*35*24 I'AiiA’I S THE J'*i:.'-:’V Vr • UNITED CRIMINAL CALENDAR^ IjSjpJ .V, , t'to. I s ' OR '‘mm fclGC. • •* &w SJtofttl Wfcmftarj v TO THE YOUTH OF AMERICA; ’ *• ’ 'J A. • •k^V- ' M " ’ '.v S* ••".£■* Hr ***»ift. /.. . . 2 .. .. ' - ''-*v ■ ‘ y f *.'*••'. T - ‘ ' * *. - • '• BEING AN ACCOUNT OP T E MOST HOU.P.D, MURDERS, PIRACES, H: . /.,; :0 >£§j "v- 7^‘&c, fee. COMPILE? F .am i IE B£S f AUTHORITIEI.. HENRY- St, CLAIR. WITH FIFTEEN ENGRAVINGS. ********* a Wither^ Murder, (Alarmed by lii3 sentinel the Wolf, With Targuin’s ravishing strides, towards his dee-gn..' ■ Moves like a Ghost.”~-5via&ysare. BOSTON- PE1NTED AND TUBLISHl. ; BY CH\RUES tJAVLOS©. ' Wo* . ■y'Wt . a# BWiT.'TOV wmmk, i 11 . • * h: ijtr /* 1 4 - >/• # Sr firs ■ * * / : 1 / .#■ \ Sterling shooting Gen. THE UNITED STATES CRIMINAL CALENDAR: OR an atofttl SEIavutng TO THE YOUTH OF AMERICA; BEING AN ACCOUNT OF THE MOST HORRID MURDERS, PIRACES, HIGHWAY ROBBERIES, &c. &c. COMPILED FROM THE BEST AUTHORITIES, BY HENRY St. CLAIR. WITH FIFTEEN ENGRAVINGS. * * * * * * “ Wither’d Murder, Alarmed by his sentinel the Wolf, in_i_« *_ _\ __i a . (A W hose howl’s his watch,) thus with his stealthy pace, With Tarquin’s ravishing strides, towards his design, Moves like a Ghost.”— Shakspeare. ftlOSTOir COLLEGE LIBRAS^— CHF8TNUT HILL, MASS? OSTON: PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY CHARLES GAYLORD. 1833. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1831, by CHARLES GAYLORD. in the Clerk’s office of the District Court of Massachusetts. \ njt H * f V • #* Jfc PREFACE. There is a propensity in man to take pleasure in the sight or relation of human sin and suffering. Thousands flock to the execution of a criminal, and the history of his life, however dull and uninteresting, is sought and read with avidity. No part of a newspaper excites so much attention as the record of crime and calamity. Some have pronoun¬ ced this curiosity a depraved appetite: we hold the contrary. It is almost universal and therefore natural. It is the object of this work to gratify this feeling in the manner the most advantageous to the public. The pamphlets purporting to give accounts of noted mal¬ efactors are usually ill written, unworthy of credit, and of bad moral tendency. They exhibit the convict in the most favorable light, enlarge upon the good qualities he may possess and rather solicit sympathy for his fate than abhor¬ rence for his crimes. The author, or rather compiler of this work proposes to follow a different plan. He gives the history only of such robbers, pirates, &c. as have been eminent in their professions. Of those whose lives and deeds have little interest he has nothing to say. In each case he ha.* carefully collated different authorities and given either their result in the aggregate, or all of them severally. Where there is a want of information he has left a blank rather than subtract from the integrity of the volume by invention. He believes he speaks of each of his subjects as the person deserves, neither aggravating nor extenuating his offences or doing injustice to the individual or the public. He has been told that a work of this kind will be a public injury, but does not believe it. It cannot be that holding sin up to abhorrence will corrupt any one. At any rate, people will indulge in reading such matter, whether this volume is published or not, and it is certainly better that it should be presented in the least exceptionable form possible. The United States Criminal Calender is necessarily im¬ perfect. Should its sale warrant the expense a supplement will be forthcoming ‘ w ' 1 " 9 4 k '/ * . * A # ‘'IS JL F>, *. - O • -» • • V: yf- *« v ’ ‘ A » *-• i ■ - *fr„X* 1 V * . . • i > -ki V * 4 ’■• • \ ■ -r * . ' iU • ; V '. ' v > . *. . . ' V * ■'a%v > V ■ ' V. . ■ ■ ■ :'■ ■ » ) ‘ V i • ■ JP"'; 4* «■* v * * t • > • ? ■ • V « * “^ 4 . • • 4 H - *&■ t \ ? o y ’ (. i : ■ • * 1 » - i . t s ■ : ' • ■■ i- <■'* ' • ' • ■ ... . , v .••'*.» ,T ; * > . - r * tk ' ' r ** • : * * <* - ■ ■; . ; ,y r ■ > * I W CONTENTS. William Schooler, (murderer.) . • page 9 William Franklin, (murderer.) . • . 11 The Salem Witchcraft, . . ♦ . 14 Robert Kidd, (pirate.) . • . 29 Capt. Samuel Bellamy, (pirate.) • . 39 William Fly, (pirate.) • . 45 Jason Fairbanks, (murderer.) • . 51 Samuel Green, (murderer.) • . 62 Charles Marchant and Sylvester Colson, (pirates.) . 76 Daniel Davis Farmer, (murderer.) • . 85 Henry Phillips, (murderer.) • . 89 John Williams, (pirate.) .... • . 82 Francis Frederick, (pirate.) • . 99 John Peterson Rog, (pirate.) . • . 100 Peter Peterson, alias Miles Peterson, otherwise Miles Peterson Fogelgren, (pirate.) . • . 101 Michael Martin, (highway robber.) • . 114 Stephen Merril Clark, (hung for arson.) » • . 148 Samuel Tully, (pirate.) .... • . 154 Michael Powers, (murderer.) • . 169 Alpheus Livermore and Samuel Angier; for the murder of Nicholas Crevay, an Indian, (murderers.) . 177 Moses Adams, high sheriff of the County of Hancock (charged with murder.).180 Till CONTENTS. James Teed and David Dunning, (murderers.) . . 185 George Coombs, (homicide.) . 198 William Bevans, (homicide.) ✓ . • . 200 Stephen and Jesse Boom, (charged with murder.) . 202 Amos Furnald, (manslaughter.) . . 213 Elijah P. Goodrich, commonly called Major Goodrich, (perjurer.) .. . . 218 Daniel H. Corey, (madman.) . 226 Charles F. Clark, (madman.) . . 229 Mutiny on board the Ship Globe,. . . 233 James Porter, (highwayman.) . 244 John Francis Knapp and Joseph Jenkins Knapp, (murderers.) .... . 252 John Van Alstine, (murderer.) . 261 Edward Tinker, (murderer.) . 267 Robert H. Sterling, (homicide.) . . 270 The Harpes, (murderers.) . 277 Jeroboam 0. Beauchamp, (murderer.) . 284 Charles Gibbs, otherwise James D. Jeffers, and Thomas I. Wansley, (pirates.) . 310 Jesse Strang, (murderer.) .... . 329 George Swearingen, (murderer.) . 338 Seth Hudson and Joshua Howe, (forgers.) . . 355 THE CRIMINAL CALENDAR. WILLIAM SCHOOLER. We have no account of the birth or early adventures of this person, farther than that he was an Englishman by birth, and a vintner by trade. By his own account it appears, that he was a resident, in the first part of his life, of the city of Lon¬ don, and that he was a very idle, debauched person. He was married to a handsome, exemplary woman, but this did not pre¬ vent him from the criminal indulgence of his passions; as, ac¬ cording to his subsequent confessions, he associated habitu¬ ally with women of bad character. Having wounded a man in a duel, he fled to Holland, to es¬ cape the pains of law, leaving his wife behind him, in Eng¬ land, and thence came to New England ; at what precise date is unknown. Here he lived on the river Merrimac, with another man, in such a way as gave great offence and scandal to our pious ancestors. In the year sixteen hundred and thirty-six, he was hired as a guide, from Newbury to the Pascataquack, by a servant girl named Mary Sholy. He engaged to perform this ser¬ vice for fifteen shillings. Two days after their departure, he returned, and on being asked the reason why he came back so soon, replied, that he had conducted her to within two or three miles of Pascatquack, where she had stopped, and would go no farther. As she did not appear, he was exam¬ ined before the magistrates of Ipswich, for her murder, but as no proof was adduced against him, he was discharged. About a year after, he was draughted to march against the Pequods, who were then up in arms. This requisition to serve in the militia he deemed an oppression ; which opinion broke out in mutinous and disorderly speeches. For this, the Gov- 1 * •f 10 WILLIAM SCHOOLER. ernor issued a warrant for his apprehension; and when he was accordingly apprehended, he supposed it was for the mur¬ der of Mary Sholy, and spoke to that effect. This revived the suspicions against him, and he was arraigned a second time. Several witnesses appeared against him, the substance of whose testimony was as follows: That he had lived a vicious life, and now conducted like an atheist: That he had sought Mary Sholy, and had undertaken to guide her to a place where he had never been himself: That, when he crossed the Merrimack, he had landed in a place three miles from the usual road, from whence it was hardly possible that she should find the said road. That, in describing a house on the road, his relation was incorrect as to its situation: That having (as he said) conducted Mary Sholy to within two or three miles of Swanscot, where he left her, he had not been to Swanscot to give information where she was: That he had not staid with her that night, to protect her: That, on his return home, he had not spoken of Mary Sho¬ ly, till questioned; that she had agreed to give him but seven shillings on his arrival, and that yet he had returned with ten shillings, though he had no money with him when he started: That on his return, there was blood on his hat: That he had a scratch on his nose, which he had explained to a neighbour by saying that it was made by a bramble, which, from its size, could not be: That, being asked by a rriagistrate at Ipswich to account for this circumstance, he had told a different story: That the body of Mary Sholy had been found, six months after her disappearance, by an Indian, about three miles from the place where Schooler said he had left her, with her clothes in a heap beside her: That he said that soon after he left her he had met with a bear, and thought that the bear might kill her; yet did not go back to her assistance: That, after his apprehension, he had escaped from prison, and had hidden himself in a secluded place, near Powder- Horn Hill. He said in his defence, that the blood on his hat was that of a pigeon he had killed, and that after his escape from pris¬ on, he had been compelled to return by an unaccountable im¬ pulse. On the above evidence, which in our day would not be sufficient to prove a petty larceny, he was convicted of WILLIAM FRANKLIN. 11 murder. From the testimony it s^lms that it w as not proved that any murder had been committed, far less that it was com¬ mitted by Schooler. In modern times, to prove a delinquen¬ cy, it is thought essential that time, place, and circumstance should be specified. Our ancestors were not so scrupulous, and Schooler was condemned to death, though several cler¬ gymen, and others, thought that the testimony ought not to affect his life. He was of the same opinion himself, but the court thought otherwise. They decided that a man who should take charge of a helpless woman, and then leave her to perishj when he might do otherwise, ought to die, and, perhaps, in this view of the case, they were right. He was hanged accordingly, at Boston, denying the murder to the last. WILLIAM FRANKLIN. It only appears from the accounts of this man that he was a resident of some place in the immediate vicinity of Boston, and that he had been a member of the church of Roxbury, from which he was excommunicated. The events of his life, previous to the commission of the offence for which he laid it down, have passed into oblivion. In the year 1644, he took to apprentice Nathaniel Sewell, a young pauper who had been sent from England. This boy had the scurvy, and was very offensive in his person. Frank¬ lin treated him with small consideration, and chastised him un¬ mercifully for trifling faults. He was also in the habit of hang¬ ing him up in his chimney, for anything and everything. The boy fell sick, even unto death, whether from rigorous treatment or some natural cause we are unable to say. Finding the boy of no use to him, he determined to return him to the magistrates of Bpston, from whom, it seems, he had received him. His place of residence was five miles from Boston, and to convey the lad this distance, he tied him, though very ill and weak, upon a horse, and set off with him. The boy was unable to sit upright, and frequently begged for wa¬ ter, but his inhuman master would give him none, though they 12 WILLIAM FRANKLIN. passed very near it at several places. Nathaniel Sewell died a few hours after he reached Boston. William Franklin was then brought before the Quarter Court on a charge of murder. The facts were proved, as above related, but doubts existed whether they inferred blood guiltiness. It was argued that it did not appear that Franklin had intended to injure, but only to reform his servant, and that the treatment which had caused his death occurred in the pursuit of a lawful purpose; viz, in bringing Sewell before the magistrate; whereas, the act and intention must both be evil, to constitute murder. To this it was answered, that Sewell had been brought to his end by degrees, by a constant course of cruelty, of which the last act was but the consummation. It was said that this act was performed at a time when the boy should have been kept in bed, and not brought violently forth for correction. As for the intention, though it might have been the first intention of Franklin to reform the boy, yet the intention of his ultimate conduct was evil, arising from distemper of passion. In exempl ification of the first position, a case was supposed, as follows: if a man should have a servant sick of the small pox, and should, contrary to the advice of the physician, hale him into the open air, in cold weather, on pretence that there was a natural occasion; the act would be unlawful, and if the servant should die in consequence of such treatment, the master would be guilty of murder. Another case was supposed to apply to the second position; viz. if a man should, in a sudden passion, kill his child, or dear friend, it would be murder, though his prima intentio were to instruct or admonish him. It was, moreover, argued, that, where no intention to hurt appears, as, for example, when a man has an unruly ox, and knows him to be such, but yet does not keep him in, if this ox gores a man to death, the owner is guilty of murder, and must suffer the penalty. Here, keep¬ ing the ox is a lawful act; but for suffering an evil to happen which he might reasonably be expected to prevent, the man was adjudged a murderer, by the Holy Scriptures. Again, m Exodus. Chap xxi. 12. If a master smite his servant with a rod, which is a lawful action, and the servant die of the blow, (as was the case with Sewell,) he was to die for it. On the like authority, if a man strike another with his hand, or with any weapon that may cause death, and the person stricken die of the blow, the striker is a murderer: from whence it appears, that be the means what they may, if they be ap WILLIAM FRANKLIN. 13 plied, voluntarily, to an evil intent, it is murder. To support this conclusion, a case was cited of a woman who had given a man a portion to procure his love, whereof he died, and she was, therefore, adjudged guilty of murder. This course of reasoning would hardly be thought conclu¬ sive at the present day, though it seemed very forcible to the members of the Quarter Court, who apparently forgot that the Jewish code had been superseded by divine authority, and had given place to a more merciful dispensation. They found him guilty, and sentenced him to death; referring his case, how¬ ever, to the magistrates, “ who might, if they saw cause, al¬ low him a second trial for his life at the next Quarter Court.’’ Yet the same persons held a meeting before the sitting of the said court, and agreed to send their sentence to governor John Endecott, who signed it, though there were some who disapproved the proceeding. The church of Roxbury, who it will be remembered, had excommunicated Franklin a month before, now that he was to die, agreed to have mercy on his soul. They therefore procured permission for him to be brought to Roxbury, in¬ tending to receive him again into their communion, ifthey found him penitent. Immediately after his condemnation, he judg¬ ed himself, and acknowledged the justice of his sentence; but soon after, with a very natural inconsistency, he retracted this admission, justifying himself, and criminating the wit¬ nesses. To the day of his execution, he declared his belief that God would never lay the death of the boy to his charge, and expressed a strong assurance of salvation. On the scaf¬ fold, his firmness was somewhat shaken, and he expressed a fear that his heart was hardened, since he could not see his guilt in the same light that others did. It seems to us that though the Quarter Court argued from wrong premises they arrived at a proper conclusion, and that William Franklin suffered justly. i THE SALEM WITCHCRAFT. So many are the cases of persons convicted of witchcraft in New England, that it would require a larger volume than this to record them all. Therefore, we shall merely relate a few, by way of example, as our work might be deemed in¬ complete should we omit to notice a delusion, the consequences of which were so calamitous. A strange infatuation had, in the year sixteen hundred and ninety-one, and two, began to alarm the inhabitants of Mas¬ sachusetts. This was, that very many persons were accused of sorcery, and it is clear, from the history of several cases, that such imputations were, generally, sincerely believed. The mischief began in February, sixteen hundred ninety one, in the house of Mr. Parris, a resident clergyman of Salem. Several of his family were afflicted in a way for which the physicians could not account, and were therefore supposed to be bewitched. In the month of March following, Mr. Parris invited several neighbouring clergymen to join with him in observing a day of prayer, at his house. While they were praying the be¬ witched persons were silent, and behaved with decorum, but as soon as a prayer was concluded, they conducted as usual; that is, they spoke in a ridiculous manner, contorted their limbs, and fell, or pretended to fall, into convulsions. Mr. Parris had an Indian servant in his house. This man, with his wife, set about discovering the authors of these evils. With this intent, they made a rye cake, which they compounded with the urine of the persons afflicted, and gave it to a dog to eat. By this proceeding they hoped to clear the eyes of the bewitched of the gross films of mortality, SALEM WITCHCRAFT. 15 and enable them to see their invisible tormentors. The incantation took effect, and the first person accused by the sufferers was the Indian woman herself. She was committed to prison immediately, and persecuted with blows and other¬ wise, in order to extort confession, and to compel her to crimi¬ nate other witches, her supposed accomplices. Under this discipline, it is not wonderful that the poor squaw acknowl¬ edged an intercourse with the Devil; after which, she was publicly sold for her prison fees. The bewitched likewise accused Sarah Good, and-Os- burn, two old women, the one insane, the other bedridden. They were reputed witches before, and the charge was, there¬ fore, the more readily believed: they were accordingly commit¬ ted to prison. Goodwife Corey and Rebecca Nurse were the next persons accused. The bewitched were ten in number, all women. The niece of Mr. Parris, his daughter, and one Ann Putman were among them, and had been the first and principal accusers of the prisoners. They charged the poor old creatures with having bitten, pinched, choked them, &c. and said that in their fits and trances, they had brought them books and papers to sign Messrs. Curwin and Hathorn, the magistrates by whom the accused were examined, do not appear to have been conjurers They very gravely asked mistress Corey why she afflicted her accusers. She, very properly, answered, that they were poor distracted creatures, and should not be heeded'. Here¬ upon Justice Hathorn replied, that in the opinion of all present, her accusers were bewitched. The accusers testified that a black man (invisible to all but themselves) stood by Goody Corey during the examination, and whispered in her ear. They swore that she had a yellow bird, that was wont to suck between her fingers, and was even then sucking, though invisible. The magistrates ordered that mistress Corey should be examined between the fingers, to see if there were any mark of this sucking dove; upon which the witnesses cried that it was now too late, for the prisoner had removed a pin from the place to her hair, where indeed it was found, sticking upright. While the accused were undergoing examination, if they bit their lips, or grasped one hand with the other, the accusers cried that they were bitten, or pinched. They also accused an infant belonging to Sarah Gpod, of having bitten them, and showed the marks of a small set of teeth on their arms, whereupon the child was committed to prison, though only four or five years old. 6 SALEM WITCHCRAFT. The evideice against Rebecca Nurse, was much the same. She earnestly denied the charge, but was nevertheless com¬ mitted. She was a devout Christian woman, till then of an unblemished character, and had brought up a large family of children, in the way they should go, but all this availed her nothing, and, like many others, she was t5' suffer on evidence which would now be received with contempt. Soon after, Sarah Cloys, the sister of Rebecca Nurse, attend¬ ing church, Mr. Parris, on her entrance, took for his text, “ Have not I named you twelve? and one of you is a devil.” Whereat, Mistress Cloys, perhaps offended at this allusion to the circumstances of her sister, went out, shutting the door violently after her. This gave rise to suspicion, and she was examined and committed. On the eleventh of April, there was a public examination at Salem; and several persons appeared, accusing others, with hideous clamor. A Mistress Proctor was one of the accused, and when her husband came to her assistance, the accusers cried out on him also, so that they were both imprisoned. At this time, the witnesses would fall down at the sight of those they accused. The Lord’s Prayer was proposed to the pris¬ oners as a test, and for any error in phraseology or pronuncia¬ tion they were committed. One of them, for example, pro¬ nounced the word hallowed as though it were spelled hollowed, and was therefore judged unable to repeat the prayer. On such trivial and puerile charges a great many persons were apprehended and incarcerated. One Bishop, attending this examination, became a victim to his own curiosity, which had led him thither. At the inn where he put up, an Indian, supposed to be bewitched, behaved in a very unruly manner. Bishop undertook to quiet him, and so managed that the savage conducted with decorum. They rode home together with others, the Indian riding behind a white man, whom suddenly he seized with his teeth. At this, Bishop struck him with his whip, and he let go his hold, and promised to do so no more. Bishop then said he could cure all the bewitched, meaning in the same way he had cured the Indian. He was probably right in his belief, bqt it furnished a ground of accusation against him. On the thirty-first of May, John Aldin of Boston, a very respectable mariner and the master of a ship, was apprehended and carried before the magistrates before mentioned, whose zeal, it seems, had increased their folly. Being confronted with his accusers, (females,) one of them, who had a man at SALEM WITCHCRAFT. 17 her back to hold her up, cried out that Mr. Aldin afflicted her. One of the magistrates asked how she knew he afflicted her, and she answered, that the man who supported her told her so. Then the magistrates commanded all parties to go forth into the street, which they did, and a ring was formed roundAldin. Suddenly the same accuser, (who had never seen Aldin before that day,) cried, 11 there stands Aldin, a bold fellow, with his hat on before the judges. He sells powder and shot to the French and Indians, and lies with the squaws, and has Indian papooses.” Then Aldin was taken into custody by the mar¬ shal and deprived of his sword, for the witnesses declared that he afflicted them with it. After a deal more of this dis¬ gusting mummery, he was closely confined, and refused bail. Probably he would have suffered death had he not found means to escape soon after. A special commission of Oyer and Terminer was at last given out, and the court assembled at Salem on the second of June, in sixteen hundred and ninety-two. The first person tried was Goody Bishop, who had been accused of witchcraft twenty years before, by one named Gray, and though he had expressed his sorrow for the charge, on his death-bed, the poor woman was still reputed a sorceress. Verily, no one can be too cautious in speech: a word spoken in wantonness by Gray, embittered the life of this woman, and finally brought her to a sudden and violent end. Being accused, her person was examined, and a wart was found on her, which was believed by the learned Court to be a private teat for the Devil’s own sucking. This notable piece of evidence sufficed to condemn her; sentence of death was passed, and she was hanged in less than a week. His excellency Governor Sir William Phipps, was not alto¬ gether satisfied of the justice, necessity, or expedience of these bloody proceedings, and therefore desired the advice of several of the more moderate clergymen, who, on the fifteenth of the month, delivered their opinion to him as follows: That they were affected by the forlorn plight of the be¬ witched sufferers, and grateful for the care of the authorities to detect the abominable sorceries so prevalent in the land, and would pray for a full discovery thereof: Nevertheless, they recommended that all proceedings should be conducted with great caution, lest the innocent should suf> fer, and that those accused should be treated with lenity. They also advised that future examination should be private, and that learned men should be consulted relative to what 18 SALEM WITCHCRAFT. tests should be used. They determined, farthermore, that the affirmation of the accusers that they saw the ghosts or likenesses of the accused, was no good ground of presumption of guilt, or reason for conviction, inasmuch as the Enemy may take the shape of a good man in order to work evil. More¬ over, thej opined, that falling at the sight, and rising at the touch of the accused, was no certain proof of their guilt, such devices being the chief strength of the Devil. There¬ fore, disbelieving the evidence furnished by him might be a means <.0 terminate such dreadful calamities. Nevertheless, they humbly advised, that such as had rendered themselves obnoxious should be speedily and vigorously prosecuted, ac¬ cording to the law of God, and the English statutes, in such cases made and provided. In pursuance of this ridiculous advice, the court again sat on the thirtieth of the month, and tried five more, viz. Sa¬ rah Good, Rebecca Nurse, Susannah Martin, Elizabeth How, and Sarah Wildes. At the trial of Sarah Good, one of the witnesses fell into a convulsion, and on recovering, declared, that the prisoner had stabbed her with a knife. Search was made, and the point of a knife was found about her, but a young man produced the other part, and said that he had broken the weapon, acci¬ dentally, the day before, in the presence of the witness, which sufficiently accounted for the broken point. Notwithstanding this rank perjury, the witness was suffered to testify, with an admonition, however, to lie no more. We are sorry we can¬ not give the name of this forsworn person. The jury found Rebecca Nurse not guilty, on which all the witnesses in and out of court, set up a hideous outcry, to the amazement of the court, as well as of the spectators. One of the judges said he was not satisfied with the verdict, and an¬ other said she ought to be indicted anew. The presiding judge intimated to the jury that they had not well weighed one expression of the prisoner while on trial, to wit: One accused woman, who had been imprisoned with Rebecca Nurse, and had since confessed herself a witch. This person had been called to testify against the prisoner; who, on seeing her produced in court, cried, “ why do you bring her ? she is one of us.” This suggestion of the judge induced the jury to reconsider these words, and to go out again. Not agreeing, the words of the prisoner were repeated to her, but she was stupified with fatigue and terror, and could give no explana¬ tion. Hereupon the jury found her guilty, these words being SALEM WITCHCRAFT. 