Horrid Murder! The James Purrington Family Massacre
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This is Murder, She Told, true crime stories from Maine, New England, and small town USA. I'm your host, Kristen Seavey. You can connect with me and suggest your hometown crime at murdershetold.com and follow me on Instagram at murdershetoldpodcast. ♪

This episode contains violent descriptions and themes of suicide. Please listen with care. If you or someone you know are having suicidal thoughts, help is available 24-7. Call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 988. It's never too late to get help. Your life matters.

This is a story about a hardworking frontier man, his wife, and their eight children. A man who felt deep responsibility to serve his family and his God. A man who suffered from mental illness and fought internal demons. A man who made one fateful decision that changed the lives of everyone around him in the small town of Augusta, Maine.

a man who we still talk about today, 215 years later. This is the story of the Purrington Family Massacre.

It was July of 1805, and the Purrington family had just moved into town from nearby Bodenham, 25 miles to the south. The father, Captain James Scales Purrington, had come into a substantial inheritance from his father and was able to purchase a fully operational farm that was for sale in Augusta in the well-to-do Ballard neighborhood. I use the term "neighborhood" as a historical reference in a context much different than what you might think today.

This neighborhood was nothing like the suburban oases of the 20th century. Cookie cutter homes stamped out by the thousands in planned communities, hastily erected and similarly shaped in a mass manufacturing process.

This neighborhood, just northwest of the town center of Augusta and close by to the Kennebec River, was a collection of just six homes: the E. Ballards, the J. Ballards, the Wymans, the Hartwells, the Gilberts, and of course, the Purringtons. And this era, too, was nothing like we know today.

This was a hundred years before the discovery and distribution of AC electricity. This was 100 years before telephone lines criss-crossed the 50 states and connected our voices to one another. This was a time when we had just cut our umbilical cord to the mainland in 1783 at the conclusion of the Revolutionary War, saying to the world, "Whether we succeed or fail, it shall be our fate alone."

This was a time before Maine was a state. A time when even the boundaries of what we know today as Maine were fuzzy. A time when men would leave their families to subdue Mother Nature and settle new land in the dense, wooded wilderness of this wild territory called Maine.

A time when a man with nothing but an axe to chop lumber and a dream to stoke his spirits would clear acres of woods by hand, and through sustained efforts over many years might eke out a modern existence in the American frontier.

This was a time of go to church every Sunday and say prayers before every meal. This was a time where missing church was tantamount to heresy. A time where religion cast a shadow on every aspect of life, from weather to sickness, from good fortune to bad luck.

This was also a time of religious revolution, of rebellion against the theocracy. This was a time when the larger coastal cities in New England were dominated by the formal teachings and rigid hierarchies of the Congregation Church, led by Harvard-educated elitists who insisted they knew best.

It just didn't sit well with the fierce individualism of the frontier man. The Purrington family in Bodenham was known for their support and participation in one of these upstart religions, the Free Will Baptists. James had a strong religious streak. It ran in the family.

James was of average build and dark tanned complexion. He had a serious face that was often reserved amidst groups. His neighbors said that his emotional tenor would fluctuate wildly from elation to depression.

He had the uncommon habit of looking down when speaking to people, avoiding eye contact. He was ambitious, headstrong, and stubborn. But he tenderly and affectionately loved his wife and children, and he was always willing to help if a neighbor should have some misfortune.

He and his wife, Betsy Purrington, and their eight children were living together in their new home in 1805 Augusta, and for a year they made their way, getting to know their community and vice versa, establishing a reputation of self-sufficiency and respectability.

According to a bit of ephemera printed that year, Captain Purrington was described as "an independent farmer with a handsome estate, of steady, correct and industrious habits, of good character and fair reputation, and strongly attached to his family." Despite the difficulty of a move and the extraordinary challenge of caring for eight children, they were succeeding.

