The Smuttynose Island Murder of 1873: The Brutal Isles of Shoals Ax Killings and Maren Hontvet's Harrowing Survival

Off the rocky coastline of New Hampshire and Maine, where the Atlantic Ocean crashes against a cluster of isolated granite outcrops known as the Isles of Shoals, lies Smuttynose Island—a windswept speck of land just 0.1 square miles in size, named for its seaweed-covered "smutty" nose-like promontory. In the 19th century, this remote outpost was home to hardy fishing families, eking out a living from the treacherous Gulf of Maine. But on the night of March 5-6, 1873, Smuttynose became the scene of one of New England's most gruesome and infamous crimes: the Smuttynose Island murder, a savage ax attack that claimed the lives of two Norwegian immigrant women, Anethe Matea Christensen and Karen Anne Christensen, while their sister-in-law, Maren Sophus Hontvet, barely escaped with her life. Perpetrated by Louis Wagner, a down-on-his-luck Prussian fisherman driven by desperation and greed, the killings shocked the nation with their brutality and isolation, leading to a swift arrest, sensational trial, and Wagner's execution in 1875. Detailed in eyewitness affidavits, court transcripts, and contemporary newspaper reports, the case highlighted the vulnerabilities of remote island life and the resilience of survivors like Maren, whose testimony sealed Wagner's fate. Echoing other New England enigmas—from the calculated greed in Salem's 1830 murder of Captain Joseph White to the spectral warnings of Connecticut's Black Dog of the Hanging Hills—the Smuttynose tragedy blends human horror with the unforgiving sea, inspiring books, films, and ongoing fascination. But what drove a familiar acquaintance to row 10 miles through icy waters for robbery and murder? And how did Maren's midnight flight across jagged rocks become a symbol of endurance? Drawing from verified historical records, including trial documents and survivor accounts, let's reconstruct the events, investigation, legal proceedings, and lasting legacy of the 1873 Isles of Shoals murders—a case that remains one of America's most haunting true crimes.

The Isles of Shoals, a group of nine islands six miles offshore from Portsmouth, New Hampshire, have long been a place of stark beauty and peril. Divided between New Hampshire and Maine (Smuttynose falls under Maine's jurisdiction), the archipelago was first settled by Europeans in the early 1600s as a fishing outpost, attracting hardy souls drawn to abundant cod and lobster. By the mid-1800s, the islands supported small communities, with Smuttynose hosting the Haley family cottage and a few scattered homes. The Hontvet family—Norwegian immigrants seeking opportunity in America's booming fisheries—arrived around 1868. John Hontvet, a skilled fisherman, built a sturdy red house on the island's eastern end, complete with a fish-processing shed and dock. He lived there with his wife Maren Sophus Hontvet (born 1834 in Norway), his brother Matthew Hontvet, Matthew's wife Emilie, John's sister Karen Anne Christensen (who arrived in 1871 after widowhood), and Karen's sister-in-law Anethe Matea Christensen (married to Maren's brother Evan in 1871). The family thrived on halibut trawling, salting fish for market, and enduring the isolation—accessible only by boat, with no fresh water or trees, relying on rainwater cisterns and mainland supplies.

Life on Smuttynose was communal yet precarious: storms could isolate residents for days, and the closest help was on neighboring Appledore Island, home to the Laighton family's hotel. The Hontvets were known as diligent, God-fearing Lutherans, attending church in Portsmouth when weather allowed. Into this tight-knit world came Louis Wagner (born Ludwig Wagner in 1844 in Uckermark, Prussia), a struggling fisherman who boarded with the family in 1871-1872. Tall, strong, and multilingual (German, English, some Norwegian), Wagner helped with chores but grew resentful of his poverty. After an injury left him unable to fish heavily, he moved to Portsmouth in early 1873, taking odd jobs while nursing grudges. Rumors swirled that he believed the Hontvets kept cash on the island—perhaps $600 from a recent fish sale—fueling his fatal plan.

The night of the murders began unremarkably on March 5, 1873. With a full moon illuminating calm seas, the men—John, Evan, and Matthew—set out at dusk for the mainland to bait trawls for the next day's fishing, planning to return by dawn. Left alone were the three women: Maren (39, pregnant but miscarried soon after), Karen (41, sleeping in the kitchen due to illness), and Anethe (25, sharing the bedroom with Maren). They secured the house, with Maren's dog Ringe as sentinel, and retired around 9 p.m. Meanwhile, Wagner—desperate after a day of failed job-hunting in Portsmouth—seized the opportunity. He stole a dory from Johnson's Wharf around 7 p.m. and rowed the grueling 8-10 miles to Smuttynose, arriving after midnight under the moon's glow.

