Lydia Sherman

DESCRIPTION: "Lydia Sherman is plagued with rats, Lydia has no faith in cats, So Lydia buys some arsenic, And then her husband he gets sick, And then her husband, he does die...." Her children follow, and eventually Lydia ends up in prison.
AUTHOR: unknown
EARLIEST DATE: 1958 (Burt-AmericanMurderBallads)
KEYWORDS: homicide poison humorous children mother father husband wife
HISTORICAL REFERENCES:
May 1864 - Death of Edward Struck, first husband of Lydia Sherman (she eventually had three)
August 1864 - Deaths of George and Ann Eliza, Lydia's children
May 16, 1878 - Lydia Sherman dies in prison in Wethersfield, Connecticut
FOUND IN: US
REFERENCES (1 citation):
Burt-AmericanMurderBallads, p. 5, "Lydia Sherman" (1 text)
NOTES [4585 words]: Burt-AmericanMurderBallads doesn't claim this as a traditional song; it was in a notebook of her mother's, probably from a contemporary publication.
When I read the song, I thought I would love to see a contemporary newspaper account of this trial. As it turns out, Barclay is mostly that, and it turned out to be very tedious.
For an early female mass murderer, she seems to have gotten relatively little coverage. The only modern book I've found that is entirely about her is Kevin J. Murphy, Lydia Sherman: American Borgia, cited here as "Murphy."
Lindberg, p. 4, reports that "Lydia Sherman (1824-1878) was a prolific Gaslight Era serial killer devoid of conscience.... Sherman, an illiterate from Burlington, Vermont, killed her husband, Edward Struck, an unemployed former Yorkville, New York police officer with rat poison after twenty uneventful years of marriage because she could no longer cope with his despondency and depression following his unexpected discharge from the police department. Encouraged to commit her husband's murder by a made acquaintance, she purchased arsenic from a drugstore counter without any questions asked. Then she systematically disposed of all six of her children -- three girls and three boys over a twelve-month period. Sherman later explained that she could not afford to provide for them without a husband, so she decided to take their lives in the same gruesome matter that she had taken Edward's life."
The statement that she was devoid of conscience is probably derived from a the statement of a contemporary minister, Reverend Goodsell, who spent time with her: "she appears to be a person born with no moral sense whatsoever, with not the slightest idea of right and wrong, and yet not... a person of loose habits or deep passions" (quoted on p. 200 of Murphy). On this basis Murphy, p. 201, declares her a "sociopath" -- but it is important to note that "sociopath" is not a diagnoses (it is not in the psychological textbooks in any form); it's an opinion, usually rendered by those who are not trained in psychology.
Lindberg calls her a "thin-faced, rather gaunt-looking woman," and continues (still on page 4) that she married two other elderly widowers, whom she then murdered, again with arsenic. She also took out the two men's children. She was arrested in 1871 and given a life term, dying in Wethersfield, Connecticut (just south of Hartford) in 1878.
She was a small, apparently frail-looking woman, about 5'3" and about 100 pounds (Murphy, pp. 13-14). The newspaper accounts disagree over how attractive she was. There are only two photographs of her, both taken in 1872 during her trial when she was nearing fifty; both are (rather poorly) reproduced on p. 185 of Murphy (who explains on pp. 185-186 that she asked to have them taken because she disliked the way newspaper sketch artists were trying to picture her). The better one makes it look to me as if she might have looked fairly attractive if only she would smile. But she probably didn't smile much; "Lydia's fellow inmates considered her as a prim, proper religious woman" (Murphy, p. 20). She seems to have been very committed to the Methodist Episcopal church; she named two of her children "John Wesley" and "George Whitfield" after important founders of the church, and wanted a Methodist Episcopal funeral service (Murphy, p. 32). She apparently presented herself well, dressing well and speaking good, clear English, making it easy to hide her lack of education (Murphy, p. 70). And she had "a calm disposition and a kindly way about her. Whenever she was available, she seemed to attract men without much effort" (Murphy, p. 94).