They had known hard times in the past, though. Betsy had given birth to 12 children, but sadly, four of them died as infants. Statistics from a bit later in the 1800s suggests that infant mortality was around 25%, which makes it sad to say that losing four children out of 12 was actually pretty close to average.

The Purrington family persevered in their daily work. They had resettled in the late summer in time to bale hay and harvest the wheat and the rye. In the fall they picked their root vegetables, dirtying their hands as they dug the potatoes and turnips from the ground, and filled their cellar, the specter of winter looming in the distance. When the weather started to turn, they plowed the fields and began the ritual that would endure through the harsh Maine winter. The chopping of the wood began.

Over the course of a year, they would use 10 to 20 cords, each weighing 2,500 pounds. That's as much as 50,000 pounds of wood. It was the fuel for life. They used it to cook, to bathe, to heat their home. They used it to build fences, sheds, and houses. Wood was essential to daily life, and the axe was the instrument of choice.

He and his oldest son, James Jr., who was 17 at the time, bore the brunt of the axe work. They worked to clear patches of forest from their land, one tree at a time, revealing fertile soil to the sunlight, paving the way for new cropland. They put the felled trees to use, saving the best to hew timber beams from and transforming the rest into the petrol of the time, chopping and splitting cord after cord of firewood.

Their rough hands were calloused and strong, and their backs were muscled and taut. They were skilled at their work, the result of their thousands of hours of practice. They would break a couple times a day to recharge their steel, grinding it away against stone to reveal fresh edges, ready to bite into the pulp of yet another towering giant.

In the spring, the work in the field began anew. They planted the crops and cared for their newborn livestock litters. They welcomed the warm sun. Things were looking up.

But in the eleventh month of this new chapter of their life, in July of 1806, in the heart of the summer, they ran into hard times. A drought had set in and their entire crop was threatened. Crops were withering and disease was setting in. New growth had sputtered to a halt. Their cattle were growing hungry. James was despondent. He reached out to his brother in agony and desperation.

On the afternoon of Saturday, July 6th, 1806, James penned this note: "Dear brother, these lines are to let you know that I am going on a long journey, and I would have you sell what I have. Put my boys out to trade, or send them to sea. I cannot see the distress of my family. God only knows my distress.

I would have you put Nathaniel to Uncle Purrington to a tanner's trade. I want James to go to school, until sufficient enough to attend a store. Benjamin to a blacksmith's trade, or to what you think is best. Be sure to give them learning, if it takes all. Divide what is left, for I am no more.

He wrote the letter discreetly, sealing it with black wax and illustrating on it a human skull. But despite his attempt to hide it, his oldest daughter, Polly, who was 19, saw the furtive drafting and inquired about it.

He dodged her question, changing the subject, and instead asked her to bring him a bit of sharpened steel, the family's butcher knife. After she fetched it for him, he put it to the whetstone and ground a fine edge. And while standing in front of the family's looking glass, he terrified his daughter, making a gesture with his left hand at the neck that suggested what was next.

She cried out, "Dada, what are you doing?" He calmly replied, "Nothing," and laid the knife down. Upon her mother's return, Polly reported what had transpired, and the next day, Monday, Betsy began searching the house for his letter. She found it amongst his papers and became inconsolable upon discovering its grim tidings.

At dinner, she was missing, and after some inquiry, Captain Purrington found his wife in the barn, weeping and sitting alone. She confessed to him what she'd discovered, and he assured her that he had no intention of killing himself, only that he had a premonition that his death was near. Still, she was inconsolable, and it was then he realized the impact his suicide would have on his family.

The following evening, the night of Tuesday, July 8th, technically the wee hours of the morning of Wednesday, July 9th, James Jr. was awakened by a strange noise. Were those screams? It sounded as though it had come from his mother's chambers. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and surveyed his room that he shared with his younger brother.

The light from the bright moon on the clear night cast long shadows across his wooden floor. The door of his room creaked open, and his father, wielding the familiar axe, sharpened edge gleaming, loomed in the doorway. In that moment, which felt like an eternity, he realized his father's ambitions and the enormity of his betrayal.