What followed was a frenzy of violence reconstructed from Maren's testimony and physical evidence. Wagner entered through an unlocked door or window, first encountering Karen in the kitchen. Mistaking her for Maren in the dim light (Karen wore Maren's nightgown), he struck her repeatedly with an ax from the woodpile, inflicting fatal blows to her head and neck. Karen's screams—"John! John!"—woke Maren and Anethe in the adjacent bedroom. Maren, peering through the door, saw Wagner and urged Anethe to hide under the bed. Wagner burst in, demanding money. When Maren claimed it was with the men, he turned on Anethe, dragging her out and axing her to death with blows to the skull and throat. Maren, in terror, fled through a window, barefoot and in her nightdress, scrambling over snow-covered rocks to the island's far end. She hid in a crevice near the breakers, enduring freezing temperatures (near 20°F) for hours, muffling her sobs as Wagner searched with a lantern, calling her name and ransacking the house for $15 (all he found).

As dawn broke on March 6, Wagner—failing to find more loot—rowed back to Portsmouth, arriving exhausted around 7 a.m. He changed clothes at his boarding house, ate breakfast, and took a train to Boston, spending the stolen money on new attire. Meanwhile, Maren, frostbitten and traumatized, emerged at sunrise and waved a white cloth to signal Appledore Island. Rescued by hotel workers, she recounted the horror, identifying Wagner by name. Word spread rapidly via telegraph; by afternoon, Portsmouth buzzed with news of the "Smuttynose Island murder."

The investigation was swift and community-driven. Isles of Shoals residents and Portsmouth authorities formed search parties, confirming the scene: blood-splattered walls, the women's bodies mutilated (Anethe nearly decapitated, Karen's face crushed). The ax, smeared with blood and hair, was found nearby. Wagner's movements traced through witnesses: his theft of the dory, suspicious behavior, and flight to Boston. Arrested that evening at a Boston boarding house (recognized from descriptions in evening papers), Wagner protested innocence but carried fresh cash and exhibited blistered hands from rowing. Extradited to Maine (Smuttynose under York County jurisdiction), he was held in Saco Jail amid lynch mob threats.

Wagner's trial in Portland's Cumberland County Supreme Court began June 9, 1873, before Justice William Barrows. Prosecutors Thomas M. Hayes and George P. Andrews presented over 90 witnesses, including Maren (whose composed testimony was pivotal) and islanders corroborating Wagner's motives and alibi holes. Defense attorney Rufus Tapley argued mistaken identity and circumstantial evidence, but the case was ironclad: Wagner's footprints matched, his timeline fit, and Maren's identification was unwavering. After 55 minutes of deliberation on June 18, the jury convicted him of first-degree murder. Sentenced to hang, Wagner's appeals delayed execution until June 25, 1875, at Thomaston State Prison. His final words denied guilt, but he was hanged before a select audience, his body buried in an unmarked grave.

The aftermath rippled through New England society. Maren Hontvet, hailed as a heroine, returned briefly to Smuttynose but relocated to Portsmouth, remarrying and living until 1895. The Hontvet house burned in 1885 (arson suspected); Smuttynose now hosts a Haley family memorial and is part of a wildlife sanctuary, accessible by boat tours. Wagner's innocence claims persist in fringe theories (e.g., alternative killers), but historical evidence—trial records, Maren's consistent accounts—overwhelmingly supports his guilt.

Culturally, the Smuttynose murders became a touchstone of Victorian true crime. Poet Celia Thaxter, an Appledore resident who knew the victims, penned "A Memorable Murder" for The Atlantic Monthly (1875), vividly recounting the events and cementing the legend. Her Isle cottage hosted literary figures like Hawthorne, who drew atmospheric inspiration. The case inspired Anita Shreve's novel The Weight of Water (1997), blending the murders with a modern narrative (adapted into a 2000 film starring Sean Penn and Elizabeth Hurley). Other works include J. Dennis Robinson's Mystery on the Isles of Shoals (2014), a definitive history closing the case with archival research, and true-crime podcasts dissecting the isolation's role in the horror.

In broader New England folklore—paralleling calculated killings like Salem's 1830 White murder or enigmatic figures such as Connecticut's phantom hounds—the Smuttynose tragedy underscores themes of isolation, immigration struggles (the victims as vulnerable newcomers), and justice's reach in remote places. It also highlights gender resilience: Maren's survival and testimony defied expectations of fragile Victorian women. Today, boat tours from Portsmouth visit the site, where markers commemorate the event, drawing history buffs and true-crime enthusiasts.

So, was the Smuttynose Island murder a desperate act of one man's greed, or a symptom of broader 19th-century hardships? Verified records affirm the former: a solved crime with a survivor's unshakeable truth prevailing. Like the spectral warnings or hidden pasts in our prior explorations, it reminds us that even idyllic isles harbor darkness. Charter a boat to the Shoals; gaze at Smuttynose's rocks—where echoes of that fateful night still whisper on the wind.

Mike D. is a Connecticut-based writer who prefers to remain hidden—lest the legends come knocking.