Barclay's book is illustrated, and has engravings, many of them implying they are of Lydia, as a frontispiece, as well as on pp. 23,30, 39, 47, 55, 63, 71, 79, 87, 97. However, it is clear that these were stock illustrations; one shows a woman on a gallows (which Lydia never faced), and most others show a woman much taller than Lydia, probably younger, and dressed in a very unlikely style. So these are no indication of her appearance.
She was a member of a very large family. Her father, Samuel Danbury, and her mother, Mary Ruckel Danbury, had seven children, of whom Lydia was the youngest (born December 24, 1824). After Mary Danbury died, Samuel Danbury married a widow, Mary Rockhill Freeman, who apparently already had two children and by whom he had eight more (Murphy, pp. 24-25; genealogy on p. 9 of Murphy). Her mother's death in 1825, when Lydia was less than a year old, caused her to be placed in the care of a widowed grandmother (Murphy, p. 25; Barclay, p. 19). She stayed there for about seven years; when she grew up enough to work, she was transferred to the farm of an aunt and uncle, which left her little time for schooling (Murphy, p. 29. She was "essentially illiterate," according to Murphy, p. 12, as her father had been before her; Murphy, p. 24, although she was able to sign her name, which her father apparently could not), She stayed on the farm until she was fifteen and a half (Murphy, p. 30), when her brothers located her and took her in (Murphy, pp. 35-36). It was in this period that she got most of what little schooling she received (Murphy, p. 37). At age 17, she was able to find work as a housekeeper (Murphy, p. 37). She stayed there for three years, until she was able to find a job with a family member (Murphy, p. 41, who seems to subtly suggest that Lydia might have been harassed by her employer).
She married Edward Struck in 1846. It was a curious match. She was 21; he was a widower with six children who Murphy, p. 43, says was "twice her age." At least he had decent prospects; he was a blacksmith who eventually worked for coachmaking companies. They bounced around New York as Lydia bore seven children, Lydia, John Wesley, George Whitefield, Ann Eliza, Josephine (who died of disease shortly before her second birthday; Murphy, pp. 52-53), Martha Ann, and Edward W. Struck (Murphy, pp. 44-46).
At age 49, Edward Struck gave up blacksmithing to become a New York City policeman (Murphy, pp. 46-47). Murphy gives no reason except the possibility of better wages, but I wouldn't be surprised if Struck was feeling his age and wanted a less physically taxing job. Unfortunately, this was before the New York police had been professionalized; they were still an organ of the city's machine government. And Struck's luck was bad. On November 20, 1863, in an area near his beat, there was what we would now call a police-involved killing. Struck was not involved, but (to oversimplify) the people who saw it claimed he could have prevented it. Murphy thinks the claim false, but Struck was still fired for "failure to obey rules" (Murphy, pp. 56-57).
As a result, he went into a depression so severe that he would neither seek work nor, when Lydia convinced his old boss to give him his job back, even work at the job when it was offered (Murphy, pp. 57-58). Clearly he was having a major depressive episode -- when a doctor visited, Struck wouldn't even talk to him. He made at least a show of a suicide attempt, forcing Lydia to lock up things he might use as weapons. Eventually he even had delusions (Murphy, p. 58). Delusions aren't particularly common in depression, but if they do come, it indicates that the depression is very bad. Today, he would clearly have belonged in a mental hospital, by involuntary commitment if need be. Back then, someone suggested it, but Lydia didn't do it, even though there was an asylum that would have taken him at no cost to her. (Murphy, p. 70. In one sense, there wasn't much point, since they couldn't treat him. Possibly, if he'd been lucky, he could have been kept safe until the depression cleared, which usually takes six to twelve months. But that would require a therapist who actually supported him, and not all would; he might have been in for life. So maybe Lydia did the right thing.)
But as she talked to people about the situation, some suggested that there was no hope, and that it might be better to get Struck out of the way (Murphy, p. 59). One even suggested arsenic. And eventually Lydia went to a pharmacist and purchased, yes, arsenic (Murphy, p. 59, although he does not say what form of arsenic she used).
