Canadian True Crime - 59 The Donnellys

Episode Date: February 1, 2020

An Irish immigrant family arrived in Lucan, Ontario in the 1840s, and almost immediately clashed with members of the local community. A fiery dispute erupted that would last for decades and escalate into madness, leaving a pile of bodies in its wake.I appreciate the support of my sponsors!You can find applicable codes and information here.Find out more about: Toronto true crime author Nate Hendley's collection of booksDocumentary: The Donnellys (2017) Want more Canadian True Crime? Consider becoming a Patreon for just $2 a month or more, and you’ll receive these perks!Credits: Research and writing: Nate Hendley Editing, narration, music arrangement: Kristi Lee Audio editing: Erik KrosbyDisclaimer voiced by the host of Beyond Bizarre True Crime Theme Song: We Talk of DreamsAll credits and resources can be found on the page for this episode at www.canadiantruecrime.ca/episodes. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Okay, quick introduction, because I'm pretty sure I have some new listeners to the podcast. Are you one of them? Hi, and welcome to Canadian True Crime. I'm the host, Christy, and I'm an Australian who's lived in the Greater Toronto area for the past 10 years. I started this podcast out of my closet three years ago, and it kind of took off. To this day, though, it remains an independent podcast that is still produced and hosted by me.

Except now I do it out of my basement. That is an upgrade. And now to today's episode, which is about one of Canada's most well-known historic cases. Yes, those donnellies. The gripping and brutal story of a bitter family feud that tore apart a town and has long been the subject of rumour and legend. What really happened?

You are about to find out thanks to Toronto True Crime author Nate Henley, who researched this case from the public record and wrote this episode. This podcast contains coarse language, adult themes, and content of a violent and disturbing nature. Listener discretion is advised. The Donnelly story begins in Tipperary Island. James and Johanna Donnelly met and married in the 1840s, and they quickly produced two sons, James Jr. and William.

The 1840s were an awful time for Ireland. The country was thrown into devastation by the potato famine, which resulted from Ireland's main crop failing. Thousands of people had to make the choice to either stay and starve or immigrate somewhere else. In 1844, James and Johanna Donnelly joined the exodus, leaving their homeland. With their two young sons, they crossed the ocean in what was called a coffin ship, basically a leaky vessel packed with as many destitute people as possible.

The donnellies were going to try their luck in the new world. They had heard good things about what we now know as Southwestern Ontario. The family landed at Gross Isle, just north of Montreal. After being released from quarantine and declared disease-free, they made their way to London, Ontario. They lived there for about three years and then moved to a location in the nearby town of Lucan. Like the donnellies, many settlers in the area were Irish Catholics.

In fact, the main concession road in Lucan was called the Roman Line, a reflection of the community's Roman Catholic heritage. James Donnelly found a piece of land that he liked and decided that this was the place that he would set up his homestead. Except he didn't bother to purchase the land, he essentially just squatted on it instead. This was standard frontier behaviour, though. The donnellies erected a log shanty on their self-declared new piece of land and began to clear the hundred acres.

James Donnelly was a hard worker and the farm prospered. Johanna gave birth to more baby boys and the family seemed to be thriving in their new found home. Unbeknownst to James Donnelly, though, a firm dealing in property sold off 50 acres of the land, that's half, in 1855. The new owner was a man called Patrick Farrell and he was not pleased to discover a family of squatters had set up a farm on the piece of land he'd just bought. Patrick sued James Donnelly to get his property back and the issue slowly wound its way through

the primitive court system. When the case was finally heard, the judge was reluctant to kick the donnellies out. They may have been squatting, but they had actually managed to turn a vacant patch of land into a working farm at a time when the region was still sparsely populated. So the judge decided to split the land in half, giving 50 acres to the donnellies and the other 50 acres to Patrick Farrell. So while the Donnelly homestead was saved, they still lost half of what they considered to be their land.

This incident sparked decades of strife between the growing Donnelly clan and their neighbours. This is Christy and you're listening to Canadian True Crime, Episode 59. In June of 1857, Patrick Farrell found himself face to face with James Donnelly. In rural areas, it was traditional to hold a work bee to carry out big projects, where men come together to build a barn, for example, and the person hosting the work bee typically provided hard liquor for them to drink in return. From the day, Patrick Farrell drank heavily and cursed at James Donnelly. Patrick started getting drunker and louder.