He tried to escape. His father blocked his exit and swung the long-handled axe at close range, missing his intended target in the darkness, but still delivering a gash to his back. Neither father nor son uttered a word, grappling with one another in the silence of the night. Their struggle continued.

his father swinging twice more and missing. And as the noise from the house grew, his younger brother awakened to discover the life or death fight happening in front of him. He too ran for the door. And this, sadly, provided the distraction that allowed James Jr. to save his own life.

James ran down Belgrade Road, half-naked and terrified, to his neighbor's home, Mr. Dean Wyman. He explained the best he could in his panicked state of mind what he had just witnessed and what he believed his father's intentions were.

Wyman was confounded, discounting the boy's story as unintelligible, but went to investigate nonetheless. He first got reinforcements at the nearby Ballard house. What if this boy's story were true? Together, he and Mr. Ballard went to find out for themselves what had transpired at the Purrington farm.

The front door was ajar when they arrived. After calling out for James and receiving no reply, they crossed the threshold into the home. Upon entering, they lit a candle, and with its warm, incandescent glow, they discovered the macabre scene before them.

Captain James Scales Purrington was lying face down on the ground of the outer room in a pool of blood, his throat cut by a folding straight razor resting on the table near his body. A bloody axe laid near his side. His two young sons, Nathaniel, 8 years old, and Nathan, 6 years old, were found in the same room, their throats cut by a razor.

In the center of the house, lying bloody upon the hearth, was his 12-year-old boy Benjamin. His bloody hand left its impression over the fireplace, and his trousers were found under his arm, with which he likely intended to escape.

In an adjacent bedroom was his wife, Betsy, lying in their bed, her head nearly decapitated by the axe, her belly swollen, with the life of another child cut short. On the floor by the bed was the body of her lifeless daughter, Anna, who bravely, at just 10 years old, ran to her mother's screams to try to help.

In another bedroom, they discovered three more bodies. The oldest daughter, Polly, 19 years old, was butchered by her father's axe. Martha, who was 15, was badly wounded but still alive. Her head rested on the body of little Louisa, who was only 18 months old. A helpless baby, savagely killed. From the grotesque appearance of the bodies, it seemed that James intended to behead them all.

Upon entering the bedroom, Martha, recognizing the voices of her neighbors, shrieked, "Glory to God, do kill me again!" They were relieved to find someone had survived and got her medical attention right away. Her condition was critical. Their remaining bodies, all checked for life, were left for the night as the proper officials were notified of this heinous deed.

That day, Wednesday the 9th of July, all of the officials from the town gathered to survey and investigate the murder scene. A committee was established of 12 respected members of the town of Augusta, called a jury of inquest, to establish a legal criminal account of what had happened. They concluded that James had premeditated the murder and established that he was, by legal definition, a felon, albeit post-mortem.

Once the investigation was concluded, the town's highest officials were charged with taking care of the bodies. They hastily had rudimentary coffins fabricated and conveyed the bodies that evening to the meeting house, where they were then left overnight. The bodies of the victims were separated from the body of the perpetrator. He was left on the porch, his murder weapon spectacularly displayed, while his family was kept in the interior.

Word had traveled quickly, and the following day, Thursday, July 10th, a throng of people had gathered for the funeral and the procession for the seven victims. So large was the assembly that a temporary stage was assembled. An opening prayer was said by Rev. Daniel Stone, and a sermon was preached by the Methodist minister, Rev. Joshua Taylor.

Upon its conclusion, a solemn procession followed to the cemetery. All of the coffins of the victims were carried by hand, with Captain Purrington at the rear in a cart. The bodies of Mrs. Purrington and her six children, carried by hand and mourned by all, were buried in the commons of Burnt Hill Cemetery in its northeast corner, now called Mount Hope Cemetery, in a large unmarked grave.