This first purchase did not really match the song; she bought her arsenic openly, but apparently did not ask about rats at the time of her first purchase, although she did for later purchases (Murphy, pp. 83-84; Barclay, p. 54, has some of the testimony of the man who sold it to her). Even for that first purchase, she carefully went to a pharmacist who was a significant distance away rather than a local who would know her (Murphy, p. 60). She fed it to her husband, and called a doctor when he became sick (Murphy, pp. 60-61). That first doctor, and another who came later, could provide no help. Nor could they recognize the problem; when Struck died, they listed the cause of death as tuberculosis (!) and ordered the body buried without an autopsy (Murphy, p. 64).
Of course, Struck's death left Lydia without any income. Seemingly she decided that her youngest children, six-year-old Martha Ann and four-year-old Edward, were more than she can afford, so she put arsenic in their oatmeal -- and then called a doctor (Murphy, p. 73). Did she change her mind, or was she covering her tracks? Whatever the reason, the doctor she called failed to identify arsenic poisoning (Murphy, p. 74).
This dramatically improved Lydia's financial prospects. With no young children at home, she was able to get a job as a seamstress, and her oldest son was also able to find work (Murphy, p. 75). Unfortunately, he was working as a painter -- and the fumes made him ill. He could no longer work as a painter -- so Lydia got rid of him lest he become a burden again, and the doctor called it "painter's colic" (Murphy, pp. 75-76). Lydia then had the effrontery to seek work as a nurse -- and the doctor went along! (Murphy, p. 76).
Lydia's oldest daughter was working by this time, but the youngest surviving daughter Ann Eliza had no one to care for her -- so in went some more arsenic; she died after four days (Murphy, p. 77). It is interesting to note that Lydia called a different doctor this time; evidently she didn't want any particular doctor to notice a pattern.
Finally the surviving daughter, also named Lydia, contracted a fever (Murphy, p. 78). We don't know that Lydia Sr. helped her along, but obviously there is that suspicion! Lydia took a lot longer to die; the doctors (there were several this time) called it typhoid (Murphy, p. 80; Barclay, pp. 26-27, lists the death notices for all of the Strucks: Edward Sr. is listed as having died of "consumption"; Edward Jr. of "remittent fever"; William died of "bronchitis"; Anna and Lydia Jr. of "typhoid fever"). So Lydia had killed either four or five of her six children who had survived infancy, leaving her with just one, her son John, who was working for a butcher. Lydia apparently told him to go ahead and make a living on his own (Murphy, p. 82). She then started moving around, taking jobs in various places, eventually leaving her son behind. Among other things, she became a caretaker -- one might say home health aide -- for one Maria Fairweather Curtis (Murphy, pp. 85-86). Finally she found a job with a widower named Dennis Hurlbut, who took her on at the advice of a grocer who said Hurlbut needed someone to keep his house. Hurlbut was so excited about Lydia that, just two months after his wife died, and just weeks after meeting her, the 73-year-old Hurlbut married 43-year-old Lydia (Murphy, pp. 87-92).
Hurlbut was old enough to have severe tremors in his hands, and eventually started having dizzy spells (Murphy, p. 95). His condition rapidly grew worse, and Lydia called upon several doctors, who either could not attend Hurlbut or could do nothing (Murphy, pp. 95-98). After several days -- much longer than it took Lydia's children to die -- Hurlbut breathed his last and Lydia inherited an estate of several thousand dollars (Murphy, pp. 95-96). It wasn't a huge inheritance, but it was probably more than Lydia had had in her life; for once, she wasn't broke. But when a neighbor, Nelson Sherman (born 1824), lost his wife in 1869 (Murphy, p. 110) and needed someone to care for a sick baby, she considered it (Murphy, pp. 101-102). At first she did not commit. And so, Lydia found herself in a near-repeat of the Hurlbut situation: Sherman, desperate to deal with his domestic problems, proposed. She still was slow to accept. What followed is very complicated -- he found someone to buy her property; he revealed his financial situation; she gave him some money; Sherman's daughter Addie became so attached to Lydia that she ran away from home to stay with her potential mother-in-law (Murphy, pp. 112-114).
