From Behind the Chestnut Tree

— A Southwick Time Machine Original | True Crime

 

 

In the spring of 1834, a long-simmering dispute over land in the border town of Suffield, Connecticut, reached its breaking point—with fatal consequences.

For years, John Winchell, Jr.—an aging, gray-headed man with darkish eyes—had been locked in a bitter conflict with his son, Uriel Winchell—his youngest child—over a tract of land. Years earlier, John had conveyed the property to his father, who in turn transferred it to Uriel, who was still a minor at the time. When Uriel came of age, John sought to reclaim the land, arguing that the original transfer had been made without proper consideration.

Uriel refused.

What followed was not a single quarrel, but a long deterioration. Both men claimed the land. Both used it. Both cut wood upon it. Over time, their disagreement hardened into something far more dangerous. Testimony would later reveal threats, physical altercations, and a father who frequently carried weapons—sometimes a pistol, sometimes some other type of gun, and sometimes a dirk, sometimes both—and who openly feared and threatened his own son, who had assaulted him more than once.

On March 24, 1834, Uriel was at work alone on land belonging to a Mr. Noble, preparing a coal pit from wood cut on the contested property.

Earlier that day, John had been seen crossing lots and fields, moving in a direction that suggested intent. In the afternoon, he stopped at the home of Jonathan Pomeroy. By evening, two witnesses observed him again—this time heading toward the coal pit, nearly a quarter mile out of his way home.

 

Covered charcoal pit in operation. Negative no. 6-291. Library of Congress.

 

They soon met Uriel, who was on his way back to the pit after having gone home for a short time. They informed him that they had just seen his father going that way; the son remarked that he was already aware of it, and that he was returning, being fearful that his father intended to damage the pit.

Soon after, Uriel encountered him there.

Moments later, a pistol fired.

Witnesses later recalled hearing a gunshot followed by a cry of "murder." When they hurried toward the sound, they encountered John Winchell running from the scene—out of breath, a pistol still in his hand, wearing a black hat and a blue suit of clothes. When accused, he claimed, with some hesitation, that his son had struck him first. Then he fled.

At the coal pit, they found Uriel alive—but barely. He was seated against a stump, in severe pain, the wound unmistakably fatal. The ball had entered the left side near the lowest rib, passed through the intestines three times, and lodged near the spine. Uriel knew he would not recover.

He lived for several hours. In that time, he gave a clear account: his father had stepped from behind a chestnut tree, leveled a pistol, fired, and fled. He had pleaded—"Don't shoot me"—but the shot came almost immediately.

He gave the same account to the magistrate and to others who gathered before he died. His statement would later carry the weight of a dying declaration.

Word of the killing spread quickly through the community, described in the press as an "atrocious murder." Local officials moved swiftly. John Winchell was captured early the next morning in Hartford, some twenty miles from the coal pit—the pistol still on his person. A search of his home turned up six or seven hammered bullets, an unsettling detail that underscored the long-brewing nature of the conflict.

The trial began on September 30, 1834, in Hartford, before Judge Thomas S. Williams, assisted by Judge Samuel Church.

 

The Honorable Thomas Scott Williams

 

Over three days, the full history emerged: the disputed land, the years of hostility, the threats, and the final encounter at the coal pit. Uriel's dying declaration was entered into evidence. Witnesses described John's movements that day, his possession of the weapon, and the state in which he was found fleeing the scene. The defense attempted to challenge Uriel's character, but testimony largely upheld his reputation for honesty.

On October 7, the jury delivered its verdict.

Not murder—but manslaughter.

Those in attendance noted John Winchell's unusual reaction. He appeared largely indifferent as the verdict was read. But when it became clear he would not face the death penalty, he expressed dissatisfaction. In a striking final moment, he reportedly asked the sheriff to appeal to the court—requesting that a sentence of death be imposed rather than prison time.

He was sentenced to the state prison for no less than two years and no more than ten.

The Winchell case was not simply a crime of sudden violence. It was the tragic conclusion of a dispute allowed to fester for years. A disagreement over land became a feud. The feud became hatred. And that hatred, carried long enough, ended in a single shot at sundown.

It would not be the last time violence touched the Winchell family.

More than two decades later, another of John Winchell’s sons would be killed in a dispute of his own—again, over land.

 

 — Another story preserved by the Southwick Time Machine

 

Author's Research Notes: After sentencing, John Winchell's story did not end entirely. In 1840, a petition for his release was presented to the Connecticut House of Representatives and referred to committee. On May 25, 1840, the State Prison Committee reported unfavorably on the petition, which was denied. A second attempt was made in 1843, but Winchell withdrew the petition himself before it could be acted upon. What became of him after that remains, for now, unknown. 

 

Uriel Winchell

February 18, 1807 — March 24, 1834

 

 This article is based on original primary-source research, including but not limited to official documents, census data, real estate and tax records, period maps, directories, and newspapers. Southwick Time Machine stories are living documents. Research is ongoing, and this account may evolve as new information comes to light.