The body of the father was separated from the others as a perpetrator of suicide, and buried according to the colony laws of 1660, which I include here: "If any person shall at any time be found by a jury to lay violent hands on themselves or be wilfully guilty of their own death, every such person shall be denied the privilege of being buried in the common burying place of Christians.

he shall lie buried in some common highway and a cart-load of stones laid upon the grave as a brand of infamy and as a warning to others

to beware of the damnable practices. A lot has changed since 1660, and while in 2021 we don't consider suicide a crime, in the common law tradition of these times, his coffin was unceremoniously dumped into his grave, which was located in the roadway near the southeast corner of the cemetery, at the intersection of Winthrop and High Street. He was buried without ceremony,

his surviving daughter though in critical condition and with a bleak prognosis had survived the night of the murder jonas ballard a neighbor and first responder had carefully moved her to his house where he tended to her wounds

Jonas' parents lived nearby in the same neighborhood, and his mother, Martha Ballard, kept one of the few known diaries to still exist today. Her wounds brought her in and out of consciousness, but over the following weeks, she recalled the circumstances of that fateful night.

She shared her bedroom with her older sister, Polly, who was 19 years old. Polly was the daughter who discovered her father writing that secret letter to his brother. She had spoken with Polly about the letter and it put the whole house on edge.

That Tuesday night, she and her sister had retired to their bedroom, leaving their father in the common room reading the Bible. They had drifted off to sleep, and it was in the middle of the night that she was awakened by her sister's shrieks of terror. Adrenaline flooded her body, and she became instantly alert. She realized right away that there was an attacker in her room.

She hid. She positioned her body as far away from the attacker as she could on her bed. She shielded her head with her linens and prayed for her life. She felt a terrible blow to her head. She reached her hand up to the wound and realized that her skull had been fractured by the blade of an axe. She squirmed away and tried again to shield her body with linens, wrapping herself more tightly with the covers of her bed.

She turned her head and again she felt the bit of an axe strike down on the crown of her skull. She was weeping in terror, but something inside her told her to silence her tears. That her only hope for survival was to keep quiet.

She lay perfectly still and was struck a third time by the axe. Her arm was sliced open and she could feel her blood rushing from her many wounds. The pain was immense, but her desire to live was greater still. She lay quiet and unmoving, teeth clenched against the waves of pain. Her attacker left the room, and she then heard the terrible sounds from the house as the rest of her family was butchered.

The body of her older sister lay lifeless. Her baby sister, Luisa, was completely still. And to use her own expression, she heard the blood run like a brook upon the floor. It wasn't until much later that she learned the attacker was her father.

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The news of this tragedy traveled like wildfire. On around Saturday, July 12th, the fourth day after the massacre, a special one-page bulletin called A Broadside Today by Historians was printed by a local publisher, Peter Eads.

The header of the broadside had an ominous illustration depicting eight coffins, side by side, the largest one on the left and each one smaller to the right. It was given a suitably shocking headline, Horrid Murder.

I can only imagine the work of the printmaker, carving from wood block the iconic shapes of the tiny coffins, not yet realizing that this simple illustration would be seen for hundreds of years and memorialized forever by the Library of Congress in a digital scan.

The words from this first publication would encircle the globe. You could track the flow of information from the tiny town of Augusta, down the American coastline, and across oceans to far-flung countries over the months that followed.

By September, two months after the tragedy, the Edinburgh Weekly Journal in Scotland had printed the story in their paper, saying, "An American paper contains the following shocking narrative," and then directly quoting the full text of the initial publication:

Nearly every American state printed the tragedy in their dailies. Nearby New England states, the Mid-Atlantic as well, all the way down to the South, with articles found from North and South Carolina and Mississippi, all of them using the very same writing printed by Peter Eads. Though not named in any of the publications, he'd become world famous through his words.

The local people of Augusta were left dumbstruck by this shocking event, and everyone was left with this lingering question: Why had James killed his family?

