By Jamie Furness
The first murder in Stafford occurred long ago when Connecticut was still a colony under the rule of a king, an ocean away. Stafford had only been recently settled, and the region was still mostly a wilderness. Besides those settled on or near the broad street, only a few houses were scattered here and there, connected with a few rough paths winding up and down the hillsides. Amid that wilderness, and far enough away from the new settlements, a lone cabin stood in a small clearing on top of what seemed like a mountain near the south edge of town. In this cabin lived a wife and her husband. Like all New Englanders, they were hardworking, industrious people, laboring early and late to build their little homes and clear the land from which they made a living.
One day, a passer-by knocked at the door of the lone cabin and, receiving no response, lifted the latch and entered. A horrible sight met his gaze. The furniture was overturned and broken. Two bodies were on the floor. Marks of bloody hands were on the walls. To all appearances, the wife and husband had been cruelly murdered after a terrible struggle and left lying in their blood. The news spread, an alarm was raised, and a posse of armed men searched the country near and far for the murderer, but without success. The community was deeply upset, not understanding the reason for the crime. The couple had been harmless, with no known enemies.
The crude law of those days was set in motion, and the town summoned a coroner’s jury composed of the best men in the community. Straightaway, they began an inquiry into the cause and manner of the deaths, viewing the bodies, carefully investigating the lone cabin, and thoroughly examining witnesses who might shine light upon the mystery. The jury could not connect any suspect with the crime, and no motive could be found for the cruel deed, as the victims had no quarrel with anyone and were seemingly poor and without money to tempt a robber.
The jury came to the conclusion that the husband had murdered his wife and then killed himself. The law of England dictated that the body of the husband should be buried where three ways met, that a stake be driven through his body, and stones heaped upon his grave. The decree was carried out in the presence of people from miles around, and the murderer was put in the ground near the foot of Rockwell Hill, where the road from Willington intersected the road to the hill. No one knows where the victim was buried, but her resting spot is likely somewhere in the old cemetery about a half mile from the disgraceful internment of her murderous husband.
That pile of stones, grown grey with age and covered with moss, remained. Townspeople would tell the children the story of the awful crime and the grim marker, after which they would be terrified and turn their heads as they rode past or travel on the other side of the road, quickly passing the spot on their way to the school on top of the hill.
After the close of the Revolutionary War, when most of the people who saw the tragic scene were also in the ground, and commercial trade had been re-established with the British in the West Indies, a New York merchant visited Stafford. He received from a correspondent in one of the islands, likely Jamaica, a newspaper published there giving an account of the execution of a very old man for the crime of piracy and murder, who, on the gallows, confessed his crimes and said that he should have been hanged long before as a young man for a murder and robbery in the wilderness near Tolland, Connecticut, describing the lone cabin and scene inside. The Stafford community was satisfied the man whom the coroner’s jury had judged as a murderer was not guilty after all. He and his wife had been robbed of their life and savings by the West Indian pirate, who, either by chance or design, found their lone cabin and committed a double murder to secure their measly treasure.
The land where this tragedy took place is known well, now Hyde Park. The lone cabin, which was the scene of the tragedy, was torn down many years ago, and another house was built on its site, which in turn was also removed. No one knows the name of this unfortunate couple, and there is no entry in the early records of those days of their untimely death. Neither does it appear that they left any relations in the colony to right the wrong to the memory of the man buried by the roadside, staked and under a pile of stones.
A Stafford Historical Society member rediscovered this story for the Stafford Arts Society and included it in their readers' theater program, Mystery and Mayhem, performed in celebration of Stafford’s 300th anniversary in October of 2019.
Cole, JR., History of Tolland County, Connecticut, W.W. Preston & Co., 1888, pgs 500-501.
Hartford Courant, 1/31/1915
The Press, 4/5/1911
Support Local News - Tip a Journalist