Small town lockups are typically simple and unremarkable structures designed to hold lawbreakers temporarily. However, the Town of North East, MD, at the top of the Chesapeake Bay, boasts a unique municipal lockup that stands out from the rest. This two-story brick structure, designed by architect Levi O. Cameron in 1885, features distinctive three-pronged turrets and barred windows, giving it a fortress-like appearance.
The Town Lockup in North East, MD.
As a scholar interested in social history and criminal justice, I have always been fascinated by this remarkable edifice. It is uncommon for cost-conscious municipalities to invest in attractive structures for detaining offenders, making the North East lockup a noteworthy exception.
Recently, I embarked on a research project focused on recommending the lockup for inclusion on the National Register of Historic Places. To accomplish this, I began delving into the architectural and social history of the lockup. My investigation led me to the North East Town Hall, where I meticulously examined the old pages of corporate minute books. These records allowed me to trace the evolution of the small jail over time and understand the considerations that went into its construction.
While there are readily available online sources for researching structures, such as newspapers from Chronicling America at the Library of Congress, a deeper investigation into the history of a building usually requires consulting records beyond local papers. Also, this line of inquiry often leads me to explore state, municipal, county, and corporate archives.
In the case of the North East lockup, I spent time at the town hall studying corporate minute books dating from the late 19th to the middle of the 20th century. The town made its archives readily available, and the public records custodians helped me access them.
Researching the history of a small town lockup for placement on the National Register of Historic Places involves thoroughly examining various sources, including local records, archives, and historical documents. By delving into these extended resources, we can uncover valuable insights into these structures’ architectural and social significance, ultimately contributing to their preservation and recognition.
In the 19th and early 20th centuries, the task of solving murders presented a formidable challenge to law enforcement. Cases frequently hit frustrating dead ends when clues or eyewitnesses were scant. Without the proverbial “smoking gun,” public officials turned to private detectives for assistance. Unlike the overburdened sheriffs with numerous responsibilities, agency men had the luxury of dedicating extensive time to the case–weeks or months.
These detectives brought a unique set of skills and resources to felonies. Most had gained significant experience while investigating violent crimes. This expertise in handling felonies translated into a broader understanding of investigative practices applicable to various types of murders.
Their ability to focus solely on the crime and their knack for operating discreetly also made them invaluable for solving complex homicides. They could deploy undercover operatives to gather information from the community without arousing suspicion, a tactic that proved particularly useful when people were reluctant to share crucial information.
Moreover, private detectives kept extensive records on itinerant criminals. The advent of photography greatly aided their crime-solving work, allowing them to create rogues galleries of mugshots, providing an essential tool for tracking and identifying suspects that public law enforcement lacked.
To encourage the involvement of private detectives, county commissioners usually offered monetary rewards to anyone who could bring the culprits to justice. This financial incentive spurred professional detective agencies to join the hunt for felons or intensify their efforts if the authorities increased rewards, as they rushed to grab a felon before the competition made the arrest. This periodic use of rewards saved local governments the cost of expanding police forces.
Murder of Jennie Richards
A private detective’s story published in the Smyrna Times, Dec. 7, 1892
The tragic murder of Jennie Richards in a secluded area west of Rising Sun, Maryland, in April 1891 serves as a prime example of 19th-century homicide investigations. Despite the collective effort of Cecil County’s law enforcement officials (the sheriff, deputy, coroner, state’s attorney, and constables) and the local community, the perpetrators had vanished into the night. The lawmen had grilled the “usual types” and apprehended several suspects on suspicion of something, but their solid alibis soon freed them.
In contrast to most killings, the Richards investigation immediately received support from railroad detectives. Jennie’s brother-in-law, the Assistant Chief Engineer of the Pennsylvania Railroad, Joseph T. Richards, arrived with a team of railroad officers on the morning of the murder.
