Life and Confession of Ann Walters, the Female Murderess!!: Also the Execution of Enos G. Dudley, at Haverhill, N. H., May 23, 1849. To Which Is Added the Confession of Mary Runkle, Who Was Executed for Murder

In Short

This volume serves as a grim compilation of criminal confessions and accounts of capital punishment from the mid-nineteenth century. It primarily details the life and admitted crimes of Ann Walters, a woman convicted of multiple murders, alongside briefer accounts regarding the execution of Enos G. Dudley and the confession of Mary Runkle. The book functions as a cautionary moral tract, blending sensationalized reporting with religious admonition. Its enduring value lies in its raw, unfiltered look at how mid-1800s society documented violence, viewed female criminality, and grappled with the finality of state-sanctioned death.

The Story

The narrative begins with the life of Ann Walters, portrayed as a woman born into a lineage of moral decay. Her father, a man of education who descended into intemperance and theft, sets the stage for a family life defined by deception and violence. After her father’s execution, Ann’s mother refines the arts of manipulation and "deception," teaching her daughters to secure respectable marriages through artifice. Ann, characterized as witty and fascinating yet devoid of virtue, marries a wheelwright named Walters, whom she eventually murders by poison to secure her independence and indulge her "sensual" appetites.

Following her husband’s death, Ann’s life devolves into a series of calculated, cold-blooded murders. She transforms her home into a trap for travelers, often using her charm to lure guests into staying the night before she or her accomplices rob and kill them. The narrative details a litany of brutality: a traveler shot through an open window, two slave dealers ambushed on a sandy hill, and a child burned to death in a fit of rage. Ann’s reign of terror culminates in the murder of a Quaker traveler named Morse, an act that finally unravels her gang. Suspicion grows after Morse fails to collect his mail, and a local group, under the guise of architectural inquiry, eventually discovers evidence in her cellar. Ann is captured, tried, and sentenced to die, eventually confessing to ten murders before her own demise.

The book then shifts to the 1849 execution of Enos G. Dudley in Haverhill, New Hampshire. Unlike the admitted crimes of Walters, Dudley’s case is framed by doubt. Convicted on circumstantial evidence for the murder of his wife, Dudley maintains his innocence until the very moment the rope is cut. His letters from prison reveal a man deeply concerned with his reputation and his orphaned daughter, framing his death as a tragic miscarriage of justice fueled by public prejudice. The final account concerns Mary Runkle, a woman accused of poisoning her husband and suspected of drowning her own children to hide evidence of a murdered peddler. Her execution is described as a quiet, somber affair, contrasting with the chaotic, violent life attributed to Walters. The book concludes with the image of Runkle awaiting her fate in silence, leaving the reader to reflect on the moral corruption and the heavy, grim machinery of the law.

How It Unfolds

The origins of vice The narrative traces the pedigree of Ann Walters, rooting her future crimes in her father's "soul-destroying" intemperance and her mother’s calculated training in the art of deception. This foundation establishes the book's central premise: that moral character is shaped early and, if neglected, leads inevitably to ruin.

A catalog of atrocities The middle chapters document a relentless sequence of murders, detailing how Ann transitions from poison to direct, violent confrontation. Each crime is presented as a cold, predatory act, emphasizing the contrast between her "tender-looking countenance" and her capacity for brutal, calculated slaughter.

The unraveling of the conspiracy The net closes on Ann through a combination of mundane observation and neighborly suspicion, sparked by a missing traveler's mail. The subsequent search of her home and the discovery of the "awful" secrets in her cellar lead to her swift legal downfall and final confession.

Doubt and finality The focus shifts to Enos G. Dudley, whose story serves as a counterpoint to the definitive guilt of the previous narrative. By including his protestations of innocence, the book invites the reader to contemplate the fallibility of the legal system and the weight of public opinion.

The quiet end The final section provides a brief, stark account of Mary Runkle, whose execution is marked by her stoic silence. This ending leaves the reader with a somber reflection on the finality of the gallows as an instrument of justice, regardless of the individual's degree of repentance.

The People

Ann Walters is the book’s central, most abhorrent figure. Motivated by greed and an unchecked, "sensual" nature, she uses her charm and wit to manipulate those around her. She stands in the way of her own redemption, ultimately becoming a monster who views human life as a commodity.

Enos G. Dudley is the tragic counterpoint to Walters. Where she is characterized by active, admitted malice, Dudley is defined by his insistence on innocence in the face of death. His primary struggle is against "circumstantial" evidence and a prejudiced public, and he ends his life as a martyr to his own perceived victimhood.

Mary Runkle exists in the shadows of the narrative, a figure of mystery and quiet despair. Like Walters, she is accused of domestic murder, but she lacks the overt, explosive violence attributed to Ann. She remains largely inscrutable, ending her life in a shell of silence that challenges the reader to guess her true state of mind.

The Narrator acts as a moral arbiter, guiding the reader through these dark tales. The narrator values "authentic" accounts and is deeply invested in the idea that these lives should serve as a "solemn warning" to the public, particularly those who might be led astray by vice.

In Its Own Voice

"And it seems doubly shocking and atrocious, when we find them committed by one of the Female sex, which sex have always been esteemed as having a higher regard for virtue and a far greater aversion to acts of barbarity, than is generally found in men of the same class."

This opening reflection sets the tone for how the author views the unexpected nature of Ann Walters’ crimes.

"I am not the first innocent victim that has wrongfully been hurried from this to another world, through the prejudice of public opinion."

Enos G. Dudley asserts his innocence in a letter written shortly before his execution.

"I am guilty of ten murders with my own hands, and accessory to a great many others; I can confess no more, for I do not expect forgiveness, and feel already the pains of hell."

This final admission from Ann Walters captures her ultimate despair.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an exploration of the fragility of the social order. It argues that morality is not inherent but must be cultivated, and that its absence leads to a complete breakdown of human empathy. Through the lens of these gruesome crimes, the book addresses the tension between the "civilized" community and the hidden, violent "vice" that exists within it. It poses uncomfortable questions about the reliability of justice: if a woman can be as wicked as Ann Walters, can the law be trusted to correctly identify an innocent man like Enos G. Dudley? Ultimately, it is a meditation on the darkness that can inhabit the human breast, and the role of the public in witnessing or potentially misjudging that darkness.

Why Read It Today

Readers with an interest in historical true crime, nineteenth-century moralistic prose, or the evolution of sensational journalism will find this book a fascinating, if harrowing, document. It offers a clear, unvarnished look at how the public once consumed stories of violence; the tone is earnest, judgmental, and breathless, lacking any of the modern detachment we expect from contemporary crime reporting. It is not an easy read—the descriptions of violence are graphic and the language can be dense—but it provides a visceral connection to the anxieties of the 1840s. What stays with you is the juxtaposition of these lives: the chilling, calculated evil of Ann Walters contrasted against the hollowed-out, desperate pleas of Enos G. Dudley. It is a stark reminder that even in an age of "civilized" communities, the machinery of justice—and the stories we tell about it—can be as chilling as the crimes themselves. The book is an artifact of a period that struggled to reconcile its moral ideals with the brutal reality of its inhabitants, and it remains a haunting, if difficult, experience for any reader who wants to understand the roots of our enduring fascination with the "murderess."