The Slightly Murderous Halzinglers

Relating the Sad Effects of French Scepticism on Three Lovely American Maidens

EDMUND PEARSON

THE story of the Three Sisters rests on the authority of a pamphlet, published in 1856, and edited by no less a person than the Rev. O. R. Arthur. If this gentleman is a trifle abrupt in his statements, it is probably due to bis emotions, for he had known the sisters from the cradle, and had but recently come from witnessing their deaths.

The Halzingler family came to New York in 1821. They were three in all: Mr. and Mrs. Halzingler and their son Edmond, who was five. A slight misfortune happened on the voyage: Mr. Halzingler lost his chest overboard. As it contained his entire fortune, one might have expected them to land at New York in despair. But not any one who knew the bull-dog breed of the Halzinglers.

The head of the family "merely cast one look at the trunk, regretted that the violent sea prevented his going after it, and then forgot all about it."

Luckily he had $525 in his pocket, and by a successful speculation he turned this into $5000. He lost some of this in a bank failure, won it back again, and then "in a week removed with his family to Boston." His career in Boston is described by Mr. Arthur in two breathless sentences:

"There, in that renowned city,

Halzingler increased his fortune to two hundred thousand dollars. Then, resolving to retire from active life, he removed with his family to Arkansas."

In Little Rock, where he built a "splendid mansion", his three daughters were born. Amy was the eldest, and Elizabeth and Cynthia were twins. Mr. Arthur's style is such as to lead one to suppose that they were all born fifteen minutes after the family arrived in Arkansas, but I suppose that the laws of biology prevailed, even with the Halzingler family.

Mr. Halzingler and his wife were very proud; they "looked down with contempt upon those who possessed not wealth." Moreover, Master Edmond was a bold and fearless rider; at the age of ten he beat a gentleman by the name of Striker in a race; fell off his horse, was taken up senseless, and "four years passed before he was able to leave the house."

His parents thought he would never get up; the doctor differed, and said that he would recover. Whereupon they instantly presented the doctor with a check for $5ooo. "The doctor bowed his. thanks, entered his carriage and drove off."

Meanwhile, the three sisters were a cause of great anxiety: disobedient, impudent, and resisting all attempts to teach them the rudiments of learning. Mr. Halzingler, in his masterful way, "dragged" them to a boardingschool kept by one Madame Belmira. It was distant a full two days' journey, so the process of dragging must have left the young ladies somewhat ruffled.

The girls' father was stern and abrupt with the teacher:

"Your terms are one thousand dollars per annum," said he. "Take a little extra care, and I will pay you double the sum."

He had, however, made an evil choice in Madame Belmira. She had been, at the age of sixteen, maid of honour to the unfortunate Marie Antoinette. She attended but little to the morals of her pupils, and this, in the opinion of the reverend author, was due to the fact that while in France, she had been introduced to Voltaire. Two hours' conversation with him made her "look upon death as an eternal sleep." Her influence upon Amy, Elizabeth and Cynthia was the direct cause of everything which followed.

They refused to return to attend their mother's funeral until the ceremony was over. When they did arrive, they persisted in playing the piano in defiance of their father's wishes. They learned that Edmond was to inherit three quarters of their father's estate, and that only one quarter was to come to them. So, in collusion with Madame Belmira, and her nephew, Alphonse, a well-known roue, recently arrived from Paris, that city of sin, they concocted a diabolical plot.

Alphonse admired Amy, not only as the heiress to $100,000, but for her own sake. His exact words to her were brief and very much to the point:

"Amy, you are worthy of being the bride of the greatest hell-hound that ever drew breath."

So it was arranged that. Alphonse should boast of having seduced Amy under promise of marriage, and thereby provoke Edmond into a challenge. Edmond was then to be killed by Alphonse in a duel—for Alphonse was a dead shot—the girls would get all the money, and everybody live happy ever afterwards.

