On 17 April 1875, Anna Williams of 313 Canal Street in Richmond heard a noise and went outside to investigate only to discover a plank pulled off of her hen house and a man “breaking chicken necks.”   Emmet W. Ruffin, a neighbor enlisted to assist her, later testified as to what happened next., “I jumped back and drew my knife and waited for him to come out…. Just then the man jumped out of the chicken house and threw a handful of sand or dirt in my eyes…. As soon as I got the sand out of my eyes, I went after him… and struck him with the knife as he was going over the fence.”  The thief dropped some of the chickens inside the yard, but Ruffin continued to follow him.  Shortly, a chase ensued, with people joining in and crying “murder” and “thief.”   Some members of the group began throwing stones.  One struck the thief on the side of his head knocking him to the ground.  The chicken thief, later identified as Robert Bland, never got back up.

The Richmond coroner’s statement reveals that the chicken thief came to his death from a stab wound, inflicted by Emmet W. Ruffin, received while engaged in stealing chickens. The jury was of the opinion that Ruffin “[deserved] the thanks of the community for his action under the circumstances.”

The testimony and investigation into the death of Robert Bland, dated 18 April 1875, can be found in the Richmond Coroners’ Inquisitions. The collection is available at the Library of Virginia but is currently closed for processing.

In April 2013, almost 138 years later, chickens are again making headlines in the city of Richmond.  City Council will be considering an ordinance that would allow residents to have chickens, and will vote on it on 8 April. A pro-hen group, Chickunz, along with other local chicken advocates, is helping spearhead this effort. 

As far as stealing hens goes, as Robert Bland discovered chickens do come home to roost. 

-Mary Dean Carter, Local Records Archival Assistant

In 1879, Charles C. Curtis was working at the retail store of Wingo, Ellett, and Crump at 1000 Main Street in Richmond.  A customer, a young lady named Isabel Cottrell, visited the store to try on a pair of shoes, and found Mr. Curtis’s behavior “exceedingly offensive.” Instead of allowing her to put the shoes on, he insisted on holding the shoe for her to put her foot in and on buttoning the shoe after she had “begged him” to let her do it herself.  She encountered Mr. Curtis on a second visit to pick up a pair of shoes she had ordered, and he insisted that she try them on in the store. Cottrell instead took the shoes home.

On a third visit, she took both pairs of shoes back to the store “with the purpose of leaving one pair of shoes and having the heels of the other plated.”  Cotrell claimed Curtis opened the bundle of shoes and remarked, in a rather impertinent way, “what a pretty little shoe, I certainly would like to put them on you.  I don’t see how you can walk with such a foot.”  Ms. Cottrell “was very much provoked, and told him he would oblige [her] by not commenting on [her] foot.”  She was further annoyed when Curtis accompanied her to the phaeton, where a friend was waiting. He “gave my arm a very severe grip,” Cottrell remarked to her friend and claimed that she would never go into the store again as long as he was employed there.  She considered Curtis “not only unrefined, but insulting.” She then told her “intimate acquaintance,” John E. Poindexter, of these circumstances, and he “seemed very angry” and declared that he would “have to horsewhip the fellow.” 

Later, John Poindexter got his brother and went to the shoe store to confront Curtis.  After being sure that Curtis was the man he was looking for, he “pulled out a riding whip and struck Curtis eight or ten times.” Poindexter accused him of “insulting a lady,” and Curtis claimed to “have no knowledge of it, but if he had, he begged her pardon.”  After another salesman in the store intervened, the brothers left the store.

After the confrontation, Curtis decided to seek the advice of friends upon this “point of honor.”  After explaining the incident, Tazewell Ellet told him “the proper thing to do is…to go and kill him.”  But another friend, Francis McGuire, replied that he “cannot do that, his character as a Christian and member of the church prevents it.”  After Curtis acknowledged that he could not kill Poindexter, McGuire told him, “you must see him at once and demand a full and immediate apology, and if not given…beat him.”  McGuire then offered to accompany him “to stand by [him] and see fair play.”  They both went to Poindexter’s place of business to confront him on 3 March 1879.  Curtis, carrying a stick, walked toward Poindexter and demanded an apology.  Poindexter replied, “If you strike me with that stick, I will shoot you.”  Curtis said, “I am unarmed.”  McGuire then urged Curtis on by saying, “hit him, hit him, knock him in the head, or kill him, kill him…”  As Curtis advanced on Poindexter and struck him with the stick, Poindexter began firing until Curtis fell.  At which point, Poindexter said “I didn’t want to shoot him…let’s try and do something for the man.” 

