It was about this time, that she received the news of the death of her mother, and untimely death of her only brother, of whom she had heard nothing for several years, whose name was James Smith. He was hung in Kingston, U. C., for horse stealing. He had continued his riotous and dissipated course of life for some time after the marriage of Ann, and finally joined a gang of horse thieves and counterfeiters, which infested the country round about the lakes. This gang had a regular communication established from Detroit, through to Toronto and Kingston, and across the States through to New York and Philadelphia.
It is supposed that at one time, before the gang was broken up, there were upwards of one hundred persons engaged in it, although the precise number has never been ascertained.—Their method of operation was this. A horse stolen by one of the gang was conveyed by night to the next station, the thief returning immediately to prevent suspicion. In this way the business was managed until the horse was out of the reach of pursuit. They had regular stations where the horses that were stolen were kept until they had collected a sufficient number, when they were taken in small droves to New York, Philadelphia, and other large places, and disposed of. The route on which James was stationed, was between Kingston and Toronto, near Coburg, where he had been engaged for some time. On one occasion he had been to Kingston with a horse thus stolen, and there received a considerable sum of money for his service to the company, and, on his way home, broke into the stable of a British officer, and stole a very valuable horse, but the noise awakened an old inmate who got up, and perceiving the door opened, he went in and found the horse missing. He immediately gave the alarm to the officer.—Several men were sent out in pursuit. He was overtaken before he got ten miles from the place where the horse was stolen. They were brought back to Kingston, where he was tried before a magistrate and thrown into prison, until the sitting of the Kings Court, when he was condemned and sentenced to be hung. He was executed at Kingston, some time late in the year eighteen hundred and thirty-five. Thus ended the unhappy career of both father and son—the father setting the example.
After this news, she became, if possible more cruel and barbarous than before. She now seemed to take no delight whatever in anything but acts of the most blood-thirsty and inhuman nature; nothing now satisfied her murderous disposition but the death of some innocent, and to her unoffending victim; but her career of guilt was nearly run; she had carried it to such a height that it was impossible to continue in this way much longer, without being overtaken by justice, and it was not long after this that she was, by the following circumstance, exposed, and her gang broken up and some of them brought to condign punishment, for the high handed and outrageous crimes, they had for a long time committed, thus far without detection.
She, and her associates, Griffin, Brown and Sharp, murdered a Quaker, who was travelling in that section of the country in November, 1843. During his stay in that vicinity; he had formed considerable acquaintance, and had intimated to a friend with whom he had considerable business, that he would stop at that tavern that night, and probably board there while he remained in the neighborhood, which he did, for he was seen there four days after.
After the lapse of two weeks, a box and parcel came in the care of a gentleman for him from New York. Another week elapsed, during which time Mr. Jones, in whose care it came, thought it strange why he did not call, and as he was driving past, he called to see Mr. Morse, to let him know that a package had arrived for him. He enquired for Mr. Morse. He then returned home, opened the parcel, and found among other things, a letter from his wife which stated a dissatisfaction at his boarding at a tavern, which seemed rather uncommon among Quakers, as she said.—She was sorry it was not in his power to come home sooner, as it seemed that he stated to her that he should stop there some time. She said she hoped that he was in good health, but was much afraid that he was not, for she was annoyed with disagreeable dreams about him, and it was utterly impossible for her to rest. These things looked strange; suspicions spread around the neighborhood, until some persons came into the store, who said they talked with Mr. Morse, in Walters’ tavern, a few days after his going there, when some remarked the idle, sauntering fellows that were perpetually hovering about there, having no business, and many other circumstances were alluded to, until suspicion became so strong in the minds of the people, that they finally resolved to make a private search, but not until Mr. Jones, accompanied by some others, went again to make enquiry. The answer was the same as before, but she seemed a little confused which strengthened their suspicions.