Sherman tried again; would Lydia join his household as either housekeeper or wife? She agreed to spend some time there, and they finally got married September 15, 1870 (though it appears from later testimony that they did not sleep together; Murphy, p. 173; Barclay, p. 21, treats this as one of Lydia's complaints against her husband, but it should be recalled that he married her to, in effect, hire her services). Then Sherman made his mistake: He told Lydia that he wished his sick baby, Frankie, would die. He surely didn't mean it, but no matter. Lydia could manage that; she apparently felt that both the sick baby and his father would be better off if Frankie weren't around. And Nelson Sherman actually had arsenic in the house to deal with rats (Murphy, pp. 114-115). As usual, a doctor was called; as usual, he detected nothing and was unable to do anything. On November 16, 1870, Frankie Sherman died (Murphy, p. 116).
Despite what he had earlier said about wishing the baby dead, Nelson Sherman went into a decline after that, drinking heavily and not earning enough to cover his bills. For a while, Lydia paid them using her own money (Murphy, p. 118). But Lydia's record almost makes me wonder if she had some sort of disorder that made her commit murders in streaks. The next month, Addie Sherman -- the teenager who liked Lydia so well and whom Lydia seemed to like in turn -- became ill (Murphy, p. 119). Two doctors failed to figure out what was the problem (Murphy, pp. 120-121; Barclay, p. 20). It sounds as if she was dying on her own, but Lydia "had some arsenic in the house, and I mixed some in her tea and gave it to her twice" (Murphy, p. 122). Addie died December 31, 1870.
After that, Nelson Sherman really lost his grip, drinking everything he could get his hands on. The marriage grew even more troubled (Murphy, pp. 122-123). Money was short. Barclay, p. 20, reports a week-long bender in which Nelson never came home. Finally Nelson Sherman got sick on one of his drinking bouts, came home to go to bed -- and Lydia fed him arsenic in his brandy (Murphy, p. 126. She would say it was to teach him not to drink so much, which might have worked had she done it sooner, but it was clearly too late!). A doctor told him he needed to stop drinking, but could do nothing else, and once again failed to realize what was happening in time to help (Murphy, p. 127). Nelson Sherman died on May 12, 1871 (Murphy, p. 129).
But, this time, there had been two doctors involved, and they called in a third, and all wondered about poisoning. So they asked for a real post-mortem examination. Both Sherman's mother and Lydia agreed (Murphy, p. 130), so tissue samples were taken and sent to what we would now call a lab. The physician who did the testing of Nelson Sherman's internal organs used the Marsh Test and other techniques; the result was clear (Barclay, pp. 27-30, prints what sounds like his entire court testimony, detailing the exact methods of analysis; I can't imagine the jury could comprehend it. It was apparently the first time the man had run all those tests -- Barclay, p. 59 -- but he sounded competent). Sherman had died of arsenic poisoning (Murphy, p. 133; cf. Barclay, p. 25). I would however point out that the doctor who was called to examine him in his sickness prescribed morphine, blue pill, and "means to obtain an evacuation" (Barclay, p. 33; repeated with variations on p. 41). Blue pill was a mercury compound, as the doctor admitted (Barclay, p. 41). Nelson Sherman may have died of arsenic, but the doctor might have helped him along inadvertently.
The pathologist (to use another anachronistic term) gave his results to law enforcement, which immediately started covertly watching Lydia although they did not at once arrest her; they needed better evidence that she had poisoned Sherman deliberately (Murphy, pp. 134-136). The bodies of Frankie and Addie Sherman were exhumed and tested for arsenic, as was that of Ole Hurlbut (Murphy, p. 137).
They then interviewed a druggist she had dealt with, who recalled her asking for a rat poison. He had suggested arsenic because it was cheap and effective. That, plus the toxicology reports, was enough for Sheriff Selah Blackman. Lydia was out of town, but he had had her followed; after this, he had her arrested on June 30 (Murphy, pp. 139-140). Despite the serious charge, she was brought home and kept under house arrest until July 11 (Murphy, p. 141).
At the preliminary hearing, Nelson Sherman's son Nelson Jr. ("Nellie") revealed something interesting: that his father owned a rat trap but preferred to poison rats with arsenic (Murphy, p. 150). This was confirmed by hearsay testimony from the sheriff (which was allowed at the hearing although it would not have been accepted at the actual court case). The general opinion among observers was that the case was strong enough to go to trial, but not strong enough to secure conviction, because there was no direct evidence that Lydia had supplied the poison (Murphy, pp. 158-159). Still, the judge ordered her imprisoned until she could be tried. Originally scheduled for November 1871, a series of delays meant that the trial did not actually start until April 16, 1872 (Murphy, pp. 162-163; Barclay, p. 30).