Charles C. Curtis died of the effects of pistol shot wounds on 4 March 1879. The testimony and investigation into his death can be found in the Richmond Coroners’ Inquisitions, dated 4 March 1879. The collection is available at the Library of Virginia but is currently closed for processing.

We were not alone here at the Library of Virginia in finding this story intriguing. Reporter Herbert T. Ezekiel also remarked on the story in his The Recollections of a Virginia Newspaper Man, published in 1920. Ezekiel found the story noteworthy because Poindexter’s whipping of Curtis was the last instance of cowhiding, or horsewhipping, on record in the state of Virginia before the State Legislature passed a law making it a felony.

-Mary Dean Carter, Local Records Archival Assistant

On 15 May 1883, a seemingly intoxicated man approached Richard Stevens and his group of friends as they were standing together at 513 N. 17^th Street in Richmond’s Church Hill area. The man was James Harris, a fortune teller or maybe just a swindler, who asked if he could tell their fortunes. Most of the group declined, but Richard Stevens agreed, and they went to a nearby passageway after Mr. Harris suggested they find a more private location. To the skeptic’s delight, this fortune teller was not able to see his own unfortunate end coming.

The pair settled in on a bench, but before he would tell Stevens’ fortune, Harris requested payment. Stevens informed him he would give him the money only after he told his fortune, but the fortune teller claimed, “I’ve been bit too often.”  James Harris then got up and started backwards, staggering. Richard Stevens provided an eyewitness account of the events that followed:

“He had a stick with a crooked handle which he nearly dropped, and I tried to help him with it by catching hold of the …end. He was intoxicated and was at that time on the edge of the doorsill and seemed to have such a slender hold on to his end of the stick that I aimed to catch [him] by his garments to prevent him from falling, but he fell over with my weight upon him and struck his head against the curbstone, both of our hats rolling out in the street. I caught hold of the man…and tried to lift him when I remarked…, ‘Good God, I believe this man is dead, run and bring some water to throw on him.’” Someone brought a pitcher of water to throw upon him, and John Sweeney, a nearby shop owner, “took the water and bathed his head, but found it was of no use, and walked away.”

On that fateful day in May perhaps fortune teller James Harris should have been more concerned about his own future prospects instead of those of Richard Stevens and his friends. The Richmond (City) Coroners’ Inquisition, 22 May 1883, taken at the city’s almshouse, determined that Harris died from a fracture of the skull, inflicted by an accidental fall. The Richmond (City) Coroners’ Inquisitions are currently closed for processing.

-Mary Dean Carter, Local Records Archival Assistant

On the night of 4 August 1882, James M. Duesbury heard pistol shots coming from the nearby home of Christopher Goode and ran to see what the matter was. Goode, a resident of Richmond, Virginia, lived at 709 West Marshall behind what is now the Siegel Center near Virginia Commonwealth University. When Duesbury arrived at the home, Goode stated “I have shot a man; here he is lying down on the floor.” When Duesbury asked why he shot him, he answered, “I caught him on top of my wife.” Policeman Lewis Frayser arrived at the scene and found Winston Robinson “lying on the floor with his pants and drawers down to his knees”  and met Mahala Goode, the wife, in a dress that was “very much disarranged” and “bleeding very freely” from the gunshot wounds she accidentally received during the altercation.

In his testimony to police, Christopher Goode stated, “My God Master, I couldn’t help it to save my life, I shot him and couldn’t help it.”  Mr. Goode further elaborated, explaining that he had been “under the porch and heard them hugging and kissing” and heard his wife invite Robinson upstairs, but Robinson declined saying he “didn’t care about going upstairs” because “if the old man came there would be a fight and one or the other would be killed.”  When Goode heard them get up and go into the parlor, “he took his shoes off and raised the basement window and crept very lightly up the steps and found the lamp turned down very low.”  He turned the light on and discovered his wife and Robinson on the floor and that is when he began firing. Robinson and Mahala both jumped up and advanced towards Goode, who continued to fire. Robinson seized Goode around the neck. Goode fired again, this time hitting his target.

Richmond’s The Daily Dispatch reported the story on 6 August 1882, referring to it as “The Colored Shooting Affair” and describing Christopher Goode as a “quiet, inoffensive man.” We never learn the rest of the story from either newspaper accounts or the 5 August 1882 Richmond (City) Coroner’s Inquisition.  All we know is that the inquisition concluded that Winston Robinson came to his death from the “effect of a pistol shot wound inflicted by Christopher Goode because of criminal relations between him and the said Goode’s wife and they [the jurors] are of the opinion that the killing was eminently proper.”