19 the inducement to it; a most flagrant outrage on law, justice, and common sense, whether we consider the conduct of judge or jury. The poor old woman was condemned, as Sarah Good had been before her. But when she was informed, in prison, on what ground she had been found guilty, she addressed a pa¬ per to the court; declaring that her words had no other mean¬ ing than that the witness was her fellow prisoner, and charged with witchcraft like herself, and therefore not a proper witness. Besides, that no one had informed her what meaning had been attached to her words, and that she had not comprehend¬ ed what was meant by repeating them, being deaf, and ab¬ sorbed in sorrow. This, one might think, would have satis¬ fied these sanguinary blockheads, but it was of no avail. On her condemnation she was excommunicated from the Salem Church, but the Governor, who seems to have monop¬ olized alfthe common sense in Massachusetts Bay, granted her a reprieve. The witnesses now renewed their outcries, and the Governor was, in a manner, compelled to withdraw the reprieve. The other three prisoners were all condemned in like manner. At the trial of one of these unfortunates, one of the wit¬ nesses cried out that she was afflicted by the Rev. Mr. Wil¬ lard, but this charge was not heard. She was told that she must be mistaken in the person, and then sent out of court. Lucky was it for Mr. Willard, that he was not esteemed an old woman. On the fifth of August the court sat again; and the Reve¬ rend George Burroughs, an irregular clergyman, was brought to the bar, together with John Proctor and Elizabeth his wife, John Willard, and George Jacobs, and Martha Carryer, who were all executed on the nineteenth of the month, excepting Elizabeth Proctor, who pleaded pregnancy. Mr. Burroughs was carried to execution through the streets of Salem in a cart. On the scaffold, he addressed the spec¬ tators, declaring his innocence in terms which made a very serious impression on his auditors. He then made a devout prayer, and concluded by repeating the Lord’s Prayer, (which had been proposed as a test,) clearly, properly and distinctly. His prayer was delivered with such feeling and eloquence that it drew tears from the eyes of many. The witnesses against him, some of whom were present, said they saw a black man standing at his elbow dictating to him, and Cotton I 20 SALEM WITCHCRAFT. Mather, as soon as he was turned off, addressed the people, to declare that the sufferer was not an ordained minister, and to persuade them of his guilt, saying that the devil had often ap¬ peared like an angel of light. By this the populace were ap¬ peased, and the other convicts were put to death. May the name of Cotton Mather be ever execrated for his savage dis¬ position, which, not satisfied with having done much to procure the fate of his victim, pursued him beyond the grave, and en¬ deavoured to blast his character after death. After Mr. Burroughs was dead he was cut down, and drag¬ ged by the neck, like a dog, to a hole which had been dug, just big enough to receive his body. He was then divest¬ ed of his shirt and breeches, and put in, together with Willard and Carryer, and left so imperfectly covered that his hands and chin, as well as the foot of one of the others, remained exposed. Willard had been employed to apprehend others, which, at first, he did willingly enough, but being commanded to take some whom he did not believe guilty, he expressed his dis¬ satisfaction, and was forthwith accused himself. He had got as far, in escape, as forty miles from Salem, when he was over¬ taken, brought back, and hanged as we have already seen. While Proctor and his wife were in prison, the sheriff seiz¬ ed all his goods and chattels, provisions and cattle, leaving nothing for the support of their children. No part of the said goods were ever restored. The Rev. Mr. Noyes refused to pray with Proctor, though requested, because he would not own himself a wizard. With such rigor were those who in¬ curred this cruel imputation treated, even by men otherwise good and benevolent. During his imprisonment he addressed the following letter, as directed, in behalf of himself and oth¬ ers. We give it verbatim et literatim ct punctuatim for the honor of his memory, and the better understanding of the way in which such proceedings were carried on. 4 •* Salem Prison, July 23, 1692. “ Reverend Gentlemen, “ The innocency of our case with the enmity of our accuser and our Judges and Jury, whom nothing but our innocent blood will serve, having condemned us already before our trials, being so much incensed and engaged against us by the devil, makes us bold to beg and implore your favorable assistance of this our humble petition to his Excellency, that if it be pos¬ sible our innocent blood may be spared, which undoubtedly otherwise will be shed, if the Lord doth not mercifully step in SALEM WITCHCRAFT. 23 The magistrates, ministers, juries, and all the people in gen¬ eral, being so much enraged and incensed against us by the delusion of the devil, which we can term no other, by reason we know in our own consciences, we are all innocent persons. Here are five persons who have lately confessed themselves to be witches, and do accuse some of us, of being along with them at a sacrament, since we were committed into close pris¬ on, which we know to be lies. Two of the five are (Carry- er’s sons) young men, who would not confess anything till they tied them neck and heels, till the blood was ready to come out of their noses, and it is credibly believed and reported this was the occasion of making them confess what they never did, by reason they said one had been a witch a month, and another five weeks, and that their mother had made them so, who has been confined here this nine weeks. My son William Proctor, when he was examined, because he would not confess that he was guilty, when he was innocent, they tied him neck and heels till the blood gushed out at his nose, and would have kept him so 24 hours, if one more merciful than the rest, had not taken pity on him, and caused him to be unbound. These actions are very like the Popish cruelties. They have al¬ ready undone us in our estates, and that will not serve their turns, without our innocent blood. If it cannot be granted that we can have our trials at Boston, we humbly beg that you would endeavor to have these magistrates changed, and others in their rooms, begging also and beseeching you would be pleased to be here, if not all, some of you at our trials, hoping thereby you may be the means of saving the shedding of our innocent blood, desiring your prayers to the Lord in our behalf, we rest your poor afflicted servants, John Proctor, «• it' -* 1 * WILLIAM FLY. 47 The Captain still implored mercy, and begged an hour’s respite only, but it was in vain. The miscreants seized him and threw him overboard. He caught and hung by the main sheet, which when Winthrop saw, he brought an axe and chopped off the unhappy victim’s hand, and he fell, and sunk. It is to be hoped that his keen sense of his unwor¬ thiness and lost condition, will be found acceptable, and be the means to screen him from the punishment he so much feared. The Captain being thus despatched, Thomas Jenkins, the mate, was secured and brought on deck to undergo the same fate. His entreaties were as useless as those of the Captain had been, and not to be reversed; for he was in the hands of those who knew not what mercy*is. His executioners were deaf to the voice of supplication. “ He belongs to the Captain’s mess,” said they, u so let them drink together. It would be a pity to part such good company.” Thus they jested with his agonies; but he did not suffer so patiently as the Captain. He made some struggle, which irritated his tormentors, upon which Winthrop, with the same axe wherewith he had chopped off the Captain’s hand, gave him a deep blow on the shoulder, and he was instantly thrown into the sea. He swam, notwithstanding, and called to the sur¬ geon to throw him a rope. The surgeon could not hear him, for he was laid in irons, on the floor of his own cabin, and if he could have heard, and had thrown him a rope, it is not to be supposed that these hardened villains would have suffered him to come on board again. But the drowning catch at straws, and hope is the last feeling to desert us. The conspirators next debated what should be done with the surgeon. Some were for sending him after the Captain and mate, but the majority were for sparing him, as he was a useful man. Their work now done, Mitchel saluted Fly by the title of Captain, and, with the rest of the conspirators, gave him formal possession of the great cabin. Here the conspirators now held a council over a bowl of punch. They sent for Condon, the carpenter, and one Thom¬ as Streaton, and on their appearance Fly addressed them. He told them that they were three rascals, and richly deserv¬ ed to die, but that he was nevertheless disposed to be mer¬ ciful, and would only put them in irons, for the security of himself and his crew. Accordingly, they were ironed. Scarce¬ ly had this measure been carried into effect, when the coun¬ cil was broken up by the approach of another ship, the Pom- 3 48 WILLIAM FLY. pey, which had sailed from Jamaica in company with them The Pompey came within hail, and inquired for Captain Green, and Fly replied, that he was very well. The pirates did not dare to attack this vessel, but returned to their con¬ sultation, and it was agreed to steer for the coast of North Carolina. After making that shore, the first vessel they saw was the sloop John Hannah; riding at anchor. Captain Fulker, her commander, thinking the Elizabeth might want a pilot, went on board with his mate, two passengers, and a boy, and offer¬ ed his services. Fly told them that the snow was from Jamai¬ ca, with a cargo, and asked them into the cabin to partake of a bowl of punch. * When the punch was brought in, Fly told his guests that u he was not a person to mince matters. He and his comrades were gentlemen of fortune, and they would majte bold to try if Mr. Fulker’s sloop was not abetter sailer than the snow. If she should prove so, she was better adapted to their business, and they would have her.” The Elizabeth was then brought to anchor, about a league from the sloop, and Fly commanded Mr. Fulker to take his boat, with six of his own hands, to the sloop, and bring her along side the Elizabeth. Fulker com¬ plied, but the wind being high and adverse, he could not reach the sloop, and therefore returned to the Elizabeth. As soon as he came on board, Fly being warm with liquor, fell into a violent passion, and cursed and abused Mr. Fulker for not bringing off the sloop. F ulker excused himself, say¬ ing that it was impossible. “ You lie, you dog,” returned the savage, u and your hide shall pay for your roguery. If I can’t bring her off, I’ll burn her where she lies.” Then, dis- « regarding reason and remonstrance, he ordered Fulker to be tied, and whipped him in a very inhuman manner. The boat’s crew were again despatched, and with great difficulty and danger gained the sloop’s deck. She was lying within a bar, upon which the pirates, not knowing the coast, ran her, and she bilged and sank. The disappointed freebooters, en¬ deavored to burn that part of the hull which remained out of water, but did not succeed, probably owing to the dashing of the spray. As the Elizabeth was making sail, Mr. Fulker and his com¬ panions entreated to be set on shore, to which Fly would not listen, but he promised them that as soon as he should have taken some vessel, he would set them at liberty. He then stood off the coast; and on the next day, (the sixth of June,) I WILLIAM FLY. 49 espied a ship called the John and Betty, to which he gave chase. Finding that she outsailed him, he hung out signals of distress, to which the chase gave no heed. Fly continued the pursuit all night, and as the wind slackened, in the morning he came within shot of her. Hoisting the black flag, he fired several guns at the John and Betty, and prepared 1 to board, when she struck. Fly boarded the prize with his men, all armed to the teeth, but she proved of small value, and they only took from her a quantity of sail cloth and some muskets. He put on board of her the surgeon of the Elizabeth, Mr, Fulker, and one of his passengers, and then suffered her to proceed. The other passenger, whose name was Atkinson, was an experienced seaman, well acquainted with the coast of New England, and Fly resolved to detain him for a pilot. When he desired to be permitted to accompany the others, the pirate refused, with horrid oaths and imprecations; assuring him, at the same time, that if he played them false, in his compelled vocation, his life should be the forfeit. Atkinson answered, that he did not know the coast, and that it was hard that such a penalty should attach to the mistakes of his ignorance. He therefore again begged to be put on board the John and Betty, and trust to their own knowledge, for he did not doubt that there were able navigators among them. “No, no,” said Fly, “that won’t do. Your palavering won’t save your bacon. Go you shan’t; so either discharge your duty like an honest man, or I’ll send you to the devil, with my compliments. So no more words about it.” Fly then stood for the coast of New England. Off the Capes of Delware he gave chase to a sloop, bound, with fifty passengers, from New York to Philadelphia. As soon as the pirate came up, she struck, and Fly ordered Mr. Atkinson, with three of his own crew, on board, to sail her, but he would not allow Atkinson any arms. But after searching the vessel, they found that she would be of no use to them. So they im- pressed one of her hands, and then let her go. Mr. Atkinson was then ordered to take the Elizabeth into Martha’s Vineyard, but he purposely missed it; for which, when Fly found himself within Nantucket, Fly was much ex¬ asperated. “You d—d rascally scoundrel,” said he, “ it’s a piece of cruelty to let such a villain live, as wants to take the lives of so many honest fellows.” Atkinson answered, that he had never pretended to know the coast, and that it was very hard their good opinion of his 50 WILLIAM FLY. ability should be the cause of his death. Had he offered to be their pilot, without knowing his business, he might have merited punishment; but as'he was forced to undertake, upon affairs which he declared he did not understand, it would be cruel to make him suffer for their own mistake. u You are an obstinate villain,” cried Fly,“ and you mean to hang us; but, blood and wounds, you dog, you shan’t live to see it.” So saying, he ran to the cabin, and returned with a pistol to shoot Atkinson. Mitchell, however, who thought the poor man innocent ofany deceit, interposed, and his life was saved. Finding himself hourly in danger, Atkinson began to in¬ gratiate himself with the pirates, giving them to understand that he might, perhaps, be induced to join them, by good usage. They were not a little elated at the prospect of having so able a seaman among them, and some even intimated that if he would accept the command, they would depose Fly, whose arrogance displeased them, and who, they were well aware, knew nothing of navigation, or, indeed, anything, farther than the duty of a boatswain. Atkinson did not altogether dis¬ courage their hopes, but he refused to hear anything about accepting the command. This conduct induced them to treat him better, and to protect him from the violence and abuse of Fly, who had more than once proposed to cast him into the sea, supposing, truly, that he intended to betray them. The Elizabeth now sailed to Brown’s Bank, and on the twenty-third of June captured a fishing schooner. On com¬ ing up with this vessel, Fly ran up the black flag, fired a gun, and swore “ if she did not instantly bring to, and send her boat on board, he would sink her.” He was obeyed. He examined the master respecting the prospect of finding other vessels, and promised that if he could enable him to take a good sailer, he would give him back his schooner; otherwise, he would keep her. The man told him that he had a consort that would soon join him, and was a much better vessel. He spoke the truth: in a few hours the vessel hove in sight, and Fly manned his prize with §ix pirates, and sent her in chase, remaining himself on board the Elizabeth, with fifteen impres¬ sed men, and Atkinson, who, by this time, had gained some¬ what upon his good graces. It is written that the days of the wicked shall be short, and it seems that Heaven, weary of the crimes of William Fly, prepared to make the promise good. Atkinson seeing that the JASON FAIRBANKS. 51 honest men were more'numerous, five to one, than the thieves remaining with Fly, thought he could never have a better chence to turn the tables on him. Fortunately, several more fishing vessels came in sight, right ahead of the Elizabeth, whereupon Atkinson desired the pirate captain to come forward with his glass. Fly left his arms on the quarter deck, and coming forward, sat down on the windlass to look out ahead. Atkinson and three more instantly took possession of his arms, and laid hands on him. They secured him with little trouble, and then mastered the other three pirates, and bound them. They then brought the snow to the Great Brewster, in Boston Harbor, on the "twenty-eighth of the month. It should be remarked that Mr. Atkinson effected this rescue with the aid of three men only, not having had an opportunity to advise the other impressed men of his design. Thus, in less than two months from its commencement, end¬ ed the sanguinary career of this obdurate miscreant, and the closing scene was soon to follow. On the fourth of July following, Fly and his comrades were brought before a special Court of Admirality, at which Lieutenant Governor Sir Wil¬ liam Dummer presided, assisted by eighteen of the council. They were found guilty of piracy and murder, and condemned to be hung. Fly was hanged in chains on one of the islands in Boston Harbor. The names of the three inferior pirates were, Samuel Cole, George Condick, and Henry Greenvil. JASON FAIRBANKS. This unhappy person was a native of Dedham, in Massa¬ chusetts, and the child of respectable, though poor parents. His constitution was weak and his health infirm, so much so, that from his tenth year upward he was able to perform little labor, and his friends, therefore, sent him to school at Wren- tham, hoping to give him an education that might be the means of his future support. His constitutional infirmity prevented him from prosecuting his studies, and he returned home. After his return he was afflicted by a pulmonary complaint, which increased his debility. In addition to all this, he lost the use of his right arm, by an unsuccessful inoculation for the small pox. 52 JASON FAIRBANKS. The incidents of his life were unimportant, and could excite no interest excepting so far as they are connected with the tragedy in which he was, fatally for himself, an actor. These will, we opine, be best elucidated by an account of his trial, which began on the sixth of August, eighteen hundred and one, before the Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts, held in Dedham.* Fairbanks was at this time twenty-one years old. The jury presented, that Jason Fairbanks did, on the eigh¬ teenth of May, one thousand eight hundred and one, assault FJizabeth Fales with a knife; and gave her a mortal wound in the throat, tw r o inches deep: that he gave her another mortal wound in the back, four inches deep: that he gave her four mortal wounds in her back, each four inches deep: another mortal wound in her left side, three inches deep: six mortal wmunds on her left arm: two mortal w ounds'on her right arm, and one mortal wound on her left thumb: of all of which wmunds the said Elizabeth Fales instantly died. To this in¬ dictment the prisoner pleaded not guilty. The first witness examined, was Dr. Nathaniel Ames. His testimony was as follows. On the eighteenth of May he went to the place where the dead body of Elizabeth Fales was found. The windpipe was cut through, and the wounds on her breast were deep, as were those on the left arm. Those on the right arm were mere scratches. That on her side was deep, and the ball of her left thumb was cut almost off. The witness did not think she could have survived these wounds, and was of opinion that the immediate cause of her death was, that the blood had flow¬ ed from the gash in her neck into her vitals. The wound in her back he did not see at the time, but afterwards examined it, and found it a small one. He believed she might have in¬ flicted it herself, and thought it might have been given with the knife produced in court. Samuel Fales , the uncle of the deceased, said, that he lived in the same house with her. At about three o’clock, on the eighteenth of May, he saw Jason Fairbanks standing by the house, with a bloody knife in his hand. His throat was cut across, and he had several stabs in his body. The witness took him by the hand, and held him till his son came, whom he desired to hold him till some other person should arrive. Going to lyir. Mason’s pasture, he saw his niece lying on the ground, nearly on her face, with her arms over her head. Her father came up, laid his hand on her head and exclaimed, JASON FAIRBANKS. 53 “ 0 Betsey!” when she turned on her side. The witness then asked her if she knew what hurt her, and she assented, by signs. Her father asked if she wanted water, and, in the same manner, she signified that she did. A greatcoat, be¬ longing to the prisoner, was lying near her, which her father desired the witness to put under her head, while he went for water. The witness took her shawl, which was lying on the ground, and tied it round her neck, to see if she could swallow, which she could not. She breathed but faintly. There was little blood near her, so little that the witness thought she did not lose enough to cause her death. She was dressed in a short, loose calico gown, and a green skirt; her shoes were off. Her mother came to the spot just before she died, which was about half an hour from the time Samuel Fales first saw her. There was a pocketbook near her, containing receipts and other papers, purporting to have been given to Jason Fair¬ banks. When the witness first saw the prisoner, a froth was issuing from the wound in his neck, and he held him, thinking he was insane, and might do some mischief. The prisoner’s information induced him to go to Mr. Mason’s pasture. The witness was not permitted to say, what the prisoner had told him. In the course of the trial, Samuel Fales was called again, and said, that when he first saw the deceased, her head was ly¬ ing near a rough sharp stone, and that the bushes about her were six or seven feet high. A little distance from the place, the trees and bushes were very thick. Between where she was lying, and the place where Mr. Fales had been at work, was the clearest part of the pasture, and he thought he might have seen her if he had looked in that direction. She was on a rising ground. Doctor Jonathan Wild bore witness, that the wound on the neck of the deceased was in a circular form, round her neck, and appeared to have been cut with one stroke. One wound on her left arm, near the wrist, was severe, and would have disabled her from resisting with that arm. 'f'he wound in the neck was mortal. John Endicott described the wounds as the other witnesses had done. The Attorney General now produced the clothes, worn by the deceased at the time she was found murdered, and the holes in them corresponded with the wounds described. Re¬ becca Fales and Lydia Whiting swore, that they had taken them off, when she was laid out. 54 JASON FAIRBANKS. Eunice Lewis testified that the deceased was of the middling size, and that she had always thought that the prisoner and she were friends. She first saw Elizabeth Fales after the mur¬ der, dead, in the pasture. She verified the evidence touch¬ ing the wounds. When she assisted to lay out the deceased, she took several trifles from her pockets, but no knife, or other sharp instrument. Doctor Jibijah Draper , describing the wounds, stated that the one on her hand appeared to have been made with teeth, two of which had pierced the skin, so as nearly to meet. He did not examine them. The knife taken from Fairbanks was then exhibited to Ephraim Handy , who swore it was his, and that he had lent it to the prisoner, in the morning of the day of the murder. Fair¬ banks borrowed it to make a pen, as he said, and the witness commonly used it for the same purpose. The point was bro¬ ken off at the time. He saw the prisoner again, between twelve and one o’clock, at his father’s house, when he was calm and cheerful; nothing strange appeared in his conduct. Witness heard him ask his brother for his pocketbook. When Handy saw his knife again, it was in the hands of Dr. Ames. He did not know that any intimacy existed between Fairbanks and Elizabeth Fales, though he had lived in the prisoner’s father’s house almost a year. Sarah Fales , the mother of the murdered girl, deposed, that after the murder she first saw Jason Fairbanks, at about three o’clock, coming into the yard of her house, with a bloody knife in his hand, which he gave to her. She gave the knife to her other daughter, and asked Fairbanks what horrid thing he had been doing. Elizabeth Fales had gone from home be¬ tween twelve and one o’clock to borrow a book at Mr. Guild’s. There was nothing singular in her conduct, she had been washing, and was gay and cheerful. She had attended church the day before. Mrs. Fales never knew that her daughter was attached to the prisoner. When she saw her again, it was in Mason’s pasture, mortally wounded, as before described. Sne did not know that Elizabeth carried any sharp instru¬ ment with her. Polly Fales, sister of Elizabeth, testified that she had been in company with the deceased, a week before the murder, to the house of the prisoner’s father, and that Jason let them in She left her sister alone with the prisoner about an hour. Ja¬ son had attended her sister and others, home from church, the day before her death. The witness was not aware of any at- JASON FAIRBANKS. 55 tael ment between them, and did not believe there was any on the part of her sister. Fairbanks was not particularly atten¬ tive to the deceased. Herman Mann had found some pieces of paper about the body of Elizabeth Fales, after her death. When joined, these fragments appeared to be the certificate of a publication of banns, between the prisoner and the deceased. It was signed with the name of the town clerk, but not in his hand¬ writing. Susannah Davis swore that she had written this certificate, at the request of Jason Fairbanks. He made this request the day before the murder, saying, that he had forgotten the form of such certificates. Miss Davis asked whose name she should insert, and he replied, u any of the Dedham girls;” whereup¬ on she said she would put in Elizabeth Fales. Fairbanks as¬ sented, and the witness inserted the name accordingly, and af¬ fixed the signature of the town clerk. On receiving it, he ex¬ claimed, u Ah! Betsey Fales, that will do! ” Miss Davis took the certificate back, and was about to burn it, but Fairbanks prevented her, and put it in his pocket. He promised her, however, that no one should see it. This witness farther stated, that Fairbanks asked for the certificate in a jocular manner, and she did not believe, at the time, that he meant anything serious. She had frequently seen Fairbanks and the deceased together, and believed them reciprocally attached. Doctor Benjamin Turner had seen the body at the grave, and confirmed the testimony touching the marks of teeth on the hand. Sarah Guild swore that Elizabeth Fales came to the house where she lived, on the day of her death, between twelve and one, and staid more than an hour. She said she came to bor¬ row a book, and refused to stay longer. She said she had been working hard, but was cheerful, and as she was going away, stopped some minutes at the door to play with a child. Eliza Guild testified to the same effect, and added, that, in the spring, she heard Jason Fairbanks say he should not live till the election. A person present told him that he must take Eliz¬ abeth Fales to a ball, to which he replied, “ I am not sure of it. I am sure I shall not live till election.” Hannah Farrington lived a quarter of a mile from the place where the body was found. On the day, and at the time of the murder, she heard a voice, which she knew to be that of Elizabeth Fales, cry “ 0 dear! 0 dear! ” It appeared to come 3 * 56 JASON FAIRBANKS. H from the woods, between the house and the place where the body was found. On hearing it, the witness said to her sister that it was Elizabeth Fales, laughing, and that she would soon be there. She heard the voice two or three times, within fif¬ teen minutes, and it appeared like that of a person in distress. The witness had always thought Miss Fales and Fairbanks very fond of each other, and had often seen them together. She said that Fairbanks had been sick, and was always weak¬ ly. During the last spring he had been confined to the house, and spat blood. Beside, his right arm was entirely stiff at the elbow, and he could not use it. He had spent most of his time at home, but had lately been at an academy in Wrentham. Hannah Farrington had always seen the prisoner and the deceased walk home together, and they always seemed to de¬ sire the company of each another. She had not doubted that they were courting. Prudence Farrington agreed with the last witness, in all points. Fairbanks and Miss Fales had often met at her house, it appeared to her, by appointment. William Mason met the prisoner on the eighteenth of May, between twelve and one, who asked him where he had been. There was some small talk between them, and Fairbanks de¬ meaned himself as usual. Isaac Whiting had conversed with the prisoner the Decem¬ ber before. Fairbanks told the witness that he found some dif¬ ficulty in addressing Miss Fales, as her friends were oppos¬ ed to it. At another time he told Whiting, that he must sac¬ rifice her character by violating her chastity; but added, that he “ sometimes thought it too bad.” He frequently told this witness he thought he should never marry her, because the fam¬ ilies were at variance. Once Whiting had heard him say, that some one had informed him that Miss Fales had been address¬ ed by another person, and if that was the case, he would have nothing more to do with her. He had said to Whiting that he did not think he should ever enter her father’s house again, but if he should, the difficulty could be settled in a few min¬ utes. Whiting then understood that the difficulty was remov- . ed, and saw them together often. The Saturday before her death, Fairbanks spoke as if he expected to see her soon, and his conversation was light and jocular. This witness also confirmed the account of the prisoner’s debility. Jibner Whiting testified, that being once in Mr. Bates’ shop with Fairbanks, he saw Mrs. Fales going by. This was two or three years before. Fairbanks cursed and swore, and said JASON FAIRBANKS. 