James Donnelly tried to ignore him, but it made no difference. Patrick Farrell was in a fighting mood. Soon, the two men were fighting, bare fisted. And then, James Donnelly grabbed a device used for moving pieces of timber known as a hand spike and smashed it down on Patrick's skull. The man fell to the ground, unconscious. The farmers who witnessed this realised that the injury was severe enough to kill Patrick, and if he died, that would make James Donnelly a murderer.

James raced home and blurted out what happened. Johanna Donnelly packed some essentials and then her husband disappeared into the local woods to hide out and escape his certain fate. Patrick Farrell did die of his injuries. An inquest determined that James Donnelly was responsible for his neighbour's death, and a warrant was issued for his arrest. James was still successfully hiding out and would stay that way for some time. But neighbours noticed a strange addition to the Donnelly family.

On certain days, a large, muscular labourer in women's clothing could be seen working their fields. It also didn't go unnoticed that Johanna grew noticeably pregnant during the winter of early 1858. The locals just assumed that James was likely still around somewhere, hiding. While James was happy to have fathered a new child, his future looked a bit grim. He just spent a bitterly cold winter hiding outside, and his choice was to continue hiding out or he could surrender himself where he knew he might eventually face a lengthy prison

stay or even death. Despite the discomforts involved, James decided to remain an outlaw. He sheltered himself as best he could in those winter months, relying on Johanna to provide food and to boost his morale. In the spring of 1858, Johanna had her baby. The child was a girl which came as a delightful surprise to both parents. Johanna named her Jenny and raised her while taking care of the housework, their sons, and caring for her fugitive husband.

James Donnelly was eventually convinced to turn himself in. It was believed that he had a strong case. Patrick Farrell had provoked him and started the fight after all. But the trial didn't go as James expected. He was found guilty of murder and was sentenced to hang. Johanna intervened with a petition for mercy and the sentence was commuted to seven years. But still, seven years is a long stretch to be without a father and a husband, with a farm and eight children to take care of.

But Johanna Donnelly was a strong woman. She held a family meeting at the Donnelly Farmhouse. As baby Jenny played on the floor, Johanna reminded her sons that she was now the head of the family. If the Donnellys were to survive, the boys would have to follow her directives and work hard as fully grown men. Johanna divided up the farm duties between them. The Donnelly boys were already pretty tough, but Johanna decided to toughen them up even

more. She encouraged her kids to brawl among themselves. It wasn't a case of maternal sadism, but a way to strengthen the boys to deal with the outside world. The reason is that the neighbors frequently taunted the boys about their father and his disgrace, and they started to get resentful and fight back. The etiquette of fighting fairly was not part of Johanna's teachings. She trained her sons to fight dirty.

A knee to the groin, a thumb to an eye, all was fair as long as the Donnelly won the fight. Johanna decided that no one would ever push a Donnelly around. Under their mother's rough instruction, the Donnelly boys gained reputations as vicious brawlers. While Johanna's sons didn't win all their fights, they never gave up and never turned down a challenge, real or imagined. Even adults became wary of the Donnelly boys. In addition to becoming respected physical fighters, the Donnelly boys began to steal.

It's unclear whether Johanna encouraged this or just turned a blind eye. Whatever the case, the township experienced a crime wave while James Donnelly was in jail, harnesses, milk cans, plows and other items began disappearing from neighbouring farms. Stores were broken into and supplies went missing. The Donnellys, it was whispered, were responsible for most of the thefts. Things escalated, barns were set ablaze, cows were poisoned and horses were mutilated. The long-serving postmaster of Lucan, a man called William Port, kept a diary and wrote down everything that happened in his community, legal or not.

In the twelve months between September 1864 and August 1865, he noted seven fires in the Lucan area, fires that engulfed homes, barns and places of work. While some of these blazes were accidental, many were deliberate, but it was difficult to sort out what crimes the Donnellys did commit and which offences they were just suspected of. There was also a religious aspect that played into the violence in Lucan. As mentioned previously, many of the settlers in the area were Irish Catholics who had issues with English settlers who were Protestants.