In the face of the tragedy, families clung to one another and turned to God for answers. Answers had been suggested by the pastors of local churches in their sermons, but they somehow felt insufficient. People came up with their own answers, and the local consensus was that James had gone mad. He had undergone a psychotic break from reality.

the notion that a rational clear-thinking man could kill his entire family and himself was too terrifying to believe but the truth might be more complicated than a deus ex machina like madness

In January of 1915, the State of Maine Public Library had gotten a hold of an early publication from Peter Eads that mentioned the existence of a letter penned by Captain Purrington discovered after his death, giving, in a rambling way, his religious views and expressing the hope of future happiness for all his family.

It ties into the fascinating analysis provided by Reverend Timothy Merritt, printed about two months after the killings, again by Peter Eades. Except total derangement of mind, there are but three sources that could inspire such wanton behavior: religious fanaticism, violence of passion, or systematic calculation upon erroneous principles.

James, though deeply religious, was not fanatical. He did not preach nor impose his religion upon others. He was an individualist.

I quote the initial published broadside here: "Parrington was a warm believer in the doctrine of universal salvation, and it is not said of him that he was a bigoted maniac or a religious enthusiast. His whole conduct the day preceding and during the last and bloody scene of his life seems marked with the utmost coolness and deliberation." James, too, did not possess a fiery passion.

He was industrious and headstrong, but not prone to use violence in the face of his obstacles.

That only leaves option three. Quote, "'The sinner, while his principles are correct, is like a lion chained, comparatively harmless. But when his principles are perverted, he commits iniquity, not only without remorse, but with greediness.'" End quote. Greediness indeed. Greedy not only for his own blood, but the blood of his entire family.

Merritt continues, "Eronious principles prevail against the tenderest feelings of nature. They steal the heart and nerve the arm for actions almost too great for malice and revenge." So what were these religious principles that led him down this dark path? The religious backdrop of 1806 is important to understanding his story.

Long-standing respectable institutions were being threatened by the notion of universal salvation. Reverend Merritt exploited this opportunity to expound upon the dangers of new-fangled and threatening religious ideas that were stealing parishioners and polluting their minds. His bias is apparent.

A central tenet to the doctrine of universal salvation is that no just God would allow the existence of a hell, and that all souls, no matter what their earthly conduct,

would ultimately be purified through a sort of purgatory and ultimately be restored to perfection. Purrington's letter to his brother revealed the depth of his suffering about his failure to provide for his family and the anticipation of everyone suffering as the drought continued. He wanted to end his earthly journey and begin his afterlife of purification. And when he saw the distress of his family on the discovery of his plan,

he decided that he would take them all with him in the words of merritt they would thus lose their sorrows suffer but a momentary pang and be with him eternally happy

There were reports of James discussing his views on the suffering of the present and the joy of the afterlife. When surrounded by his family, he had often been heard to express his fond anticipations of the moment when they would all be happy, and has sometimes added how greatly it would enhance his happiness if they could all die at once.

When his son, James Jr. retired that night, he saw his father reading the Bible, which was found on the table the next morning, open at the ninth chapter of Ezekiel. And although the symbolic meaning of Ezekiel 9 is about the prophecy of the impending fall of Jerusalem and the principle of justice, it mentions something surprisingly relevant.

"Go through the city and strike; do not let your eye have pity and do not spare. Utterly slay old men, young men, little children, and women." Perhaps this Old Testament barbarity steeled his resolve to follow through with his plan. But James had misapplied the Scriptures. The central tenet of the New Testament is love. And what loving father could murder his whole family?

I'd like to take a moment to honor the victims' short lives. Elizabeth Betsy Clifford Purrington, 45 years old, and her children. Polly, her oldest daughter, 19 years old. Benjamin, 12 years old. Anna, 10 years old. Nathaniel, 8 years old. Nathan, 6 years old. Louisa, 18 months old. And baby Purrington, her unborn child.

The pain of hearing the death of children is something that we feel especially deeply because they represent hope for the future.