Despite the tireless effort of a handful of public officials and agency detectives rounding up the “usual suspects,” it became clear that the case was getting cold. In response, the commissioners offered a significant reward of $1,000 to anyone who could locate the murderers, which the authorities increased to $3,000 (about $102,000 today) in April 1892.1
Private Detectives Take up the Case
This enhanced reward piqued the interest of a Smyrna, Delaware, photographer and Detective, G. W. McLain. Seeing an opportunity for better earnings than his Smyrna gallery, which paid about as well “as a peanut stand in a graveyard,” he joined the investigation. However, the sleuth recognized the competitive nature of the crowded field with the enhanced cash offering.2
From Smyrna, he penned a letter to the Cecil County Commissioners offering his help and was advised that they would welcome his efforts to bring the culprits to justice. The Richards reward was open to all.3
McLain quickly assembled materials for a traveling photography gallery in a canvas tent, allowing him to work in Cecil County or any other location the case might lead him to without raising suspicions. His primary profession of “viewmaking” served as an excellent disguise as he canvassed the territory, offering picture-taking services as an incentive to gain access to homes.
McClain also dispatched a telegram to the city, summoning a lady detective to assist him in Rising Sun. He introduced her as his sister. Like him, she was a woman of many talents and a skilled artist. She seamlessly stepped in, completed the tintypes, and skillfully applied the paintbrush to her works.4
He indeed found the field crowded with private detectives. By the time he pitched his tent in Rising Sun, the Pennsylvania Railroad’s C. G. Ottey and a force of assistant officers, Captain William B. Lyon of the firm of West, Lyon & Smith from Baltimore, Pinkerton Agency men, and many more had spent months tracking down clues.
Working Undercover
McClain began working quietly and diligently In Northern Cecil County, awaiting an opportunity to gather information. As everything remained silent regarding the murder, he equipped the lady detective with numerous samples and sent her towards Porter’s Bridge, the area of the slaying, to solicit orders.
Later, he dispatched her to Oxford, instructing his assistant to canvass the town and, if possible, lodge with Mrs. Langdon, Jennie’s sister-in-law. When she visited Mrs. Langdon, she was met with a cold reception—the lady refused to view the artworks and seemed suspicious, having been visited by two detectives a few days earlier. When the homeowner questioned the reason for the visit, the undercover agent assured her that she was an artist from McLain & Co, a firm based in Salisbury, MD, now operating in Rising Sun. She then canvassed the entire town, gathering information from Mrs. Langdon’s neighbors.
As his assistant traveled neighborhoods, McClain also explored the Porter’s Grove area under the guise of advertising the photography gallery. After talking to Mr. Whalen and Mr. Reynolds near the Richard’s home, they took him over to the house to take pictures of the outside while also providing an interior tour.
Photographing the Richards House
Ater the gumshoe took pictures, he visited Jennie’s mother, the elderly Mrs. Langdon, at Harrisville, telling her that he was “out making views of houses and had taken Mr. Richards’ house and would present her with one as soon as completed. That was enough to start her talking, McLain noted. “Yes, that is where my dear daughter was killed, poor child,” and her tears ran like rain while she related her sad story.” McClain “pitted the poor, bereaved mother in her advanced age, and kept asking myself if he should confide his secret mission” to her. But he decided against it.
McClain & Co. photographers, Smyrna, March 9, 1892, Smyrna Times
Back in the Rising Sun gallery, the photographer developed the negatives and framed pictures of the Richards house, putting them on exhibit. Of course, everyone knew it and had something to narrate about the tragedy, so he took it all in, getting the run of things pretty well.
After working Rising Sun for “all there was in it,” he left to attend the Woodlawn Camp Meeting on Aug. 9th. With the tent up, the artist hung his “eye-catcher and tongue starter outside, just over the door, so that nearly everyone that passed by” had some remarks, such as “Oh, that is the Richards’ House. There is where the murder was done. That was a pity . . . someone ought to hang for it.” Some would know considerably more about the affair. Others would shake their heads and walk off, as much as to say “there was a graveyard secret” connected with that killing. Whatever they said, he worked away quietly, listening to the conversation and occasionally asking a few questions.
That summer, the Cecil County Commissioners withdrew the reward:
Believing that the expenses in the investigation of the Richard Murder Case has assumed such proportions as to become oppressive to the taxpayers and that every reasonable effort has now been made to apprehend the perpetrators of said murder, it is ordered that all rewards be herby withdrawn and no further money be appropriated for the expenses of said investigation.5
As the Delaware gumshoe suspected, solving the seemingly impossible felony required immense effort and skill. He had to rely on his cover and intuition to navigate a territory already covered by many private eyes. Every shadow held a potential suspect, and every whisper a clue waiting to be deciphered or reexamined from his perspective. To work the job, the detective went to great lengths, sometimes even donning disguises beyond that of a viewmaking artist. He also made a two-week trip to Baltimore, acquiring the confidence of a gentleman from the Custom House.