57 ' he would have satisfaction of Mrs. Fales. He would not ex¬ plain his meaning ; but Bates said, that one evening he went home with Miss Fales, and the door was shut against him. Fairbanks replied, u well, you know something about it;” and then repeated that he would have satisfaction. The witness again saw the prisoner, in the same place. They went out to¬ gether, and saw Miss Fales coming toward them, on which Whiting asked Fairbanks if he had obtained satisfaction yet. He answered that he had not, and that he had no such inten¬ tion. He added, u Betsey is a nice girl, but d—n it, for all that, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know but I must be the death of her.” The next time the witness saw Fairbanks, he (Whiting) was standing in the door of Bates’s shop. Fairbanks was coming toward the shop with another young man, a stranger to Whiting. A young woman, whom Whiting believed to be Miss Fales, was approaching at the same time. He heard some person, apparently Fairbanks, exclaim, u d—n you, I must have you in the bushes.” He went toward them and listened, but could hear no more. At another time, Whiting was in Mr. Daniel’s shop, and saw Fairbanks and another young man ; and at the same time Miss Fales, approaching. One of them exclaimed, u d—n you, I will be the death of you.” In this case, also, the prisoner’s companion was unknown to the witness. Whiting stated all this to have occurred a long time before, perhaps two or three years. He said he had told his wife what he heard, but she answered u that he had been to the shop, and did not know what he did hear.” He had also, he said, informed Joshua Fales of the threats of Fairbanks. Joshua Fales positively denied ever having had such a com¬ munication from Abner Whiting. He said that misfortune and law, had some years before unsettled his intellects, for a time, but he knew nothing against his character, with, respect to truth, or anything else. The wife of Abner Whiting was not permitted to testify, with regard to the communications sworn to have been made to her. William Draper had known Abner Whiting to be u troubled in mind,” several years before. He had appeared before a court as a witness, and was fearful of having said something amiss. His father took him home in consequence. Draper had also been told by Whiting of one of the conversations alleged tc have taken place at Bates’s shop. In a conversa- 58 JASON FAIRBANKS. lion which took place relative to the death of Miss Fales, Draper thought he behaved much in the same manner as when troubled in mind. He appeared to be intoxicated, and after¬ ward did not remember what he had said. He also told Draper, u he did not know but he had said something wrong before the Grand Jury,” and feared that he might be blamed for it. Nehemicih Fales , the afflicted parent of the deceased, testi¬ fied that, two or three years before her death, she had received the attentions of a Mr. Sprague, who went to New York and was married. He thought that this had affected her much, but was not aware that she had been attached to Fairbanks. He had never forbidden the prisoner his house. The rest of his evidence only went to confirm points proved before. Reuben Fai'i'ington stated, that the Sunday evening before the death of Miss Fales, he walked home from church with her, Fairbanks, and others. Fairbanks stopped at the witness’ house, while Miss Fales proceeded homeward. The prisoner asked him home to supper, and on the way told him, that he was about to meet Miss Fales, in order to settle the matter. He said he would either violate her chastity, or carry her to Wrentham and marry her, for he had waited long enough, to the injury of his health. Farrington laughed at him. The next morning Fairbanks came to his house, but said nothing more of the matter. He came again at ten o’clock, and Farrington asked him to assist in planting beans, but he ex¬ cused himself, saying he was too weak. He said he was coming to Farrington’s house at Election, as Miss Fales had invited him. Much more idle conversation passed, by no means important to relate. Farrington thought he jested, having often heard him discourse in the same jocular manner. Farrington was of opinion that the prisoner and the deceas¬ ed were very intimate, and strongly attached He thought that Fairbanks was liked by the family of Miss Fales. She had often met Fairbanks at Farrington’s house, as often as two or three times a week, and they sometimes tarried till eleven or twelve o’clock. * He thought they would u have gone through fire and water for the sake of being together.” Their meetings did not appear accidental, but the result of previous assignation. Bulah Guild swore, that about two months before the mur¬ der, in a conversation with Fairbanks, the latter observed, that “ Mrs. Fales and Mrs. Waite had been talking about him, but he had thought of a better way—there were other ways JASON FAIRBANKS. 59 to come up with people, besides talking about them.” He said the physician had told him he might live many years ; but he did not himself think he should live three months. He said, u if he thought he should live seven) he should not care.” , Several witnesses testified that the demeanor of the deceas¬ ed on the day previous to her death, was gay and cheerful. Doctor Ames being again called, testified that he saw Fair¬ banks several times after the murder, before he was committed to prison. The wound on his windpipe had not penetrated the cavity, and the doctor told him he need not be afraid, for it would not kill him. He exclaimed, “ O my heart! O my heart!” Speaking of the wounds in his breast, he said he had ran the knife into the haft, but this Dr. Ames did not believe. Fairbanks wished that he might not live, as his life was a burden to him. The witness described the prison¬ er’s right arm as small, and stiff at the elbow, but believed he might raise anything from the ground with it, by stooping. Doctor Charles Kitteridge stated that the wounds of the prisoner were very dangerous. One, in the abdomen, began to mortify, and the mortification was arrested with great difficulty. It brought on a tetanus, or locked jaw, that lasted seven or eight days. The witness had also examined the wounds of the deceased ; and as there was some contradiction which thumb was wound¬ ed, satisfied himself that it was the left. He said he did not see the wound in the back. Lydia Whiting and Catherine Everett both swore, positively ftiat Dr. Kitteridge did see the said wound, and that on see¬ ing it, he said it was the strongest evidence against Fairbanks. The doctor was again called, and swore as positively to the contrary. The others stated that the examination took place after the jury were called out of the chamber. Reuben Far¬ rington , who was a witness on this occasion, went with the jury, and did not see the doctor, who afterwards told him that he was sorry he had not seen the wound. Ebenezer Fair¬ banks, Jr. the brother of Jason, deposed that he was in the room with Dr. Kitteridge and his brother, while the jury were exam¬ ining the wound, and the doctor did not leave the room. Eunice Lewis then swore that Doctor Kitteridge had ex¬ amined the wound, and that she was not mistaken. Edward Fisk swore that Doctor Kitteridge had told him that he had not examined the wound in question. 60 JASON FAIRBANKS. SuJcey Fairbanks , the prisoner’s niece, testified to the ex¬ istence of an attachment between Jason Fairbanks and the deceased, and that Elizabeth and Polly Fales had visited her father’s house on the eighth of May. She said that the lovers had been left together, and that at her departure, Miss Fales had affectionately kissed Jason’s hand. Again, when she came with Polly Fales, the witness and Polly went to bed and left her with Jason. About daylight Miss Fales came to bed, and told the witness that she had something important to com¬ municate, but dared not, lest Polly should overhear them. The witness further testified, that the prisoner was sickly and weak. On one occasion, he had been unable to force a little boy to school. He had once scuffled with the witness, who had been able to hold him very easily; and he was so fa¬ tigued with the exertion, that he did not get over it for several hours. In the forenoon of the day on which Elizabeth Fales was murdered, he had copied music for his brother, and was in good health and spirits. When he left the house, he inform¬ ed her that he was going to see Elizabeth Fales. Ebenezer Fairbanks , Jr. testified to the continued ill health of his brother and that he was unable to dress himself. He lent the prisoner the knife he had on the morning of the murder, to be used as a penknife. He had been used to tease Jason, for which reason he was not in his confidence. He knew that Jason, on the morning of the murder, had about him the pocket book already mentioned. He had conversed with Mr. Fales since his daughter’s death, who told him, that he knew that something was the matter with the deceased, but never suspected that it had any reference to the prisoner. Mary Fairbanks , the wife of Ebenezer Jr. testified in sub¬ stance as her husband had done, touching the health of the prisoner. John Guild had once seen Jason Fairbanks scuffle with a young man, named Ryan, two years before, and thought him full a match for Ryan. He knew little respecting the prison¬ er’s health. Joseph Ellis had seen Jason Fairbanks scuffle with an ac¬ tive young man, named Calvin Fairbanks, and get the better of him. Abner Atherton had scuffled with the prisoner, who got the better of him and put him on the floor. This happened the preceding September. Afrs. Abigail Gay testified that she had witnessed the scuf- 4 JASON FAIRBANKS. 61 . \ fle between Atherton and the prisoner, and that they were both so much intoxicated at the time, that she thought she could have managed either of them. What has been given, contains the substance of the evi¬ dence. There were more witnesses, who testified to things immaterial. We have not given the whole particular testimo¬ ny of each, excepting in cases where there was contradiction, conceiving it to be unnecessary. We presume' to offer no opinion on the credibility of the witnesses, except that of Abner Whiting, who, it appears, hesitated, and contradicted himself on the stand, probably in consequence of mental de¬ rangement. We think that no importance should attach to his testimony. After a deliberation which lasted ten hours, the jury found the prisoner GUILTY; and he received sentence of death, and was remanded to the county jail in Dedham. The evidence against him was, it seems, though strong, entirely of a circumstantial character, and there were many who did not participate in the popular indignation, or believe Jason Fairbanks guilty. Of these, five or six concerted a plan of escape, which was carried into execution on the night of the seventeenth of August. The community at large were highly indignant at this interference with the course of law; and most of the inhabitants of Dedham signed a paper, agree¬ ing to give an account of themselves and the inmates of their houses, to have their premises searched, and to omit no exer¬ tion to apprehend the fugitive and his accomplices. A reward of five hundred dollars was offered by the Executive for his apprehension, which was soon increased by subscriptions, principally in Boston, to a thousand. Fairbanks, and Henry Dukeham, the accomplice in his es¬ cape and partner of his flight, in the meanwhile, took the road to Canada. They were pursued by three inhabitants of villages near Boston. At Milford they first obtained infor¬ mation respecting the fugitives, and then pursued their route to Connecticut River. They came up with Fairbanks and Dukeham, on the twenty-third of August, at Skeenborough on Lake Champlain, and made them prisoners. Previous to this, Dukeham had hired a boat to carry Fairbanks to St. John’s in Canada. At the time his pursuers overtook him, Fairbanks was ready to embark, and was only waiting for his breakfast. Dukeham and Fairbanks had travelled leisurely, though 62 SAMUEL GREEN. they were well mounted, not expecting to be pursued. When taken, Fairbanks expressed his surprise, and said that if he had expected to be followed his captors should have ridden some hundreds of miles farther. He had manifested much indifference during his trial* nor was his courage shaken by his detection. On the twenty-ninth of August, Fairbanks and Dukeham were committed to Boston jail. On the same day, the Gov¬ ernor, with the advice of the council, signed a warrant for the execution of Fairbanks on the tenth of September, and he was executed accordingly. He died with the greatest firm¬ ness, denying his guilt to the last. There is, to this day, doubt in the minds of many, respect¬ ing the guilt of Fairbanks. For the murder of Elizabeth Fales there appears to have been no adequate motive, yet it seems almost impossible that she could have given herself the wounds of which she died. SAMUEL GREEN. The parents of this malefactor were poor, honest people, residents of the county of Strafford, New Hampshire, where the subject of this memoir was born. They endeavoured to give him some education, but their efforts were in vain: from his earliest childhood he showed that innate depravity, which afterward brought him to an untimely end. Mischief was his whole study: he was commonly a truant, and when at school he daily contrived to draw punishment upon himself. He continued this course till he was eight years old, when he was given in charge to a Mr. L-. He had not been long in this person’s house before he was detected in a theft, for which he received a sound flagellation. Other offences brought other punishments, which, however, had no good effect, but the direct contrary. Perhaps, had mild measures been adopted, reform might have been the result; but the scourge confirmed him in obstinacy, and awakened a spirit of revenge in his bosom. On one occasion, having been whipped, he retaliated by destroying a bed of onions, and was again chastised in order to extort confession; but as he had SAMUEL GREEN. 63 done this mischief unseen, nothing could make him confess it. He resolved to strike blow for blow; and on a favorable opportunity, drowned a dog in the family well. Putrefaction rendered the water offensive, and Mr. L-was at consider¬ able expense to have the well cleansed; and, in the meanwhile, Green being suspected, was obliged to bring water from a great distance, thus realizing that sin commonly brings its own punishment. , He lived with Mr. L-two years, during which time, he continued to conduct in the same flagitious manner. At last, being scourged for stabbing a swine, he eloped, and returned to his parents, who then sent him to another master, a Mr. D-of Newhampton, where he behaved properly, upwards of a year. Here he was sent to school, but usually played the truant, and was as constantly whipped. One day, he went to a smith’s shop to buy a jew’s-harp, but not finding the smith at home, he purloined one. Returning home, Mr. D-whip¬ ped him for running away, and on the morrow discovered the theft; for which he whipped our hero again, and sent him to restore his booty, with a promise that unless he returned in due time, he should be flogged once more. Green again trans¬ gressed, and his master kept his word. Enraged at this, he escaped to his parents, who made him taste of the rod afresh, and sent him back to his master, who applied the whip to his back once more. For this, the boy determined to take his life! Mr. D-had a workshop, the door of which opened out¬ ward. Against this the young desperado laid a heavy stick of timber on the inside, and on the top a broad axe, in hopes that when Mr. D— opened the door, they would fall upon, and destroy him. For fear of failure, he prepared the barn doUr in the same fashion, poising a pitchfork on the top, with the points downward. He had a partial success in both in¬ stances; for when Mr. D--‘opened the shop door, the fall of the timber bruised his shoulder, and at the barn the pitch- fork wounded his foot. Green’s ingenuity was rewarded with another castigation. Yet he was not to be subdued, and stuck at no villany that might favor his revenge. He destroy¬ ed a hogshead of cider; he stole and sold his master’s corn, as well as other things; and instead of planting the seeds en¬ trusted to. him, he destroyed them. Again he eloped, and again was he brought back. Once, in revenge for a chas¬ tisement unusually severe, he fired the house; but the fire was discovered in time, and the dwelling was saved. A larger 64 SAMUEL GREEN. volume than this would be insufficient, to record all his misdo¬ ings. In all this wickedness, he was aided and abetted by a lad named A-, who was as bad, or worse, than himself. Nevertheless, Green was a boy of uncommon parts, and Mr. D-always cherished the vain hope that he might reform He then went to live with a new master, with whom he was able to stay but three months, and so returned home-, where he was indulged in everything, for none dared to cross him. His father was too old to chastise him, and the tears of his mother were of no effect. He now became acquainted with a notorious counterfeiter, who gave him instructions in vice, showing him how to break open shops, and window shutters. Green was an apt pupil, as will hereafter be seen. His pre¬ ceptor also gave him counterfeit money to pass, promising him half the profits. In less than a month he had disposed of forty-seven dollars, in the neighbourhood of Newhampton. The counterfeiter then promised, that if he would break into a shop, and bring him the goods, he would pay him half their value. In concert with his comrade A-, Green broke into the said shop, whence they took merchandise to the value of an hundred dollars, which they carried to their instigator, who gave them ten dollars each, for their pains. So little truth is there in the saying, that there is honor among thieves. Green was never suspected of this burglary, but a man named Hart was arrested on suspicion. This man was acquitted for want of evidence, yet lost his character; and thus the guilt of the actual perpetrators was doubled. Our hero then hired himself to a farmer; but, as he could not forego the society of his friend A-, every Sabbath, in¬ stead of attending divine worship,, they met at a pond in the neighbourhood, where they usually made free with a boat, which they never returned to the place where they found it. When the owner of the boat found his locks and chains broken, he resolved to watch, and the next Sunday succeed¬ ed in laying hands on A-, but Green managed to keep out of his reach. A-resisted with all his might, but as the honest man had the better of him, Green took up a large pebble, and coming behind the owner of the boat, said that if he did not instantly release A-, he would knock out his brains. The man replied that he would whip them both, and Green instantly knocked him down with a stone; and still dis¬ satisfied, threw another, which broke his arm as he lay on the ground. Upon this he cried murder, and the young ruffians SAMUEL GREEN. 65 ran away. For this exploit, they were indicted on an action of assault and battery, but their friend the counterfeiter paid the damage. Green remained with his employer four months, after which he returned home, and w T ent to school, not with any design to learn, but that he might do all the mischief he could. With the assistance of A-, he kept the school in confusion. Once, these reprobates had like to have perished; and happy would it have been for the world, still more happy for them¬ selves, had they been cut ofF before they had opportunity to stain their souls with crimes of a darker hue. They were skating on a pond, and both fell through the ice together With great difficulty, Green extricated himself, and then by the aid of an oar rescued A-. Shortly after, they had another adventure. There was a hill near the school house, where the boys used to coast. One of their sledges was large enough to carry seven or eight children at once. Once, as Green and his companion were ascending the hill, they met this sledge descending with great velocity, and full freighted. In sport, they threw their own sledge under its runners, but it proved no sport for the oth¬ ers. They were overturned at once; one boy had his arm, and another his thigh, broken. It was supposed that this mischief was intentional, and the schoolmaster blistered their hands for it, with his ferule. For this they waylaid him, armed with clubs, felled him to the earth, and bound him. A-, would have deprived him of his nose, but Green would not consent;. So they beat him, and stripped him na¬ ked, and tore his clothes to pieces before his face. It was a very cold night, but, notwithstanding, they left him thus, with his hands tied behind his back. / v After this feat they did not think themselves safe, and therefore went to Guilford, where Green had relations. Here they found a recruiting party, and enlisted as musicians, for’ they were not yet tall enough for the ranks. Their former employer, the counterfeiter, told them that they would have an excellent opportunity to pass bad money, as their uniform would protect them from arrest, even if detected. He gave Green four hundred dollars in counterfeit bills, saying that he might return one hundred in good money, and keep the rest He afterward gave them nine hundred dollars more. Shortly after, the party marched to Burlington, and our two rogues were very successful in passing their bad money on the road. Green now began to be intemperate, and was al- 66 SAMUEL GREEN. most constantly in the guard house. He also became a fre- quentei of a gaming house, where he lost three hundred dollars at play, one half of which was good money. It should be remarked that he was intoxicated when he lost it, so that it seems sobriety is absolutely necessary, even to a rogje. Shortly after, men were needed on board the Lake Cham¬ plain fleet, and Green and his comrade were permi ted to en¬ ter; but instead of being employed as seamen, as they L<. ^ ■ k OT . jk •’* ^ . V . . I* s - , - • * ». * * ' . L • ,.. ju n \\a ; • ' W4^4 ■fij*! II . ' •' • •> • %tt 1 I* ' /•••*' ' ' . / * - ; i : - * *% 1 (V ..;*•• ^ , ' ■ ' » U 1 r* ■ ! •* N fs« •» - ... ih . 7 • . SAMUEL GREEN. G9 to pass. The two villains saw him depart late in the afternoon, and hurried to post themselves in his way, each armed with a heavy club. As soon as he appeared, they knocked him down and dragged him into the bushes, where they beat him to death. This crime, Green afterwards declared, weighed heavier on his conscience than any other of his misdeeds, in¬ asmuch as the victim was a steady, sober, hard working man, who had never done him any injury. Having secured his pack and money, amounting to about nine hundred dollars, the miscreants tied some large stones to the corpse and sunk it in the pond. They remained in the woods till dark, when they hid the trunk, and Green went to visit the girl he had formerly seduced, and presented her with clothes and jewelry, the property of the murdered pedlar. They remained sometime in the neighbourhood of Bath, drinking and gambling while their money lasted. During this time, they dug a cave in the side of a high hill, where they deposited whatever they could lay hands on. Hence, they made an excursion, and broke open a clothier’s mill in Holderness, whence they took a quantity of cloth ; at San- bornton they broke into a shop, and took jewelry and goods to the value of six hundred dollars ; and at Haverhill, in New Hampshire, they attempted a burglary on the Coos Bank, but were discovered, and obliged to flee. They then returned to their cave and deposited their stolen goods. The next place that was cursed with the presence of the comrades was Portsmouth, where they sold their plunder, and by associating with abandoned women, and other wicked courses, soon so far dissipated their means that they were obliged to sell their horses to pay their landlord’s bill. Here A- performed another exploit. As he was walking out with Green, he went into the bank to change a bill. While the teller was busied in making change, A-— snatched a bundle of notes, amounting to seven hundred dollars, and escaped undiscovered. A-would have gone back for more, had not Green dissuaded him. They immediately went to find two gamblers, with whom they played thirty six hours at a sitting, and lost four hundred dollars. Exasperated with their loss, they accused the black-legs of cheating them, which pro¬ bably was true, and beat them severely. Having information that a Mr. L——■ of Sanbornton, had a bag of gold in his shop, Green repaired thither and fitted a key to the lock, and then watched the shop from a hiding 4 70 SAMUEL GREEN. place, till he saw Mr. L-close his premises and lock the door. Green then entered in search of the gold, and struck a light. As fortune would have it, Mr. L-returned, to get something he had forgotten, and raised the hue and cry. Green leaped out of a window, upon a pile of staves which lay beneath, and found himself in the presence of six or seven men, one of whom seized him. Nothing daunted, he took up one of the staves and broke the man’s arm, and cleared himself of a second by a blow of his fist, after which he gained the place where he had left his horse, and escaped. Not satisfied with what he had done, in a few days he returned to Mr. L-’s shop, effected an entrance, and carried off goods to the value of two hundred dollars, which he was so hardy as to offer for sale, in a shop between Dover and Portsmouth. A neighbour of Mr. L-who was present, recognised the articles, and with the assistance of an officer, took our hero into custody, and he was committed to jail in Dover for trial. He was confined in the same apartment with another felon. Hearing of Green’s mischance, A-visited him, bringing an augur and a circular saw, with which the prisoners began to work, one boring and the other sawing. However, before they had done much toward escaping they were discovered, and the jailer, who was a blacksmith, secured them more strongly than before, and put them in irons. Green’s fellow prisoner could slip his wrists out of the handcuffs, and with a pen knife managed to liberate himself and Green from all their irons, which they threw into the privy. Being provided with clubs, when the jailor came to fetter them again, they threatened to kill the first who should enter, and the officer desisted. The next night A-came again, and gave them a crowbar, with which they tore up half the planks of the floor. Under the planks they found a second floor, of stone, of which they took up a cart load, when they were again dis¬ covered, but not till they had secreted their crowbar. For this attempt their allowance of food was reduced, and they were removed to an upper room,, with grated windows. They succeeded in weakening the gratings so that they might be removed with little effort, and were waiting for night to escape, when they were again discovered, and conveyed to the apartment they had first occupied. Moreover, their allowance was still farther reduced. The next night, A- was discovered at the window, in the act of furnishing them with tools and was obliged to fight his way through those who SAMUEL GREEN. 