There were also internal divisions within the ranks of Catholic settlers. They were angry that the Donnellys were willing to do business with Protestants. So there were already issues with the Donnellys in terms of the fallout over land ownership and then issues over religious preferences, but there was also another area of conflict. Back in Ireland, there were two other family-based factions in Tipperary who fought at every opportunity. These two opposing families, or gangs, were given the nicknames of Blackfeet or Whitefeet. James Donnelly belonged to the Blackfeet faction in his younger days.

So in the town of Lucan, there were several storms of conflict brewing on several different fronts, all involving the Donnellys. And amongst all of this turmoil, James Donnelly was released from prison in 1866. His entire family greeted him as he stepped from his stagecoach in Lucan, his oldest son's now strong, muscular young men. Back together, the Donnelly family resumed their boisterous existence. As much as the family was known for being rough, no one could accuse them of being lazy or unambitious.

In the early 1870s, the older brothers, James Jr. and William, started driving a stagecoach for a local company. A few years later, they purchased the stagecoach company for themselves. To the surprise of many, the Donnellys offered a service that was polite, courteous and speedy. But despite this, some members of the local community were afraid to take the Donnelly coach because of the family's violent reputation. Instead, they used a rival stagecoach line run by a man called John Flanagan. This did not sit well with the Donnellys.

At the time, stagecoachers were a serious business and each driver had their own clients and supporters. Many violent fights resulted from conflicts between rival stagecoach companies. Of course, the Donnellys never backed down from a fight and this one was no different. One night, John Flanagan's horses had their tongues cut out and then his stables were burned and his stagecoachers destroyed. While it was never determined who committed these acts of animal abuse and arson, it was assumed that the Donnellys were involved.

In turn, the Donnellys also suffered violent acts of retaliation. In March of 1877, the stable containing the Donnelly coach was torched, leading the family to exit the stagecoach business altogether. Needless to say, the Donnelly boys began attracting the attention of the police. In February of 1876, William was arrested for shooting at a police officer during a wild brawling party at a hotel in Lucan. He was convicted and sentenced to nine months in prison. William wasn't the only official lawbreaker in the family.

Throughout the 1870s, the Donnelly boys regularly appeared in court on charges like arson, highway robbery, poisoning, drunkenness and brawling. The press described a reign of terror happening in Lucan. In March of 1878, another of the brothers, called Robert, was arrested for shooting at a police constable. The shot actually missed, and despite some confusion about whether Robert was really responsible for this gunplay, he was given a two-year jail term. Over the years, many people have asked if the Donnellys were inherently bad.

Were they really just a pack of thugs who terrorised their innocent neighbours? The answer to this is complicated. While James Donnelly and his sons were fully capable of violence, the family's reputation for trouble was grossly exaggerated. The Donnellys became community scapegoats. It didn't matter whether it was a barn burned down, a theft or a violent assault by unknown assailants. The Donnellys were automatically blamed, whether it could be proven it was them or not.

But even at the time, a few astute observers acknowledged that the family weren't as bad as their reputation made them out to be. In fact, one police officer recalled how he regularly went to Lucan to investigate crimes that the Donnellys were accused of committing. Most times, the officer found the allegations to be based on nothing. Not everyone hated the Donnellys, they had some friends and allies and most of the Donnelly boys did get married to local women. That said, tensions between the Donnellys and their neighbours continued to increase

throughout the late 1870s and a significant segment of the Lucan population hated the Donnellys with a passion. The family seemed to revel in its bad reputation, taking advantage of the benefits it provided when doing business and when settling disputes. Like an outlaw biker gang, the Donnellys did nothing to live down their violent image. This would end up having disastrous consequences. In 1879, the Donnellys made a new enemy in the shape of a new priest at St Patrick's Catholic Church in Lucan.

His name was Father John Connolly and he was very active in local community issues. He was greatly concerned about the biggest issue dividing the town, the Donnelly family. Sizing up the situation, Father Connolly launched a petition in his church. Those who signed it agreed to help him investigate and to stop crime in the town as well as protest if anyone tried to stop him in his mission. Father Connolly also started bringing this message through in his sermons, addressing crime in general and mentioning the Donnelly family by name. He kept his petition at the front of his church for two Sundays in a row, continuing to gather

signatures. At the same time, a local committee was also taking root in Lucan. They called themselves the Vigilance Committee and modelled themselves after similar organisations that had sprung up in the wild west of the US, delivering rough justice in the form of beatings and murder. He set up local townspeople flocked to join the Vigilance Group, eager to support an organisation that promised to deal with the perceived problem of the Donnellys once and for all. As if this wasn't enough, there was also a new constable in town.

