily Gazette Tribune 14 Nov 1892.
"For a Wanton's Smile." Le Mars Semi Weekly Sentinel 15 Nov 1892.
"Gave No Warning." Daily Inter Ocean 14 Nov 1892.
"His Fatal Infatuation." National Police Gazette 3 Dec 1892.

Chicago Tragedy.

Little Murders

Oscar Grundman and his wife Annie were living unhappily in a Chicago tenement in 1891. Annie’s excessive drinking had been a continual source of trouble for her husband. He complained that she spent all of his hard-earned wages and neglected her domestic duties; he was running out of patience.

That September Oscar Grundman had Annie arrested and wanted to have her sent to the Washingtonian Home, an institution for the treatment of alcoholism. The judge dismissed her case, however, and sent her back home. After that, Annie lived in fear of her husband and locked him out of the house.



On September 15, Oscar persuaded a neighbor boy to knock on Annie’s door and tell her the police wanted to see her. When she came to the door he struck her on the head with a hatchet. Oscar ran away, escaping arrest, leaving Annie with a serious scalp wound. At the hospital, she was told that her thick hair had probably saved her life.



A week later, Oscar called on Annie again. This time, believing he had come to reconcile, she let him in. “Annie,” he said to her, loud enough for the other tenants to hear, “I have determined that we must part. We can’t live together happily. I have put our children in good hands. Now we must say goodbye.



Annie protested, pleading with him not to leave her. But leaving her was not what Oscar had in mind. The neighbors heard him say, “It’s no use Annie, we must die. Don’t scream. It will soon be over, Annie, and we will be happier than now.”



Oscar pulled out his revolver then and shot Annie once in the head, then turning the pistol on himself, fired a second shot. The neighbors heard the gunshots and heard two bodies fall to the ground. They forced their way into the room and found the unhappy couple lying dead, their blood mingling in pools around their bodies.

---

Sources:
"Chicago Tragedy." Elkhart Daily Review 23 Sep 1891.
"Double Tragedy in Chicago." National Police Gazette 17 Oct 1891.
"Murder and Suicide." Daily Inter Ocean 23 Sep 1891.
"Struck with a Hatchet." Daily Inter Ocean 16 Sep 1891.

Compelled to Die.

Little Murders

In the autumn of 1889, Mrs. Nathaniel Strang, of Moserville, Michigan, began to exhibit signs of insanity. The extent of her condition came to light on November 18 when she tried to kill herself and her eighteen-year-old daughter Maud with aconite, a poisonous herb, because she feared that murderers were after them. A doctor was called in time to save both women.

In spite of this incident, Nathaniel left his wife and daughter alone again two days later. This time, Mrs. Strang poured two tumblers of Paris green, a compound used to kill rats and insects. She drank one herself, then pointing a revolver at Maud’s head, forced her to drink the other.

When Nathaniel returned home, Mrs. Strang told him what she had done. Nathaniel quickly summoned the doctor once again, but it was too late, the poison had already begun working. Mrs. Strang died in agony at midnight. Maud, who had watched her mother’s horrible death, begged the physician to save her life, but there was nothing he could do. She died an hour later.

---

Sources:

"A Horrible Suicide." New Haven Register 21 Nov 1889.
"A Mother's Crime." New Castle Weekly News 27 Nov 1889.
"A Mother's Terrible Deed." Michigan Argus 29 Nov 1889.
"Compelled to Die." National Police Gazette 7 Dec 1889.