Accordingly they went one afternoon, and visited the house, making some pretence for the visit, one of them said that he was about to build himself a new house, and asked permission of her to examine her house, that he might measure and take the dimensions of it at the same time, and the plan on which it was built, saying that he wished to build after the same plan. Not suspecting anything, she allowed them the privilege though not permitting them to enter the cellar. They then made such examination as they were able, discovering nothing above, however, to confirm them in their suspicions. They were now diverted entirely to the cellar, and in her absence from the room for a moment, they questioned an old wench, one of her domestics, as to what was kept in the cellar. She replied she dare not tell for fear she should be killed. They promised to liberate and protect her, if she would disclose to them what she knew of the matter. She replied, that there was something awful in that cellar, but for the life of her she dare not tell what it was. Her mistress coming in at that moment, prevented any farther discourse with her. They then left the house, and concluded that they had got information enough. Next morning they proceeded to the house, accompanied by the sheriff with a warrant. She was taken after a resolute resistance, together with three of her associates, Johnson, Brown and Sharp, on the sixth day of June last, to await the sitting of the Supreme Court at Georgetown, where they were tried and received the sentence of the law; but as Sharp turned State’s evidence, and favored the other two, she alone was sentenced to die. The other two were recommended to mercy by the Jury, and were sentenced to perpetual imprisonment.
But the jury found a verdict of guilty of murder in the first degree, and she received sentence. They have not as yet made any public confession, but have acknowledged much of the guilt of which they are charged and from which we select considerable of the above atrocious crimes committed, and the mode of executing their plans. But while in prison awaiting the day of execution, three days after receiving sentence, she obtained a quantity of poison by some private correspondent, yet unknown, which she took to avoid the exposure of a public execution. She died a most terrible and awful death. After the poison which she had taken began to operate, she raved like a maniac, tearing the clothes from her body in handsful, attempting to lay hold of and bite every thing within her reach, and cursing God and the hour that gave her birth. After these fits of insanity had a little subsided and reason had again returned, the pangs of a guilty conscience, and remorse with all its horrors and bitter anguish, would seize her soul, and she would cry out in the bitterness of her torments that she already felt in flames of hell, reproaching herself in the most bitter anguish for the awful crimes she had committed. Then she would again rave like a maniac, cursing and swearing in the most horrible manner, and attempting to destroy every thing within her reach, and so strong was she in her fits of raving, that it was with difficulty that three men were able to tie her on the bed. She appeared to be in great agony and pain during the whole time until she died. About two hours before her death, she was visited by a minister of the Episcopal Church, who endeavored to console her, by telling her to acknowledge the crimes she had committed with sorrow, and ask forgiveness, telling her that there was no doubt that her soul would reign in happiness in heaven. Then she felt a little consolation, and expressed the following—or rather, more than we give here, as the narrative is principally compiled from her confession, and the confessions of the other two who remain in prison awaiting the reward of their cruel and atrocious crimes. Here follows her confession:—
I was born a short distance from Montreal, in the year 1812 but when I was very young, my parents removed from that place to a village in the vicinity of Quebec, where I lived until my father was hung for the murder of Paine. I then lived with my mother until I was sixteen years of age, when I was married to Mr. Walters, and settled near the neighborhood of my late residence, in the lower part of Delaware.—When I had been married about three years, my husband’s health began to decline, and to free myself from the trials incident to a protracted illness, I gave him a dose of poison. I administered it through my negro cook. I strangled to death my first and only offspring when three days old, which was the only son nature ever furnished me with. Afterwards, in the fall of eighteen hundred and thirty-five, I shot a traveller who stopped for dinner on his way from Richmond, Virginia, to New York. We robbed him of eight hundred dollars.—His horse we afterwards sold in Baltimore for two hundred dollars. In the beginning of February following, I and my comrades followed two slave traders, stationed ourselves and fired upon them, and killed one of them instantly, of which no account was ever heard. I burned to death a negro child eighteen months old, soon after. In eighteen hundred and forty, with my own hands I killed Isac Smith of Baltimore, on his way home. About two months afterwards, I was accessory to the murder of a slave trader from Wilmington, Del. on his way to Norfolk, Va. We robbed him of four thousand dollars and a gold watch. Soon afterwards I killed a negro boy twelve years old, whom I owned as mistress. Last of all, we murdered Morse, the Quaker, after he had boarded three days at the house. I am guilty of ten murders with my own hands, and accessory to a great many others. I can confess no more. For I do not expect forgiveness, and feel already the pains of hell.
She was seized with another fit of despair, crying out that she felt the wrath of God punishing her. Thus she went on until she sunk back on her pillow exhausted, and her immortal spirit winged its way to appear before the bar of its Judge, there to answer for the dreadful deeds committed in the body. Her death was truly heart-rending and awful, and should serve as a warning to all those who read this account to be prepared to meet their eternal Judge, to render such an account of their past lives as shall be acceptable in his sight. She breathed her last on the 25th of September, four days after trial, thus terminating the cruel and unhappy lives of father son and daughter.