His name was James Carroll and, like Father Connolly, he was determined to stand up to the Donnellys. He soon aligned himself with the Vigilance Committee. Do you have a passion project that you're ready to take to the next level? SquareSpace makes it easy for anyone to create an engaging web presence, grow a brand and sell anything, from your products to the content you create and even your time. When I launched this passion project six years ago, I needed some kind of online hub to manage all the non-podcasting tasks that come with podcasting.

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The farmer stormed into Lucan and loudly informed everyone who could hear that the Donnellys had taken off with his cow. Typically, the disappearance of a single cow from a farmer's field wouldn't have been cause for alarm, but in the increasingly tense environment of Lucan, residents were receptive to wild rumours, especially if they concerned the Donnellys. A crowd quickly gathered around William Thompson as he continued to blast the Donnelly clan. The gathering mob included several men who had signed Father Connelly's petition. Some of these men also happened to be members of the vigilance committee.

The vigilantes held an emergency meeting in a local schoolhouse to discuss the cow issue. They whipped each other into a frenzy over it, and a group of 40 men, led by the angry farmer, stormed over to the Donnelly homestead, many carrying clubs and sticks. They were ready for some vigilante justice. By this point, James Donnelly was in his early sixties, while Johanna was in her mid-fifties. They greeted the unexpected visitors by yelling and swearing at them. Only two Donnelly sons, John and Thomas, still lived at home, and neither were home at the time to help defend the house.

Ignoring the protests of James and Johanna, the angry mob pushed their way into the farmhouse. The men swaggered about, poking their sticks and clubs into closets and drawers, looking for the missing cow. It's unclear as to why they thought someone would hide a cow in a farmhouse, let alone a closet or a drawer, but they continued looking. The mob reconvened inside the Donnelly home. Obviously, they didn't find any sign of the cow inside the house, and it wasn't found on the property either.

The men didn't know what to do next. James and Johanna loudly demanded that they leave their property at once. One suggested the Donnellys had actually hidden the cow at the farm belonging to their son William, which was located just a few miles away. With their clubs swinging, the angry mob left the Donnelly homestead and headed to William's farmhouse. William, who had a reputation for bravery and also for keeping his cool, greeted the angry mob by playing a few tunes on his violin.

This was not the reaction that they were expecting, and they hung around sheepishly for a bit before leaving. The missing cow eventually turned up in a wooded lot near the farmer's house. It had simply gotten loose and walked away from its pasture, nothing to do with the Donnellys. To everyone's surprise, James Donnelly didn't order his sons to beat up the men who had trespassed on his property and stormed his house. Instead, he convinced reluctant authorities to arrest some of the people involved. Sixteen people were arrested for allegedly trespassing on the Donnelly farm.

The men went on trial in the fall of 1879, but it proved to be a bitter disappointment for the Donnellys. They insisted that James Donnelly had given them permission to search his house and property, and all charges were dropped. This incident fuelled the Donnellys' paranoia and rage. To them, the trial was proof that the courts and the community were united against them, and as it turned out, they had reason to be paranoid. Most people could sense that the Donnellys were weakening.

James Donnelly was considered elderly for the times, and now spent much of his time indoors huddled over a stove. And two of the sons had passed away, one of an illness and another had been stabbed to death in a knife fight. In January of 1880, the Vigilance Committee struck again. Their plan was to burn down a barn and frame the Donnellys to heighten the outrage against the family. The night that they executed their plan, though, most of the Donnelly boys were at a local

dance. Dozens of witnesses could vouch for their whereabouts. So, the Vigilance Committee accused James and Johanna Donnelly. The elderly couple were arrested and then released on bail to await trial. Despite the intense animosity against the Donnellys, even their bitterest enemies could see that the case against them was weak. A jury might find it hard to imagine an aged couple sneaking through farm fields at night and successfully burning down a barn, all without being noticed.