Graveyard Secrets
McLain, however, decided to wrap up his work, choosing not to reveal certain “graveyard secrets” he possessed regarding the case. The intelligence gathered in Porter’s Grove and Oxford remained a secret, buried in the “graveyard of untold stories.”
To the Cecil County authorities, Detective McClain said this: “Fait justitia ruat caelum” (let justice be done though the heavens fall).6
In the 19th and early 20th centuries, before forensic science and professional policing, private detectives were the last hope for solving difficult homicides. Despite their best efforts, many of these crimes remained unsolved, particularly when confessions were not obtained, or private detectives failed to develop information. This last line of defense for the criminal justice system often failed to identify perpetrators.
During a recent semester, Lisa Hutchings, a student in my African American history class at Wilmington University, embarked on a research project that delved into the remarkable story of Stephen Handy Long and his impact on the education of Black children in Worcester County, MD. However, as she dug into primary and secondary sources, pored over archives materials, and interviewed people, she stumbled upon a distressing revelation. Professor Long, who oversaw African American schools in Worcester County, met a tragic end on the streets of downtown Pocomoke City.1
Unraveling the events, Lisa discovered that in September 1921, Professor Long intervened in a situation where a white farmer, granted legal guardianship of two Black children, refused to allow them to attend school. Despite his effort to resolve the issue, the “supervisor of Worcester County Colored Schools” was unable to secure the children’s attendance, prompting him to notify the Orphans’ Court. As was common during the post-Civil War era, children of color were often placed under the guardianship of white farmers.
School Supervisor Murdered
After the court took the children, the farmer and his brother held Professor Long responsible for the loss of labor, resulting in a fateful encounter on September 13, 1921. As Professor Long walked home from the Pocomoke City Colored Fair with his twelve-year-old daughter (Jessie), John and William Pilchard confronted him, leading to the educator sustaining two fatal knife wounds. 2
Stephen Handy Long, born in Pocomoke City after the Civil War in 1865, spent his formative years in Boston, Massachusetts. After graduating from Lincoln University in 1893, he returned to the Eastern Shore to pursue a career in teaching. In 1914, he became the first supervisor of colored schools in Worcester County.
Manslaughter Conviction
After the State of Maryland charged John Pilchard with murder, the Baltimore Sun reported that he was the first white man indicted for the first-degree murder of a Black person in Worcester County. Defense lawyers successfully obtained a change of venue, moving the trail to Dorchester County. The daughter’s testimony was critical for the prosecutors as the Pilchards said eight Black men jumped them.3
When the Dorchester County Jury brought in a verdict of guilt for manslaughter, the panel recommended clemency. The Maryland and Herald on Nov. 29, 1921, stated that the jurors deliberated for three hours and could not agree on a charge of murder in the first degree, the vote standing eight to four for acquittal, so they settled on manslaughter. The judge sentenced Pilchard to three years in the House of Corrections.4
The Baltimore Afro-American editorial noted the irony of the sentencing: Had Pilchard been colored and Long white, there would have been a different story to tell at this trial. “Even now, Cambridge would be asking the governor to set an early day for execution.”
Lisa’s research project on Stephen Handy Long’s impact on the education of African American children in Worcester County was a memorable and poignant experience for everyone in the class. Her in-depth scholarship uncovered a tragic revelation about Professor Long’s untimely death due to his advocacy for equal education opportunities for Black children.
As a descendant cousin of the professor, Lisa noted that she knew very little about Stephen Long when she started her investigation. Sharing his life’s story was an honor and privilege she did not take for granted as she learned much about the dedicated educator and his untimely loss, she wrote in the research paper.
The presentation was a reminder of the sacrifices made by those who fought for the rights of Black children to receive an education, and it left a lasting impression on everyone who attended the class. The student-scholar’s dedication to the project and her powerful presentation were a testament to the importance of learning and sharing history to understand and address contemporary issues of inequality and injustice.
The loss of this dedicated educator was a significant blow to the Black community, who were struggling under the oppression of Jim Crow in the 1920s. Professor Long advocated equality, civil rights, and education for people of color. This was a chilling example of the adversities African American individuals faced in their pursuit of education and equality before the modern civil rights movement.