-Mary Dean Carter, Local Records Archival Assistant

The latest images from the Petersburg chancery causes digitization project are now available on the Chancery Records Index. The scanning project is funded by the Circuit Court Records Preservation Program along with a $155,071 grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities (NEH). Chancery causes for Petersburg can now be viewed online through 1888. The following is an example of an interesting suit found in this latest addition.

Petersburg chancery suit 1850-025, Chesterfield Railroad Co.] vs. Richmond & Danville Railroad Co.] and Richmond & Danville Railroad Co.] vs. Chesterfield Railroad Co.], is a rich resource for research on the history of the rail and mining industries in the Richmond area. The suit concerns a dispute between the mule and gravity powered Chesterfield Railroad Company and the steam powered Richmond & Danville Railroad Company over access to the Manchester coal yards on the James River opposite Rocketts Landing. Since 1830, the Chesterfield Railroad Company held a monopoly on transporting coal from the Midlothian mines to the James River. The railroad used gravity to transport coal-laden railcars downhill and draft animals to pull them uphill. The company emptied the railcars on James River docks in Manchester, and the mules and horses brought the empty railcars back to the mines. The Richmond & Danville Railroad emerged as a competitor to the Chesterfield Railroad Company in the late 1840s. The Richmond & Danville began building its own rail line from the Midlothian mines to the James and wanted equal access to the coal yards. Knowing that it would be put out of business by the faster, cheaper services of the steam powered line, the Chesterfield Railroad sued to prevent the Richmond & Danville’s access. The R & D quickly countersued, and the Chesterfield County circuit court heard both suits, first in Chesterfield County, then finally in Petersburg circuit court. The suit includes depositions from numerous individuals associated with both railroad companies, as well as multiple plats showing the rail lines of both companies between the Midlothian mines and the James River (images 86, 735, 750).

The Petersburg chancery causes scanning project is nearly complete. Additional image postings will be made in the coming months.

 -Greg Crawford, Local Records Coordinator

On the morning of 14 March 1885, Lysander Rose, caretaker of the Old Reservoir in Richmond, went about his normal duties, but this morning would not be a typical one for Rose. As he approached the reservoir, Rose found what appeared to be a piece of broken shoe string, a woman’s red glove, and what he described as signs of a “desperate struggle.” When he peered over into the water, Rose saw “floating near the top the flounce or something of a woman’s dress and one leg jutting up.” After the coroner arrived, the muddy body of a young woman was lifted from the water. A cursory examination revealed that she had slight bruising on her face, a swollen mouth, and a rent in her gown at the elbow. Later, it would be discovered that she was also eight months pregnant. Several days and several false identifications passed before the body was finally identified as that of Fannie Lillian Madison.

At the time of her death, Lillian Madison, as she was commonly called by friends and family, was 23 years old, pregnant, and unmarried. Lillian had checked into the Exchange Hotel in Richmond under the name Fannie Merton mere days before her body was discovered. Lillian’s pregnancy (without the prospect of a husband) supported the coroner’s initial ruling of suicide, but as more evidence began to surface, the coroner was overruled and the cause of Lillian’s death was ruled a murder.

Within days of the body’s identification, Lillian’s cousin Thomas Judson Cluverius was arrested for the murder. Although they were cousins, Lillian Madison and Thomas Cluverius had very little in common. Lillian had a complicated past – she was estranged from her parents and had a history of scandal. Cluverius, however, was the poster child of middle-class normalcy – he was white, well educated, and well regarded in his community. Lillian grew up on her parents’ small farm in King William County. In October 1884, soon after learning she was pregnant, Lillian left for Bath County where she served as a teacher and governess. Thomas Cluverius, born in King William County, received a law degree from Richmond College and was practicing law in both King and Queen and King William Counties. Before his arrest, Cluverius was considered an upstanding citizen, but once the trial began, it was unclear if he was an innocent victim or a nefarious seducer and murderer.

It was soon discovered that Thomas Cluverius had also been in Richmond on 13 March 1885, and the case against Cluverius began to build when a young Richmond boy found a watch key caught on the fence leading to the reservoir. (Cluverius had been arrested wearing his watch and a chain but without a key.) The trial started on 5 May and would last until 4 June 1885. Two of the most damaging eyewitness accounts to Cluverius’s case were given by members of the community whose opinions and accounts would have been little regarded during the nineteenth century – a prostitute and an African American.

Mary Curtis testified that Cluverius had visited her at a “house of bad repute” where she was working as a prostitute and claimed to have seen the couple together in a bedroom located in the back of a Richmond cigar store. While she was able to identify Cluverius by sight, Curtis could only describe Lillian as being heavily veiled and wearing a dark colored dress. The only distinguishing feature on Lillian was her red shawl, an article of clothing that was used by several witnesses as proof that it was indeed Lillian with Cluverius and not some other woman.