The trial of the Donnelly seniors for arson began later that month. Witnesses were heard and testimony was given and then the trial was adjourned. The trial was to resume on February 4th, 1880, and James and Johanna needed help with farm chores while they were back in court. Son, Thomas Donnelly was staying at the family homestead at the time and they also asked a local farm boy to help out, 13-year-old Johnny O'Connor. They picked Johnny up the day before the trial resumed. The plan was that Johnny would stay overnight at the Donnelly place and would be ready to

start chores early the next morning. There was another guest in the Donnelly home that night. A 21-year-old relative called Bridget was there, visiting from Ireland. So a total of five people were in the Donnelly homestead that night. James and Johanna, son Thomas, Bridget from Ireland and 13-year-old Johnny O'Connor. That night, the night before the trial was set to resume, the vigilante committee met up and were not happy. They could see that their enemies, James and Johanna Donnelly, would likely be found

not guilty of arson and could potentially sue them in retaliation. The vigilantes decided that the time had come to strike. As the Donnelly family and their guests retired to bed for the night, a group of men gathered at the local schoolhouse under the watchful gaze of Constable Carroll. They represented the most extreme members of the vigilance committee and carried clubs, pistols, hatchets, knives and rifles. Many of the men had also brought bottles of liquor with them, which were opened and passed around.

In total, about 30 vigilantes, including some of the Donnelly's bitterest enemies, gathered at the school and decided to storm the Donnelly homestead. They set off just after midnight, heavily armed, riding horses, led by Constable Carroll. Inside the Donnelly home, 13-year-old Johnny O'Connor was sharing a big bed with the elderly James Donnelly in a room on the ground floor. There wasn't anything untoward going on here. It was actually common pioneer practice to share bed space with same-sex house guests. Space was at a premium, central heating was non-existent, and it was a convenient way

to sleep and stay warm in the middle of winter. The sound of someone pounding on the door woke up Johnny O'Connor at around 1.30am. He watched as James Donnelly sat up and put on his boots, cursing under his breath. The elderly man then walked into the living room, lit a candle and made his way to the front door. Who is it? James demanded. The words spoken from the other side of the door were muffled, and from where Johnny was

waiting in bed, he couldn't make out what was being said. Grumbling, James opened the front door. In the flickering candlelight, Johnny saw Constable Carroll in the doorway. He and James Donnelly exchanged a few gruff words, and then the Constable barged inside, issuing threats. The commotion woke up the rest of the household. One by one, Johanna Donnelly, their son Thomas and their guest Bridget filed into the front room to see what was going on.

13-year-old Johnny stayed behind. He didn't have a good feeling about this. He moved under the bed to hide as he watched what was happening. Constable Carroll slapped handcuffs on Thomas' wrists, effectively immobilising the strongest family member present. This inspired angry protests from both Thomas and his father James, who demanded to see an arrest warrant. Instead of answering, the Constable gave a signal, and then 20 angry vigilantes filed

into the house. The rest of them stood outside, guarding the doors to make sure that no one escaped. The vigilantes inside attacked the unarmed and unsuspecting Donnelly's, stabbing, slashing, beating and bludgeoning them into submission. Johnny O'Connor watched from his hiding spot as 26-year-old Thomas was beaten with clubs and a shovel, and then beheaded. The vigilantes did the same to 64-year-old James Donnelly. 57-year-old Johanna Donnelly was clubbed to death, and 21-year-old Bridget, the relative

visiting from Ireland, tried to run upstairs but was chased and also beaten to death. Only Johnny survived. Once the vigilantes were satisfied, they poured flammable oil around the farmhouse, set it on fire, and then fled, as flames engulfed the walls and the bodies lying on the floor. Johnny O'Connor waited as long as he could and then raced out of the burning house. In bare feet with no coat, the freezing, terrified boy ran across the fray. The freezing, terrified boy ran across the frozen fields to the nearest neighbour. He burst inside, waking the family who lived there and told them what had happened.

Meanwhile, the Donnelly house burned. After raiding the Donnelly homestead, the vigilantes moved on to the neighbouring farmhouse down the road that belonged to son William Donnelly and his wife Nora. William also had a visitor staying that night, his brother John Donnelly. As the three people slept inside, the vigilantes surrounded the farmhouse and then banged on the door. They hoped to lure William outside. Instead, 33-year-old John Donnelly got to the door first. When he opened the farmhouse door, he was shot dead at point blank range.