71 would have apprehended him. Notwithstanding all this, they once more disencumbered themselves of their irons, and com¬ mitted them to the privy. The disappearance of the fetters astonished and irritated the jailor, and he forged a suit of irons with his own hands, which defied all their efforts. Finding the impossibility of escaping by force, they exhibited such a show of sorrow and repentance to the high sheriff, when he visited the prison, that he ordered their irons to be taken off, and a lighter suit were put on. A new inmate was put into the apartment, and the three, having got rid of their irons, cut through an oak log in the privy, which was eighteen inches square. They then threw their beds into the vault so that they could stand on them to work, and dug a hole through the wall into the jailer’s cellar, and escaped through the door at midnight. They went sixteen miles that night, and hid themselves in the woods near Gilmantown, all the next day. At night they broke into a shop, and stole four hundred dollars worth of goods. Thus, they had no sooner escaped punishment than they incurred the risk of it again. They were now advertised, and a reward of an hundred dollars was offered for the apprehension of each, so that travelling was very unsafe for them. One was taken, and the other two parted company. Green took the route to Canada. We now come to an adventure, which may serve to show that this man had courage which might have gained him laurels, had it been exerted in a good cause. He had to travel over a marsh, on a narrow bridge of logs, which he found guarded, as he had expected. The watch, not knowing that the burglars had separated, had stationed two men at the hither end of the bridge, and four in the bushes, nigh at hand: Green passed these latter unmolested, and advanced to the bridge and saw the two sentinels. At the same time, look¬ ing behind him he saw the rest, and immediately took to flight, the whole six following hard after. Though laden with a heavy bundle of stolen goods, and an oaken club, he distanced them all but one, who at last seized him by the skirt of his coat, while the rest were yet thirty yards* distant. Green struck him a blow with his cudgel, which brought him to the ground, and recommenced his flight. After running several miles before his pursuers, they lost sight of him. It is rathei singular^ that in this hard chase, during which he was several times on the point of being taken, he never relinquished his 72 SAMUEL GREEN. bundle, though by dropping it he might have effected his escape with great ease. He explained the circumstance him¬ self, saying, that he kept his booty “ out of spite.” The next cay he came to some men making staves, who set a large dog on him, and, by means of the animal, made him a prisoner. That night they put him into a bed between two of them, intending to carry him to prison the next day. Thinking themselves sure of him, his guardians slept in good earnest, and he again escaped, but with the loss of his bundle. We cannot dwell at large on any more of his misdemean¬ ors. They are enough to occupy a folio in their recital, and we shall therefore pass them over as briefly as possible. Arriving at Burlington, Vermont, Green took passage in the steamboat for St. John’s. While waiting for the boat, he amused himself with a burglary, in which he was detected, and was provided with lodgings at the public expense. He soon freed himself, and reached Stanstead in Canada, without interruption. Here he broke into a shop and stole five hun¬ dred dollars, with which he equipped himself and went to St John’s, and thence to Montreal. His first misdemeanor in this city was forcible entrance into a jeweller’s shop, from which he took articles worth seven thousand dollars. He crossed the river in order to make his escape, but before he got far, was surprised by five French¬ men. He fired a pistol at one and broke his arm, but his sec¬ ond pistol would not go off, and to punish his obstinacy, the men beat him severely, after which they tied him hand and foot and carried him to Montreal, where they immediately received five hundred dollars for his apprehension. He was tried, found guilty, and sentenced to death. His spirits, which were much depressed, were revived by a visit from his comrade A-, who promised not to forsake him, and to provide him with tools, at the risk of his own life. In the case of these two men, the proverb, of “ honor among thieves,” seems to have been exemplified, and the principle, if it may be called a principle, seems to have been the only ob¬ ligation they acknowledged. A-was as good as his word; and Green broke prison, and escaped in the direction of Albany, which he reached, without doing anything worse than stealing a few horses and committing otie burglary. At Albany Green was joined by A-, and they went together to Middleton, Vermont, where they remained some months, in a comparative state of innocence,— their worst of- SAMUEL GREEN. 73 fences being drunkenness and gambling. At last, having com¬ mitted a fraud in swapping a horse, they were compelled to decamp, and shaped their course for home, whither they did not hesitate to go, though they had perpetrated so many crimes in its vicinity. Here they renewed their acquaintance with their early preceptor, the counterfeiter. It might seem, that the great peril Green had lately been in would have been a warning, sufficient to make him abstain at least from capital crimes, but such was not the case. Scarcely had he slipped his neck out of the halter, when he prepared to risk the gibbet again. The counterfeiter informed the two villains that a French traveller had put up at a neighbouring tavern, and they re¬ solved to rob him, near the bridge where Green had been waylaid by six* men, as before related. There is a pond here, two miles long, and two high hills, forming altogether a very gloomy landscape. Here they waited, on the top of a hill, for the Frenchman, each armed with a brace of pistols and a knifd. When he reached the spot, A-seized his horse by the bridle, and Green, holding a pistol to his breast, com¬ pelled him to dismount. The unfortunate man was much frightened, and fell on his knees, earnestly beseeching them to spare his life. Ruffian as he was, Green would have suf- ered him to proceed on his journey, but for the expostulations of his comrade, who told him it was no time to hesitate, and bade him despatch the business. Green shot the man dead on the spot, at the same time A-shot the horse. The bodies of the brute, and his rider, they sunk in the pond, and returned to their hiding place with their booty, which amounted to seventeen hundred dollars in cash. They gave the coun- * terfeiter two hundred dollars of this money, for his information. They next went to Schenectady, where they were robbed, in turn, of all the money they had taken from the murdered Frenchman. Thus, the only result of this crime, as far as re¬ lates to its perpetrators, was adding another shade of black¬ ness to their own souls. The next place where our adventurers displayed their abili¬ ties was the city of New York. After two unsuccessful at¬ tempts at burglary they entered a wholesale store, whence they took neither goods nor money: but finding some old checks and blanks in one of the account books, they filled up one of the blanks with the sum of three thousand nine hun¬ dred dollars, copying the signature from one of the checks that had been used. They then left the store without dis- 74 SAMUEL GREEN. turbing anything. The next day, Green g( t the check cash¬ ed, and the companions returned to Albany, where they lived three months, at the rate of a thousand dollars per month. They then went home again, and behaved in such a manner as made the country too hot to hold them. We will now hasten still faster to the conclusion. At Barre, A-committed a rape, for which he was com¬ mitted to jail at Montpelier; whence, by the assistance of Green, he escaped, but from that time Green never heard of him. Green was next apprehended at Burlington, for a theft com¬ mitted at Barre. For this offence he was tried, found guilty, and sentenced to solitary confinement; but soon escaped, and repaired to Schenectady, stealing a horse by the way. His next crime, was, selling a base metal watch for fifty dollars, representing it as gold. He then committed a bur¬ glary at Saco, by which he got nothing, and narrowly escaped detection. At Danvers, being at the time very drunk, he*broke into a store, and took away thirty dollars, and goods of all descriptions, which he tied up in two shawls. These things he hid under a wharf. For this crime, he was taken, tried, found guilty, and sentenced to thirty days solitary confinement,' and four years hard labor in the State Prison. On his entrance, his head was shaved, hair, beard, and whiskers, as is the cus¬ tom. He was then obliged to strip and wash, and to put on a coat of many colors, in place of the one he had thrown off. Af¬ ter this, he was conducted to a dark narrow cell, where he found a small bed and two blankets. The next morning two ne¬ groes brought him bread and water, which was to serve him for breakfast and dinner, and at night they brought more. Thus passed thirty days, when he was taken to the prison yard, and employed in hanynering stone. Here he saw a great many prisoners, some of them with clogs chained to their legs, an appurtenance that he was soon like to have obtained himself, for disobeying the orders of one of the keepers. He obtained it at last, by an attempt to escape, and wore it for nine months. Moreover, when taken before the warden, he ascertained that that officer was advised of every plot the prisoners had formed to escape; a knowledge he gained from false brethren, who betrayed their companions in the hope of obtaining some mitigation of punishment for themselves. After having passed three years in prison, he plotted with some other prisoners to break forth; but in order to do this, SAMUEL GREEN. • 75 it v/as necessary to get rid of the keeper of the arch in which they were confined. For this purpose one of them attacked him, and bruised him so severely that he was obliged to go to the hospital, and they had leisure to operate. The plan was, to master the officers, and set every prisoner at liberty. But, just as the conspiracy was about to take effect, the plot was made known to the keepers, by a negro named Billy Williams, and measures were taken to frustrate it. The prisoners were naturally exasperated against this con¬ vict, and when he went to his supper, threw bread and dishes at him. They put poison into his dish, but he ate from an¬ other, and so, for a time escaped his fate. The next morn¬ ing a prisoner, (the notorious Trask,) asked Green if he would go into the shop where Williams was at work, and beat him, before the keeper could come to his assistance, to which Green assented. They did, accordingly, beat the negro with a bar of iron, broke his limbs and ribs, and fractured his skull. This was the closing crime of Green’s life. In a week after, Williams died of his wound; and Green was taken to Boston jail, where, before trial, he made an ineffectual ef¬ fort to escape. On his trial, Green denied that Trask was the man who as¬ sisted to murder the negro; and affirmed that he did not in¬ tend to kill, but merely to beat his victim. We leave our readers to judge, what credit should be attached to the assev¬ erations of such a person. He was found guilty, and sen¬ tenced to die on a gallows, a fate he had a thousand times merited. Trask, who was arraigned at the same time, was acquitted on the score of insanity. Green was executed on the twenty-fifth of April, eighteen hundred and twenty-two, at the age of twenty-five or twenty- six years. He behaved firmly, yet decently, at the place of execution, expressing penitence for his crimes. The rec¬ ords of America,—we may say, indeed, of the world, do not furnish the name of an individual who crowded so many crimes into so short a life. Nor have we ever seen a more utter perversion of abilities, which, properly directed, might have served and adorned the name of humanity. Green was about five feet, eight inches high; withal, thick¬ set and muscular. His eyes and hair were dark, and his fea¬ tures were savage and scowling. He was, in appearance, such a person as a traveller would not like to meet alone in a lonely place. CHARLES MARCHANT, alias JOHN DUNCAN . WHITE ; AND SYLVESTER COLSON, alias WINSLOW CURTIS. Marchant was a native of England, and a mariner by pro¬ fession. The incidents of his life previous to the commission of the crime for which he suffered have not come to our know¬ ledge. On the twentieth of August, eighteen hundred and twenty six, he shipped on board the Schooner Fairy, at Boston. The Fairy was bound for Gottenburg, under the command of Edward Selfridge, a young man of blameless character, and a skilful navigator. The mate, Thomas Paine Jenkins, was a native of Barnstable, Massachusetts. He was described as an honest, quick-tempered, active man. Both the captain and mate were the sons of widows, who depended chiefly on their exertions for support. Beside Marchant, the crew con¬ sisted of Winslow Curtis, otherwise Sylvester Colson, John Hughes, and John Murray, the cook. On the day the Fairy sailed, Marchant and the mate had a dispute on the wharf. The mate commanded the seaman to “ bear a hand ” in getting in the wood, and was asked, in re¬ turn, if he thought he was speaking to negroes. Jenkins made a testy reply, and the quarrel ended. After the vessel had sailed, the watches were set; Marchant, belonging to the mate’s watch, and Hughes, and Curtis, or Colson, to the first, or captain’s watch. Marchant, being a good seaman, was kept at the helm four hours at a time; an arrangement with which he expressed himself much dissatisfied. Colson, also, found cause of complaint: while he slept on his watch, the captain threw water on him to awaken him. Excepting the dispute already mentioned, and the circum¬ stance of being obliged to do double duty at the helm, it does not appear that Marchant received any provocation from Jen¬ kins. Yet it seems probable, that the murder of either the captain or mate, or both, was premeditated, from this circum¬ stance: there were two axes on board, and a hatchet, which was kept in the cabin till the twenty fourth of the month, when it was missed, and none of the hands could, or would, account for it. Colsen, also, was seen to secrete a heaver, (a .iind of staff used to set up halliards,) in the boat, proba¬ bly with a view to have a weapon ready. CHARLES MARCHANT. 77 On the night of the twenty-seventh of August, at nine P. M., the captain went below, leaving Colson and Hughes on deck. At twelve, his watch having expired, Hughes called the mate and Marchant, who came up, and Marchant took the helm. He then went below, and slept till he heard the watch called. He then went to call Colson, but did not find him in his birth. Going on deck, he saw Colson at the helm, and Marchant sitting on the weather rail. On being asked where the mate was, Marchant replied, that he and Colson had killed the two officers and thrown them overboard. The following dialogue ensued. Colson. Yes, we have killed the d-d rascals, and hove them overboard. The devil has got them in hell, by this time. Marchant. You may thank God, we did not kill you as we did them. Hughes, I may thank God, but I don’t know but that you will kill me as you did them. Marchant. No; we will not kill you, if you behave yourself. Hughes (weeping.) Who killed them ? Marchant. I killed one, and he the other. Hughes. What did you kill those men for; for what cause? Marchant. No cause at all, I am sorry that I did it. Colson. Sorry ! What ! for killing them two fellows? I had as lief kill the two d-d rascals as to kill a dog. If they were good men, it wouldffie worth while to be sorry. Hughes. And what do you mean to do with the schooner? Marchant. We’ll run for Newfoundland, and there scuttle her, and go ashore in the boat. Hughes. It will be a terrible thing for the owners, to lose the schooner and cargo. Marchant. D—n the owners, the insurers will have to pay for all. What are you crying about all this time? Hughes t It is enough to make any man cry. Marchant. You think a great deal of killing a man. Cry! Look at the old countries; the Italians, and Portuguese, and Spaniards, make nothing of killing a man. Hughes. If they do so, will you do the same? Only look at it, and see what a shocking thing it is to kill those poor men. I dare say you killed the captain while he was asleep. The two murderers then cut away the best bower anchor, stove the water casks, and destroyed everything on deck. After breakfasting, they searched the vessel’s papers and let¬ ter-bag, and destroyed some of them. The captain’s astronom 4* 78 CHARLES MARCHANT. ical instruments and private property they divided between them. Colson took Murray into his watch, and Marchant took Hughes into his. The pirates then disputed which should assume the command. The dispute ended ; by one steeling in one direction while he had the watch, and the other in a contrary one. After this, Marchant spoke little about the rKirder. Once, speaking with Hughes, he said, Miat Colson had been three days persuading him to assist in killing the capta n and mate, and to throw them overboard. He told Hughes, too, that af¬ ter the officers were despatched, Colson had proposed to him to kill the two seamen also, to prevent a discovery of their crime; but that he had refused; saying, that wrong enough had been done already. Both of the pirates threatened Murray with death, in case he should betray them. Colson spoke much of what he had done, making it matter of boast and ex¬ ultation. After their measures were thus taken, Hughes went down into the cabin to look at the captain’s birth. He saw stains of blood on the pillow and ceiling, as well as in several other places. There were some specks also observed on Mar- chant’s trousers. In the morning of the twenty-ninth, before daylight, they made the coast of Nova Scotia, and stood off and on. Marchant and Colson then began to bore holes in the vessel’s bottom, stopping them with plugs as fast as' made. There was but one auger on board, which they used by turns, neither of the other men helping them. When Marchant thought the ves¬ sel was near enough to the shore, he pulled out the plugs, and ordered the boat to be hoisted out, having first lowered the sails and yards. Three chests were put into the boat, one belonging to the captain, one to the mate, and one to Hughes. The pirates filled the two first with the property of their victims. When they had gotten all they wanted, Col¬ son took an axe and cut holes in the vessel’s sides, even with the water’s edge. On their way to the shore, the pirates invented a tale to im¬ pose on those they might meet. They agreed to say that they belonged to the Brig Fame, of Philadelphia, and that the said vessel had sprung a leak at sea. The rest of their story was to be this: that the crew had taken to the boats, four in each, and that as they had separated from the other in a fog, they supposed it was lost, with the captain, mate, and two seamen CHARLES MARCHANT. 79 in it They agreed to call the supposed captain Adams. Be¬ fore they reached the shore the Fairy went down. About sunset they landed, near Louisburg$ on the island of Cape Breton, and Marchant took Hughes with him to the house of a Mr. Slattery, where they procured some milk, and immediately returned to the boat. Marchant then said that they mnf' remain in the harbor all night, and in the morning try to ge a passage to Halifax, or England. Accordingly, they pulled off from the shore, and lay in the boat all night. In the morning they landed again, and Colson took Murray with him to Mr. Slattery’s house, while Marchant led Hughes to another dwelling; for the pirates were afraid to lose sight of them. There was an American schooner called the Sally, lying in the harbor, commanded by Captain Hook. Captain Hook be¬ ing on shore this morning, saw the four seamen all together and talked with them. They, that is, the two murderers, told him the story previously agreed on; and Colson asked if Mr. Hook would give him a passage to Danvers, where, he said, he belonged. Murray preferred the same petition; and Mr. Hook agreed to give them both a passage. Marchant pro¬ cured a passage, on board a shallop, for Halifax, agreeing to give the master the Fairy’s boat for taking him thither. Colson took his chest, and went with Murray on board the Sally shortly after; but not finding Mr. Hook on board as he had (expected, he unlocked his chest, took some very good clothes, and returned to the shore, taking Murray with him, much against the will of the latter. Mr. Hook went on board the Sally, about an hour after, and hearing what Colson had done, resolved to pursue him and his companions, as he sus¬ pected that they were guilty of some crime. As soon as Mr. Hook gained the shore, Murray, who, by this time, had separated from Colson, came up to him, and de¬ sired him to apprehend the two pirates, who, he said, were murderers. Mr. Hook told him to step into a house at hand, lest Colson, seeing them together, should abscond. Murray then said, that he had better apprehend Marchant first, as he had gone to the Old City, three miles distant, and might es¬ cape. Accordingly, Mr. Hook manned his boat to go thither; but, in passing Mr. Slattery’s, he saw Colson come out of the door, and go round the house. He immediately put ashore, and pursued the pirate, who ran toward the woods. Finding Colson too swift for him, Mr. Hook called to his men to row to the Old City, and said that he would go thither by land. 80 CHARLES MARCHANT. Before he started, however, Hughes came up to him, and was taken into custody. Mr. Hook encountered three men on his way to the Old City, who assisted him to look for Marchant. They found him concealed, under a bundle of hay, in a field. Mr. Hook laid hands on him, and told him that he was a murderer. Marchant was much agitated; and, while Mr. Hook was tying his hands, confessed that he had assisted Colson to dispose of the bodies of the mate, and captain of the Fairy. , He said that Colson had slain the mate, on the hen-coop, with an axe, while he, Marchant, was at the helm. After this, he con¬ tinued, Colson went below and killed the captain, and he, Marchant, heard him scream several times. He then assist¬ ed Colson to drag the body on deck, and to throw it over¬ board. In giving this account, he declared that he held himself not guilty of murder, and added that Colson had “ haunted” him three days, before he assented to the com¬ mission of the crime. Mr. Hook then sent Marchant, Murray, and Hughes on board the Sally, and then started in pursuit of Colson. Not finding him before night, he obtained the assistance of a military patrol, to guard the shore. The next morning, it was ascertained that Colson had gone toward Gabberouse. A guard was sent in that direction, and returned at eight P. M. with Colson in custody. By this time a magistrate had arrived from Sidney, and Marchant was examined. He re¬ peated the same story he had told Mr. Hook. When Colson entered the apartment, he addressed himself to Marchant, in these words; “ Charles, if you had only lis¬ tened to my advice, we should not have come to this.” The judge asked Marchant what was the meaning of this exclama¬ tion, but he made no reply. Colson then said, that he “ knew, that he had got to die, and would tell the truth.” His con¬ fession was as follows: He was forward when he heard Marchant strike the blow that killed the mate, and also heard the mate fall from the hen-coop upon the deck. He went aft, and found Marchant throwing the body of Jenkins overboard. After the corpse was thrown out of the vessel, Marchant took up a bolt, and swore, that if he, Colson, did not instantly go below, and kill the captain, he should share the fate of Jenkins. Colson, fearing for his own life, then went into the cabin, with an axe; but as he approached the birth where the captain was sleep¬ ing, his heart failed him, and he ran back to the steps of the CHARLES MARCHANT. 81 companion ladder. Iffarchant came to him, and again told him, that if he did not kill the captain, he should die himself He, Colson, then went to the birth, and struck the captain with his axe. The captain screamed, and cried u murder;” whereat Mai chant sprung into the cabin, seized the captain and pulled him out of his birth, and he, Colson, then killed him on the cabin floor. He then assisted Marchant to haul the body up the companion stairs, and to thrust it through a port¬ hole into the sea. Marchant offered no reply to this statement. As soon as the examination was over, the hands of the prisoners were tied, and they were marched off to Sidney, under the charge of a guard. In due time, Marchant and Colson were brought to Boston. On the twenty-ninth of November they were arraigned at the bar of the Circuit Court of the United States, held in Boston, and four bills of indictment were presented against them. The first, for the felonious homicide of Edward Selfridge; the second, for the murder of Thomas Paine Jenkins; the third, for a revolt, and for piratically running away with the schooner Fairy and her cargo; and the fourth, for piracy and murder. By virtue of a previous order, made at the motion of coun¬ sel, Charles Marchant, alias John Duncan White, was brought up for a separate trial. Murray , in addition to what we have already related, testi¬ fied that Marchant and Colson, after the commission of the two murders, had threatened to take away his life if he informed against them. They told him, that they might as easily have killed him as the captain and mate; and that they always kept loaded pistols on deck. On the way from Sidney to Louis- burg, Marchant had furthermore told the witness, that he might thank him for his life, for had he, Marchant, followed the acjvice of Colson, he, Murrav, would not then have been alive. He also stated, that before the murder, Marchant had asked him if there was money on board, and said that he thought there must be himself. Abigail Jenkins , mother of the deceased mate, said that the first house to which the prisoners came, in Sidney, belonged to her daughter, the sister of the murdered Jenkins. The substance of the rest of the evidence has been given in our narrative. It was full, clear, and distinct, without the slightest discrepancy. In the defence of the prisoner it was admitted, that on the 82 CHARLES MARCHANT. night of the twenty-eighth of August, he and Jenkins were together, on the watch. The prisoner slept at the helm; at which circumstance the mate was very angry, and after some altercation, struck him twice. Marchant returned the second blow with such force, as to strike Jenkins into the sea, and he instantly sunk and was drowned. He immediately informed Colson of what he had done, who instantly proposed to put in execution a revenge he had been for some days devising, on the captain, for having thrown water in his face. This vengeance Colson did immediately execute. Whence the counsel, in a learned and able speech, argued, that the prison¬ er Marchant was guilty of manslaughter only. The jury returned a verdict of Guilty. When the verdict was pronounced, the prisoner, who ap¬ peared greatly agitated, asked if he might be allowed to speak a few words to the jury. He was informed by the court that such a proceeding was improper at that time, inasmuch as he had been fairly tried and legally convicted; but, that if he had any remarks to offer, when brought forward to receive sentence, they would be heard. On hearing this, he burst in¬ to tears, and protested that he was innocent of the murder. He was a foreigner, he said, far from his family and connex¬ ions, in a strange land, and destitute alike of friends and money. He declared that his trial had been unfairly con¬ ducted, and that the verdict of the jury was cruel and unjust. He continued to hold forth in this strain, till remanded to prison. On the twentieth of December, Sylvester Colson, alias Winslow Curtis, was placed at the bar, and an indictment was presented against him on four counts: First; On the supposition that the murder was complete; that Edward Selfridge was killed on board the vessel and thrown into the sea, dead; that the deed was perpetrated with a hatchet, by Colson as principal, and Marchant as accessary. Second; That Marchant was principal and Colson accessary; other circumstances being as described in the first count. Third; Supposing that the crime was perpetrated in a manner different from the allegations of the first count, and charging Colson and Marchant jointly with having thrown the living body into the sea. Fourth; On the ground that divers wounds were inflicted by two persons jointly, which were not instantly mortal, and that the body was cast into the sea while a spark of life was yet CHARLES MARCHANT. 