by Bill Bowers
’Tis doubtful whether any history of modern times can afford an instance of similar barbarity, even in the extreme distress of war. The ancients encouraged by numbers and example, did in hours of despair destroy themselves and families, to avoid the shame of becoming captives to be led in triumph, and the cruelty commonly exercised in those barbarous ages.
By this time your curiosity itself will be pleased to find me subscribing myself,
Your very humble Servant.
Wethersfield, February, 1783.
According to the Reverend Marsh’s sermon, delivered at the funeral for Beadle’s slain family (and which was later published along with the above text, in 1783, in what became known as the “Beadle Narrative”):
Had he [Beadle] left no written account of his intentions and views respecting the destruction of himself and family we should have been ready to consider it as the effect of a sudden and most vehement frenzy. But by his writings he appears to have had it in contemplation for three years.
The time he first fixed upon for carrying into execution his horrid and detestable purpose was the 18th of Nov. 1782. Not long before this he writes thus: “I mean to close the eyes of six persons thro’ perfect humanity, and the most endearing fondness and friendship; for mortal father never felt more of these tender ties than myself.—How I shall really perform the task I have undertaken I know not ’till the moment arrives; but I believe I shall perform it as deliberately, and as steadily as I would go to supper, or to bed.”
In one of the last letters he wrote, there is the following passage: “Any man that undertakes any great affair, and at the same time thinks, ought to be very deliberate indeed; and think and reflect again and again. On the morning of the sixth of December I rose before the sun, felt calm, and left my wife between sleep and wake, went into the room where my infants lay, found them all sound asleep; the means of death were with me, but I had not before determined whether to strike or not, but yet tho’t it a good opportunity. I stood over them and asked my God whether it was right or not, now to strike; but no answer came, nor I believe ever does to man while on earth. I then examined myself, there was neither fear, trembling nor horror about me. I then went into a chamber next to that, to look at myself in the glass; but I could discover no alteration in my countenance or feelings: this is true as God reigns, but for further trial I yet postponed it.” And when the fatal morning was come it does not appear by any one circumstance, but that he set himself about and went thro’ the abominable work of murdering his wife, four children and himself, with as much steadiness, composure and firmness as he supposed he should.
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The Antoine Probst Ax Murders (1866)
The notorious and brutal Antoine Probst (1843–1866) was a German-born immigrant to the United States. He took a job as a farmhand with the Dearing family of Philadelphia. On April 7, 1866, thinking the Dearings had money in their farmhouse, he used an ax to murder Mr. and Mrs. Dearing; four of their children (aged eight years to fourteen months); another farmhand (seventeen-year-old Cornelius Cary); and twenty-five-year-old Elizabeth Dolan, a cousin who was visiting the family. He then ransacked the house, but netted less than $20. Probst was arrested and charged with eight counts of first-degree murder, and the jury convicted him after deliberating less than fifteen minutes. After he was hanged, his body was used for medical experiments.
CONFESSION OF EIGHT MURDERS.
The confession of Antoine Probst, the murderer of the Dearing family at Philadelphia, has again revived the absorbing public interest felt in all parts of the country in that terrible tragedy. The mystery which has so long hung over it has been dispelled by this confession, and the manner in which Probst managed to murder eight persons and to successfully conceal the crime is at length explained. Probst says he was excited by the hopes of gain, and supposed that Mr. Dearing had money in the house. He says he would have confessed his great crimes during the trial, but was deterred by the fear that the multitude of people who crowded all the avenues of approach to the court would tear him to pieces. It will be remembered that he murdered eight persons, Mr. Dearing, his wife, and four children, Miss Dolan, a young lady visitor at the house, and Cornelius Carey, a hired boy. They lived in the suburbs of the city upon a small grazing farm, and Probst was their hired man. After the murders he concealed all the bodies in a small stable, where they were discovered the days afterwards. Probst committed the murders on April 7, when Mr. Dearing was absent in the city, whither he had gone to bring Miss Dolan from a steamboat landing where she was expected to arrive that morning.
