 Good evening. This is Crime Classics. I am Thomas Highland. Listen, the man in nondescript uniform dropping stones into that well is a mercenary soldier, more recently a deserter. He's testing the depth of the well, the only way he knows since the length of rope is not immediately available, and more complicated machines are as yet undiscovered. This is the year 1778, and the deserter is named James Buchanan. Next to him is his friend, another deserter, whose name is William Brooks. These men are in the employ of Mrs. Bashiba Spooner of Brookfield, Massachusetts, whose well it is. Mrs. Spooner will pay these men, immediately they deposit the body of her murdered husband, right down there. And tonight, my report to you on the crime of Bashiba Spooner, the first woman to be tried for murder in the United States. Crime Classics, a new series of true crime stories, taken from the records and newspapers of every land, from every time. Your host each week, Mr. Thomas Highland, connoisseur of crime, student of violence, and teller of murders. Now once again, Thomas Highland. The place is Brookfield, Massachusetts, the year 1778. Seen? The home of Joshua and Bashiba Spooner. A large and respectable dwelling, two stories in height, situated on the north side of the road from Brookfield to Worcester. In the front of it and nearly opposite on the south side of the road are stately elms, and a well. And in the living room, there's this. What manner of woman are you, Bashiba? There's no content in you and no happiness. And what happiness have you given me? A life that dies quickly, cooking and sewing, and from you, drunk and sleep. And you've not answered me. You would like to see me dead, would you not? Listen to me, Joshua. Well, when you returned this morning from Worcester, my heart sank in me. I'd hoped you wouldn't come back. That I would have an accident. That in some way I would be killed. Yes. That you would be free then. Yes. To walk the town, newly widowed with a wandering eye. Yes. I am your husband, and I am your lover, and that's the way things are. Ezra? Ezra? I've been waiting, Bashiba. Wait. No more waiting, Bashiba. The time I was away from you with your husband in Worcester. The thinking about you. And there'll be more waiting, until it's done, until you kill him. I tried, but I could not. He asked me a question my husband did. What manner of woman are you, he asked. Now I wonder. What manner of woman am I to love such as you or youth? A boy who pretends to manhood, you without the courage to... The poison you gave me, there was no opportunity, Bashiba. And a boy who lies, opportunity. When it becomes night time, my husband becomes a drunkard, you know that. To empty the poison in the cup when you were with him, a simple thing like that you couldn't do. I swear it to you, Bashiba. He'll die. When? Go to him now, to the tavern where he is. Empty the poison. I threw the poison away. With no courage. Bashiba. Speak my name and bedevil yourself with it. Just kiss me, Bashiba. No kisses, no secret whisperings, none of that, no more. Until my husband is dead. Laugh then you'll see I mean it. There's a wench, Bashiba, at the other end of town. And she watches me when I walk by. Then go to her. All right. Wait, don't leave me. You almost let me go. Boy, boy. You... Bashiba. Kill him. Kill my husband. Later. And that was Bashiba Spooner. You've come to know her pretty well. You've seen her hating. You've seen her loving. There's more you should know. She was the sixth child of an illustrious man, General Ruggles. The general was a man of great wealth and lived in a style of unusual luxury for that day. He kept 30 horses and had a park of 20 acres for deer and a pack of hounds for the amusement of numerous visitors. He was a man intensely loyal to the British crown and never hid his loyalties. And so, at the outbreak of the Revolutionary War, he was forced to give up his estate and to leave the country. His married life was also pretty bad and he and his wife did not set a good example to his children in their conjugal relations. Bashiba sprang from that kind of a household. Her loyalist background in time of war and the very fact of the name she had, Bashiba, were sufficient cause for the town in which she lived to view her with alarm. But keep this in mind. Bashiba Spooner is going to murder her husband. How? Well, let's see how time and motive and circumstance conspire to get a man violently dead. The man, Joshua Spooner. Let's pick him up and see what he's doing. It's the same evening and since it's after dark he's drinking and in Brookfield there's only one public house in which to drink. Cooley's Tavern. And that's where he is. Oh, no, no, no, Doctor. Then what would you do? To trap General Burgoyne very simple. Hand me your tanker, Doctor King. Now, and here, this Spoon. The line of March of Burgoyne. And your tanker and mine, two sections of the troops of General Oshina. Now watch. And that's how we take care of General