83 remaining, death being the consequence of all these causes combined. Francis Pike , mate of the schooner Sally, swore, that or seeing Marchant and Colson near Louisburg, before their ap¬ prehension, they gave the same relation of the supposed loss of the supposed brig Fame, that has before been related, ex¬ cepting that they said the master’s name was Francis Avery, and Colson said, “ he was a d-d rascal, and as green as a cabbage leaf.” Murray testified that Colson, after the murder, asked him if he were not glad, and that he answered that he did not know. He feared death at the hands of Colson, but always meant to inform. When Colson was going ashore from the Sally, he asked the witness u not to tell,” who replied that he did not know what he should do. Hughes swore, that while standing on shore near Louis¬ burg, Colson said to him , u For God’s sake don’t tell, for we shall all be hung if you do.” The witness then asked whether the captain or mate was killed first, and he replied that the mate was first killed by Marchant, and the captain afterwards by himself. The witness then asked him why he did not tell the captain, when he went into the cabin; to which he repli¬ ed, “ The devil got into me, and I could’nt.” During this con¬ versation, Colson and the witness were both weeping. The Thursday before, he had heard Colson (in prison) say to Marchant, “ If you had taken my advice, and killed them two d-d rascals, we should not have been here.” Here the prisoner was cautioned by the court, against tes¬ tifying touching any confessions made in prison. On his cross examination, Hughes said, that he had no fear of being tried for the murder, whether the prisoners were con¬ victed or not. He had been kept in prison ever since he landed. His cell was opposite to that of Colson, and Mar- chant’s was next to Colson’s, so that he could hear them talk¬ ing together. He knew the voice of Colson, and saw him looking through the upper hole in the door, when he made the remark above mentioned. Matthew Newport testified to the general good and inoffen¬ sive character of Colson. . The rest of the evidence was identical with that produced against Marchant. After three hours’ deliberation, the jury returned a verdict of Guilty. The prisoner’s counsel made two motions for a new trial, and arrest of judgment, on the ground that a copy 84 CHARLES MARCHANT. of the indictment had not been given to the prisoner two days before his arraignment, as the law requires. After a long argument, the motions were overruled. On the twenty-third, Marchant and Colson were brought to the bar, and asked if they had any reason why sentence of death should not be pronounced on them. Colson offered none, but Marchant protested his innocence anew, and made some incoherent observations. Sentence was then pronounc¬ ed, and both the prisoners uttered the most violent exclama¬ tions. Colson declared it was the best news he had heard for six months. Marchant said that he wished the time to be altered, so that he might die on the morrow. He should die happy, for he did not kill Jenkins wilfully. He had received two blows from a Yankee, and had too much English blood in his veins not to return one. He would never suffer any man to strike him three times without defending himself. Colson knew that he did not kill Jenkins wilfully, and he was willing to meet him before God. As he went on, his action and expres¬ sion became maniacal, and he uttered such imprecations and blasphemies as we will not shock our readers by repeating. This dreadful scene continued till the prisoners were remov¬ ed by order of the court. The prospect of pecuniary gain was so small in this piracy and murder, that we can hardly suppose it to have been the motive. Again, the provocation given by either of the sufferers was so trifling, that it appears almost incredible that it could have been an incentive. Yet, one or both of these causes must have driven these two wretches to a crime, not surpassed in atrocity by any that has come to our knowledge. The evidence was perfect and conclusive, in an uncommon degree. While awaiting his execution in prison, Marchant showed no signs of penitence. He stated that he belonged to Dover, in England, where his father was a pilot. He had been on a voyage to the Northwest Coast of America; but the master of the vessel finding him to be a dangerous man, set him on shore at the Sandwich Islands, whence he worked his passage to Boston. From some expressions that dropped from him it appears that he had been a pirate before, and there is reason to believe that he was one of those pardoned at New-Orleans, several years since, by President Munroe. He acknowledged that he killed Jenkins, but persisted, to the last, that he did it in his own defence. The night immediately preceding the day appointed for his DANIEL DAVIS FARMER. 85 1 1 M I i execution, he made a cord of his blanket and neck-kerchief, and hanged himself on the grates of his cell. In person, Marchant was heavy and uncommonly powerful. His face was the index of his mind, sullen, and ferocious. Colson, also, during the first part of his imprisonment, ap¬ peared extremely hardened; but being visited by the Reverend Mr. Tuckerman, became fearful and contrite. A short time before his execution he evinced great distress of mind, and often prayed fervently to his Maker for forgiveness. He showed much agitation in walking from his cell to the place where the gibbet stood, and continued in the same mood till swung off. He acknowledged his own guilt, and that of his comrade. ' He was a man of ordinary stature, and without any pe¬ culiarity of person or feature. After his body was cut down, some experiments were made on it with a very powerful galvan¬ ic battery, conducted by Doctor Webster. The most appalling effects were produced. DANIEL DAVIS FARMER. Daniel Davis Farmer, previous to the perpetration of the crime for which he suffered on the gallows, was a respectable husbandman of Goffstown in New Hampshire. He had a wife, four children, and an aged mother, dependant on him for support, and so acquitted himself ofhis duties, as to acquire the reputation of a good citizen and member of society. There lived in the vicinity of Goffston a widow by the name of Anna Ayer, and, unhappily for herself, and still more so for him, she became intimately acquainted with Farmer. She was a loose woman, and their intercourse-soon assumed a criminal character. Toward the end of the year eighteen hundred and twenty they quarrelled, and she made, on the thirtieth of January, a declaration, on oath, that he was the father of a child of which she supposed herself about to become the mother. It afterwards appeared, that if this accusation was not a wilful perjury, she was at least mistaken in the matter. Nevertheless, Farmer, enraged at the imputation cast on his character, and perhaps believing 86 DANIEL DAVIS FARMER. the charge to be true, resolved to destroy his paramour, and thereby suppress all certain evidence of his guilt. Speaking with one Thomas Hardy, he vowed,/‘that if ever he could find Anna Ayer two rods from anybody, he would kill her.” Thus rapid is the career of guilt, and thus surely does one crime follow another. He executed his purpose in the most deliberate and bar¬ barous manner. Supposing that his intended victim would be less able to defend herself if intoxicated, on the afternoon of the fourth of April, he purchased rum, and in the evening carried it to Anna Ayer’s house. He was obliged to walk five miles, from the shop where he filled his bottle, to the scene of his crime, so that he had ample time for reflection. He carried with him a large club, that a weapon might not be lacking. ^ Anna Ayer had with her, her child, a girl thirteen or four¬ teen years old, and, knowing that the infant would probably , alarm the neighbourhood while he was wreaking his ven¬ geance on the mother, he determined to murder her also To this double murder he intended to add the crime of arson; and by burning the house and the bodies of the slain, to re¬ move all evidence of his iniquity. He expected that in this way his almost unequalled wickedness would remain undis¬ covered, and that he should escape with impunity. It was otherwise ordered; the eye of Omniscience was on him; and the hand of Providence was visible in the means by which he was brought to justice. He reached the house of the widow Ayer, at about nine in the evening, and knocked for admittance. The child re¬ monstrated against letting him in; nevertheless, Mrs. Ayer rose and opened the door. Farmer produced his bottle, and at his invitation the widow drank three times. He then ask¬ ed her to go out with him, and she complied; but if his object was to kill her out of doors, his heart failed him, for in about len minutes they returned. He put his club down by the chimney, seated himself, and they began to converse on in¬ different subjects. Suddenly, Farmer, snatched his club, and said, “Mrs. Ayer, I’ll kill you first, and then you may kill me.” With that, he struck the woman on the head as she was rising from her chair, and she fell to the floor. The child screamed and ran toward the door, but before she reached it, Farmer overtook, and struck her down, senseless. He gave both mother and daughter so many blows that he believed them dead, and then DANIEL DAVIS FARMER. 87 set about burning the house. At this moment the child re¬ covered her senses, and saw that the murderer was burning pieces of cloth, and scattering coals over the floor. Mrs. Ayer was lying close to the bed, and the fire was all about the room, some of it very near her, and two of the chairs were in the fire place. The girl had the courage and presence of mind, in this dreadful situation, to lie still and counterfeit death, till the assassin went away. She then crawled to the door, and drove a nail over the latch with an axe. She found no water where¬ with to quench the coals, as Farmer had taken the precaution to throw it away, but managed to put them out with a pot of beer. This done, she raised her mother, assisted her into bed, and then got in herself. In the morning, when the neighbours were apprized of the outrage, and visited the house, they found outside the door a large stone, with clotted hair and blood adhering to it. On comparison, the hair proved to be that of Anna Ayer, the younger. There was blood on the threshold, and the door was stained with the same dark red colour. The floor was burnt through in two places, and there were other marks of fire about the room. The widow Ayer still survived, but was in a par¬ tial lethargy. She had a deep wound on the right side of her head, and the hair was doubled into it, by the weapon which had given the blow. A small iron shovel lay on the floor, bloody, and much bent. The tongs, likewise, bore the marks of murder, and were broken. The club which Farmer had used was found behind the door, broken, as with repeated blows; and also a mitten, which proved to have belonged to the murderer. On the arrival of a physician, he examined the wounds of the deceased, and thought that the one on the head had been made by two different blows. The skull was broken, and the dura mater , which plainly appeared, was wounded. There was another wound over the eye. The doctor was of opinion that the injury was mortal, and told Mrs. Ayer so. She told him, that “ if it were God’s will, she hoped she should not die by the hands of that man.” She lingered eight days, manifesting not the most forgiving temper, and frequent¬ ly venting imprecations on Farmer-, whom, she said, she hoped she should live to see hanged. To those who convers¬ ed with her, she gave an account of the proceedings of the night of the fourth of April, much the same with that we have related 88 DANIEL DAVIS FARMER. Farmer, after his crime, did not fly; but remained about his usual places of resort till he was apprehended, when he con¬ fessed his guilt to more than one. His general confessions were not received in evidence at his trial; but witnesses were allowed to testify, that he had acknowledged the mitten found in the Widow Ayer’s house was his. On the ninth of October, eighteen hundred and twenty one, Daniel Davis Farmer was arraigned before the Superior Court of Judicature at Amherst, for wilful murder, to which indictment he pleaded not guilty. All the facts above recounted, were proved by a number of witnesses; the principal of whom was Anna Ayer, the daughter of the deceased The counsel for the prisoner contended that the deed amounted only to manslaughter, as there was no evidence of malice prepense, excepting the testimony of one witness, who himself thought that the threat uttered by the prisoner was not serious, and had, beside, contradicted himself. The general character of the witness Anna Ayer, had been impeached by two witnesses; and she had not been brought up in a school where she would have been likely to have learned the virtue of moral obligations. There was strong evidence of the good character of the prisoner, previous to the transaction for which he was now called to account. There was a strong existing excitement against him. It was not clear that the deceased died of wounds inflicted by his hand ; especially as she had not been treated in the most skilful manner, and the surgeon might, in fact, be chargeable with her blood. The confessions of the prisoner ought to have no weight against him, having been made by advice of unauthorised persons, and with the hope of thereby assuring lenity. Furthermore, it was argued, thOv excessive enormity of the prisoner’s of¬ fence, ought to be received as a proof that it was not perpetrated deliberately. * These were the grounds of the defence, but they could not avail against a mass of direct and indirect evidence. After a deliberation of one hour, the jury returned a verdict of guilty, and sentence of death was pronounced. Farmer, after his sentence, evinced a sincere contrition for his crime, and met his fate in a becoming manner. V • ,, 4 ft ** 1 m V :> •# « f;; < 1 . • i »f.' I 1 '. £ ■***>?* . ,1 ii . " f 3 tfr* Vl - w, .. l . ; ■ ... %K. • ■ ' ' - • « * * S L .'..it ■ it ( v i in t 1 -m Mr 1, 7 * . ' ■' 1 ' ’ ,■■ :lv ' i'' , , ,-f ;v^ ■ '^1 ■i ■ V..-o ■'V,' ■ ' v. .•>« ^*• • ... ■ ,i■: ... ; • , i' : i"*‘ )V^•> ' y ■: viiVi/ 'Y: -i f.-. i:’ -iV .. > ..• j . • i • ■ ‘h A . . * v; . ... . ■ ’ iii •>''»,H- . /.Mfr • r .'-HvV’- - (ff? tj* -VJ ’ \ ... . . • », 1 ». • Murder of Denegri HENRY PHILLIPS. Th ) following history of the life of Henry Phillips is corroborated by other testimony than his own word, and is, in our opinion, accurate to the most minute particular. He was born in Caermarthen, in Wales. His father was an inn-keeper. At nine years of age he went to sea, in a vessel which was captured by a French privateer, and carried into Genoa, where he was kept in prison for some months * After his master was exchanged, our hero afccompanied him to London, and attended him in jail (where he was confined for debt,) in the capacity of a servant, for three years. At the end of that time, Captain Long, for so was the gentleman termed, sailed again in the Golden Fleece, for Lisbon, and Phillips shipped with him. After several voyages of little interest, Phillips sailed for Sierra Leone, where he became the servant of Colonel Maxwell, with whom, at the end of two years, he went to London; and having received the legacy of a gentleman who had been his father’s friend, took the name by which he afterward went, viz. Henry Phillips. His proper family name was Davis. The property thus ob¬ tained was a competency to any man disposed to live on shore. He was, however, early and ever attached to a maritime life, and was soon floating on the ocean again. As to his character, he was remarkable among his shipmates fox his good nature and steady habits, and esteemed entirely worthy of trust by his officers. In October, eighteen hundred and sixteen, he came to Boston, and took lodgings in the Roebuck tavern, where the Franklin Hotel now stands; and soon after shipped on board the United States Revenue Cutter. When he came on shore, he spent the principal part of his time at the said Roebuck tavern. On the evening of the first of December Phillips went to the Roebuck, where he found several foreigners, one of them named Vautier, and another Gaspard Denegri, an Italian. A young man by the name of Foster was reading the Bible, and Denegri came behind him and blew out the candle; and when it was re-lighted, again blew it out. On this. Foster 90 HENRY PHILLIPS. exclaimed that it was very hard he could not be allowed to read the Bible without having his light blown out, and Phillips offered to hold the candle, threatening to strike, or blow out the brains of any person who should repeat the provocation. He took the light, and it was again blown out; and he again lighted it, and held it as before, till Foster had done reading. Yautier then came in, and asked Foster if he had threatened to strike any one for blowing out a candle. Foster then re¬ plied that it was Phillips and not he, who had so threatened. Vautier rejoined that he should think no more of Denegri, or of his conduct, than of a child’s, and asked Phillips if the offensive words were his. Phillips answered, u yes; and the man that blows out the candle Pll blow out his brains.” Vautier pulled off his coat, and desired Phillips to do the same, in order to fight. Denegri also proposed to fight, but Phillips refused, and buttoned up his jacket. Vautier then thrust his fist in Phillip’s face, who would have fought, had not Mrs. Foster, the mistress of the' house, interfered, and took him out of the room. While Phillips was absent Denegri was very quarrelsome. When Phillips returned order was restored, and Yautier proposed to drink with him. Phillips said he would drink a gallon with him, and, if he wanted it, give him another. They did not drink together, however, and shortly after the foreigners all went away. In about half an hour Denegri came back. Some person present said that he had a knife, and the suggestion created much uneasiness, the more that Denegri was an Italian. Mrs. Foster turned him out of the house, and told him to go home, but he remained at the door. Shortly after, a young man named Kerr, would have left the house to go home, but was afraid of Denegri, who, he feared, was lurking about the house with intent to stab some one. Phillips, and another person named McCann, offered to go with and protect him. Charles Rodgers went out at the * same time. They armed themselves as they went, with dif¬ ferent implements. Phillips took a loggerhead which had been heating in the fire, and McCann took a rolling-pin. Rodgers went first, but the others overtook him before he got to the end of the back passage way. After they got into the street, (Ann Street) they saw Denegri come from the front and walk round to the back door, where he rapped; and with the words u Holloa ship-mate,” Phillips struck him with the loggerhead and brought him down. He struck one more HENRY PHILLIPS. 91 blow after the Italian fell; and Me Cann, getting astride upon Denegri, beat him with the rolling-pin. Rodgers came up, and Phillips again struck the man, on the thigh. Phillips and McCann next rolled Denegri over, two or three times, in search of a knife. They then carried him into the ho se, and set him in a chair, but as he eppeared to be fainting >;.cy lai i him on a sofa. Phillips said, u I have found the kuiTe, and have got it in my pocket.” He had, in fact, taken the knife from Kerr, not from the Italian, but it s prolate that in such a moment, he might have forgotten how he obtained it. Some of the company asked to see the weapon, but he refused to show it. Being strongly persuaded, however, he produced it, and it proved to be a small knife belonging to the house. He threw it on the table and went away, saying that if he should stav in the house any longer his life would be in danger. In addition to these particulars, it may not be improper to state, that there was no acquaintance between Phillips and Denegri, and that the previous quarrel was rather between Yautier and our hero, than between him and Denegri. It seems, too, that Phillips had received much and gross prov¬ ocation from Vautier. When Phillips struck the fatal blow he held the loggerhead with both hands, and smote with such force as to bend the iron. Phillips went immediately on board the Revenue Cutter, but came on shore again in the course of the week for pro¬ visions. When Denegri died, which happened in a few days, he was apprehended. For this homicide he was arraigned, tried, found guilty and sentenced to die. Wfien sentence was pronounced he shed tears, and gave many signs of agitation and grief. The account Phillips gave of the affair was this. He struck Denegri because he thought he was about to break into the house, armed, with intent to hurt some of the inmates, who were women and young lads. He had no intention of killing Denegri, and after he had struck, did not suppose him to be much hurt. He searched him for a knife, intending to show it to him in the morning, and u make him ashamed of himself.” In this declaration he persisted till his death. He behaved with great propriety in prison, and at the place of execution, and died very generally pitied. He said, before his execution, that this was the first time he had ever struck a man, intentionally, and that he had never been called to account for any misdemeanor before. He 5 JOHN WILLIAMS. . 92 stated, too, that his father did not know in what part of the world he was, and anticipated his parent’s grief at hearing of his untimely and ignominious death, with the most lively emo¬ tion. Two young men thus lost their lives, one without giving the slightest offence to any individual at the time he met his fate. There seems to have been some cowardice in the way in which Phillips despatched his victim. He and his com¬ panions, four In number, might without much danger have seized and searched one man, even supposing him to have been armed. If Phillips believed, as we see no reason to doubt, that the foreigner carried a concealed weapon, there was no need to slay him barbarously, with a bar of iron, to secure himself or others. He appears to have seized the opportunity for destruction, not defence. He approached the Italian from behind, and without giving him a chance to fly or resist, gave him a deadly blow with all his strength, and, lest it should not have sufficed, repeated it. May his fate be a warning to deter others from using mortal weapons on slight provocation and with slight reason, for no man has a right to destroy the life of his fellow to secure himself or others from possible dangers. Nothing but the absolute and immediate necessity of self defence can in any-wise justify such doings. ✓ JOHN WILLIAMS. John Williams was born at Chazee in the state of New York, in seventeen hundred and eighty-nine. He was sent to school at Montreal, and received a tolerable education. At the age of seventeen he was placed in the office of an attor¬ ney, to study law seven years. Being reprimanded by the attorney and chastised by hie father, on a suspicion of having kept bad company, he refused to attend farther to his studies. For this contumacy, his father caused him to be thrown into jail, but finding, after three weeks imprisonment, that severi¬ ty had no effect on him, placed him in a counting house. Here Williams satisfied his principal for six months, and was then again accused of the same, and worse misdemeanors. JOHN WILLIAMS. 93 Irritated at this, he robbed his master of a large amount, and took passage in a brig for Quebec. He then shipped on board a vessel bound to England, and on his arrival on the British shores was impressed, and for¬ ced on board a man of war. He deserted, was taken, and again made his escape, and to avoid being once‘more impress¬ ed, assumed the character of a Frenchman, which he was perfectly qualified to sustain, as during his residence at Mon¬ treal he had learned to speak the French language fluently. Going out one evening, and passing St. George’s Dock, he was seized by fourteen men, who asked him to what coun¬ try he belonged. He answered them in French, when, with v many threats, they ordered him to speak English. As he still continued to pretend ignorance of the English tongue, they took him to a rendezvous and kept him all night. In the morning he was taken before two officers who spoke French, and examined. He asserted that he was a native of the Isle of France, on which he was sent to Liverpool and detained five weeks, when he was examined before the Lord Mayor; and still passing for a Frenchman, was discharged. He next sailed to South America, and at Buenos Ayres shipped on board a Brazilian privateer, but not receiving his wages, entered a vessel bound to Baltimore. Scarcely had the vessel gained the outer harbor, when it was boarded by a boat belonging to a British frigate. The pretence of being a Frenchman did not, this time, avail our hero. The officer took him on board the frigate, in order, as he said, that he might be taught to speak English. In about eight weeks the vessel anchored in Lockerin Bay, in Scotland. Here, being sent on shore, Williams seized the first opportunity to escape. As soon as the boat touched the land he ran, and the Master’s Mate ran after, and overtook him. Williams knocked the man down, stamped on him, and made good his escape. He then took passage in a small fishing vessel for Liver¬ pool. Off Lancaster the vessel encountered a severe gale, and in endeavoring to beat into Lancaster she ran on the edge of a bank, and stuck fast for half an hour; then drifted off again. She continued to strike and drift for some time, when finding the water gaining fast in the hold, the master let go an anchor, though every sea swept the deck. The ca¬ ble parted in less than half an hour, but Williams took off the hatch-, and dived into the hold, which was more than half full of water. He succeeded in bringing up a grapnel, with which 94 JOHN WILLIAMS. another attempt was made to hold the vessel. The rope broke as before. The cry u I am drowning,” was now heard in the hold. Williams again raised the hatches, plunged in, and brought up an old woman, who, but for his assistance, could not have survived many minutes. All hope of saving the vessel being over, they took the compass from the binacle and leaped into a two oared boat. The sea ran high, and the land was three miles distant; yet, by the care of a merciful Providence, they all reached tho shore in safety. Having reached Liverpool, Williams shipped on board a merchant vessel bound for Barbadoes. His usual luck at¬ tended him: he had been at sea but a fortnight when he was again impressed, and taken on board the frigate Bucephalus. The frigate sailed to Xerexie and came to anchor, while the boats went up the river to take a French cutter. After a battle of more than an hour, the Frenchman hauled down his colors. The prize carried twelve guns, and had a crew of sixty men. After taking possession, Williams and some others went on shore, in violation of their orders, for which they received a dozen lashes each on their return to the Bucephalus. After this the frigate sailed for India, and carried Williams as far as the Cape of Good Hope. He was resolved to de¬ sert, and being sent on shore in the captain’s gig, availed himself of the opportunity. He fled to the Table Mountain, which he ascended with much difficulty, through bushes and briers, and other obstacles, till he reached the top. There he sat down to gaze on the shipping in the harbor, and regaled himself with bread and grapes. Then, wandering in the thickets, he heard a dreadful howling, and saw a large tiger approaching him. Flight would have availed him nothing, and he therefore lay down to await the beast’s pleasure. He was once more preserved; the tiger pursued his way without noticing him. Williams remained on the mountain three days, when, to his great joy, he saw the Bucephalus weigh anchor and leave the harbor. He then went down and shipped for Brazil on board the brig Rattler. On the arrival of the brig at Rio de Janeiro, Williams was sent on shore for water. He had fixed the hose so as to convey the water from the spring to the boat, when a black slave came with a bucket, for water, and displaced the hose. Not ' JOHN WILLIAMS. 95 pleased at this, Williams gave him a push. A Portuguese soldier then came up and struck our hero with a cane, and Williams, returning the blow with his fist, knocked the man down. The Portuguese called for the guard, who came up and took the seaman into custody; and the next day he was examined before a magistrate, and sentenced to five weeks’ imprisonment. This was the most disagreeable of all his ad¬ ventures, for he was confined in a large room in company with many negroes, and scantily fed on bread and water. When he was released, he inquired for the Rattler, and learned that she had sailed, with his clothes on board. Thus was he left destitute in a strange land; but he found a com¬ passionate gentleman who harbored him till he shipped again* for Buenos Ayres. A fortnight after his arrival in that city the vessel in which he came was sold, and he went on shore with his effects, which an old stocking sufficed to contain. He passed three weeks in the place without any mischance or adventure of any kind; but his evil genius pursued him, and he could not remain long in peace. As he one day was walking the streets, he happened, accidentally, to jostle an officer and spatter his clothes. The man of the sword instantly began to beat him with his cane, and the more Williams apologized and hum¬ bled himself the harder he struck. Our hero lost patience, tripped up his opponent, took away his cane, and returned the beating with interest. A crowd of soldiers interrupted his recrea ion, and set him in the stocks, where he remained two hours, enduring the insults of the populace. He was taken before a court, sentenced to five weeks’ incarceration, and was then thrown into prison, friendless, penniless, and without clothes. Two seamen who were kept in the same room with Williams sent for a captain of artillery, and offered to enlist in his company. Our hero made the same offer, and the three were released, gaily clothed, and received a sword and twen- ty-eight dollars in advance, each. Finding an opportunity to escape on board a vessel just ready to sail, Williams deserted, and in ten weeks arrived at Liverpool. He then shipped for Barbadoes, where, as soon as he ar¬ rived, he was impressed on board the British man of war brig Swagger, commanded by Sir George Evans. Two months after he heard that war was declared between Great Britain and the United States. He went, with three other 96 JOHN WILLIAMS. impressed Americans, to the quarter deck, and taking upon himself to act as spokesman, informed the commanding officer that they would by no means fight against their country, and begged that they might either be discharged, or detained as prisoners of war. Captain Evans gave them many abusive and profane terms, and ordered them to go forward again. Williams only persisted in his remonstrance, whereupon Sir George Evans lost his temper, and struck the sailor seven or eight blows on the head with his speaking trumpet. Never¬ theless, Williams refused to be silent, atid the captain ordered all hands to be piped to witness his punishment. He w is fastened to the gangway, and the boatswain bestowed sixty lashes on his naked back with the cat o’ nine tails. This done, he was ordered to return to his duty. It seems to be no matter of marvel, that Williams should have become a villain. Misfortune dogged his every step, and he certainly had some reason to doubt the truth of the maxim, that “virtue is its own reward.” All his honest and praiseworthy exertions were attended by disgrace and misfor¬ tune, and in this last instance, an action for which he should have been honored, was rewarded with stripes and ignominy. Cruising to windward of Barbadoes, the Swagger fell in with the American schooners Comet and Saucy Jack. As they came within shot, one of them fired a long gun at the Swagger, and both ran up their colors. Williams now ac¬ costed Sir George Evans, and informed him that he would not assist to fire one gun at a vessel bearing the flag of his coun¬ try. W r ith many oaths . Sir George ordered him to his quarters, and, as he still refused to obey, caused him to be confined between decks below. The schooners now ranged up within pistol shot and gave the brig a volley of musketry, and five or six great guns, on which the Swagger delivered her broadside. The schooners returned it, and then hauled their main sheets aft, and made off. In less than an hour they were out of shot. In this engagement the Swagger had two men killed and five wounded, her main shrouds were cut away, and a round shot injured her mainmast. She repaired to Barbadoes to refit, and thence sailed to Trinidad. On the way to Trinidad the Swagger captured a small schooner, which was ordered to Martinico, and Williams was put on board as one of the prize crew. On arriving at Mar¬ tinico the officers took lodgings on shore, leaving the prize in the care of an old sailor named Thompson. A part of the vessel’s lading was brandy, and Thompson JOHN WILLIAMS. 