A Bowie-Knife Crime in Brooklyn? Impossible!

In the past couple of days I have reprinted four stories in which bowie-knife crimes were committed in the New York City area. Previously I have covered several other instances, such as this and this. Still, according to the following article published in the Brooklyn Eagle on September 5, 1896, New York City police detectives still would not entertain the possibility that local criminals would employ the bowie knife in the commission of their depradations.

Every effort has been made to capture the burglar who was shot last Thursday morning by Mr. George Schoeneck in the kitchen of his home on Avenue A, but without success, and the police have now almost given up hope of ever finding a trace of him. Captain Zimmerman is convinced that the robber was a stranger around Flatbush or else he would not have attempted to enter a house so close by the police station. It is believed that the burglar was a Western man. That is also the opinion of Detective Sergeant Kennedy of the Twenty-third precinct, who is working on the case. He said: “That fellow was too willing to commit murder for an Eastern crook. He heard some one coming downstairs and had plenty of time to escape through the open window. Instead of that he laid for Mr. Schoeneck with a knife. That weapon, by the way, is another proof that the robber came from the West. Why, it's a regular bowie knife. The whole affair was of the rough Western type, and if my experience counts for anything, there was no New York or Brooklyn man concerned in it.”

Bowie-Knife Burglar in Brooklyn

In November 1894, New York newspapers covered a home invasion in Brooklyn in which the Rev. Frederick C. Seckerson, 22, drove off a bowie-knife wielding burglar with a shot from his .32-caliber revolver. Here is the key section of the article, which was titled "Hard Fight With a Burglar":

Awakening shortly after 1 AM, upon hearing a noise in his room, Seckerson saw that his bedroom window, which he had left open only a crack, had been fully opened.

He called out: “Who is there?”

Receiving no answer, Seckerson reached for his Smith & Wesson .32 revolver, which lay on the table beside his bed. He then ran to the window to see if anyone was on the roof of a shed directly below. As no one was there, he turned back to look around his room. Then he saw a man crouched behind the back of a reclining chair, which stood near the center of the room. Before he could again speak the man sprang up and made a rush at him. The fellow uttered an oath, at the same time telling Mr. Seckerson to stand aside or it would be the worse for him. At the same time he raised his left hand, and, by the moonlight streaming in at the window, Mr. Seckerson saw that the intruder held in his hand a long knife. The two men grappled, the intruder catching Seckerson by the right shoulder, at the same time plunging the knife into his right arm just below the elbow. Mr. Seckerson had caught him by the shoulder or neck with his left arm, and as the knife entered his arm he discharged the revolver.
   
Where the ball struck the burglar Mr. Seckerson cannot say, but he thinks it took effect in the man's chest or lower part of the body, as he had his arm raised high and the pistol was pointed downward. It is certain, however, that the ball struck him and wounded him seriously, for the intruder with another oath shouted, “You've done me,” and again tried to break away from the hold of Mr. Seckerson.
   
The two men were close to the window and after struggling for a minute or two the burglar broke away and threw himself out of the window upon the roof of the shed. He gained his feet in a moment or two and ran across the shed to the corner, where the division fence joins it. As he reached the fence Mr. Seckerson fired another shot at him. Whether it struck him or not he cannot say, nor did he see which way the burglar went, as he turned to give an alarm to the family.
   
In response to the cries Mr. Myles ran downstairs. He found Mr. Seckerson tearing his shirt into strips and binding his arm in an effort to stanch the flow of blood. In a few words the details of the encounter were related by Mr. Seckerson and the two men went to the window. On the floor just inside of the window was a pool of blood a foot or more in diameter, and in the clear moonlight a heavy trail of blood ran diagonally across the shed, marking the track of the escaping burglar. Lying about midway of the roof was the bowie knife with which he had stabbed Mr. Seckerson.

The burglar escaped. The article concludes:

The bowie knife with which the burglar stabbed Mr. Seckerson is on exhibition at the Classon Avenue station house. It is an ugly looking weapon with a blade about ten inches long.

Bowie Knife Murder in Brooklyn

The following account of a vicious bowie knife murder in Brooklyn in 1872 is from Recollections of a New York Chief of Police (1887), by George Washington Walling. Contrary to popular opinion, use of the bowie knife was not restricted to the South and West.