They are fragile and innocent. We protect our children from the horrors of the world." The death of the Purrington children wiped out the future of an entire family and forced the families of New England to contemplate the mortality of their own children. Before their bodies were placed in coffins and moved to the Augusta Meeting House, they were gathered in the Purrington barn, washed, and placed side by side.

Hundreds of visitors came to mourn them and view their bodies, feeling the gashes of the axe not only against the innocent but against the fabric of society. But not all of the children died that night. It's hard to imagine the life of the surviving boy, James Jr., 17.

How do you move on after your entire family was destroyed? I tried to learn what I could about his life, to see what mark he left on the world, and all I could find is that he lived a very short life, living just eight more years, and passed away on July 4th, 1814 in the territory of Kentucky due to disease. I could find no record of his work, whether he married or if he had any children of his own.

In a way, his father took his life as well. The other surviving child, Martha, 15, stayed with her neighbor, Jonas Ballard, and his family. They tried to nurse her back to health, but the damage that her father had inflicted proved insurmountable. And at 3 a.m. on the morning of July 29, 1806, three weeks after the murders, she succumbed.

Nobody knows what made James Purrington snap and murder his family in cold blood, but thanks to the incredible preservation of the first-hand historical sources of the time, we are able to speculate.

the history of augusta written by james north in eighteen seventy suggested that hereditary insanity existed in the purrington family line he also wrote that it's possible a sudden frenzy an inexplicable impulse of a disordered mind instigated the deed

Touring Maine's history blog wrote that Purrington's mood vacillated between exuberance and depression. And though I'm no psychologist, it seems that James Purrington could have been suffering from undiagnosed mental illness. His extreme highs and lows were indications of possible bipolar disorder. I remember seeing this behavior in my own family growing up. My

My grandfather, who went undiagnosed almost his entire life, finally got mental health support in his later years, and suddenly, looking back, everything made sense.

Purrington, too, was extremely concerned with the severe drought, often spiraling into anxious and cyclical thoughts over the possibility his family would suffer over the failure of crops. Should this happen, Purrington was well off enough to care for the entire family without significant sacrifice. But this small comfort paled in the face of his overwhelming worry.

His spiraling concern was an indicator of possible anxiety disorder, something that I am personally all too familiar with. And considering that he was contemplating suicide before he decided to take his family with him, it suggests that he may have been suffering from depression as well.

Could this have been preventable? Sadly, probably not. Mental health treatment in the 1800s simply didn't exist beyond slapping a hysteria label on every female problem or throwing anyone they deemed "insane" in an asylum or a jail.

We didn't have the understanding of the mind like we do today. That being said, we live in 2021 and the importance of taking care of your mental health is common knowledge. So take a minute to check on that friend who has been suffering or who has been out of touch because you never know who might need it.

Another interesting thing to note is that the headstone of Hezekiah Purrington, the captain's great-grandfather who died in 1717, bears an hourglass and a skull and crossbones carved into the front. And while this was a fairly common practice and stood as a reminder of mortality in the passage of time, the symbols are strangely ominous, perhaps an indicator of what was to come later on the family tree.

The bodies of Betsy and her seven children were buried in a mass grave without a headstone in 1806, and as the decades passed, the location of the grave was forgotten. It wasn't until 2006, on the 200th year anniversary of their death, that archaeologists with the Augusta Historic Preservation Commission actually located where the family was buried, in the rolling hills of Mount Hope Cemetery, and decided to honor the victims.

The city installed a roughly shaped white and gray granite headstone with a bronze plaque that reads, "Sacred to the memory of the victims of the Purrington tragedy." This monument memorializes this sad episode in Augusta history and their recently discovered burial place, erected by the city of Augusta July 9th, 2006.

As far as Purrington himself, he was buried at the corner of Winthrop and High Street in Augusta, streets that still exist today in Border Mount Hope Cemetery. According to Martha Ballard's diary, he will always be with the murder weapons. He was buried with the axe and the razor that was used to kill his family.

