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  When the war commenced he had on hand a very handsome assortment of Goods for a country store, which he sold for the currency of the country, without any advance in the price the money he laid by, waiting and expecting the time would soon arrive when he might therewith replace his goods, resolving not to part with it until it should be in as good demand as when received by him. His expectations from this quarter daily lessening, finally lost all hope, and was thrown into a state little better than dispair, as appears from his writing ; he adopted a plan of the most rigid family economy, but still kept up the outward appearance of his former affluence, and ever to the last entertained his friend with his usual decent hospitality, although nothing appeared in his outward deportment, which evinced the uncommon pride of his heart; his writings show clearly that he was determined not to bear the mortification of being thought by his friends poor and dependent. On this subject he expresses himself in the following extraordinary manner: “If a man, who has once lived well, meant well and done well, falls by unavoidable accident into poverty, and then submits to be laughed at, despised and trampled on, by a set of mean wretches as far below him as the moon is below the sun; I say, if such a man submits, he must become meaner than meanness itself, and I sincerely wish he might have ten years added to his natural life to punish him for his folly.”

  He fixed upon the night succeeding the 18th of November for the execution of his nefarious purpose, and procured a supper of oysters, of which the family eat very plentifully; that evening he writes as follows: “I have prepared a noble supper of oysters, that my flock and I may eat and drink together, thank God and die.” After supper he sent the maid with a studied errand to a friend’s house at some distance, directing her to stay until she obtained an answer to an insignificant letter he wrote his friend intending she should not return that evening—she did however return, perhaps her return disconcerted him and prevented him for that time. The next day he carried his pistols to a smith for repair; it may be, the ill condition of his pistols might be an additional reason for the delay.

  On the evening of the 10th of December some persons were with him at his house, to whom he appeared as chearful and serene as usual; he attended to the little affairs of his family as if nothing uncommon was in contemplation. The company left him about nine o’clock in the evening, when he was urgent as usual for their stay; whether he slept that night is uncertain, but it is believed he went to bed. The children and maid slept in one chamber; in the grey of the morning of the 11th of December he went to their bed chamber, awaked the maid and ordered her to arise gently without disturbing the children; when she came down stairs he gave her a line to the family physician, who lived at the distance of a quarter of a mile, ordered her to carry it immediately, at the same time declaring that Mrs. Beadle had been ill all night, and directing her to stay until the physician should come with her; this he repeated sundry times with a degree of ardor. There is much reason to believe he had murdered Mrs. Beadle before he awaked the maid. Upon the maid’s leaving the house he immediately proceeded to execute his purpose on the children and himself. It appears he had for some time before, carried to his bed side every night an ax and a carving knife; he smote his wife and each of the children with the ax on the side of the head as they lay sleeping in their beds; the woman had two wounds in the head, the scull of each of them was fractured; he then with the carving knife cut their throats from ear to ear; the woman and little boy were drawn partly over the side of their beds, as if to prevent the bedding from being besmeared with blood; the three daughters were taken from the bed and laid upon the floor side by side, like three lambs, before their throats were cut; they were covered with a blanket, and the woman’s face with an handkerchief. He then proceeded to the lower floor of the house, leaving marks of his footsteps in blood on the stairs, carrying with him the ax and knife, the latter he laid upon the table in the room where he was found, reeking with the blood of his family. Perhaps he had thoughts he might use it against himself if his pistols should fail; it appears he then seated himself in a Windsor chair, with his arms supported by the arms of the chair; he fixed the muzles of the pistols into his two ears and fired them at the same instant: the balls went through the head in transverse directions. Although the neighbours were very near and some of them awake, none heard the report of the pistols. The capital facts of the massacre you have seen in the public papers; a minute detail was too horrible to be given at first, until the mind (especially of the relatives of the unhappy woman) had been prepared for it by a summary narrative, and even now ’tis enough to give feelings to apathy itself to relate the horrid tale.

  The line to the physician obscurely announced the intentions of the man; the house was soon opened, but alas too late! The bodies were pale and motionless, swimming in their blood, their faces white as mountain snow, yet life seemed to tremble on their lips; description can do no more than saintly ape and trifle with the real figure.

  Such a tragical scene filled every mind with the deepest distress; nature recoiled and was on the rack with distorting passions; the most poignant sorrow and tender pity for the lady and her innocent babes, who were the hapless victims of the brutal, studied cruelty of a husband and father, in whose embraces they expected to find security, melted every heart. Shocking effects of pride and false notions about religion.