Her behavior after she was arrested led to some talk of an insanity plea, but that went nowhere (Murray, pp. 163-164). The case eventually involved four charges -- but they were all really the same charge, that Lydia had murdered Nelson Sherman; the difference was just that they suggested different times and places where the might have poisoned him (in his chocolate, in his gruel, in a brandy "sling"). When the charges were read, Lydia formally pleaded not guilty (Murray, pp. 166-167; Barclay, pp. 30-33).
It was possibly a bad move to charge Lydia only with the murder of Nelson, since the judge ruled that the prosecutors couldn't bring in evidence about the other deaths (Murphy, p. 170; Barclay, pp. 35-37, discusses how that was decided), and many felt that the case for the murder of Nelson Sherman was weaker than some of the other murders (Barclay, p. 25) -- which I think is true, because Nelson's drinking left a strong case for accidental poisoning. But there was testimony about the problems in the marriage: that Lydia and Nelson did not sleep together, and -- according to Nelson's mother at least -- that Lydia had threatened to leave him if he didn't shape up (Murphy, pp. 174-175; Barclay, pp. 49, 52). Others testified that they quarreled a lot (Murphy, p. 181) -- it was, after all, a marriage not for love but for child care! And it had not brought any benefits to Lydia; indeed, it had eaten deeply into her money to support Nelson Sherman. Little wonder that she wanted out; the problem was the method she used....
In Lydia's defense, neighbors could report that Nelson Sherman's house had had rat problems and that Lydia had sought to control them with poison (Murphy, p. 187). But the defense didn't have much else to offer except to waste some time attacking the scientific work of the man who had tested for arsenic (Murphy, p. 192; detailed descriptions of the trial occupy more than half of Barclay, and it seemed as if at least a third of that was spent arguing about testing for arsenic.)
The trial took eight days from the start to the judge's instructions to the jury,
It doesn't feel to me as if the case against Lydia was proved. It was certain that Nelson Sherman had died of arsenic poisoning. It was certain that he and Lydia did not get along particularly well. It was certain that Lydia had brought arsenic into the house. But it was also certain that Nelson Sherman was an intermittent (perhaps not so intermittent) drunk. Based on the evidence presented, I could easily see Nelson Sherman getting drunk and accidentally ingesting the poison. I could see convicting Lydia of involuntary manslaughter for leaving the poison out, but I don't think the evidence added up to proof of murder. Strong evidence, yes, but not proof.
The jury didn't see it that way. They asked the judge for information about the various degrees of murder. Once they had their answer, they deliberated for less than an hour. Lydia was convicted -- but of *second* degree murder, not first degree murder (Murphy, p.193). The first ballot had had nine in favor of the murder charge, three in favor of innocence; the second ballot was of course unanimous. One can only suspect that the jury chose second degree murder because it carried a mandatory life sentence but did not include the option of execution.
There was an appeal, but it was a formality; the conviction stood (Murphy, p.194).
Curiously, after the conviction but before she was sentenced (which took place after the appeal), Lydia made a confession (given on pp. 93-96 of Barclay). Because she was nearly illiterate, she dictated it to the warden and his wife (Murphy, p. 195). Murphy, p. 213, accuses her of a terrible memory, and certainly there are errors in the confession -- but because it was told to someone else, we in fact have no way of knowing which errors are Lydia's and which are those of the transcribers. She admitted to most of the poisonings -- two husbands and six children -- but denied killing Ole Hurlbut (husband #2), whom she said might have taken arsenic on his own; Dennis Hurlbut; and Lydia Struck, whom she said died of natural causes. Murphy doubts this, but I can't see what possible motive Lydia had to lie.