His brother and his wife hid inside, remaining silent until the vigilantes left. The angry mob had achieved their mission and headed home. Two days later, the four surviving Donnelly sat in the front pew at St. Patrick's Church. As father John Donnelly, the man who started the petition to deal with them, conducted their funeral service. 22-year-old Jenny Donnelly sobbed next to her remaining older brothers, Patrick, William and Robert. There were two coffins in the centre aisle of the church. One contained the remains of John Donnelly who was shot in the head and the other was filled with bone, ash and burnt flesh taken from the Donnelly farmstead.

All that remained of James, Johanna, Thomas and their visiting Irish relative, Bridget. The church was packed. While some Lucan residents were shocked at the terrible crime that had taken place, others seemed relieved. In fact, some of the vigilante mob responsible for the deaths were present in the church that day too, including Constable Carroll. 13-year-old Johnny O'Connor was also in attendance, as well as several reporters from Canada's biggest newspapers. The Donnelly murders had become national news. The Globe had covered the case extensively and called the killings, the blackest crime ever committed in the Dominion. Father Connelly wept at points during the service and condemned those who murdered the Donnellys, calling it a disgrace and an awful crime.

To some though, the priest's grief seemed exaggerated. Because he started the petition against the Donnellys, there were rumours that he was part of the vigilante's committee or at least supported the group's cause. Once the service was over, the coffins containing the five Donnellys were taken outside for burial. They were placed in the Donnelly family plot in the cemetery behind St Patrick's Church. While the remaining Donnelly kids grieved, the investigation continued. The police questioned the sole witness Johnny O'Connor at length and once they gathered sufficient evidence, they detained over a dozen members of the vigilante's committee. Some of these men were soon released, leaving only six culprits to face trial, including Constable Carroll. Police considered these six men to be the ringleaders in the assault.

Not everyone in Lucan was pleased to see justice served. The surviving Donnellys had to endure a degree of low level harassment in the months following the funeral. The six men went on trial beginning October 1880 at the Middlesex County Courthouse in London, Ontario. Constable Carroll was tried separately from the other five defendants. Johnny O'Connor testified, walking the court through the murders from the first appearance of the Constable in the Donnelly's doorway to the flames that engulfed the farmhouse once the murderous rampage was over. In spite of this eyewitness account, the jury claimed they couldn't reach a verdict. They were hung. The accused men were taken back to prison to wait for a second trial, which began three months later. The second trial at least brought a verdict, but only for Constable Carroll, who was tried first.

The jury found him not guilty. The crown prosecutor threw in the towel. If they couldn't get a guilty verdict for the main ringleader, then there was little hope they could get one for the other five men. The prosecutor announced he was giving up and the judge said the prisoners were free to leave on bail. The six men were never tried again. In fact, no one was ever convicted for the Donnelly murders, a fact that has been a source of intense bitterness for the surviving family members. In the late 1880s, William Donnelly installed the original tombstone to commemorate the death of his family members, but it was removed in the 1960s because of negative publicity and vandalism in the area. A new tombstone was erected later by descendants. February 4th, 2020 marks the 140th anniversary of this tragedy.

Over the years, many have debated whether this was a community taking justice into their own hands when the system failed, or whether it was a case of mob mentality. I'd love to know what you think. Did the Donnellys deserve it? Do you think it's fair that they never saw justice for what happened to them? Let me know when I post on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, or you can join the Facebook group for further discussion. Just search for Canadian True Crime. Thanks for listening and a huge thanks again to Toronto True Crime writer Nate Henley for researching and writing this case. Nate has written several books about the Donnelly massacre and other crime-related topics. For more details, visit NateHenley.com. There's also been a film made of this story in 2017 called Black Donnellys produced by Canadian indie company Electric Motion Pictures. I've seen it and it's really great. You can download it or stream it on Vimeo for just a couple of dollars and they've given me a discount code and link.

I've included details in the show notes. If you're after more Canadian True Crime, including two bonus episodes and behind-the-scenes access, visit patreon.com. This episode of Canadian True Crime was researched and written by Nate Henley, edited by me, and audio production was by Eric Crosby. Music was by Soula Flair, Kevin MacLeod and Comtech, and the theme song was written by We Talk of Dreams. The host of the Beyond Bazaar True Crime podcast voiced the disclaimer, I will be back soon with another Canadian True Crime story. See you then. Thanks for watching.