The scheme fell through. The false news of Amy's misfortune hastened Mr. Halzingler's death, but not before he found time to tell Edmond that he was bankrupt, so that nobody could benefit by his death, in any event. Alphonse did kill Edmond in the duel, but a stalwart Arkansan, named Travis, thinking the Frenchman's tactics unfair, instantly impaled him with a bowie-knife. When the news reached Madame Belmira (via the Little Rock Gazette) she went mad.

The three sisters packed up their baggage and departed for San Francisco. We know exactly how and when they arrived: on the good ship Independence, (Captain Balshar,) on July 21, 1853. Thus in a moment, does the Rev. Mr. Arthur give an atmosphere of reality to his narrative.

The girls cut a dash in San Francisco. They took rooms at the best hotel, and the landlord was besieged with requests for an introduction to them. On the night of their arrival, the city was in great excitement about the three beautiful and mysterious girls, who called themselves the Misses Wilson.

Two friends prevailed upon the landlord to conduct them to the Wilson apartment. They were Mr. Moreland and Mr. Waffle. "We hope we do not intrude," said Moreland.

"No, far from it," said Amy, "take seats."

It appears that Amy had inherited her father's gift of terse speech.

Bottles of the best wine were ordered, and they began to play cards. At 10:10 exactly, eight bottles of wine had been consumed, and Messrs. Moreland and Waffle had lost $250,000. They went out and jumped overboard. Mr. Arthur says:

"One leap and they were in the river. A few struggles and the dark waters closed over them forever.

"Let us return to the three sisters."

These ladies had other callers, and cleaned up precisely half a million before midnight. They decided to leave California next day. But a Senor Costello, (alias Lem Smith) "the greatest gambler in the State", came and insisted on playing. By virtue of his eminence as a gambler he noticed something that had escaped Moreland and Waffle: the cards were marked. He was so indiscreet as to mention this fact,—and what happened to Senor Costello may be seen in the illustration on this page.

"What shall we do with the body?" asked Amy.

"Conceal it behind the sofa," replied Elizabeth.

On the morrow they sailed for New York. Crossing the Isthmus they were seized by a band of thieves (called the "Denums") and robbed of their hard-earned money. So, when they arrived at the Astor House (January, 1854) they would have been perplexed if it had not been for their uncle, Mr. Edmonds, of Elizabethtown, Arkansas. An appeal to him resulted in an invitation to make his home their own.

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They were unhappy in Elizabethtown. Mr. Edmonds had a family of seven, and two servants. On the arrival of our three heroines he discharged the servants. Said Amy, one day:

"Sisters, we are doomed to pass our lives like slaves in the corn-field!"

"Curses on him!" exclaimed Cynthia, alluding to Mr. Edmonds.

There was a way out, however. Their uncle had been a dentist, and in one of his trunks was a bottle of chloroform. Armed with this and three knives, the girls decided that evening to exterminate the Edmonds family. Their technique was faultless, but their ill-luck was persistent.

No sooner had the last of the family expired—Mr. Edmonds himself—than six men entered the room.

"These are the girls who called themselves the Misses Wilson," said one of the men. It was the landlord at whose hotel the sisters boarded while in San Francisco. "I arrest you on the charge of murdering Lem Smith, the gambler; also of murdering three persons in that bed, and five young people down stairs."

In an hour they were in prison. The law, with its customary brutality, condemned them to be executed, November 30, 1854.

Amy made a long speech on the scaffold. The sheriff more than once intimated that she had said enough, and tried to go on with the execution. But the crowd of Arkansans, who were simply fascinated by her eloquence, drove him away, and insisted on more oratory. She would begin again:

"Friends, life may be likened unto a river."

The sheriff again interrupted, saying that she had exceeded her time-limit by ten minutes, and that he could not he "kept waiting here all day." But the spectators threatened him with knives and revolvers, and Amy finished her speech.

"Reader!" exclaims the reverend author, "shall we not learn a lesson which shall last us while we live, from the fate of the three sisters? Is not their experience a warning to our fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, and to us? Let us at all times be as truly repentant as were the three sisters upon the scaffold. Let us hope that they are now in Heaven!"