I do not remember a bloodier assassination than that of Nicholas W. Duryea by John E. Simmons, outside Sutherland's restaurant on Liberty Street, on the 16th of December, 1872. Duryea represented a Brooklyn clique of policy players. Simmons was one of the Simmons Brothers -- "Eph," John E. and William C. -- who conducted a Kentucky lottery at No. 17 Liberty Street. There had been bad blood between Duryea and Simmons for some time. On the evening in question they were to have a business talk, and settle some important matters.

What really occurred at this interview will never fully be known. It was certainly not satisfactory to Simmons, for when the two men left the office they came to blows. In the struggle both men fell, Simmons being the "under dog." They rolled on the sidewalk for half a minute, when Duryea cried out: "G-d d--- you, fight fair! Let me up!"

Simmons's only response was to draw a huge, glittering bowie-knife, sharp as a razor on both edges. With a pumping motion, he thrust the shining weapon into Duryea's body as often as the nervous motion of the assassin's arm would permit.

"Golly! It was red hot!" said a little boot-black afterward, who was asked to describe the fight to the coroner's jury.

After the first lunge of the knife Duryea said little. When his opponent continued to stab, there was a muffled groan of "murder!" and Duryea offered no further resistance. Simmons tried to rise, but the stabbing had been so fierce and so promiscuous that nearly all the life-blood in Duryea's body had been let out, and the sidewalk was covered with the slippery crimson fluid. In rising, Simmons slipped in his foe's blood and fell and fractured one of his ankles. This did not prevent him from shrieking exultingly over his bleeding victim: "Now I've got the best of you!"

He was led to a chair in Sutherland's restaurant, sat down and calmly awaited arrest. The horrible tragedy and his own personal peril did not appear to affect him nearly as much as the condition of his ankle. He repeatedly asked when the surgeon would come, and when an officer walked into the restaurant and made him a prisoner, he asked whiningly when he could be attended to. He had to be carried to the Second Precinct station-house, where Captain Caffrey was in command. Duryea's body had been taken there, and was a hideous sight. Before the combat he had been splendidly attired in the finest linen, with diamonds in his shirt front, a $100 overcoat with a fur collar on his back and patent leather boots on his feet. Now he was one mass of gore. Blood flowed from sixteen wounds.

Dr. F. Le Roy Satterlee attended Simmons's foot, and sent him to the Park Hospital under guard. The knife with which the deed was committed was not found until lanterns were procured; and it was then discovered that Simmons's energy had been so great that the keen point of the weapon had been broken off in Duryea's body.

Simmons had many daring friends, and a plot was arranged to take him by force from the Park Hospital. This plan was frustrated by his being removed to Bellevue under a strong guard. By no means discouraged, his friends influenced Coroner Patsy Keenan to hold a mock inquest at the hospital. Simmons, however, was not smart enough to get out of town, possibly because the bones of his ankle were not entirely knitted. So District Attorney Samuel B. Garvin was able to override the coroner and get the murderer re-arrested. He was tried, convicted and served an inadequate term in the State prison. He is now a gambler in this city.

The New York Times, which gave ample coverage to the crime and subsequent trial, provided this interesting detail:

When the officer reached the scene of the tragedy, a search was made for the weapon, resulting in its being found in the front cellarway, having evidently been coolly dropped through the iron grating. It proved to be a bowie-knife made by Rodgers, of Birmingham, England, the blade of which was six inches long. Near the spot where Duryea's body had lain was a scabbard of scarlet Russian leather, fitting the knife exactly. The blade of the knife was covered with blood, and the point was broken off. . . . The brass tip of the scabbard was off when the sheath was found at the scene of the murder by Officer Webber. Simmons may have carried the knife for months before and never dreamed that the little brass tip of the scabbard would prove him a murderer. On returning to the Station-house with the knife and scabbard, Officer Webber handed them to Capt. Caffrey. Simmons, who was in the rear room of the Station-house, was at once searched. His watch and chain, and pocket-knife were taken from him. And just as the search was being given over, down in the pocket of his overcoat was found the little brass tip of the scabbard. It fitted the scabbard perfectly and completed the chain of evidence.

Hmm, what the Police Chief described as "a huge, glittering bowie-knife" had a blade six-inches long. I would regard six inches as the bare minimum length for a knife to be called a bowie. As far as I'm concerned,  huge bowies start at ten inches and above. An average person would describe a Cold Steel Natchez Bowie as huge.

The Cold Steel Natchez Bowie, top, is "huge." The Cold Steel Laredo Bowie, below, is "large."