  To paint the first transports this affecting scene produced, when the house was opened, is beyond my reach.—Multitudes of all ages and sexes were drawn together by the sad tale.—The very inmost souls of the beholders were wounded at the sight, and torn by contending passions: Silent grief, with marks of astonishment, were succeeded by furious indignation against the author of the affecting spectacle, which vented itself in incoherent exclamations. Some old soldiers accidentally passing thro’ the town that morning, on their way from camp to visit their friends, led by curiosity turned in, to view the sad remains; on sight of the woman and her tender offspring, notwithstanding all their firmness, the tender sympathetic tear stealing gently down their furrowed cheeks, betrayed the anguish of their hearts; on being shewed the body of the sacrificer they paused a moment, then muttering forth an oath or two of execration, with their eyes fixed on the ground in silent sorrow, they slowly went their way. So awful and terrible a disaster wrought wonderfully on the minds of the neighbourhood; nature itself seemed rustled, and refused the kindly aid of balmy sleep for a time.

  Near the close of the day on the 12th of December, the bodies being still unburied, the people, who had collected in great numbers, grew almost frantic with rage, and in a manner demanded the body of the murderer; the law being silent on the subject, it was difficult to determine where decency required the body should be placed, many proposed it should be in an ignominious manner where four roads met, without any coffin or insignia of respect, and perforated by a stake. Upon which a question arose, where that place could be found which might be unexceptionable to the neighbourhood—but no one would consent it should be near his house or land. After some consultation it was thought best to place it on the bank of the river between high and low water mark; the body was handed out of the window and bound with cords on a sled, with the clothes on as it was found, and the bloody knife tied on his breast, without coffin or box, and the horse he usually rode was made fast to the sled—the horse, unaccumstomed to the draught, proceeded with great unsteadiness, sometimes running full speed, then stopping, followed by a multitude, until arriving at the water’s edge, the body was tumbled into a hole dug for the purpose, like the carcase of a beast. Not many days after there appeared an uneasiness in sundry persons at placing the body so near a ferry much frequented; some threatnings were given out that the body should be taken up and a second time exposed to view. It was thought prudent it should be removed, and secretly deposited in some obscure spot, it was accordingly removed with the utmost secrecy; notwithstanding which some children accidentally discovered the place, and the early freshets partly washed up the body, and it
has had a second remove to a place where it is hoped mankind will have no further vexation with it.

  On the 13th of December the bodies of the murdered were intered in a manner much unlike that of the unnatural murderer.—The remains of the children were borne by a suitable number of equal age, attended with a sad procession of youths of the town, all bathed in tears; side by side the hapless woman’s corpse was carried in solemn procession to the parish church yard, followed by a great concourse, who with affectionate concern and every token of respect were anxious to express their heart-felt sorrow in performing the last mournful duties.

  The person of Mr. Beadle was small, his features striking and full of expression, with the aspect of fierceness and determination; his mind was contemplative, when once he had formed an opinion, was remarkably tenacious; as a merchant or trader, he was esteemed a man of strict honor and integrity, and would not descend to any low or mean artifice to advance his fortune. He was turned of 52 years of age when he died.

  Mrs. Beadle was born at Plymouth, in Massachusetts, of reputable parents—a comely person, of good address, well bred, unusually serene, sincere, unaffected and sensible; died in the middle of life, aged 32 years.

  The children (the eldest of which was a son, aged 12 years, the other three, daughters, the youngest aged 6 years) were such as cheared the hearts of their parents, who were uncommonly fond of displaying their little virtues and excellencies, and seemed to anticipate a continuance of growing parental satisfaction; alas, like early tender buds nipped by untimely frosts, they did but begin to live!

  It is more than probable, this man had for months past desired that some or all of his children might be taken out of the world by accident; he removed all means of security from a well near his house, which he was careful heretofore to keep covered. His little boy he often sent to swim in the river, and has been heard to chide the child for not venturing further into deep water than his fears would suffer him. He has at times declared it would give him no pain or uneasiness to follow his children to the grave—his acquaintance knew these expressions could not arise from want of affection or tenderness for his children, but rather imagined him speaking rashly in jest. He ever spoke lightly of death as a bugbear the world causlessly feared. It appears from his writings, he at first had doubts whether it was just and reasonable for him to deprive his wife of life, and offers against it, only this reason, that he had no hand in bringing her into existence, and consequently had no power over her life.—She set out about the first of November on a journey to Fairfield, which he thought was by direction of Heaven to clear him of his doubts and remove her out of the way, at the time the business was to be done; and his intention was to have executed his design on himself and children in her absence. She proceeded no further than New-Haven, and by reason of some disappointment, returned ten days earlier than expected; he appeared chagrin’d at her early return, and soon began to invent some justifying reasons for depriving her of life also. He finally concludes it would be unmerciful to leave her behind to languish out a life in misery and wretchedness, which must be the consequence of the surprizing death of the rest of the family, and that since they had shared the frowns and smiles of fortune together, it would be cruelty to her, to be divided from them in death.