Probst says he premeditated the murders for several days, and supposed this was a good time to put his plans into execution. He determined to begin with Carey, a hired boy, and for that purpose started away from the house in company with the boy, who was driving a horse and cart. Probst had an axe, and when they were some 200 yards from the house, and concealed from view by a haystack, he went behind Carey and struck him on the head with the axe. He says his heart failed him before he struck the blow, and he drew back the axe four times before he was courageous enough to do it; but when he had done it he felt like a demon, and could have killed a hundred people. Striking Carey two or three times, and cutting his throat with the edge of the axe, he concealed the body under the haystack, and went towards the house to continue the bloody work. He quickly laid his plan, which was to entice the family singly into the stable and then kill them. First, he asked the oldest boy John to come to the stable and help him with some work, and, the boy cheerfully obeying, Probst struck and killed him with the axe which he had previously placed behind the door so as to be convenient. Cutting his throat, and covering the body with hay, he went out and called Mrs. Dearing, telling her to come and help him, as something was the matter with one of the horses. She came quickly, and as soon as she entered he struck her, killing her instantly. Her throat be cut too, and covered the body with hay. He then went to the house for the other children, and told the second son, Thomas, that his mother wanted him at the stable. The boy ran to the door and Probst after him, and two blows quickly despatched him. The murderer, who seems to have had a mania for cutting throats, cut this little boy’s throat also, and laid his body with the others. But two children were now left, a little girl three years old, and a babe of 14 months. his cruelty to these helpless beings he thus tells:—
I left the axe in the same place and went to the home and took Annie and told her her mother wanted to see her. At the same time I took the baby on my arm and Annie walked alongside of me to the stable. I put the baby on the floor on the hay and took Annie inside. Annie looked around for her mother. [A question was here asked—‘Did she ask for her mother?’ and the murderer, smiling, continued- ‘I was too much in a hurry to notice.’] I knocked her down and cut her throat, and then I took the baby and cut it; then I took the axe and put it on the bench under the porch, where it was always kept: then I went to the house and took the horse from the cart and put him in the stable, and then went back to the house and stayed there waiting for Mr. Dearing.
This completed six of the murders, and shortly after noon Mr. Dearing and Miss Dolan in a waggon reached the house. Probst had laid his plan, and whilst Miss Dolan took off her bonnet and shawl told Mr. Dearing that a steer was sick in the stable, and all the family were there. Without removing even his gloves, Mr. Dearing quickly walked to the stable. Probst followed him with the axe, striking him as soon as he entered the stable, knocking him down, and killing him by giving two more blows and cutting his throat. Putting a little hay over his body, Probst came out after Miss Dolan. She called to him to take the horse out of Mr. Dearing’s waggon. He, in reply, said Mr. Dearing wished to see her in the stable, and that all the family were there. She walked to the stable and he struck her with a hammer. She fell on Mr. Dearing’s body, and Probst, to make the tragedy complete, cut her throat too.
This completed the terrible series of murders, and of the family
but one person was left —a little boy 10 years of ago—who was absent on a visit in another part of Philadelphia. Probst, not in the least unnerved, says he took the horse out of the waggon, fed him, fed all the cattle and the poultry, fastened the stable doors, and then, going to the house, changed his clothes for a suit of Mr. Dearing’s. He shaved himself with Mr. Dearing’s razor, and then searched the house. He thought he would obtain great plunder, but his hopes were doomed to disappointment. He pro-cured two pistols, a watch, and in money about $13. For this paltry sum he had committed eight murders. He says he felt bad and ate some bread and butter, and towards evening, fastening the doors he left. For five days he wandered about the city, spending his money in dissipation, and when arrested had about 30 cents. left. He sold the watch and revolvers in his necessity.
Here, another published account (The Life, Confession, and Atrocious Crimes of Antoine Probst) fills in more of the grim details of his maneuvers after the crimes:
Probst, with his dearly purchased plunder, left the house and took his way to the city. A flight we have called it, but it was rather a march of triumph, for he at once went to spend his gains in the worst haunts of dissipation. Saturday night he spent in a brothel, near Front and Moore streets. Sunday he passed in Eckfeldt’s [sic] lager beer saloon, in New Market street, near Willow. In the evening he left his valise in the charge of the landlord, and stayed all night at a house near Front and Brown streets.