 

The photographs accompanying this story are authentic, unless otherwise noted. In keeping with historical preservation standards, some of the images may have been digitally enhanced for clarity and detail, without altering the original subjects. 

 

Help support the Southwick Time Machine in uncovering and preserving stories like the Winchells—real pieces of local history worth remembering.

 

  

Edited Out/Author's Additional Research Notes

George Monroe Winchell: February 2, 1801 - September 8, 1856

When Uriel's brother George Monroe Winchell moved to Ohio - he apparently dropped an L from his last name.

George was married twice - his first wife was Amanda Barnes (married 05/04/1833). 2nd wife was Polly Bundy. 3rd wife was Mercy (Draper) Winchell (b. 1824)- she died in Vermont on September 8, 1897. They wed in 1842. 

Several of John Winchell's children moved to Ohio. 

On March 25, 1857, Mercy gave birth to a baby boy.

With Daniel dead and Nelson in jail, their property taxes became delinquent, and in 1878, the county tax collector filed to have the properties seized and sold.

By 1857, Roxana was known as Nichols. 

Uriel’s had several brothers Chauncey, Daniel, Eli, and others.

It may be true or it maybe folklore but Daniel Winchell was known as the Robin Hood of Portage County. It is said that he once rode a stallion from Ohio to Pennsylvania and back in one day. The purpose of his ride - to rob a bank. 

Daniel has several arrest records. 

George’s property was to be sold at a public auction on March 27, 1858. However, Chauncey Winchell sued Daniel, which delayed the auction until October 9, 1858.

Angelina Winchell Matthews: March 3, 1838 - February 5, 1905

Able P. Winchell (Chauncey’s son) 1838 - 1861 (died in the military - about 23)

Daniel was also known as the shoe-king, but initial research did not find any supporting documentation.  

Judge Church was elected Chief Justice to replace outgoing Chief Justice Williams. 

The portrait of Judge Williams was completed around 1863, after his death. 

There are various spellings of Uriel's name.  

John married Rodana Coomes on November 20, 1795. But there was trouble in paradise. In 1811, Roxana left John. He claimed without cause. There are various spellings of Coomes. 

Roxana (Coomes) (Winchell) Nichols often misspelled Rodana.  

 

The Pit in Daniel Winchell’s Yard (1860)

Like some of his brothers, Daniel Winchell, son of John Winchell, left Suffield, Connecticut, and settled in Jackson County, Ohio. It is unclear why, but in the early 1850s, Daniel was associated with several land assessments on property there.

George Winchell, another son of John Winchell, died on September 8, 1856. When his widow, Mercy, his third wife, made a claim to his property, their brother Chauncey Winchell became embroiled in a bitter land dispute with her. 

Over the next few months, additional lawsuits were filed as the conflict widened, with other Winchell relatives seeking a claim to the land. Explosive accusations followed: Mercy was alleged to have been married to another man who was still living at the time of her marriage to George, which, if true, would have rendered both her marriage and her infant child illegitimate — despite a court having already ordered George’s land sold for that child’s benefit. 

Explosive claims followed: Mercy was alleged to have been married to another man who was still living at the time of her marriage to George, rendering her marriage to him invalid and her infant child illegitimate, despite a court having ordered George’s land sold for that child’s benefit.

Soon matters within the family took a dark turn. What began as a legal fight did not remain in the courts.

On the evening of February 18, 1860, as Daniel approached his door, he was suddenly set upon by three men. He was struck down, seized, and carried a short distance into the yard. 

A hole had already been dug. 

Held over it, Daniel’s throat was slit with a knife, the blood collecting in the pit below. The men then stabbed him repeatedly, some fifteen to twenty times. His body was wrapped in a quilt and sunk in nearby Pigeon Creek, where it was later recovered by neighbors.

Those responsible were not strangers. 

They were members of Daniel’s own family: his son, Nelson Winchell (1838–1871); his nephew, known as Little Nelson Winchell; and his son-in-law, Joseph Matthews, who had married Daniel’s daughter Angeline. The details were later given to authorities by one of Daniel’s younger sons—another member of the same household.

All three were brought to trial in June 1860. The proceedings produced mixed outcomes. A jury failed to reach a verdict against Nelson Winchell, though he later pleaded guilty to second-degree murder. Little Nelson was convicted of manslaughter. Joseph Matthews, after a lengthy trial, was also found guilty of murder in the second degree.

Daniel Winchell’s father had killed one of his sons—Daniel’s brother—over a land dispute years earlier, a violent precedent that haunted the family in the decades that followed.

Horace Winchell: Surviving Himself

Uriel's brother Chauncey had a son named Horace Winchell, who lived in Ohio. 

Horace, fell into severe depression after the death of his first wife. His second marriage offered hope, but when his second wife died in the winter of 1870, leaving him alone with two young children, Horace once again fell into deep depression. Family members kept a close watch after several failed suicide attempts.