Researching the Past – A Course Requirement
My classes require students to do applied research projects that involve working with original traces of the past and oral history (when applicable). This approach allows students to better understand historical events and their impact on people’s lives. It also encourages students to explore different perspectives and critically analyze the information they gather. Lisa’s original research project was a prime example of how meaningful and powerful applied research or history labs can be. Through research, the student uncovered important information about a tragic event in history, and this presentation left a lasting impression on everyone who attended
The researcher, Lisa Hutchings, demonstrated an impressive grasp of the era’s intricate historical events, figures, and underlying dynamics around this complicated era. Employing thorough analysis, this scholar expertly researched and crafted the narrative. This well organized, engaging, and emotionally compelling, account is something the members of the class won’t forget. And from the class standpoint, these skills of intellectual inquiry are things they won’t forget as they will carry the applied competencies into their professional careers.
Visting Pocomoke City
Although this presentation occurred two years ago, it was something I never forget — nor would anyone in the class — so since I was in Somerset and Worcester counties doing fieldwork for another project, I visited the grave where Professor Long was laid to rest and some of the historic spots connected with this civil rights advocate.
Endnotes
Lisa Y. Hutchings, The Legacy of Stephen Handy Long,” Wilmington University Research Paper, Fall 2020[↩]
Worcester Democrat and the Ledger-Enterprise, (Pocomoke City, MD.) Sept. 17, 1921, 1[↩]
Baltimore Sun, “To Face Court Today for Death of Negro,” Oct. 24, 1921, 2[↩]
As church bells rang out, calling people to worship on a peaceful Sunday morning in February 1874, horrifying news about a dreadful, mysterious murder in Lower Penn’s Neck spread across Salem County. John Lloyd had discovered the battered, lifeless body of Abigail Dilks, his housekeeper, in the yard, soon after daybreak. Stunned, he gave the alarm, sending a messenger to Salem for the coroner, the officer responsible for investigating suspicious deaths in the 19th century.
The plan for the gallows in Salem County for the execution of Treadway (Salem County Archives, Court of Oyer & Terminer)
As news of the grisly homicide circulated, lawmen, neighbors, and people from adjoining areas dashed to the locality, about a mile south of Harrisonville. First, they came in ones and twos, Coroner W. H. Lawson and Constable Hancock, arriving shortly after neighbors on foot and in carriages descended on the grizzly spot. Soon Sheriff John Hires, Justice Wood, City Officers Gosling and Haines, Prosecutor Slape, and others reached the scene.1
Murder, any murder, is unsettling, but this bloody, baffling one was even more so–the circumstances surrounding the crime were shrouded in the deepest veil of mystery. At this isolated place on a meadow about a half-mile from a neighbor, the middle-aged woman, her throat cut from ear to ear, was cold and dead on the lawn. She had been alone in the house Saturday evening as Lloyd and his hired hands went to Salem.
This tragedy, one unequaled since the Treadway murder almost 23 years earlier, alarmed everyone, and lawmen recognized it as a baffling case. Promptly, the entire 19th century Salem County Criminal Justice System started working the case, beginning an unremitting night and day effort to ferret out the perpetrator of the cruel assault. Since local law enforcement officers seldom handled complex, perplexing killings, they called in a private detective, a homicide expert from Philadelphia.
Coroner’s Inquest
Starting in the hands of the coroner, the investigation into the violent untimely death began immediately that Sunday morning in Lower Penn’s Neck. The constable rounded up good and lawful men to serve on the Coroner’s Jury, and Coroner Hancock swore them in. Upon their oath, the panel swore they would inquire on behalf of the State of New Jersey when, how, and in what manner Abigail came to her death.2
The inquest followed the practices of the day, beginning with the jurors viewing the body and the crime scene. They carefully eyeballed it for marks of violence, taking note of the wounds, before retiring to the house to continue the inquiry. Seated inside, witnesses testified, and scant evidence was exhibited as doctors Waddington and Morgan conducted the postmortem on the kitchen table.