The judge who sentenced her had clearly heard about the confession; he said that Lydia was obviously guilty of first degree murder and should have been sentenced to hang -- but because the jury had decided on second degree murder, for which the mandatory sentence was life without parole, that was what the judge ordered, and Lydia, as soon as it was safe, was sent off to the Connecticut state prison (Murphy, pp.196-197). She entered the prison on February 3, 1873
Although Lydia was mostly a model prisoner, she did make a carefully-planned attempt to escape, including hiding away clothes, faking fatigue and fainting spells, and using makeup to make her look jaundiced. Careful planning and a decent share of luck eventually got her out of prison and on a train out of town (Murphy, pp. 18-23). She even made friends with the owners of the hotel in Providence where she escaped (Murphy, p. 205). She managed to remain at large for a week but was eventually found (Murphy, p. 206, thinks she gave herself away by forgetting her concocted story). Back to prison she went, and was watched more closely thereafter -- although she still managed to conceal $50; as she died, she gave it to a minister and asked that it be used to give her a proper Methodist burial (Murphy, p. 210). She seems to have suffered from a chronic illness in this period. In early May, 1878, she became seriously ill -- with symptoms that ironically resembled arsenic poisoning (Murphy, p. 209). She died a little more than a week later, on May 16, 1878, perhaps of liver disease (Murphy, p. 210).
Although it's clear that Lydia eventually was committing deliberate murder, it should perhaps be noted that fatal overdoses of arsenic are not always the result of deliberate poisoning. Emsley-Blocks:, pp. 40-46, notes various common uses of arsenic, including pigments and even a commercial remedy, "Dr. Fowler's Solution."
Crosland, p. 58, repotrs, "A Byzantine Greek called Nicolaus Myrepsus compiled a compendium of remedies in which he drew on Arabic sources, although his knowledge of Arabic was poor. He made the mistake of including arsenic as a remedy in certain cases." And, once it entered the literature, it stayed there.
According to Henderson, p. 284, "[arsenic] was a commonly administered medicine in the nineteenth century in the form of arsenious acid, which was prescribed for a great variety of diseases, such as headaches, ulcers, gout, chorea, syphilis, even cancer. Used in a popular patent medicine called "Fowler's Solution," it was a well-known remedy for fever and various skin diseases. It would have been a standard part of any sizeable medical kit."
Emsley-Blocks, p. 105, describes Fowler's Solution as being an arsenic compound in lavender water (the latter included to prevent accidental ingestion) and that Fowler had the idea for using an arsenic compound based on another medicine called "Thomas Wilson's Tasteless Ague and Fever Drops."
MacInnis, p. 99, reports that Fowler's Solution contained 1% potassium arsenite (K₃AsO₄), and that it was used to deal with fevers as a substitute for quinine, which was difficult to consume because it is so bitter. MacInnis, p. 100, says that women drank it for their complexions -- while also rubbing it into their hair to kill pests. (You'd think that would be a hint.) Timbrell, p. 224, reports that it gave the skin a "milk rose" hue.
Ironically, Fowler's Solution continued to be sold and used after it was established that it was poisonous; there were instances where the Solution was suspected of being used in murder cases (Blum, pp. 85, 95-97).
Also, it is possible to build up arsenic tolerance (Timbrell, p. 225; Emsley-Elements, pp. 102-103, notes that Styrian mountaineers regularly consumed arsenic to deal with altitude conditions), so if Lydia were tolerant (as she might have been, had she been using arsenic-based cosmetics), she might have accidentally poisoned her family while surviving herself.
As another defense, arsenic trioxide (the most common form of arsenic poison) is only mildly water-soluble, according to Emsley-Elements, p. 140, with the solubility increasing as the temperature increases. If the compound is mixed with cold water, the amount that dissolves will generally be too small to be fatal, but more will go into solution as the water warms. In the unlikely event that someone mixed arsenic trioxide with a cold pitcher of water, the first person to drink from it might survive while those who drank from it later would be killed; alternately, if someone mixed it into warm water (or tea, or coffee) which then cooled, the first people to drink might be poisoned but anyone who drank it when cooler might survive because the arsenic precipitated out.
All of this matters because Lydia's confession makes it sound as if she almost thought poisoning people -- at least poisoning her depressed first husband -- was something approaching a mercy, and done on the (probably misunderstood) advice of a policeman (see the part of the confession on pp. 215-216 of Murphy). Of course, once she had the idea in her head, she went and ran with it.... - RBW
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