  ’Tis very natural for you to ask, whether it was possible a man could be transformed from an affectionate husband and an indulgent parent to a secret murderer, without some previous alteration, which must have been noticed by the family or acquaintance? Yet this was the case in this instance, there was no visible alteration in his conduct. It appears by his writings that he thought he had a right to deprive himself of life and intended to exercise that right if ever he should think himself unfortunate, the extension of this right to his children, was very easy. ’Tis probable, the principle had grown up gradually to the last stage. Since his death I have seen a letter he wrote to a friend as early as 1777, in which he has an expression like this—“I believe I and my family shall not live to see the end of the war.”—It was then understood to mean nothing more than his expectation, the war would continue a long time, his late conduct has explained it very differently—Whether Mrs. Beadle had any fears of his evil intentions or not, is uncertain, that she had fears some great calamity would befall the family is evident, both from what she said, and what he has left in writing.—He writes on the 18th of November, that on the morning of the 17th she told him, “She dreamed he had wrote many papers, and was earnestly concerned for her, and that those papers were spotted with blood; and that she also saw a man wound himself past recovery and blood guggle (as she expressed it) from different parts of his body.”—In another letter, of a later date, he writes as follows, viz. “I mentioned before that my wife had a dream concerning this affair, she has since had two more, one of them. That she was suddenly seized and liable to great punishment, that it created great confusion, but she afterwards got free and was happy; from her excellence of heart, I have no doubt but this will be the case with her.—On the thanksgiving night she dreamed, that her three daughters all lay dead, and that they even froze in that situation; and even yet I am little affected”.

  The afternoon before this terrible execution, Mrs. Beadle walked abroad to visit an acquaintance, and it was observed by the lady, she was uncommonly pensive; she asked the reason, Mrs. Beadle with much concern told her, “She had for months been troubled with frightful and uncommon dreams, and that very morning she dreamed violence had been offered her family and her children destroyed; she said those dreams wrought on her mind to a very great degree, to divert her thoughts from them she had walk’d abroad that afternoon; and that she verily believed Providence had judgments in store for their family, which he was about to inflict on them by some sweeping sickness, or in some other awful manner.”—Mr. Beadle, who, as appears by his writings, was alone privy to his malevolent intentions, put a very different construction upon her dreams. He doubtless considered them as premonitions from Heaven, and convincing proof to him that his purpose was right, of which he says he had sundry intimations he really thought from God himself, which he does not describe.

  From whence those dreams originated it is impossible to determine; whether ‘the weapons he carried to his bed side gave her uneasiness and excited a jealousy in her mind of his intentions, or whether any of his conduct which fell under her observation might be alarming to her, which might trouble her sleep, no one can tell. She has lately mentioned sundry dreams of a similar nature, which she had near six months since. Some great and good characters have thought such intimations were at times given from on high, to convince mankind of the reality of the invisible world—to hazard such a conjecture in these modern days would perhaps be thought by the learned world a great mark of fanatacism—every man must think for himself, no one can pronounce with satisfactory certainty with respect to the origin and cause of such thoughts in sleep, which so nearly correspond with the true state of facts. Her last dream penned by him was nearly literally verified. Although the weather was serene and pleasant on the 10th, and near full moon: neither the sun or moon were visible from the time this horrid deed was done, until the body of this man was laid beneath the clods, which redoubled the horror: when suddenly the wind blew from the northwest, dispelled the vapours and discovered a cloudless sky. The air grew cold, and the faces of the other five being opened to view in their coffins, in the front of the meeting-house, the concourse was so great that much time was spent to give opportunity for all to take a view; the cold still increasing, the bodies in all probability were stiffened with frost.

  Mr. Beadle left sundry letters directed to his acquaintance, and one laboured treatise in justification of his conduct; they contain many inconsistencies. He professes himself a Deist, but reprobates Atheism. While in life and prosperity he claim’d to be a Christian, and offered two of his children in baptism. Much has been said in favour of publishing his writings by those who have not seen them; those who have perused them h
ave doubted the propriety of such a measure; not because his reasonings against revelation were in any degree unanswerable, but lest they might have some effect on weak and melancholy minds. He attempts to attack all rulers in Church and State, treats the Christian religion with a great degree of bitterness and bigotry; and yet absurdly concludes by saying, “if it is true he shall be saved by it.”—He is very unsettled, wavering and inconsistent in his own beloved system of Deism. He flatters his pride by believing it was the height of heroism to dare to die by his own hands, and that the Deity would not willingly punish one, who was impatient to visit his God and learn his will from his own mouth, face to face in some future world, or worlds (which he thinks may be many) and seems to think there is as great probability of succeeding advantageously, in removing from one world to another as from one country, or calling to another; and seeing all men must be jugged off at last (as he expresses it) he was determined to make the experiment voluntarily which all must do through necessity. As he was much out of temper with the world, he was unwilling any of his family should stay behind to encounter its troubles, and since ’tis a father’s duty to provide for his flock, he chose to consign them over to better hands.