On Monday he again went to Leckfeldt’s, and remained there till Tuesday. In the morning he left without paying for his lodging and meals, and Mrs. Leckfeldt took possession of the valise, intending to keep it as a security for the payment of the bill. Tuesday night he again spent with a prostitute. From Wednesday till Thursday he passed at Front and Brown, and in the morning returned to the lager beer saloon. There, as he sat at a table, a man began to read to the others, who were drinking beer, an account of the discovery of the murder, published in a German paper. Probst listened without betraying any emotion, nor did he blench when he heard the expressions of horror and rage around him. He was even appealed to by one of the company, who said: “What do you think ? Isn’t it a d—d shame, that a German should have done this and disgraced his countrymen ?” Probst made no reply, and pretended to be asleep, with his hat drawn over his eyes. But immediately afterward a German who knew him entered, and proposed a game of cards. Probst consented at once, and in the intervals of shuffling and dealing had the hardihood to read the account of his own crime, no doubt criticising the errors made in the general ignorance of the facts. He played cards for an hour, and then remained sullenly in his chair, while the very officers of justice entered the room and spoke to him about the murder. After he had supper, at seven o’clock, he rose and left the saloon. A short time afterward he was arrested near Twenty-third and Market streets.
Strange, indeed, must be the nature of the man who could meditate and execute this crime.
The same account described him as:
. . . a strange being, with a small head, and scarcely any reasoning faculties. He feels some light pangs of remorse, but sleeps soundly and ease breathes heartily. He has been found guilty of murder, . . . The sensation throughout the country caused by this series of murder was very great, and it has been revived by this confession, which was publicly made to the High Sheriff and spiritual adviser of the criminal.
Premeditated it certainly was, for . . . no drunken man could suddenly have planned so shrewdly the destruction of an entire family. For weeks the unsuspecting Deerings [sic] had been the companions of a relentless foe, whose lynx eyes, unknown to them, followed every movement; . . .
An account of Probst’s arrest given by James Dorsey, formerly of the Pennsylvania Infantry and then appointed to the police force by the mayor, had the following to report:
On the night of the twelfth of April, at about twenty minutes before nine, I was standing at the corner of Twenty-third and Market streets with two brother officers. It was a dark, gloomy night and a drizzling rain was falling. While we were talking a man passed us going toward the bridge. He was slouching along close to the buildings, and one of my companions pointed him out and said: There goes an Irishman, Dorsey, follow him up and arrest him. It may be Probst in disguise.’ “I’ll see who he is, anyway,’ was my reply, and I followed on after him. “My partners laughed derisively and crossed the street to an oyster saloon. I overtook the suspicious stranger just before he reached the bridge, and tapping him on the shoulder, said: “‘Good evening!’ “How do?’ he muttered, and hung his head. “I pulled off his cap and looked him squarely in the face. “‘You’re a Dutchman!’ said I. “No, me Frenchman!” he answered. “Anyway, I want you,’ said I, and I took him by the shoulder and led him back to the station-house. When he stood up in front of the rail I noticed that his right thumb was missing, and I knew that it was Probst. The next morning Mrs. Dolan positively recognized him as Probst. Acting under orders from the lieutenant I took him before Mayor McMichael, and in his presence and mine Probst confessed that he murdered the boy Carey who worked for the Deerings [sic]. He denied killing the others, however, claiming that they were murdered by his accomplice, Frederick Genther. Afterwards he admitted murdering the whole family, and he was hanged for the crime.”
Probst was hanged on June 8, 1866. His published “Confession” offers insight into the execution process as it was then:
The body was placed in the hands of Dr. B. Howard Rand, who, with five assistants, proceeded to make a number of scientific experiments. The first of those consisted in the examination of the eye, with the aid of a powerful electric light, for the purpose of detecting an image remaining upon the retina.