Burgoyne. Yeah, yeah. Barkeep, more real. Joshua Spooner talks of strategies and drinks his ale. But mark this. Near the bar, another table. Two men, men in nondescript uniforms. Dissertors from the Army of General Burgoyne. Their names, James Buchanan and William Brooks. They've made known the fact that they've deserted the enemy so their drinks are on the house and the appreciative customers. They're having a fine time. Drink, drink your ale well. I'll give you a toast and I'll drink with you. And a toast you shall get. Burgoyne is a scurvy... Louder will louder else we'll pay for our own ale. Aye. A toast. I'll give you a toast to that scurvy, plump, bellied Burgoyne. May he rot in the wilderness. That is, if he don't drown, come in across the St. Lawrence. Gentlemen. Good evening to you. Joshua Spooner is my name. And it would do me proud if you would permit me. Ale is what we're drinking, sir. Ale for the Patriots. And Patriots we are indeed a goodness. Oh yes, we join General Washington, sir, and his colonials, you should know that. And from here we go to Worcester, where a column of Washington's heart is a... Oh. Ale. To you, sir, and thanks to you. My pleasure. Willeba, your tanket is dry, and so is mine. If you will permit me, gentlemen, it would be my pleasure. My pleasure indeed. It would be Mr. Spooner's pleasure indeed to buy the lads more ale, as was the custom. True, it was 1778, but the etiquette was the same. Nothing too good for our boys. And the deserters in Cooley's bar were off to join our boys. As a matter of fact, it was Mr. Spooner's pleasure to direct James Buchanan and William Brooks to Worcester to become soldiers in Washington's Army. It just happened that one of the landmarks that Mr. Spooner gave the lads went something like this. Now, Mark, you're a file of elms and a well, and across the road from it, my house. When you pass there, you will be leaving Brookfield, and you will know you're on your way. We'll have another ale before you leave. You're a gentleman if I ever met one. Oh, a true one, James, my lad. A real jet. So they touched tankards, the deserters, and Joshua Spooner, and they made tearful farewell. And the deserters left and walked the road toward where the elms were, and a house, and a well. Let's go on ahead of them. Let's get back to the lady. Bathsheba's home. Bathsheba's fixing her hair. And the youth, Ezra, he's tying into it night ribbons, a lover's tender gesture. Their talk, however, is shocking. Perhaps you're right. Perhaps the best way is not to poison him. I say shoot him. Perhaps, in such a way as to make it appear as an accident. Will you shoot him, Ezra? But tightly with the ribbon, dear. I... I have not the courage for it. But you know of guns and shooting. You were in the army for a year. I marched. I shot no one. I marched upon an ambush and was wounded. Myself, I never pulled a trigger. If not you to kill him, Ezra, then someone. Yes. Turn from your mirror, Bathsheba, and look at me. Oh, listen. Do you hear? Yes. Drunkards. Someone, go to the window. Drunkards. Two of them by the moon. British deserters, I've seen them in town. Call to them. Bathsheba. Call to them. Hello! You there! I'll talk to them. A lady wants to talk to you. Let them in, Ezra. The Bathsheba spooner who greeted the deserters must have been quite a sight. All in all, long hair and blue ribbons. There must have been a fire in the fireplace and in all probability she was standing in front of it. Her manner was gracious and she was smiling. Ezra served the liquor. All in all, it was the nicest thing that could possibly have happened to two fellows who had deserted General Burgoyne. And now, gentlemen, a question. We bow. Bow, James, my lad. Sayon, my lady. How would you, gentlemen, like five hundred pounds to see you on your long journey? Merchanult would warm the cockles, wouldn't it, Will? To word. Does that answer you, my lady? And what would you do for it? There is nothing that Will and I have not done for less handsome payment from less handsome women. Far less. Kill my husband. This lad, the one you call Ezra. Come here, lad. They make sure skinny ones don't take long for twistin'. Not him. Not Ezra. Not him, James. They know. My husband will return from his drinking. Will you wait for him? Kill him? When he returns, meet him outside at the door and greet him. Will you? Not only for the money, dear lady, but for the pleasure of your presence to two tired soldiers. Right, James? It's the truth. You'll be the master of this house. Yeah. And you are the two... That way, please. Come on, let's go. This one was a strutler, he will. Get the woman. And the one she calls Ezra. And the tidy job, if I say so, myself, Mrs. Booner. And now he's dead. What will you do with him? There's a well across the road. Ah, give us and, James, and you, Ezra. Yeah. I'll walk with you. It's a deep well. Poor little man. And that's how Joshua Spooner died. And that's how Bashiba Spooner killed him. You are listening to Crime Classics