One of the most detailed accounts of the couple’s activities came from William Tyler, an African American night watchman at the Exchange Hotel. According to Tyler, Cluverius visited the Exchange Hotel and asked to see the woman in room 19 – the very room that Lillian was staying in under the name Fannie Merton. When told that the lady was not in, Cluverius asked that a note be passed along to her – “I will be there as soon as possible, so do wait for me.” The note never reached Lillian, but was torn up and discarded only to be later reassembled by hotel employees and entered as evidence.

In the end, the jury was left to decide whether or not the long chain of circumstantial evidence was enough to prove Cluverius’s guilt. The jury was instructed that “proof of guilt by circumstantial evidence” did not require “an absolute and demonstrative certainty” but only a “moral certainty.” The jury certainly took these instructions to heart because Cluverius was convicted on the circumstantial evidence of a watch key, a torn note, and a handful of witnesses who testified to seeing the couple together on the day of the murder.

What makes this case so interesting is the doubt that still lingers over a hundred years later. We will never know what really happened to Lillian that night at the reservoir. Was it suicide? Possibly. Was she murdered? Maybe. Was Thomas Cluverius a vile seducer of women or was he merely another victim? These are just some of the many questions that have no easier answers today than they did in 1885. Despite several appeals, Thomas Cluverius was finally hanged for the murder of Lillian Madison on 14 January 1887. Cluverius would reportedly claim to the very end that, “I did not see F. L. Madison during the day and night of the 13^th of March. That is all the ‘confession’ I have to make.”

Records related to the criminal trial can be found in the Commonwealth of Virginia versus Thomas J. Cluverius, 1885 (Barcode 1170946). The collection includes correspondence between Cluverius and Lillian (including a sexually explicit poem “On the Delaware”) showing the couple shared an intimate relationship, correspondence between Lillian and her aunt Jane Tunstall illustrating Lillian’s emotional state at the time of her death, a watch key similar to one supposedly owned by Cluverius, and photographs found in Lillian’s possession at the time of her death.

Want to hear more about the murder and the relationship between Thomas Cluverius and Lillian Madison? Come to the Library of Virginia for a book talk on Thursday, January 12, from 12:00-1:00, to hear John Milliken Thompson discuss his novel The Reservoir, which is based on these events.

-Bari Helms, Local Records Archivist

Love and respect for one remarkable woman drew Civil War veterans from across the United States to Richmond during the summer of 1896. The occasion was a reunion of soldiers who spent time in the care of Captain Sally Tompkins and the staff at the Robertson Hospital.

The hospital reunion register, recently cataloged here at the Library of Virginia, records the names, signatures and, occasionally, military units of former soldiers who attended a patient reunion during the Grand Confederate Reunion of 1896. Some wives’ names are also listed. The attendees came from at least nine states, from as far away as New York and Texas, further testimony to the respect and love that soldiers on both sides felt for the care Tompkins bestowed on all. Their admiration was not one-sided; Tompkins paid for the party herself, renting a house and providing food and drink for the entire company.

Tompkins was the only female commissioned officer in the Confederate army. She was born 9 November 1833 in Poplar Grove, Mathews County, Virginia. She moved to Richmond following the death of her father before the Civil War and used her considerable inheritance to open a private hospital at the outbreak of the war in April 1861. It stood at the corner of 3^rd and Main Streets at the home of Judge John Robertson, thus giving the facility its name. Tompkins expected her patients to be treated as guests and she made the hospital as much like a private home as possible by providing excellent meals and keeping out as many hospital trappings as feasible.

In all, the hospital treated 1,333 soldiers from its opening until the last patients were discharged on 13 June 1865. Only 73 deaths were recorded at Robertson Hospital during its existence, a figure often attributed to Tompkins’s tireless work ethic and strict standards of cleanliness.

The popular story is that when orders were given to the effect that all military hospitals must be run only by military personnel, Jefferson Davis appointed Tompkins a captain of cavalry to ensure that she continued to run the hospital. However, she received her commission on 9 September 1861; the Confederate government began its innovative hospital reorganization program and closed most private hospitals in Richmond to relieve overcrowding in the city after that time. Secondary sources are not all in agreement about the exact details of these events.

Sally Tompkins was buried in Mathews County with full military honors after her death on 25 July 1916, in Richmond. The Robertson Hospital Reunion Register is available for viewing on microfilm [Mathews County (Va.) Reel 56].

 -Autumn Reinhardt Simpson, Local Records Archival Assistant