The right eye was afterward taken out, to allow of more careful examination, as there is a modern scientific theory that events occurring immediately before death remain impressed upon the retina.
The galvanic battery was then applied, one pole being placed in the mouth, and the other to the temple. A powerful current was then passed through the wires, producing a fearful contortion of the frame. The jaws worked convulsively, and the chest heaved as with a strong respiration. This action was, of course, purely mechanical, as the neck had been broken by the fall, and life was entirely extinct.
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Slobbery Jim & the Daybreak Gang (1850s)
Slobbery Jim (his real name is unknown) was a New York City gangster, robber, pirate, and murderer whose cohorts, known as the Daybreak Gang, were mostly Irish teenagers from the slums of the Five Points. Mostly they robbed ships on the East River, typically murdering anyone they perceived as being in their way. Jim is reputed to have murdered one of his confederates in a brutal fight to the death over the disputed ownership of twelve cents.
River Thieves—The Birds of Prey who Prowl Nightly along the River Front of New York—How they Operate—The Shadowy Skiff Propelled by Muffled Oars—The Dark-lantern of the River Police—Revolver Practice, “My God! I’m Shot.”—The Howlett and Saul Case—The Double Execution—Haunts and Habits of the River-Gang—Their Deeds—Tragic End of “ Socco the Bracer.”
Many of them are not early risers at the brightest of times, being birds of the night who roost when the sun is high and are wide awake and keen for prey when the stars are out.
—Dickens, in Bleak House
To those who nightly cross and recross the rivers on either side of the metropolis, the singularities which strike others so forcibly are of no effect. Familiarity has bred contempt; and where a visitor to the great city would naturally and necessarily be stricken with awe and wonder, the habitué is nonchalant and unmoved. In the gloaming, when the variegated lights of the ferry-boats flash like a kaleidoscope of precious stones, more brilliant in their relief against the inky darkness of the river and adjacent shores, the boat of the river-thief shoots out from its concealment like an evil spirit on the night. The shadowy ghostliness of the ships’ rigging nor the sad sobbing of the waves
has any romantic interest for the thief. To him it is as much a matter of practicality and convenience as is the honest merchant’s broad daylight. With all the risk he knows he must encounter, the river-thief is complaisant, and as happy as a criminal can be, when darkness and storm combine to aid him in his nefarious excursions. Shrouded by the murkiness of the night, the boat shoots out into mid-stream, and the muffled oars are plied by strong and skilful arms. There are three men in the boat, and from their unwavering course it is evident that their business has been well planned. No haphazard seeking after stray trifles: the river-thief is too thoroughly a professional. He has previously been instructed by the captain of the gang of the work expected of him. His only is it to find the means, and his long experience renders this an easy matter. The occupants of the boat in mid-stream have made a survey, and seeing no hindrances, they pull rapidly in-shore and listen for the sound of the spy on the dock to tell them whether or not the police boat is in waiting for them. The signal is favorable, and, under the shadows of the docks and ferry-houses, the light skiff is impelled swiftly and silently to its destination. A brig lies in the river, and alongside her the boat pulls and is made fast to her chains. Stealthily one of the crew of the boat climbs to the deck of the vessel, and carefully appropriates whatever loose pieces of chain and rope lie about, but while doing this he does not neglect to note the presence or absence, drowsiness or watchfulness of the guard, for it may be that the booty is rich, and lies in the cabin. If this be the case, four men have been sent, and they are desperate, resolute pugilists, who, if death be necessary to the success of the venture, will not hesitate to take life or sacrifice their own. The men who are lying in the Tombs at this writing, under a sentence of twenty years’ imprisonment, were of the character described. Boarding a ship lying in the bay, one knocked the mate on the head, another shot the captain, and the twain then kept the crew at a safe distance while the cabin was ransacked for the plunder they knew to be concealed there; and not content to have secured this, the wife of the captain was held down while a pair of valuable ornaments were taken from her ears. They escaped, but were captured, and are paying the penalty of their misdeeds.