and your host, Thomas Highland. Later this evening, the Lux Summer Theater stars Fred McMurray in a full-hour adaptation of the romantic mystery comedy The Lady and the Tumblers. An odd triangle composed of a beautiful girl, a suitcase full of explosive letters, and a murdered man will make The Lady and the Tumblers most unusual dramatic fare. Listen to it on most of these same stations later this evening when CBS Radio presents the Lux Summer Theater. And now once again, Thomas Highland and the second act of Crime Classics and his report to you on the crime of Bashiba Spooner. Listen to this. It's awful and dread this tale that I tell. Joshua Spooner lies dead in a well in Brookfield Town in 78 from six stout wax across the paint. Small poem by an anonymous contributor to the Worcester Spy, the local newspaper of the day. A change of scene now across the road from a cold well into a warm living room. Tableau, four people. Mr. Spooner was such an elegant man. What would become of his clothes in his closet and his horse? You may have them. Come away from the window, Bashiba. Here, to meet close. The stars are dancing. You're shivering, are you cold? No. Will is very weary with Spooner. We'll not go unto Worcester tonight. Then wait till morning. You can make a place for yourselves in the barn. But the money we'll have now and the clothes and the oars. Yes, all of it. Ezra, in the morning you will go to Cooley's Tavern. Inquire of Joshua. Tell them he's not been home. Tell them I'm frantic for his welfare. Yes. Good night, gentlemen. A very good night. Mr. Cooley. Aye. Cut grub and a nippy morning, Mr. Ross. I've been sent to inquire of Joshua Spooner. Who sent you? The wife of him, Bashiba. Did she now? And why? Last night he did not return home. And Mrs. Spooner is frantic for his welfare. Not home? Well, he's not here. Last night he sat right there, my lad, and discussed military strategies with the doctor. Then, to the best of my knowledge, he went home. Dr. King. Dr. Wake, wake up. Please, Dr. Wake up. It's important. What is it? Where is Joshua Spooner? Where is he? Mr. Cooley says he sat with you last night. As he did, he left me. He's not home? No. Mrs. Spooner sent me to fetch him. She's troubled that he's not returned. But where else could he have gone if not to his wife? We must find him, doctor. Yes, yes, well, we'll be in there. Ezra did that very well, with the precise shading of alarm in his voice. The concern. A man on an errand for a troubled lady. Everybody was impressed. Mr. Cooley closed his bar. Dr. King appealed to the neighborliness of the other customers, and everybody went looking for Joshua Spooner. Immediately, they called on Mrs. Spooner, whom they found in the greatest apparent distress. Upon an examination of the premises in the neighborhood of the doorstep, they observed the tracks of several persons on the snow. And on further search, they found Mr. Spooner. You know where. In the well. So far, only horror and suspicions. But now, let's pick up Willie and James. They haven't left Brookfield. Stupid of them, isn't it? But then you've got to examine it from their point of view. Why become soldiers in Washington's army, especially in the winter, and suffer the privations of the military when they could be warm and rich as a civilian? So, imagine it. Two tattered-a-million deserters, suddenly elegant, in Mr. Spooner's clothes, which were somewhat tight-fitting. But elegance and tight-fitting are somehow akin. Now, they lived in Brookfield a certain wench whose name is lost in history. This much is known about her. She had an eye for tight elegance. This much is known about her, too, that she went riding with Willie and James on their newly-acquired horse. Go down. Now, James. Give us a bus, dearie. Ah, that's a dearie. Who is it we're riding, Mr. Spooner's horse? Why, dearie, we don't know a Mr. Spooner. Aren't these Mr. Spooner's silver buckles? No. Aren't you wearing his clothes? These are our clothes, dearie. Come, let's ride some more. It brings the pink to your pretty cheeks. But the cat was out of the bag. The girl told her mother and her mother, her father. And it so happened that her father was, at that moment, on his way to look for the murderers of Joshua Spooner. So the father told some neighbors, and they located James and Willie. Brought them all together. The two deserters, Ezra and Bashiba. And this is what happened. For the government and people of Massachusetts Bay in New England, on their oath present, that William Brooks and James Buchanan and Ezra Ross in the county of Essex, not having God before their eyes an assault did make upon Joshua Spooner, feloniously, willfully, and of their manners of forethought, on the first day of March last past. With force and arms also, by striking, beating and kicking, a force said, Joshua Spooner, so as to inflict several mortal bruises of which Joshua Spooner died. And that Bashiba Spooner, widow and late wife of Joshua Spooner being seduced by the