Michelle Soulier, who wrote about Purrington in her book Strange Maine, reported in her 2005 blog post that an Augusta historian had discovered what they believed was Purrington's axe. In 1988, an axe was allegedly found by a man who was trying out his new metal detector, and he dug it up in the place where Purrington was believed to be buried.

He reported that after having it looked at by experts, the axe did indeed date back to the 1700s or early 1800s. I couldn't find anything to corroborate this story, but I found it interesting enough to share. Nobody knows for sure which street corner or patch of road is the final resting place for the captain.

Perhaps he's not in Augusta at all. There is one rumor that suggests the patriarch's body was quietly dug up in the middle of the night and secreted away to Bowdoin College for medical study. In the 1800s, due to an increase in interest from universities seeking fresh cadavers for medical dissection,

The act of body snatching became a lucrative business. Universities would pay diggers off the books to provide them with bodies, no questions asked.

And with such an unusual subject, a potentially insane man who had killed his entire family, it's not hard to fathom that somebody was paid a pretty penny to deliver the body of James Purrington to university staff for medical study. Plus, nobody was mourning the grave of this murderer. But there's nothing substantiating this rumor except that it's a fantastic setup for the perfect New England ghost story.

This act of barbarity is the most gruesome mass murder in Maine's history. Hearing stories that took place over two centuries ago can make it difficult to connect with the victims as more than simply historical figures. But these were real people, children whose lives were brutally stolen by somebody they trusted to provide and care for them.

The victims of James Purrington are no less meaningful than the victims of Chris Watts, a modern-day family annihilator. Due to renewed interest in the 1990s from the PBS documentary A Midwife's Tale, which is based on Martha's diary, this story isn't forgotten. Because of it, we're able to take a peek into the past, during the founding years of this country, and learn about this important but horrifying event in New England history.

It's extraordinary that original sources like Martha Ballard's diary, Peter Eade's broadside, and newspaper articles from around the world are still available today. These original printed or even handwritten sources have been preserved for over 200 years and are now digitized for the modern age.

I want to thank the hundreds of custodians, past and present, of these historical documents that made this episode possible. They are unsung and unnamed and innumerable. The odds were stacked against the survival of a flimsy sheet of paper printed in a frontier town in 1806, but yet here we are in 2021 looking at a high resolution scan of a document from the comfort of our home.

So thank you to the archivists of the past, and thank you to the modern librarians of historical documents who make learning about events like this possible for future generations. Because of you, the story of the Purrington tragedy lives on, and we're able to honor the victims in a way that an unmarked grave on a hill couldn't in 1806. Thank you for helping keep the memory of Betsy, Polly, Benjamin,

I want to thank you so much for listening. I am so grateful that you chose to tune in and I couldn't be here without you.

As a thank you, I'm doing a little giveaway. For more details, sign up for the mailing list on MurderSheTold.com. I'll be sending out an email soon. Signing up for the mailing list is also how you get an invite to join the Murder She Told secret Facebook group to connect with listeners, vote on upcoming episodes like this one, and more.

My sources for this episode include Martha Ballard's diary and A Midwife's Tale, The Broadside and other original publications from 1806, Peter Eade's 1806 Bulletin, James North's History of Augusta in 1870, Strange Maine Blog,

the Gravestone Collector, Touring Maine's History Blog, and Find a Grave. Special thanks to Byron Willis for his research and writing support. All links for sources and images for this episode can be found on MurderSheTold.com linked in the show notes. You can also connect with me on Instagram at MurderSheToldPodcast.

If you loved this episode, please consider sharing it with a friend and leaving a review on Apple Podcasts. It's one of the best ways to support an indie podcast. If you're a descendant or a historian connected to this story, you're more than welcome to reach out to me at MurderSheToldPod at gmail.com. If you have a story that needs to be told or would like to suggest one, I would love to hear from you. My only hope is that I've honored your stories in keeping the names of your family and friends alive.

Murder, She Told will be back next week with another episode. Thank you for listening.