Despite these precautions, he obtained a loaded revolver. In June 1871, he went to his father’s house and produced the gun. Family members wrestled it from him, but not before he fired a shot into his head. The ball entered beneath his jaw, passed through his tongue, and lodged in his skull. He survived, though he desperately tried to regain the weapon as blood poured from his head.

This was not Horace’s first brush with death. Several years earlier, he had attempted to cut his own throat, only to be saved by those nearby. Two or three weeks prior to the June incident, he attempted suicide with an axe, striking himself multiple times in the head. Five men had to restrain him to prevent further injury. Following the 1871 incident, Horace was institutionalized at the Northern Ohio Lunatic Asylum at Newburgh (later renamed Newburgh State Hospital). It went by other names too, including the Cleveland Hospital for the Insane and Cleveland State Hospital. (Today, Newburgh is a suburb of Cleveland.)

 

 

Later in life, taxpayers were shocked when a special examiner of the United States Pension Department approved a military pension for Horace. Having enlisted in September 1861 and served until August 1862, he lived near Mantua, Ohio, at the start of the Rebellion. At the time of approval in 1889, he was residing in the County Infirmary of Portage County, Ohio. Unfamiliar with managing money, all pension payments—$14,599.17 plus $72 per month—were directed to his wife, though it is unclear whether this referred to a later remarriage, an estate, or another legal recipient acting on his behalf. The local government later reclaimed $1,000 for Horace’s care during fifteen years at the asylum. His insanity was officially attributed to undue exposure during his military service.

  

The Case Against Chauncey Winchell

The pattern of family turmoil extended to Horace’s father, Chauncey Winchell. In the summer of 1855, Chauncey—a wealthy Mantua citizen of approximately sixty years—was arrested for assault and battery on his daughter-in-law, Almena Winchell, the wife of his son Alden. The alleged attack occurred on August 8, 1854, demonstrating that violent incidents within the Winchell family spanned generations and involved both self-inflicted and inter-family harm.

 

From Pomeroy’s Service to Mason Square

A Mason family Bible records that Primus Parsons Mason was born in Monson, Massachusetts, on February 5, 1817. He was the child of free people of color. When he was seven years old, both of his parents died, leaving him orphaned at an early age.

From about 1824 to 1828, Mason worked as an indentured servant for Jonathan Pomeroy of Suffield, Connecticut, where he was reportedly employed as a farmhand. At some point after this period, he ran away and returned to Monson. In 1837, he again left, this time going to Springfield, Massachusetts.

In Springfield, Mason found work in a variety of occupations. He engaged in pig farming and also held a contract with the city to remove dead horses from the streets. In addition, he performed odd jobs, including collecting old shoe leather, which he sold to the Springfield Armory, where it was used in the hardening of rifle barrels.

 

A portrait of Primus P. Mason in a reconstructed setting

With a steady income, Mason began investing in real estate. Over time, he became known as a successful businessman and a shrewd real estate speculator. Though he had no formal education and reportedly could not write his name until about the age of forty, he developed a reputation as a clever and honest man.

In 1860, Mason purchased a large tract of land near State Street in Springfield for $150. Approximately ten years later, he sold the property for $17,500. By the late 1880s, he was said to own fifteen houses, along with other valuable land in the city.

Accounts of Mason’s life are numerous, though not all are easily verified. One such story holds that, upon learning that a former master in Monson intended to purchase land in Springfield for $40, Mason bought the property himself for $60 and later sold it to the same man for $100. This act was described as retribution for an earlier incident at the end of his apprenticeship, when he was reportedly beaten by the farmer’s son. It was further alleged that the beating had been ordered to force Mason to flee, thereby breaking his indenture and relieving the master of a $12 payment due at the end of his service.

In 1888, one of Mason’s barns was destroyed by fire. The loss included four tons of hay and various farm equipment. Three horses, two cows, and six carriages were saved. A suspect was charged in connection with the fire, but the trial ended in a hung jury, and the case was dismissed.

Mason was also known for quietly paying the funeral expenses of many poor people of color in the community. He was described as a man of high character and was widely respected in Springfield.

He was reportedly married multiple times and outlived all of his wives. His only child, a daughter, died at the age of thirty-four and left no children.

At his death on January 12, 1892, Mason left the greater part of his fortune for the benefit of the public. In his will, he bequeathed more than $25,000 to the city of Springfield to establish a Home for Aged Men, which he described as “a place where old men that are worthy may feel at home.” At the time, this was the largest gift the city had ever received. He also left smaller sums to various relatives, including brothers, cousins, nieces, and nephews.

In recognition of his contributions, Winchester Square in Springfield was later renamed Mason Square in honor of him and his family. Mason Street also bears his name.

Publisher's Note: There is much more to the life of Primus P. Mason than can be contained in a brief account. Readers interested in his story are encouraged to explore further.

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