97 and Williams agreed with persons on shore to sell as much of it as might be wanted. A boat came off to the vessel at night and received the liquor, the rogues taking care to fill the casks with salt water, as fast as they w T ere emptied. They carried on this trade a fortnight, and a3 they received their pay in ready money, realized an hundred and sixty dollars each. Two days after, Williams found an opportunity to desert, in a vessel bound to St. Thomas. Williams then made two voyages, the last of which carried him to Quebec. For fear of being impressed he enlisted, to serve in the British vessels on Lake Champlain, with intent to desert and visit his family on the first opportunity. This resolution.he carried into effect on his arrival at Isle aux Noix, and went to his father’s house, whence he had been absent eight years. He soon became weary of idleness, and therefore enlisted in the Saratoga, under Commodore McDonough. He was moved to this by a desire to revenge on the British fleet the wrongs he had sustained. At the end of two months he had an opportunity to gratify his feelings, by participating in the memorable battle on Lake Champlain, the particulars of which are too well known to need a description here. Four days after, he received his discharge. He made two more voyages, in which nothing of interest occurred, and lastly found himself at Baltimore. He there shipped on board the Schooner Swift, Captain Hackett, for Buenos Ayres, where he arrived in ten weeks. Many quar¬ rels occurred between the captain and his crew on the pas¬ sage, and five days previous to entering port, the men agreed to land and not return to the vessel, or, if they did conclude to return with Mr. Hackett, and were no better treated, to throw him overboard. The day after their arrival at Buenos Ayres, some of the crew quarrelled with Mr. Spiers of Baltimore, the mate. Eight of them left the vessel with their baggage, and went to the city, malgre all the endeavours of Mr. Spiers to prevent them. Though the Captain might easily have engaged as many seamen as he wanted, he only shipped three, and sailed with his crew thus reduced in number, for Baltimore. He was a man of irritable temper and violent passions-, when excited, he did not hesitate to abuse, and even to strike his men. On one occasion he called his men soldiers, an epithet es¬ teemed very opprobrious by seamen. Williams replied that 98 JOHN WILLIAMS. he had seen a little of the world and had sailed in ships and schooners, but had never been called soldier before. Hackett called him a d—d rascal and bade him hold his peace, at the same time threatening to knock out his brains with a handspike. At the same time he struck our hero with a rope. Williams told him that he did not consider himself an apprentice, but as good a man as he, and if struck again he would resent it. The master then ran to the cabin and returned with a loaded pair of pistols, swearing that he would shoot Williams, or any other who should dare to utter another word. Williams was not daunted by this; he tore open his waistcoat, exclaiming, “ Fire, d—n you; don’t be a coward: but mind—if you miss me, I’ll not miss you.” This speech appeased Mr. Hackett, who returned to his cabin, and the quarrel ended. The next day the Captain and Williams were reconciled; Mr. Hackett saying that our hero was as good a man as ever belonged to the vessel, and that he esteemed him the more for the spirit he had exhibited. He then gave Williams a glass of spirits to drink his health. After they arrived at Baltimore Captain Hackett obtained the command of a fine schooner called the Plattsburg, bound to Smyrna, and asked Williams to engage for the voyage. Our hero at first refused, and reminded Mr. Hackett of his former maltreatment, but, at last, suffered himself to be per¬ suaded and signed the articles. The vessel sailed on the first of July eighteen hundred and sixteen, with a cargo of coffee and forty thousand dollars in specie, on board. The first mate was named Frederic Yeizer, the second was Stephen Burnet Onion, and the supercargo was called Thomas Bay- nard. The crew were, John Williams, Nathaniel White, Francis Frederic,-Stacy, John Smith, Peter Peterson, Johnson Stromer, and three more fore-mast men. The cook was a Spaniard, and the steward a negro, Edmund Samberson by name. From the day the Plattsburg sailed, the adventures of these men were interwoven with those of Williams, and before we proceed further in our narrative we deem it neces¬ sary to give a brief history of some of them. FRANCIS FREDERICK, Was bom in the island of Minorca, ana was the youngest of his father’s five sons. He never received any education, but was put on board a ship at the age of eight years. The history of his early youth contains nothing worth the trouble of recording. The first of his adventures that may interest the reader took place at Baltimore. He there shipped on board the schooner Romp, whose crew consisted of sixteen persons. Dropping below Fort McHenry, the Romp took on board forty men, as well as some guns and ammifnition. The captain then piped all hands upon deck, and hoisting the flag of Buenos Ayres, read his orders to them. He told them that the schooner was to be called the San Ofone, Gun-boat No. 6, of Buenos Ayres. He said that a Spanish brig was coming out from Philadelphia, laden with specie, and that they must take her. His expectations, however, were not fulfilled, and the cruise proving unsuccessful, the vessel proceeded to Cadiz, meeting, searching, and distressing several Spanish and Portuguese vessels on the way, though nothing of great value was taken from any of them. When the vessel was nigh the harbor of Cadiz she took a fishing boat, in which first lieutenant Bass and sixteen men went to explore the harbor. Before Bass returned the privateer took a Spanish vessel, from which the compass and five or six thousand dollars in specie were taken. The Captain then caused her sails and rigging to be cut in pieces, and left her. The next day the San Ofone captured two more Spanish vessels, and after taking a part of their lading, suffered one of them to proceed. The other was manned and sent off on a cruise. After this the San Ofone took a lugger, off'the Western Islands, and near Teneriffe a polacca. The captain of the latter vessel was stabbed, and an English passenger was robbed of fifteen thousand dollars. Then, threatening the officers of the polacca with death if they should deviate from their course, the privateer captain let the vessel go. Soon after, some dissension arising between the officers, the second lieutenant, sailing master, and boatswain were degraded from their stations and sent before the mast. Here 5 * - • 100 JOHN PETERSON ROG. the sailing master informed the crew that the vessel was cruising without orders, and that they would all be hung as pirates if taken. The crew thereupon agreed to mutiny, and at night assembled on deck. The captain and lieutenant Bass were first secured, and then, with the other officers, laid in irons. The next day falling in with an English sloop bound to the West Indies, they put the officers on board, with their effects and share of the prize money, and then steered for Baltimore. The vessel gained the land at Norfolk, where the crew left her. Frederick went to Baltimore with his prize money, which amounted to five hundred dollars. He bought a small vessel in partnership with another man, intending to engage in the coasting trade; but hearing that some of the Romp’s crew had been apprehended, he became alarmed, and took passage on board the Plattsburg for Gib- ralter JOHN PETERSON ROG, Was born in the year seventeen hundred and eighty nine, at Christiansand in Denmark. He was sent early to school, but at the age of twelve went to sea and made two voyages. He then returned home, was bound apprentice to asailmaker, and worked at the trade five years. He then sailed to the West Indies, and on the passage was kicked from the fore top gallant yard into the sea, but was saved by the boat of an English man of war. After this he made several voyages, in one of which he witnessed a singular affair. The*ship being becalmed at sea, the boat of an English vessel came on board, inquiring if they had seen any French vessels. At the same moment a boat boarded the ship on the other side, and a French officer stepped on deck to inquire after English vessels. The English officer proposed to the Frenchman that each should return to his ship, and desired the Dane not to stir till he should have witnessed the battle. It soon took place, and the English ship captured the French - one. Rog was employed in the coasting trade till eighteen hundred and seven, when war arose between Denmark and PETER PETERSON. 101 England. He then entered a gun-boat, one of a fleet ordered to the Great Belt. On the way they fell in with an English seventy-four, and the boat in which Rog sailed, received two round shot. He was wounded in the head with a grape shot. The seventy-four was severely damaged, and compelled to sheer off. > After assisting to capture several English vessels, Rog was put on board the Prince Christian seventy-four, and sailed for the Belt. The day after leaving Elsineur,the Prince Christian engaged a British frigate. During the action, two seventy-fours and another frigate bore down on the Danish ship. The Prince Christian maintained the battle with a seventy-four on each side and two frigates astern, till he ran aground. He was then obliged to strike. The captain, three officers, and an hundred an ninety-four private men were killed in the battle, and two hundred were wounded, out of a total number of seven hundred; a carnage scarcely equalled in maritime warfare. After the battle, the Prince Christian being past repairs, was blown up; the wounded, among whom was Rog, were sent on shore, and the rest were drafted into different vessels. After this, Rog gained his livelihood as an honest and in¬ offensive mariner, till he had the misfortune to ship on board the ill-fated schooner Plattsburg. PETER PETERSON, alias MILES PETERSON, othenvise MILES PETERSON FOGELGREN. This unhappy youth was born at Gottenburg in Sweden, in the year seventeen hundred and ninety-nine. He was kept at school till the ninth year of his life, when he sailed with his uncle to Narva in the Gulf of Finland. After this voyage he entered another vessel as cabin boy, but being very ill treated by the captain, left it at Liverpool and bound himself apprentice to a merchant, who in six months became a bankrupt. He made two more voyages, previous to the late war between Great Britian and the United States. When war was declared he shipped at Salem, on board the American 102 PETER PETERSON. | privateer Grand Turk, and assisted in the capture of two letters of marque. The action lasted about thirty minutes, and the Grand Turk had two killed and one wounded. After having had the prizes in tow two days, an English ship approach¬ ed the privateer, taking her for a British vessel, but struck her colors on discovering her mistake. The Grand Turk finished her cruise by being chased into Portland by an English frigate. Peterson’s next voyage was to Antigua. Returning from that place the vessel’s provisions gave out, so that the crew were obliged to subsist on one repast of flour and water per diem. He then shipped on board a Swedish vessel, which was brought to by the British line of battle ship La Houge the day after she sailed. Peterson was taken on board the seventy-four and questioned. He was told that he was a British subject and required to enlist, and, on his refusal, was confined twenty-four hours without drink or food. He was then again asked to enlist, and threatened with stripes for refusing. Finally, he was released, and allowed to return to Boston, with other prisoners, in a fishing boat. He next entered the David Porter, another privateer, which after taking an English ship, had a narrow escape from a British frigate. Then, falling in with an English ship, the David Porter fought her half an hour, till all the ammunition was expended, and at last carried her by boarding. Peterson made several more short voyages, without any adventure worthy of note. Being on board the schooner Chippewa, at Saint Jago, the crew were ordered one Sunday to scrub the deck, by the mate. They all refused and the mate wrote to the master, who was on shore at the time, to complain of their disobedience. The master immediately came on board attended by six other masters of vessels, all armed with cutlasses, and the men were all put in irons and not released till the vessel sailed. Arrived at Baltimore, Peterson shipped on board the Plattsburg for Naples, and, on her return, entered the same vessel again for Smyrna. The Plattsburg, it will be remembered, sailed from Balti¬ more on the first of July eighteen hundred and sixteen. The following account of the subsequent transactions on board, is a synopsis of the stories of Onion, their second mate, and others. After the schooner had dropped down from Baltimore to Purchase Creek, the crew refused to raise the anchor unless the captain would give them their protections. They receiv- PETER PETERSON. 103 ed the protections, and the vessel sailed. On the fourth of the month the Plattsburg was off Cape Henry. Here Smith, being commanded by the chief mate to sweep the deck, returned an insolent answer, and they came to blows. The mate was thrown down, and would probably have fared worse, had not Captain Hackett come upon deck witr, & t\ md- spike, and threatened to strike any one who should a i iolonce to an officer. After this matters went on tranquilly enough till the twen¬ ty-first of the month, when the schooner was near St. Mary’s. This day the crew were divided into two watches, the first, under the chief mate, being on duty from eight in the eve¬ ning to twelve. The night was very dark, with a drizzling rain, and the Plattsburg went through the water at the rate of five or six knots an hour. At twelve o’clock Onion was called on deck by Mr. Yeizer, and as he came up, heard Yftlliams cry, “ Sail, ho!” Stopping in to the waist, Onion ask¬ ed Francis Frederick where the sail was, and Frederic told him to go forward and he would show him. Then, while Yeizer and Onion were looking over the bow together, they were both struck at the same instant. Onion fell on deck, but in¬ stantly shuffled to windward. Williams straightway seized him, and while they were struggling Onion heard Yeizer cry “murder!” At the same time, Williams cried for others to help him kill “ one of the d—d rascals,” as he called Onion. Seeing a man aiming a blow at him, Onion parried it with his arm, which was thereby so injured that he could not use it for a fortnight. The stroke brought him to the deck. At this moment Captain Hackett came on deck, and asked what was the matter, whereupon those who were about Onion sprang toward him. Passing a man with an axe on his shoulder, Onion then gained the cabin with all speed, and got into a locker. The supercargo, Mr. Baynard, had just risen, and the black, Samberson, was lying in his birth. The first thing Onion heard after concealing himself was a voice summoning Mr. Baynard on deck, where, it said, the Captain wanted him. The next sound was that of a scuffle. In about ten minutes some of the crew came below, and Williams inquired for Onion. Some one replied that he was overboard, but Frederick denied this, and said he was in the locker. Being ordered, Onion came forth, and began to beg for mercy. The men held a consultation touching the pro¬ priety of throwing him overboard. Peterson was on the affir- 104 PETER PETERSON. mativ'e side of the question, but Frederick said that he should live, and take a share of the money. Williams, too, said that they had shed blood enough, and that he should be suffered to live. They gave him a glass of whiskey and made him swear not to inform against them, and to take a share of the money on board. About four o’clock in the morning White and Stromer came into the cabin. White asked Stromer whither he in¬ tended to take the vessel, and Stromer replied, to Norway. White said it would be better to run for South America, but Stromer persisted in his opinion, saying he knew the coast of Norway, having traded there before. He said he would run the schooner among the rocks, and smuggle the cargo ashore without being suspected. N After this they went on deck, and at nine Onion was call¬ ed. The crew then brought the money on deck and divide^ it into fourteen shares, at first measuring it in their hats, and when the quantity grew small, in a tin cup. Williams offered Onion a share, which he declined accepting, but Raineaux said if he did not take it he should be treated as the other officers had been. Samberson, whom they had resolved to spare, also took his portion, as well as Mr. Yeizer’s trunk and clothes. The Spanish cook was much affected by what had taken place, and lamented. Peterson and Smith spoke of having thrown the officers overboard. They said the mate had caught by a certain rope, and that they had been obliged to cut it off. The said rope was bloody, but Frederick explained the circumstance by saying he had cut his finger. Rog, who among the crew went by the name of the “ Yankee boy,” danced upon the deck, exclaiming, u You now see what a Yankee boy can do! ” On the passage to Norway, Onion heard the pirates speak of the transactions of the night of the twenty-first. Peterson said the captain had caught him by the jacket, and had nearly drawn him overboard. Smith said the captain had near¬ ly thrown him over also, and had, in fact, got him half over the railing. Williams said, with an oath, that he would never sail from any port for fourteen dollars a month, and that if he lost the money he had now gained he would get more in the same way. He also said that he had agreed with Frederick, and shaken hands upon it, at eight in the evening before the murders, to take the vessel or jump overboard. Frederick said PETER PETERSON. 105 the Plattsburg was the fifth vessel he had assisted to take in the same manner. On one occasion Williams said, that when they were throw¬ ing Captain Hackett overboard, the unfortunate man cried, u Williams, don’t you know me?” and was answered, “Yes, d—n you,—to my sorrowWilliams also said, that in a former quarrel the Captain had threatened to shoot him, and he ow¬ ed him a grudge. He added, that he had been thrice sen¬ tenced to the gallows; once for killing a man in South Amer¬ ica, and once for hanging a woman. His other crime he did not specify. Onion stated, that when the vessel was off St. Mary’s he saw Williams drop something into the fire which burned blue. After the murder he told Onion that he had then intended to destroy the officers by poisoning their coffee. He added, that the crew had plotted to bind the officers and put them on shore near St. Mary’s, and that he had gone with a cord as far as the caboose, for that purpose. But as the others did not fol¬ low him, his heart failed, and he gave up his intention. After the twenty-first, Stromer acted as master and Wil¬ liams as chief mate. They told Onion that if he chose he might still be second mate, and he did accordingly act as such. By their order he altered the owner’s papers, making it appear that the Plattsburg was consigned to a merchant in Hamburg. Williams altered the log-book, and made the ves¬ sel bound for Bremen; and cut out all the leaves that had been written since they passed Cape Henry. White assisted the others to work the vessel, but in private conversation with Onion he protested his innocence, and said he would never do a murder for gain. He declared that he was afraid to resist; that at one time he had had an inclina¬ tion to inform, but did not dare to do so. At last the vessel reached a port in Norway, called Cleve¬ land, where she remained four or five days. The last day Onion remained, he sent his baggage and ill gotten spoil on board a vessel bound for Copenhagen, by the advice of Wil¬ liams. Williams and Samberson also went with him to Copenhagen. While the pirates were at Cleveland, Onion was only once on shore, with Williams, who watched him closely. At Copen¬ hagen the case was different. Onion put up at the same house with Williams, and having the chief mate’s papers in his possession, passed by the name of Yeizer. It seems that Williams and the second mate became intimate, for they 106 PETER PETERSON. bought goods in company, intending to trade to South America. To th s end they went to the American consul to procure passports, and not giving a clear account of themselves, were arrested. This was the substance of Onion’s story: in telling it, he admitted that he had participated in the proceedings of the crew, from the time the officers were murdered. He excused this conduct, by saying that he was moved thereto by fear of losing his own life. He also acknowledged, that from the time the Plattsburg made the coast of Norway till the hour of his arrest, he was constantly intoxicated. When the reader shaK have seen how far his testimony agreed with that of the black, Samberson, (whose character was unimpeached) he will be better able to judge what credit should be given to such a person. According to Samberson, after the quarrel above mentioned between Smith and the chief mate, the crew plotted to take the vessel. White was privy to the design, but made no disclosure to the officers. On the night of the murders, Samberson heard Williams calling to some person to come on deck, and going to the companion way, saw the crew standing round the top of it. Smith at the same time calling him by an abusive name, bade him come on deck, for u He had made his fortune without knowing it.” The negro went up some steps, when he was seized and drawn on deck by force. He was then commanded to go forward, and went as far as the mainmast, where he heard the pirates calling Mr. Baynard on deck, and promising not to hurt him. Samberson returned aft, and saw Mr. Baynard lying on his back under the main boom on the starboard side. Williams and Rog then seized the unhappy gentleman and threw him over¬ board. Samberson heard him scream for aid, in the water. The black next went forward, and found the cook weeping. He asked what was the matter, and the cook said he did not know. Williams seemed to have assumed the command, and told the negro that he should die if he did not assist to wprk the schooner. At last Samberson received permission to go below. He found Frederick in the cabin with a cocked musket in his hand, looking for Onion, and soon after heard some one on deck propose to hunt the second mate out. White, Peterson, Raineaux, Johnson and Smith came down, and made Oni on come out of the locker. After the consultation PETER PETERSON 107 before mentioned, touching Onion’s life he thanked Frederick for preserving him. The pirates then gave the black and the second mate drink, and told them they might continue to act in their former capacities. Two days after the murders, Rog capered upon the deck, declaring that he “ struck the son of a bitch (meaning Mr. Baynard) with a stone in a stocking.” The other particulars related by Onion were confirmed by Samberson, excepting these: Onion, when he received his share of the money, did not decline it, or say that he was satisfied with his bare life. On the contrary, he said it was a handsome sum, and that he had not had so much before for a long time. Before the vessel reached Norway, Samberson once heard Stromer^say that he had given Williams poison to put in the officer’s coffee. Williams, who was present, said he did put it in, but that it was not strong enough. In fact, the officers had complained of the coffee, and taken physic after drinking it; but their suspicions fell on Samberson. When the vessel made the coast of Norway, the pirates took two fishermen on board as pilots, and Stromer desired them to take her into some port where there was no consul. The fishermen said they would take her to MandahL The custom house officers came off, and put a quarantine flag on board. Samberson went to the consul’s house to inform that officer what had happened, but finding some of the crew there, was affair to do so. It appears that Samberson mistook the name of tne place where the Plattsburg was deserted, as he calls it Mandahl; whereas all others concerned call it Cleve¬ land, and say that it was near Mandahl. On their arrival at Copenhagen, Samberson went to the same boarding house with Williams and Onion, but was not suffered by them to stay there; a black, it seems, was not fit company for such worthy persons. Soon after, Samberson saw Rog in the street, but the latter did not speak to him. He held down his head, in the manner of a person ashamed, and passed on. A fortnight from his arrival in Copenhagen, Samberson was summoned before the commissary of police and examined. He then disclosed all the transactions on board the Plattsburg, and Williams, Onion, and Rog were apprehended. It seems the commissary of police had heard that an American vessel had been deserted by her crew at a port in Norway. In all his story there is but one circumstance which, in 108 PETER PETERSON. our opinion, ought to create a doubt of Samberson’s truth. He was anxious at Cleveland, to have informed against the pi ates, but at Copenhagen neglected to do so. He said, in explanation of this, that at Cleveland all the crew might have been arrested at once, but at Copenhagen they were scattered about; and he did not care to inform against them there, because Williams and Onion had sworn to kill who¬ soever should open his lips, about the matter. After their apprehension, Onion and Samberson were con¬ fined separately, for two months. Then being put into the same room, they fought, and were again separated. However, they could converse from the windows of their respective cells. When the Plattsburg arrived at Cleveland, Francis Frederick carried his effects to the house of the pilot who had brought the vessel in. He then took passage for Aberdeen, in Scot¬ land, and thence to Fort William. After this, he returned to Norway, and went to Mandahl, where he was apprehended by the police. He was put in irons, and the next day carried to Christiansand and put in prison. Five days after he was examined, but pretended to understand nothing. He however confessed to divers persons how and where he had disposed of certain portions of his plunder, and was then sent back to prison and stripped. Thence he was sent to Copenhagen in irons, and was fourteen days on the passage. All this time he was chained to an anchor, without a covering, so that his feet were frozen. Peterson, after landing at Cleveland, went to his father’s house in Gottenburg, and there remained till he was seized by the American consul. When asked how he got his money, he said he had it from Stromer and Williams, but denied all knowledge of the murders. The next day he was accom¬ modated with a suit of fetters, weighing an hundred and thirty five pounds, was thrown into a dungeon, and kept therein thirty-six days, on bread and water. Then falling sick, his fetters were taken off. His malady continued three months, and was such that the physicians gave him over; yet he re¬ covered, and was carried before a court for trial. Nothing appearing against him, he was acquitted, yet he was detained in irons till the king’s pleasure should be known. He was then sent to Copenhagen. What became of the rest of the crew of the Plattsburg is not known. The owner of the Plattsburg, after her departure from Baltimore, heard no more of her till he received a letter from IETER PETERSON. 