Home postmortem examinations were common in the 19th century, and a guide, Practical Pathology, published in 1883, included a section on how to do them:
A good firm kitchen table is to be placed in the room where the cadaver is lying. (If this cannot be obtained, the coffin lid or a door removed from its hinges and supported on a couple of chairs is a good substitute. The room should be well-lighted, and as large and air as possible; in a small room, the windows should be thrown wide open. A piece of stout mackintosh should be spread over the table. A couple of wash-hand basins must be procured, two empty pails, and a plentiful supply of water, hot and cold.3
After the autopsy, the physicians testified that her throat was cut sometime after she had been slain on Saturday evening, Feb. 13, 1874, either to create the impression of suicide or to make sure of her death. They believed she had been slain elsewhere, and her body had been carefully placed in the yard as they found little blood and no indication of a death struggle. There were also two stab wounds and marks on her neck and arms as if some person had tightly choked her, the physicians noted.4
The coroner’s jury then rendered its verdict: “The deceased came to a violent death at the hands of some person or persons unknown to this jury,” they swore upon their oath.
Investigating a 19th-Century Murder
Once New Jersey’s 19th-century equivalent of CSI or medical examiner determined the cause and manner of death, the lawmen had to find out who did it, as this judgment triggered a full homicide investigation. So parties of men organized by Sheriff Hires started searching the farm and adjoining fields for weapons or other clues. The body was taken to Mantua on Tuesday, followed by her relatives and a few friends who grieved deeply at the loss of one who but a short time since they left in health and happiness.
“Murder will out,” the Salem Sunbeam optimistically reported, as the “murderer has all humanity as detective on his tracks.” But on all fronts, the 1870s criminal justice system struggled with mysterious cases. They had none of the modern tools that are available today; there were no crime scene protocols to be followed, labs for analyzing the evidence, or depth of knowledge on how to handle a murder, the occurrence of which was infrequent for the rural South Jersey Officers. In addition, the crime scene, trampled by the morbidly curious, was compromised, with no one taking care to isolate the place from gawkers.
An 1888 topographical map of the vicinity of Salem. The arrows point to Harrisonville and Salem. The crime occurred about three-fourths of a mile south of Harrisonville. (Geological Survey of New Jersey, 1888, online at David Rumsey Map Collection.)
Tension hung over Salem County — a lone woman had been murdered, and there were no witnesses and scant evidence. Who might have killed her? Without any substantial leads, suspicion quickly turned to the “usual types,” the lawmen rounding up every imaginable suspect who might have had even the remotest connection to the victim. Within days of discovering the carefully placed body, officers said they would crack the case. They had taken several people into custody for questioning while chasing down dozens of unproductive leads. It was a grueling process with little rest, but within a week, four suspects were locked in the county jail for grilling.
As days passed to weeks and months, the authorities finally arrested William Sadler, a Black man who was one of John Lloyd’s hired hands. When the June quarter session of the Court of Oyer and Terminer opened, Prosecutor Slape moved for a postponement because the state had not yet secured the necessary evidence. Judge Van Syckle granted the request, setting it down for the October term. A dozen witnesses in custody in jail were discharged on their recognizance.5
Trial
There was no concrete evidence against Salder, and he was speedily acquitted during the trial in October. The Wilmington Daily Commercial reported that after Prosecutor Slape presented all the evidence, he “abandoned the case.” The judge charged the jury to return an acquittal verdict, saying there was not a single circumstance to connect the prisoner with the supposed murder. “. . . This case is still wrapped in the most profound mystery,” the reporter noted.6,7
With Sadler acquitted, the mystery attending Abigail’s death was greater than ever, the Sunbeam observed. The newspaper suggested that the county “offer a reward for information that might lead to the guilty party, which with the sum offered by the state ($600) might induce an accomplice in this great crime to divulge.”
As one generation gave way to another, this unsolved Salem County cold case faded from memory. The killer was never found. No motive seemed to exist, and no one could provide the slightest information that might lead to a credible suspect. Questions that had stumped law enforcement lingered for years, but those were forgotten in time. Still, the coroner’s verdict remained. Abigail Dilks died at the hands of an unknown person nearly 150 years ago.
Evolution of the Crime Justice System
Certain foundational elements of Salem County’s Criminal Justice System have survived the passage of centuries and are used today to maintain peace and investigate crimes. But other parts are unfamiliar, so we are using this forgotten 1874 cold case to analyze these changes.