instigation of the devil, did incite, move a vet council and procure the murder of a force said Joshua Spooner. How do you plead? Not guilty. Not guilty? Not guilty. What statement have you, Bashiba Spooner? I am the wife of the deceased. If what you accuse me of be true, what end could the death of my husband serve? Whether any reasons, persuading, hopes, inviting, or advantages arising from the death of my husband. By depriving myself of husband, I would subject myself to the burdens of a widow. If I hated my husband as such has been said, could I not have separated from him, gone to my father or to my brothers? What foolishness is this to say I've loved Ezra Ross when one of my station might have any gallant I plead? Gentlemen, if I be guilty, I was not of sound mind. To the sheriff of our county of Essex. Greetings. We command you that on Thursday, the fourth day of June next, between the hours of twelve and four of the clock in the afternoon, you cause William Brooks, James Buchanan, Ezra Ross, and Bathsheba Spooner to be conveyed from our jail where they are now in your custody to the usual place of execution and there to be hanged by the neck until their bodies be dead. The motive, the crime, and the sentence. Justice was simple. And quickly, too quickly for the four prisoners the fourth day of June. This is a copy of the Wooster Spy dated that day that I have here. I'd like to read from it. It was about half past two of the clock in the afternoon when the four criminals were brought out of prison and conducted to the place of execution under a guard of 100 men. The three men went on foot. Mrs. Spooner was carried in a shades, being then as she had been for several days exceedingly feeble. The procession was regular in Solomon. Just before they reached the place of execution one of the most terrific thunderstorms that had incurred within the memory of the oldest inhabitant, darkened the heavens. There followed an awful time. The loud shouts of the officers amidst a crowd of 5,000 people. The horses pressing upon those in front. The shrieks of the women in the tumult and confusion. The malefactor slowly advancing to the fatal three. Preceded by the dismal competence. The fierce coruscations of the lightning a thwart the darkened horizon. Quickly followed by loud peals of thunder and fired together and produced a dreadful scene of horror. It seemed as if the author of nature had added such terrors to the punishment of the criminals as might soften the stoutest heart of the most obdurate and abandoned. At length the place of execution having been reached, Ross, Buchanan and Brooks ascended the latter to the stage. Which art in heaven? Allo, be thy name. Ross made an audible prayer. The other two were engaged in silent devotions until they faced the noose. Mrs. Spooner, as she approached the tree, was seen to bow gracefully to many of the spectators with whom she had been acquainted. Then she crept up the ladder on her hands and knees. When the eyes of the malefactors were covered and all was ready, Mrs. Spooner took the sheriff by the hand. And for the first time, Vassiba Spooner accepted the verdict of justice. My dear sir, I am ready. In the little time I expect to be in bliss. And but a few years must elapse when I hope I shall see you and my other friends again. And that's the way the newspaper recorded it. This has been my report of the crime of Vassiba Spooner, the first woman tried and executed for murder in the United States. In just a moment, Thomas Highland will tell you about next week's crime classic. The National Blood Program has been made part of the Department of Defense. That's how vital a continuing growing stockpile is against emergencies of war or peace. In the warm weather months, donations fall off. In the first week of June alone, donations drop 20%. This must be offset immediately. Before you go away, please phone the Red Cross for an appointment to give a pint of blood. You will enjoy your vacation more for having done it. And here again is Thomas Highland. Next week, we'll be with you at the same time, although geography and year will change. The place? Pimlico, England. The year, 1879. My report on the shockingly peaceful passing of Thomas Edwin Bartlett, Greengrocer. Thank you. Good night. Vassiba Spooner, tonight's crime classic, was adapted from the original court reports and newspaper accounts by Morton Fine and David Friedkin. The music was composed and conducted by Bernard Herman, and the program was produced and directed by Elliot Lewis. Thomas Highland is portrayed on radio by Lou Merrill. Vassiba Spooner was played by Mary Jane Croft. The cast included Herb Butterfield, Sam Edwards, William Johnstone, Georgia Ellis, Tudor Owen, and Ben Wright. Bob LeMond speaking. Stay tuned now for Gary Moore with Arthur Godfrey's Talent Scouts, which follows immediately over most of these same stations. And remember, for Mystery Mixed with Merriman, join Mr. and Mrs. North Tuesday evenings on the CBS Radio Network.