109 the American consul at Christiansand. He then sent a Mr. De La Roche in quest of her. This gentleman found the vessel in good order at Christiansand. The crimes perpetrated on board the Plattsburg became the subject of a memorial addressed by her owner to the president of the United States, and the case was deemed sufficiently important by that functionary, to be made a national concern. Accordingly, the sloop of war Hornet was despatched to Copenhagen to bring the criminals to America. John Williams, John P. Rog, Francis Frederick, Miles Peterson and Nathaniel White, were arraigned before the Circuit Court of the United States, held in Boston on the fourteenth day of February eighteen hundred and eighteen, for the murder of Thomas Baynard. They severally pleaded not guilty,to the indictment. The only witnesses with regard to the actual fact imputed, were Onion and Samberson, the substance of whose evidence has been given already. They were found guilty one and all, and sentenced to be hanged. It seems to us that Onion, instead of being an accomplice in the murders committed on board the Plattsburg, was marked out for one of the victims. The part he took in the piracy was such as any innocent man might have taken, under the fear of immediate death, and would not at all diminish his credibility, had he given information against the criminals on the first opportunity. When he was at Copenhagen with Williams and Rog, in the midst of a large population, he had nothing to fear from them; on the contrary they were in his power. As he was liable to answer to a charge of piracv, it might be supposed that he would have hastened to clear him¬ self from the imputation, by giving up the offenders to justice. He did not do so, but was content to use his share of the plunder in a mercantile partnership with Williams; whence we infer, that he was corrupted by the sudden acquisition of wealth. Therefore, we should give credit to his testimony as far as it was corroborated by that of Samberson, but no farther. After his condemnation, Williams gave this ac¬ count of the affair. When the vessel left Cape Henry, Mr. Yeizer informed the crew, that if they behaved well they should be well treated, but if he heard any grumbling he would tie up the first man and flog him severely. To this Williams replied, that he had never heard such language from any officer of any vessel before, and that it would not be good for the health of any 110 PETER PETERSON. officer to flog him. The chief mate told him to go forward or he would begin then, and Williams answered that he might begin as soon as he pleased. On the seventh of the month Williams heard the crew talk¬ ing about throwing the officers overboard, and then, walking the deck with .Daniel Went, advised that person to refuse to engage in the plot, saying that he would have nothing to do with it himself. He said, beside, that he had a mind to inform the captain of the conspiracy, but Went advised him not to think of it, as the crew would not scruple to kill him if they knew him to be the informer. That very evening, Stromer and Stacy told him they were resolved to bear ill usage no longer, and asked him to assist them to take the vessel from the officers. They called the officers a set of rascals, and added that they would throw them into the sea. Williams replied that he would never kill a man in cold blood, upon which Stromer called him a cow¬ ard. Williams rejoined that he was no coward, but as good a man as any in the vessel. The next day Stromer, Stacy, and Smith told Williams they intended to seize the officers while they would be taking an observation, bind them, and set them adrift in a boat with provisions and water, near the Cape de Yerd islands. They then meant to steer for Norway. Stromer produced maps, books, instruments, and papers to prove that he had command¬ ed vessels during a period of nine years. Being in drink and angry at the usage he had received, Williams agreed to assist, and in pursuance of the design, was about to lay hands on the captain, when, looking behind him, he perceived that the others hung back. He then upbraided Stromer with cowardice and threatened to beat him. On the fifteenth, Stromer told Williams he was determined to take the vessel that night, and put the officers on shore at St. Mary’s. Williams was angry at this, shook his fist at Stromer, and threatened to chastise him if he said another word on the subject, or that he would inform the captain. On the twenty-second, all the crew except the cook and Samberson agreed to take the vessel and kill the officers. White, indeed, did not agree to take part with them, but said he would keep the secret and help to work the vessel. It was agreed that some one on the bow should cry “ A sail!” and Williams was to stand by the foremast and repeat the call. By this the officers were to be enticed forward. Rog was to attack the chief mate, and if he came by the worse, Frederick PETER PETERSON. v 111 was to knock Rog down. This was because they did not place much confidence in the Dane. At the appointed time Peterson gave the signal, and Wil¬ liams repeated it. Both the mates went forward. Mr. Yeizer was thrown overboard by Frederick and Rog, and as he caught by a rope, it was cut by Stromer. Onion was struck down with an axe as before related, and Williams laid hands on him. Seeing the Captain come on deck, Williams left Onion and struck him on the breast. Mr. Hackett asked what was the matter, when Smith struck him with a handspike. He fell across the railing, and Smith and Johnson immediately threw him over. Williams said, farther, that had he not lost the axe- helve it was his intention to have beaten the Captain with it. He could not say who killed Mr. Baynard, but was sure that Stromer had a stocking with a stone in it for a weapon. This, and handspikes,.were the only weapons used. All the crew were sober, and Frederick was the most violent among them. He said that he could not sleep that night for thinking of the money, and seemed to view the slaughter of a hun an being as a very trivial matter. When Onion was found, his life was spared by Stromer, at the intercession of Williams. He had taken a bottle of whiskey with him into the locker where he was concealed. As he was intoxicated, Williams told him to go below and sleep, promising to call him when he should be wanted. In the morning, Stromer, Williams and Onion breakfasted together, and Samberson waited on them. Onion asked if Stromer knew how much money was on board, and being an¬ swered in the negative, said he did. He moreover asked Stromer why he did not let him know his intention to capture the schooner, saying that he would have assisted with all his heart. He added, that the Captain and first mate had used him ill, and were rightly served, and proposed, if he might have some hands to assist him, to get up the money. Onion did accordingly get the money and broke open the boxes with an axe. At dinner, Stromer said that he had brought some poison for the officers, from Baltimore, and had put some into their coffee, but it had had no effect. He asked Williams if he had been acquainted with Captain Hackett before, who replied, “ Yes, to my sorrow.” It was then agreed that the log-book should be altered, and Onion instructed Williams how to do it. Stromer took the 112 PETER PETERSON. name of Hackett, and Williams that of Yeizer, but after eight days Williams resumed his own, and Onion took the chief mate’s papers and name. The vessel’s papers were then altered. On their arrival in Norway the men went on shore as they pleased, but Williams remained on board. He received a letter from Stromer, informing him that Gascar, the American consul, had agreed to take the whole of the coffee, which was to be smuggled on shore. Accordingly they made the cus¬ tom house officer drunk, and got out fifty-six bags, Onion assisting. The next day a vessel came along side, with a letter from Stromer, and took three hundred bags more. Thus matters went on till the twenty-third of August, when a police officer came on board, took possession, and warped the vessel to Mandahl. Fearing detection, Williams and On- nion took passage for Copenhagen as before related. Such was the story of Williams. That of Frederick was as fol¬ lows: He agreed with Onion as far as relates to the quarrel be¬ tween Ye’zer and Smith, but solemnly declared himself igno¬ rant of any preconcerted plan to commit piracy or murder, and guiltless of the blood of all and each of the officers. He acknowledged, however, that he had often seen Stromer, Williams and others in close conversation, which they always discontinued when he approached. As to the proceedings of the fatal night, he said, that being relieved from his watch, he had just gone below with White, when he heard a noise on deck, and the voice of Yeizer, cry¬ ing “ Murder.” He ran on deck with White, and received a blow on his hand that drew blood. He then saw Mr. Yei¬ zer thrown overboard by Smith and others, whose persons he could not positively distinguish. Captain Hackett then came on deck, and was immediately thrown into the sea by Williams, Stromer, and Raineaux. The supercargo next came up, and was likewise thrown over. He heard both the captain and mate cry murder, in the water. He then ran into the cabin and took up a musket to defend himself. Williams and Stromer entered, and asked what he meant to do with the gun. He said he did not know. They then asked for Onion, and he said he thought he was in the locker. Onion was called out, and he, Frederick, observed that he was a very good man, though tipsy. At eight o’ clock in the morning Onion got up the money, broke the boxes, and it was divided. Frederick received his share. PETER PETERSON. 113 Arriving on the coast of Norway, Rog advised to make the vessel appear as if in distress. Accordingly the main boom was carried away, and the topmast studding-sail halliards were brought on deck. Rog’s story agreed with that of Williams up to the time of the piracy. He said that though he heard a noise on deck, he remained below till four in the morning. Then, going on deck, he was told by Stromer that he, Stromer, was captain. Stromer asked, too, if he would continue to do his duty as before, and respect him as master, Williams as first, and On¬ ion as second mate. He assented, and asked where Captain Hackett was, and was answered that it was none of his busi¬ ness. He agreed with Williams respecting the conduct of Onion. The other parts of his story agreed with the others in all points, excepting that he added, that when he and Peterson were ordered by Onion to assist in getting coffee out of the vessel, they refused to obey. Peterson stated, that the day before the piracy he saw Stro¬ mer and Stacy in conversation, and heard them say the crew were a cowardly set. He also saw them throw three handspikes into the forecastle, for what purpose he knew not. At midnight, Stromer and Williams called him from the fore¬ castle, threatening to kill him if he did not come on deck. They said, too, that all the rest of the crew had agreed to come. Fifteen minutes after, Williams cried “ A sail,” and Mr. Yeizer ran forward to ask where. Stromer and Williams cried u Strike,” and Johnson and Raineaux instantly threw him overboard. He caught the jib boom guy, exclaiming “ Lord have mercy and save me!” “ Yes, you rascal, I will,” said Frederick, and cut the guy. At the next moment Captain Hackett came forward, and Williams and Smith treated him as the mate had been treated. After this, Stromer asked him if he would do his duty, and he assented. The rest of Peterson’s tale was in substance the same as that of Williams. It is a very common opinion that no man ever persists in a falsehood to his last hour. How false this idea is may be seen in this case. Not one of these villains agreed with another, or with the witnesses, yet each persisted in his story to the moment the halter was adjusted to his neck. The convicts were visited in prison by Bishop Cheverus and others of the Catholic clergy. They all expressed contrition for their offences. Rog and Peterson embraced the Catholic faith. ■* 114 MICHAEL MARTIN. When they were thrown from the gallows Peterson’s halter broke and he came to the earth, but was immediately led up the ladder again. Many pitied his case, thinking his youth a.Dd inexperience ought to have saved his life, or at least pr ycured a mitigation of his punishment. MICHAEL MARTIN. The adventures of this reprobate alone would suffice to fill a considerable volume, if detailed at length; wherefore we shall only give an abridgment of his history. His exploits have an interest which is rarely found in the deeds of male¬ factors. Stories less remarkable than his have been wrought into romances. But the plan of our work does not suffer us to indulge in general reflections. Michael Martin was born near Kilkenny in Ireland, and was the cadet of his father’s family. His father, a Roman Catholic farmer, took particular pains to instruct his children in the precepts of Christianity. Unhappily, in the case of his youngest son, the seed was sowed in an ungrateful soil. * Our hero was remarkable at school for his inattention to study. At the age of fourteen he was bound apprentice to his uncle, a brewer, and might have become a respectable man, had not his vicious propensities completely gained the mastery over him. Being chastised for some offence, he deserted and returned to his father’s house. As neither threats nor persuasion could induce him to return, his parent consented that he should stay at home, on condition that he would go to school and behave well. Michael promised; but with him, promises were like pie crust,—made to be broken. At the age of sixteen he joined the association of United Irishmen, but kept what he had done a secret from his family. Nevertheless, his father suspected him; and to prevent his frequenting such company, used at night to lock him up in his chamber. The precaution was vain; a rope sufficed to make it so, and Michael nightly galloped one of his father’s horses to some meeting of the Ribbon Men, where the time was spent in discussing the grievances of the land. Nor was this the worst: at such meetings the United Irishmen were drilled to the use of pike and musket, and when the better MICHAEL MARTIN. 115 sort were gone, the rest caroused till morning. The perpe¬ tration of crime was foreign to the purposes of the association, but many of the brotherhood were men of desperate fortunes, and their intercourse engendered robbery and other malefac¬ tions. In such company, Michael Martin’s vicious propensi¬ ties gathered strength. About six months after he joined the society his father discovered the connexion and chastised him very severely. For this he resolved to fly from the paternal roof, never to return. That he might not depart unavenged or ill provided, he used a pick-lock, which had been made for him by a disn nest smith, to open a trunk wherein his father kept his money He had taken small sums therefrom before, without discovery; now, he only purloined five guineas, fearing to be pursued if he took more. With this sum he found his way to Dublin, where he called upon a Mr. O’Hanlan, his maternal uncle. He said to this person, that having been cruelly beaten by his father, he had come abroad to seek his fortune, and would gladly undertake any honest employment. Mr. O’Hanlan knew his character, and refused to believe his story. He said he doubted not that our hero had been very properly treated, and commanded him to begone. Michael did not obey with¬ out bestowing many abusive epithets on his uncle. He had the good fortune, a few days after, to meet a cousin who held the respectable station of chief clerk and cashier to an extensive brewery and distillery. This man at first gave him no better reception than his uncle had done, and urged him to return to his father. Some days elapsed, and Martin again meeting his cousin, professed repentance and promised reformation. On this the clerk consented to receive him into the brewery, in order that he might learn the trade. The first day, he was bidden to pump a quantity of spirits from one vat into another. Instead of obeying his orders he pumped the liquor into the cellar, in such wise that a great deal was lost, and the building had well nigh been burned, for the whiskey flowed round the furnaces. Howbeit, his cousin was so thoroughly convinced the mischief was accidental, that he made good the loss from his own purse rather than our hero should be discharged. This kindness made some impression on the vicious youth, and for a year he was honest and industrious. Bat after this he became intimate with a gang of dissolute fellows, and spent his leisure hours with them, in the company of bad women and villains of a,l descriptions. 6 116 MICHAEL MARTIN. Before his vicious courses were discovered he gained fast on the confidence of his kind cousin, who employed him to make fires in the room where the money belonging to the establishment was kept, in preference to any of the other workmen. The trust was ill requited, and Michael was unable to withstand the temptation. At first he only abstracted a few shillings at a time, but finding they were not missed he ad¬ ventured more boldly, and took away twenty-four guineas at ’ once. When this sum was gone he stole thirty guineas, which was immediately missed by his cousin. The clerk offered Michael four guineas if he would restore the rest, but instead of complying the thief affected huge indignation at the charge. His cousin then sent for an officer to arrest him, but Martin put on such an appearance of inno¬ cence that he was finally ordered to return to his work, and no more was said of the matter. Nevertheless, the suspicions of his cousin were not entirely effaced, for he did not treat Martin so kindly as before, nor suffer him to have access to his apartments. Michael behaved with the utmost propriety for two whole months after, because he feared the clerk had set spies to watch his motions. At this time love stepped in to break the monotony of Martin’s life, and he engaged himself to three girls at once, without the least intention to fulfil his promises to either. One of them was a servant of the Mayor of the city. This girl discovered his treachery and laid a plan of revenge. She sent a letter inviting him to visit her at midnight, at her window, from which a rope was to depend, fastened to a bell within. He was to pull this rope to apprize her of his coming. In fact, the line was tied to the covering of the Mayor’s bed. When Martin pulled, he drew a parcel of bed-clothes out of the window, to his infinite astonishment. While he was pon¬ dering, the Mayor put his head out of the casement and cried u Thieves!” Martin ran to the brewery, pursued by the Mayor’s servants, one of whom fired a gun at him while he was climbing into a window. The ball struck close to him, but he got in and went to bed. The next day the posse conii - tatus arrived, and an examination of the workmen took place. Martin put on a grave face, and escaped all suspicion. Martin resolved to be revenged.on his inamorata for this stratagem. Accordingly, when, that very afternoon, he met her in the street, he treated her affectionately, and said he had mistaken the place where he should have gone. In about a week he invited her to a dance, but she said she could not MICHAEL MARTIN. 117 leave the house, unless secretly, after the family should have retired to rest. Martin offered to come to the garden for her with a ladder, by the aid of which she might surmount the wall. She consented, and at the appointed time appeared, dressed in all her finery. On inquiring for the ladder, Martin said he had been unable to get one, but proposed that she should escape through the brewery ware-house, which adjoined the garden. To this end he offered to climb first to a window himself, and then draw her up after him with a rope. With much entreaty she suffered herself to be pursuaded, and Martin immediately put his plan in execution. He entered, lowered the rope, and she tied it under her arms. When he had raised her half way from the ground, he made it fast and went off to the ball, where he danced all night with one of her rivals. The girl was found next morning hanging, insensible, where he had left her. An inquiry was set on foot for the perpetrator of this brutality, and Martin, finding that the business was likely to be serious, left the city, though he had not a shilling in his pocket, and repaired to his father’s house. His parent received him, after his absence of two years, with great joy. Martin answered all inquiries by saying that he was come merely on a short visit, and meant to return to Dublin. For several weeks he so comported himself that his friends believed him really reformed. He was induced to remain at home longer than he intended, by the hope of inheriting a part of the property of a rich and infirm uncle. However, his relative died and left all his substance to our hero’s brethren. Michael was so enraged at this, that he refused to attend the funeral, and left his father’s house to pass the time in his old places of resort, where he staid till his credit was exhausted. His father endea^bured to induce him to return, but his entreaties was repaid with insult. His brother succeeded better—by promising to pay all his tavern bills, he brought Martin back. He was kindly received, and made many prom¬ ises of amendment, which he kept—three weeks. He then visited a company of profligate persons, the relation of whose desperate violations of the laws, inspired him with an ambition to equal, or perhaps excel them in dexterity and villainv* Before long, his friends were convinced that if he could ho would not become an honest man. His father was now so well aware of his depravity, that he dared not keep his money at home; but the dutiful son indem¬ nified himself for the want of opportunity to purloin cash by stealing the live stock of the farm, which he sold at low rates. 118 MICHAEL MARTIN. In a short'.ime his condition was little better than that of an outlaw, for no honest man in the neighbourhood would have any communication with him. He began, too, to be intemperate, but as yet he had not committed any very enormous crime. Perhaps a judicious course on the part of his family, might have reclaimed him even then; but their treatment was as ill advised as might be. Sometimes he met with excessive kind ness, and sometimes extreme severity. Whether he might have reformed or not, however, is no business of ours. He found himself so uncomfortable that he resolved to leave his home as soon as any feasible way of living should present itself. One night he remained in the bar of an inn till all the com¬ pany had retired, save two men, who invited him to drink with them. One of these called himself John Doherty. He was a fine looking, middle aged man, over six feet high, with a' strongly expressive countenance and black eyes. He wore the dress, and spoke the language of a clergyman of the high church. He asked our hero many questions touching himself, his connexions, and business. He asked ifhe had not absconded from Dublin, if he were not fond of spending money, and if he were very scrupulous concerning the means by which it might be obtained. Martin was not surprised at see¬ ing the man drink, for he knew that was not uncommon among the Irish clergy, nor at hearing him speak in such a manner, knowing that many of the protestant priests acted as spies upon the affairs of the United Irishmen. Mr. Doherty urged our hero, himself nothing loth, to drink, and presently threw off his priestly disguise, talking much about robbery and religion. Martin tried him with the secret signs of the United Irishmen, but he did not, or would not understand them. In the morning the mysterious stranger mounted a high blooded horse, but before he started, called Martin to his side and asked which way he meant to journey. Being informed, he said he was going the same road, and should be happy to travel in company. If Martin should be tired with walking he might take his horse. So they travelled together till they arrived at a tavern, which our hero entered at the pressing solicitation of Mr. Doherty. Here they pass¬ ed the day, in the course of which, the stranger, by dint of questioning, learned that his fellow traveller was very agile, and a fleet runner. They ran a race, one against the other, and Martin then exhibited his skill in horsemanship. In the evening, the stranger ordered liquors and other refresh- MICHAEL MARTIN. 119 ments into a private apartment, whither the new acquaintances retired. H ere Mr. Doherty presently convinced our hero that he was intimately acquainted with his feelings, history, situation, and prospects. After this exordium, the stranger announced himself as Captain Thunderbolt, a notorious highwayman, whose desperate feats had made him the terror of the south . of Ireland. At the moment he spoke there was a large re¬ ward offered for his head. Martin was something appalled at finding himself in such company, and would have left the room, but the robber told him he must stay, as he could not bear to part with so “ clever a fellow.” This sentiment he supported by producing and cocking a pistol. They sat down again, and Mr. Thunderbolt related his exploits, urged Mar¬ tin to drink, and offered him his purse, from which the latter would take only six guineas. In short, he found the way to our hero’s heart. At midnight a great uproar was heard below, and Captain Thunderbolt opened the shutters to learn the cause of it. He found that a party of dragoons had arrived, in pursuit of him, and heard his name pronounced in the room immediately be¬ neath. He then named a place where he would meet Mar¬ tin, and escaped through the window. Scarcely had he de¬ parted when a knocking was heard at the door of the room, and several voices demanded admission. Martin, in order to give his new friend time to escape, kept them out some min¬ utes, posit, pely swearing that Thunderbolt was not within. At last the soldiers forced the door, seized Michael, and carried him down stairs, as an accomplice. He denied all knowledge of the robber, and as the publican happened, luckily, to know his family, he was liberated. Finding themselves dis¬ appointed, the dragoons rode off, and Martin immediately proceeded to the place of rendezvous. He found Doherty there; and took him to his father’s barn, where he told him he had better sleep, and depart early in the morning before any of the family should be stirring. Then, having appointed an¬ other place of meeting, our hero went to bed. At noon the next day Martin went to see the robber, taking with him bread and meat for the man, and grain for the horse Thunderbolt now invited the young man to become his partner in business, saying that he would get a better living so than he could do in any other manner. Our hero replied that he was unwilling to disgrace his family, which generous senti¬ ment the robber turned into ridicule. Nevertheless, the 120 MICHAEL MARTIN. young man resolutely resisted his persuasions. Martin-then went back to his father’s house, whence he sent a boy to an inr C.>r brantty, with which he returned to his friend. They sp. o': toe afternoon drinking, and after appointing a place of rendezvous and a signal, they parted, and the youth returned to his old haunts, and lived unnoticed by his connexions. A week after, he received a letter from Doherty, desiring a meeting. He went to the place, and found the robber so disguised that he scarcely knew him. He had on a quaker suit, wore long, false, gray hair, and beside, his face was painted pale. He had a led horse with him. The brace of worthies passed the night together in a de¬ serted cabin, and Martin was favored with an abstract of his friend’s system of ethics. It was sufficiently amusing. He w'as probably the founder of the Fanny Wright political code, for he said it was his aim to equalise property. To this end, what he took from the rich he would impart to the poor. Such persons as had more wealth than was useful or neces¬ sary, he would deprive of their superfluity, but not of their lives—if he could help it. If any strong necessity should occur, such as danger of detection, or resistance, he consid¬ ered himself justified in enforcing his principles, even by the spilling of blood. His practice, too, in another particular, seems to have coincided with the theory of the “ social sys¬ tem,” He had been five times married, and had dissolved each connexion by his own sovereign will and pleasure, leaving his offspring to shift for themselves, though their mothers had brought him considerable property. Thus it is apparent he considered conjugal obligations mere vulgar errors. His life had been such as might have been expected from such rules of action. He had long travelled over the three united kingdoms in the exercise of his vocation, and had done much toward reducing all ranks to the desired equality. Yet lie had never killed or maimed any person. He had as¬ sumed all characters and all names, those of priest and lay¬ man, banker and beggar included. At this meeting Michael Martin became a convert to the u Social” doctrine, and consented to unite his fortunes with thosfe of Captain Thunderbolt. At this time he was twenty- one years old, light, strong, and agile. He w r as five feet nine inches high, well proportioned, with fair complexion, light hair and blue eyes. His weight exceeded an hundred and seventy pounds. The expression of his countenance was pleasing and indicative of good nature. With these advan¬ tages, then, he started in the career of life. MICHAEL MARTIN. 