In the late 19th century, investigations of complex crimes were primitive, with police having little or no experience in dealing with a baffling crime of this nature. Because local officers were on their own when they were confronted with an inexplicable or high-profile homicide, it was common practice to turn to private detectives for help. County officers did what they could to investigate a homicide, but their investigative tools were limited when there was no smoking gun or eyewitness to help crack the case. So, Salem County frequently hired a private detective, someone more skilled in these crimes.
The gallows at the Franklin County Jail in Chambersburg, Pa
These detective agencies had resources that vastly exceeded the capabilities of the county’s top law enforcement officer, the sheriff. They maintained networks of informants, could place undercover agents in the community, and kept records of known criminals. Plus, they had some of the best “third-degree men” around, and they could stay the course until they had run down the offender and secured a conviction. The sheriff, who had limited resources as the county’s top law enforcement officer, soon had to turn his attention back to overseeing the jail, serving warrants, providing court security, maintaining the peace, and handling sheriff’s sales.
The coroner handled the crime scene or death investigation. For over three hundred years in New Jersey, coroners investigated unnatural or mysterious deaths. When someone raised the alarm after discovering a corpse, this county official hurried to the locality to examine the death scene, gather evidence, and figure out how the loss occurred. Colonists brought this grim job over from England, it being a part of ancient British jurisprudence. While the duties waned as the centuries passed, the coroner primarily conducted a legal and medical inquiry to determine whether the loss of life came from foul play, suicide, accident, or natural cause.
Adhering to the same general practices handed down over the ages, he went to where the body was discovered to take charge of the remains. There, he checked the corpse for signs of foul play, inspected where it was found, interviewed witnesses, followed up on leads, and sometimes sought expert testimony. Once he completed the initial work-up of the case, he impaneled a jury to view the body.8
The coroner became a recognized officer of New Jersey counties in 1682, and the Constitution of 1776 provided for an elected coroner, the legislature providing for three in each county. His income was based on fees for services rendered, the officer receiving $5.00 for viewing a body, $3.00 for conducting an inquest, and $15 for burying a body in 1880.9,10
The candidate did not need to know anything about medicine – or law for that matter – as the only requirement was to be a freeholder. While acceptable for the part-time nature of the post, the fee-based pay system did not make anyone wealthy in rural Salem County. Still, it could be a stepping stone for higher political aspirations.
20th-Century Advances
However, in the 20th century, enormous advances in medicine, forensics, police procedures, and crime scene investigations provided death investigation capabilities far beyond what untrained officeholders and their juries could provide. On January 1, 1968, the corner system, which was still in existence in Salem and some other counties in New Jersey, was eliminated. “Sponsors said it would pave the way for modernization of New Jersey’s ‘horse and buggy’ methods of investigating sudden and unexplained deaths.” The coroners in Salem County at the time were Hubert T. Layton, Horace Anderson, and William B. Adams. Layton and Adams were funeral directors, the Salem Sunbeam reported.11
Eventually, this ancient English institution, the coroner and the coroner’s inquest faded from the criminal justice system as reliance on professionally trained police detectives and forensic experts made this part of British jurisprudence obsolete.
In conclusion, the investigation into the murder of Abigail Dilks in Salem County in 1874 highlights the evolution of the criminal justice system over the centuries. The case highlights the challenges of the 19th-century Salem County Criminal Justice System in solving complex cases and how limited their tools and resources were. Today’s criminal detection mechanisms involve modern scientific methods to help solve complex crimes.
Endnotes
“The Dilks Murder,” National Standard, Feb. 28, 1874[↩]
“Murder in Lower Penn’s Neck, A Woman Found Dead With Her Throat Cut,” The Sunbeam, February 20, 1874[↩]
“The Salem Murder,” New York Daily Herald, June 23, 1874, p 5[↩]
“Acquitted of a Charge of Murder,” Wilmington Daily Commercial, Oct. 24, 1874 p 4[↩]
“Murder Trial,” The Sunbeam, Oct. 30, 1874, p. 3[↩]
Lee, John Grigg. “Hand-book for Coroners: Containing a Digest of All the Laws in the Thirty-eight States of the Union,” 1881.[↩]
Honeyman, Abraham Van Doren. “An Abridgement of the Revised Statutes of New Jersey: And of the Amended Constitution. United States,” Honeyman & Rowe, 1878.[↩]