121 After preaching along sermon to his proselyte on the rules of the profession, Captain Thunderbolt initiated him into the order of clerks of St. Nicholas, by throwing a glass of brandy in his face and calling him “ Captain Lightfoot.” He next presented Martin with arms, and they set out for an assembly where men of all orders were to assemble for the purpose of hunting. •> As they proceeded they met many passengers whom Do¬ herty would not deign to notice. He waited for some of the gentry, from whom he might take a horse that would answer for his pupil. Previous to adventuring, the equalisers shook hands and agreed not to abandon each other in any case. At last they met four well mounted gentlemen, and Doherty expressed himself willing to see a proof of his associate’s courage. Martin hesitated to attack" so many, but his tutor, told him he should not fear though there were a hundred. He said he knew them all, that none were armed, and two were cowards. Captain Thunderbolt then took a position by the road side. Captain Lightfoot rode boldly up, and presenting a pistol, commanded the gentlemen to deliver. One of them instantly wheeled his horse and fled at full speed. The one nighest the pistol said he had little money about him, but the robber replied that he had heard he carried it under his saddle, and commanded him to alight in order that he might examine. The gentleman did not obey till Captain Lightfoot drew his horse away from the others by the reins. He then came down, Martin sprang into the empty saddle, and ordered the others to alight also. They instantly obeyed. Michael then rifled them all', and compelled the person he had dismounted to exchange coats and hats with him. All the while Captain Thunderbolt lay quaking in his quaker’s coat, by the side of the road, and it is probable the gentlemen took him for what he was, an accomplice, since they submitted so readily. One of them asked Martin if he were Captain Thunderbolt; to which he answered that he was not Thunder¬ bolt, but his brother, Captain Lightfoot. He then bade them good morning, and the worthy pair rode off across the fields to a wood, where the younger villain dressed himself in his spoils. He received the applause of his comrade for his con¬ duct, and they proceeded to the county of Cork, where they hid themselves in a wood. Doherty hence sent his pupil to a neighbouring town for some liquor, wherewith to baptize the stolen horse; an oper- 122 MICHAEL MARTIN. ation, which, he said, was indispensable. The liquor was soon procured, and Doherty, pouring some into the animal’s ears, gave it a name. The robbers then went toward Cashel irr search of game, but found none. To do Doherty justice, he behaved for a time, better than well. When he saw the appearance of mis¬ ery and want about any cabin, he alighted and gave the inmates money. Doherty now changed his dress in order to pass for Martin’s servant, and in this guise they entered Cashel, where our hero comported himself according to his preceptor’s instructions. The next day they left the place, and were pursued by a party of cavalry, from whom they had much difficulty to escape. Several shots were fired after them, and one ball struck Doherty’s saddle. That night they slept at a village on the road to Galway. In the morning, when about to depart, they found that Martin’s horse was lame, and he was obliged to hire another by no means as good. They then went to another village, where they remained close, for they had seen an advertisement of their robbery, and some of the pursuers had actually passed through the place. Leaving this place they took the road to Cork, where they expected to reap an abundant harvest. In the afternoon they rode up to an inn, wherein they instantly discovered a number of soldiers and police officers. Though commanded to stop, they turned and galloped off. Three or four guns were fired at them, but their horses carried them out of shot in a very few minutes. Two days after, they reached the city of Cork. Here they remained close three days, rioting and drinking. Martin’s horse died the first night of excessive fatigue. At last, tired of confinement, the robbers resolved to leave the place, and Doherty sent a boy for his horse. The keeper of the stable refused to deliver the animal to any other than the per¬ son who committed it to his custody, whereat the associates determined to leave Cork immediately, on foot, as they feared some stratagem to entrap them. They executed their purpose and arrived the next evening at Doneraile, where they put up at a small inn, though there was an advertisement describing them posted upon the door. It was difficult to mistake the person of Captain Thunder¬ bolt. The next afternoon, while he slept, Michael watched at the window, and presently saw a party, among whom were some soldiers, approaching the house. He awoke his comrade, MICHAEL MARTIN. 123 and they pushed down stairs. At the bottom they met their host, who would have stopped Doherty, that he might pay the reckoning, as he said. Doherty instantly prostrated him with a fisticuff, and the two captains then ran off as fast as they could across the fields, the soldiers pursuing and firing at them. Doherty received a ball in the calf ot his leg, but still ran on. After a hot chase the robbers escaped into a wood, where Doherty sank down, exhausted with fatigue and the loss of blood. A draught of brandy revived him, and Martin then cut out the ball with a pen¬ knife. Michael next made a bed of bushes and leaves for the wounded man, as it was evident they would be obliged to make a halt of some duration. The partners remained twenty-four hours in the wood, without food or drink. That night our hero went in the dis¬ guise of a beggar, to a gentleman’s house. He found the servants had all retired to rest, and they would not rise at his call. He therefore broke into a poultry-house and stole a brace of turkeys, with which he returned to his companion. By the aid of a pistol he kindled a fire, and roasted a turkey, which he devoured with great appetite; but Thunderbolt refused to partake, as he hoped to cure his wound by absti¬ nence. Two days after, they left the wood and travelled slowly toward a small village. Doherty knew the country well, so that they were mutually useful, the preceptor as a guide and the pupil as a support in walking. When they came,nigh the village, Doherty hid himself in the bushes, while Martin went to an apothecary for certain medicaments of which the former knew the uses. According to Martin, Captain Thun¬ derbolt had received a very tolerable education: he knew something of medicine and most other sciences, and was able, on occasion, to converse plausibly on the subject of religion. Martin procured the prescription, and after applying it the companions left the place and hid themselves in a fox cover where Doherty intended to remain till his wound should be healed. Having seen some persons whose appearance did not please him, Martin dared not go in quest of provisions, and conse¬ quently the robbers Vere three days without food. The younger outlaw then went to a farm house, robbed a woman of a dish of hasty pudding and carried it to his companion. They sustained life in this precarious manner for a fortnight Thus, it seems, highway robbery is by no means so pleasan 6 * 324 MICHAEL MARTIN. a way of living as Martin had expected. A day of plenty was followed by a week of starvation; not was there any of the freedom and independence he had been led to suppose. To be compelled to shun the face of man, to fear hourly for life; and to remain concealed in woods and hovels, suffering hunger and thirst, may be considered an-off-set against the possession of riches. Yerily, Martin found that vice carries its own punishment. Often did he weep, and wish himself an honest man The older reprobate made sport of such feel¬ ings, telling him he was already committed, and might as well play out the game. More than once our hero resolved to leave Doherty and shift for himself, but the arguments of the veteran villain always prevailed over his better judgment. When Captain Thunderbolt was so far recovered as to be able to walk, the robbers repaired to Clonmel, where a crim¬ inal court was in session. Some United Irishmen with whom Martin was acquainted, were to be tried. Two of them were sentenced to the gallows, and the rest to be transported. Martin proposed to Doherty to rescue some of them, but though they took much pains, they never gained an opportu¬ nity. Moreover, the presiding judge conceived strong sus¬ picions of our adventurers, and cautioned their landlord against them. They heard of this, and determined to be re¬ venged; to which end they remained quiet till the assizes were over. The worthy judge travelled with his own coach and four, with a retinue of armed servants. The night before he left Clonmel, the thieves broke into his stable and took the linch¬ pins from the hinder wheels of the carriage. In the morn¬ ing, they went about two miles from the place to wait for the coach. They had not waited long, when the horses dashed furiously by them, dragging the fore wheels only. They went back, and met the servants on the way in pursuit of the horses. When they arrived at the spot where the coach had broken down, they saw that it was broken in pieces, and a crowd was gathered about it. None had been hurt, except¬ ing the coachman, whose leg was broken. The robbers put each a guinea into his hand, and went off, as they could not steal anything among such a multitude. Then, travelling toward Dublin, the comrades met a bar¬ onet whom they resolved to rob. Doherty took off his hat and respectfully accosted him, saying he had a letter to deliv¬ er. The knight reined in his horse, when Doherty, producing a large pistol, commanded him to deliver. He hesitated, but 126 MICHAEL MARTIN. the robber seized the reins, and told him his life depended on speedy obedience. In the meanwhile Martin kept the baron¬ et’s servant still with a cocked pistol. The nobleman gave up a valuable watch, and upwards of thirty pounds in gold and notes. The servant offered Martin a silver watch and some small change; but the highwayman told him they were not worth taking, and that he would not plunder a poor man, in any case. Doherty added, that they addressed themselves to none but gentlemen. He then said, that neither need fear for his life, as he knew he could get what he wanted without blood spilling.. He next ordered mas¬ ter and man to dismount, which they did very quietly, and the robbers mounted in their places. Then, bidding the per¬ sons plundered good morning, the reprobates rode on. At the distance of fifty miles from Dublin they came in sight of ah elegant seat, the property of a Mr. Wilbrook. Here Doherty proposed to effect something, lest, as he said, they should grow rusty by want of practice. He rode to the door and inquired if Sir John Barker lived there, and on being an¬ swered that it was the residence of Mr. Wilbrook, said that gentleman was the very person he wished to see. The ser¬ vant replied that his master was gone to a hunt, and added that there was no one at home but Mr. Wilbrook’s sisters and servants. The robbers alighted, and ordered the menials to take care of their horses and summon the ladies. When they entered Doherty addressed them very politely, saying that he had been robbed the night before, and had learned that the robber was one of Mr. Wilbrook’s servants. He desired to see all the menials in the house and they were accordingly assem¬ bled in the hall. After examining them, one by one, he open¬ ed the door of a small room and commanded them all to en¬ ter it. At the same time both the robbers produced their pistols, and Doherty told the domestics that the first one who stirred should suffer death. Leaving Martin to guard the door, he desired the ladies to walk into another apartment, where he declared his business. He said he had heard there was much treasure in the house, and was resolved to have it. The ladies were, as might be expected, much alarmed, and produced cash and trinkets to the value of two hundred pounds, nearly; but this did not satisfy Doherty, who declared he would have more. The women then produced watches and jewels of their own, but the robber declared he would rather die than take anything from a female. The comrades MICHAEL MARTIN. 127 next divided the spoil, returned the key of the room where the servants were confined, kissed the ladies, and finally rode away, well content with their exploit. After this adventure, they travelled toward a hunting ground, and on the road met two gentlemen mounted on very excel¬ lent horses. Doherty compelled them to exchange steeds with himself and his companion, and Martin would have taken their watches and money also, but Doherty said they had enough; not that he was satisfied with the beasts, but because he feared that other sportsmen, of whom the road was full, might come up. Stopping for the night in the inn of a village called Cor¬ coran, the landlord suspected their profession, and sent privately for a party of the police. He had seen an adver¬ tisement of their last robbery which contained an accurate de¬ scription of their persons. Martin knew nothing of this till he was informed by a girl in the kitchen, with whom he had commenced a flirtation. Scarcely had the girl done speaking when a noise was heard, and Martin discovered that the soldiery were already in the house. Seeing that he could render no aid to Doherty, he leaped through a closed window, which cut his face and hands, but not severely. The soldiers pursued him, and as he was getting over the garden wall, two of them fired. Martin fell on the farther side, and remained motionless, though not at all injured. The soldiers came up with a lantern and examined him; but, as he remained perfectly still, they believed him dead, and left him. As soon as they were gone he rose, and after running a considerable distance hid himself in some bushes near the high road. He had almost fallen asleep, when he heard the steps and voices of an approaching crowd. They presently came close to him, some on horseback, others on foot, with lights and firearms. In the midst, our hero perceived the redoubtable Captain Thunderbolt, tied upon a horse, with an armed guard on each side of him. To diminish his chance of escape his captors had tied a white cloth round his hat, which rendered him the most conspicuous object in the procession. Martin followed the throng to the house of the next magistrate, a distance of three miles. He stopped, however, by the way, at a cabin, whence the inmates were absent, having probably gone to see the sport. Here he disguised himself in some degree by staining his face and tearing his clothes, and then mixed among the crowd. He now perceived that his comrades hands were tied behind him and that his 128 MICHAEL MARTIN. feet were secured in like manner. Our hero witnessed the examination before the magistrate, who was presently satisfied that the prisoner was no other than the notorious Captain Thunderbolt. As there was no prison at hand, the highway¬ man was ordered to bd confined in the house till morning. Having ascertained the strength of the guard our hero went forth with the rest of the crowd and concealed himself near the magistrate’s stable, resolved to leave no means untried to effect his comrade’s liberation. At midnight he set fire to the building by means of one of his pistols, and then cried u Fire,” with all his might. A great alarm was created, and most of those who guarded the prisoner ran to aid in ex¬ tinguishing the flames. Martin availed himself of the occa¬ sion to enter the room where Doherty was kept. There were but three soldiers in the apartment, who sat quietly beside the captive while their arms were piled in a corner. As Martin entered he showed his pistols, swearing he would shoot the first that moved. The soldiers sat still and offered no resistance while he cut Doherty’s bonds and gave him one of his pistols. But as the prisoner rose one of his keepers sprang to a musket. Before he could use it Martin shot him in the leg, and disabled him. The others were yet more alarmed, at his fall, and the robbers went off without moles¬ tation. They travelled all night on foot, but in the morning per¬ ceived a groom training a very fine horse, which Doherty instantly demanded. The menial refused to surrender the animal, saying he should be punished if he lost it, but Doher¬ ty cut short the argument by dismounting the man forcibly. The villains both mounted and rode toward Dublin, choosing to journey circuitously and to avoid the public roads, for wherever they stopped they saw themselves advertised. At last, when they were within thirty miles of the capital, they hit upon a plan to obtain another horse. Martin, at night, broke into a garden adjoining a stable which he found locked. Being resolved to effect his purpose, he clomb by means of a long pole to the window, which he burst in, and got upon the haymow. Groping about in the dark, he fell through a rack among the horses and broke a finger of his left hand, of which he never after recovered the use. Nothing discouraged, however, by this misadventure, He went about feeling the horses until he found a restless young one, which, by examining the hoofs, he knew had never been shod. He put his handkerchief round the animal’s neck and led it out to the spot where Doherty was waiting for him. MICHAEL MARTIN. m The veteran highwayman disapproved of Martin’s selec- tidn, saying the horse was too wild for service, but our hero, like another Alexander, insisted on trying his steed. He took the saddle and bridle from Doherty’s horse, put them on his own, and mounted. The experiment was ill advised: the un¬ broken colt started at full speed for his owner’s house, in spite of all Martin’s endeavors to stop him. As he approached the building the robber saw that .the people had taken the alarm and were on foot, with lights. At this sight he con¬ trived to throw the horse down and ran away, leaving the saddle and bridle. The people pursued our hero; while he ran in such a direction as to lead them away from Doherty. The chase became so hot that he was compelled to jump into a muddy pond, and as he could not swim for the mire, to wade through it. In about an hour he rejoined his companion. His voice was so changed by terror and fatigue that Doherty did not recognise it, and was on the point of firing at him. What was worst of all, they were obliged to leave their re¬ maining horse, for want of the saddle and bridle Martin had so strangely lost. Coming to a running stream, Martin stripped and washed his clothes, which he was obliged to dry by the heat of his body. In the morning they entered a farm house, where they got something to eat, and went to bed. When they awoke they pushed on again, till they came to the house of one of Do¬ herty’s old companions, who was under many obligations to him. This man lived in a retired situation near the Dublin road, and here the robbers determined to remain a few days. Nevertheless, they soon became suspicious of their host, who talked much about the reward offered for their apprehension. Wherefore, they sent the man for some whiskey and de¬ camped before he returned, taking the road to Dublin. The next morning they met two gentlemen, one an army officer, in a handsome chaise. Doherty stepped up to the vehicle, with a low bow, and the gentlemen reined in their horse. The robber asked if they would inform him what was the time of day, and as one of them was consulting his watch, presented a pistol, and asked for their' watches and money. Martin seconded him by standing at the horse’s head, declar¬ ing he would shoot the animal if they stirred. “Are you really in want of money?” asked the officer. u Yes,” replied Doherty, “ we are very poor, and you Englishmen have made us so.” One of the gentlemen ttaen said that they would give up all 130 MICHAEL MARTIN. the money they had, while the other asked sont)e unimportant questions and looked anxiously behind him. He demanded if they meant to strip him of everything. “ Give me your watches first,” said Doherty, “ and then I ’ll be after your purses, to pay the taxes on them.” At this moment Martin perceived that the officer was fumbling in his pocket, and suspected he was feeling for a pistol. He instantly threw his own at the gentleman, which struck him on the head and laid him senseless. At this the other fell on his knees, and prayed them to spare his life. The robbers dragged the gen¬ tlemen from the chaise. One of them was already insensible, and a blow of Doherty’s fist reduced the Other to the same condition. Then, having plundered them of their watches and fifty guineas, the robbers drove off in the chaise. After going about five miles, they left the vehicle in the road, and went to a house belonging to one of Doherty’s acquaintance. Before they left this man’s house they heard of a poor per son in the neighbourhood whose furniture and other property were about to be seized for tithes. They paid him a visit, and learned that the sum he owed was over forty pounds. Doherty lent him the money on his promise to pay in a year, and refused to take his note for it; but enjoined it on him to take a receipt from the clergyman, or whoever should receive the sum. The man promised to obey, and the two robbers watched in the neighbourhood till they saw the priest enter the house. They remained concealed by the road side all night. In the morning the clergyman and an officer of the excise approach¬ ed, both well mounted. Martin accosted the priest, saying that he had a letter for him, and presented him with a blank paper. He halted, as did his companion, and the next mo¬ ment Doherty presented a pistol and demanded his money. Martin did as much by the exciseman. The parson pleaded poverty and said he had no cash about him, but Doherty gave him the lie direct. “ Are you not ashamed of yourself?” said he. “ I did not think you pious protestants could lie so. I know that you have money, and came wrongfully by it; therefore, restore it to its proper owner.” The priest proved refractory, and would have resisted; nay, he called on his companion for assistance, but Martin kept the exciseman quiet with his pistol. The clergyman continued recusant, and would have escaped had not Doherty lodged a charge of small shot and salt in his thigh, which brought him from his horse. The thieves then rifled him of his watch, some silver, and the very MICHAEL MARTIN. 131 money Doherty had lent the poor man. The horses they did not care to take. After this they put up in a widow’s house, and remained quiet a week. While there, they became acquainted (by re¬ port) with a certain widow Macbriar. This lady had been a poor countrywoman, but had married a rich man, who at his decease left her in affluent circumstances. Doherty advised Martin to become the husband of so pretty a property, and in order to put the matter in train, they started for Dublin, where our hero might be provided with raiment suitable for a wooer. At every house where they halted they heard the name of Captain Thunderbolt, and saw advertisements de¬ scribing their persons. They overtook on the road the servant of an army officer, who was carrying his master’s uniform to a tailor to be re¬ paired. Doherty made the dress his own, after his usual fashion of appropriation, but gave the poor man his own coat and two guineas by way of consolation. In this dress he stopped at an inn in the near vicinity of Dublin, ordered a din¬ ner, and commanded the ostler to saddle the two best horses in the stable. As no one doubted that he was what he appear¬ ed, the animals were made ready, and the two robbers reached Dublin that evening. They engaged lodgings at an excel¬ lent inn, and in the course of a few days obtained such ap¬ parel as befitted their purpose. Morever, they forged letters of introdu* tion to the widow, and thus prepared Martin set out on his enterprise, leaving Doherty in the city. Our hero stated himself to be a man of large property, and his suit prospered: in less than a fortn ght the widow consented to make him happy. He invited her to visit his family in Dublin, and she set off accordingly, in her own carriage, with three lackeys. In the meanwhile Doherty had prepared matters for her reception. He had hired a number of per¬ sons who were to pass for Martin’s relatives, and he himself was to act the father. The widow remained in the house but a day before she declared herself anxious to visit her friends in the city, which had she done, the plot would have been frustrated. Our hero, therefore, persuaded her rather to re¬ turn home. Having obtained the consent of his pretended father and mother to their union, he departed with her, and remained at her house four days. On the fifth day, as he was walking with the lady, a pedlar who knew him arrived, and asked one of the servants why his mistress was walking with that rascal. He told the servant, 132 MICHAEL MARTIN. beside, our hero’s true name, as well as that he was a notorious highwayman, and a comrade of Captain Thunderbolt. As soon as Captain Lightfoot saw the pedlar he knew him, and would have bribed him to secrecy, but it was too late. When the lady came back to the house, a great uproar ensued. She was greatly scandalized, and sent for the police. Before they arrived, however, Captain Lightfoot had made himself invis¬ ible. , On his return to Dublin he heard that his comrade had attracted suspicion, whereupon they changed their abode and lay perdue some days. Then, hearing of a wedding about to take place, they went thither, Martin disguised as a female, and Doherty as his attendant. On their arrival at the house, they went in with the crowd unquestioned, no one thinking to ask whether they were invited or not. Martin sustained his part very well, spoke little, and kept his face covered with his veil. After supper money was collected for the priests, and Captain Thunderbolt contributed liberally. So far their frolic was innocent, but it was now to assume another character. They left the house early, and as they stepped over the threshold discovered that four priests were about to depart in a carriage, attended by one servant only. This was a tempt¬ ation they could not withstand. They proceeded about a mile, and lay in wait for the carriage. When it came up, Doherty seized the reins, while Martin compelled the driver to vacate his seat. When asked for their valuables, one of the priests demanded if they were robbers, to which Doherty replied that they had the honor to exercise that employment. They gave up their money quietly, one of them at the same time remon¬ strating and suggesting the immorality of the procedure. Doherty told the* speaker that he would take some opportunity to hear him in his chapel, as that was not precisely the time or place for a sermon. The spoil amounted to sixty guineas. On their return to the house where they had dressed, they found it surrounded by a concourse of people, soldiers and others. As they approached, they were discovered, and pur¬ sued with hue and cry. The soldiers fired on them, and Do¬ herty plunged into a river; but Martin preferred to trust to his feet on dry land. He ran till he had distanced all his pursuers, and then lay down to sleep in the woods. The next day, as he travelled he knew not whither, he came to a place where some peasants were at work in a field. They had thrown off their outer garments by the road side, and our hero availed himself of the opportunity to change his dress, leaving a half MICHAEL MARTIN. 133 guinea for the owner of what he took a r ,ay. Nevertheless the peasants, who saw what he had done, pursued him with much clamor, but did not overtake him. He then remained concealed in some bushes two days, with no other sustenance than fair water. At last he left his hiding place, and inquired the way to the capital of some poor peasants. For four days he remained tranquil in a paltry inn, five miles from Dublin, and then started for the city once more. On the way he met an old physician he had formerly known, riding in a chaise with a little boy by his side. Martin picked up a great stone, and seizing the horse by the reins, swore he would beat out the old man’s brains on the spot unless he instantly gave up his money. The doctor was frightened and delivered his pocket book, glad to escape so. Our hero told him his name was David Brimstone, and threatened to throw the stone at him unless he drove on with all speed. The old gentleman took the hint, and they parted. Michael Martin reached the city without farther adventure, and heard, on his arrival, thatx Doherty had stolen a purse at the theatre a few nights before. Captain Lightfoot next pro¬ vided himself with pistols, and made the tour of all the taverns in search of his.comrade. At one tavern he heard some people reading an advertisement concerning Captain Thunderbolt, and one said he had been traced to near Kilkenny. Presently their attention seemed to be directed toward our hero, and they began to whisper. Nevertheless, he put a bold face on the matter, paid for his drink, and walked coolly out. While in the entry, he heard such remarks as induced him to hurry up stairs. He got upon the housetop, and made ready to meet whosoever might come. At last he ventured down, and met a girl in one of the upper rooms with a light in her hand. Supposing him to be one of the family, she suffered him to take the light and descended the stairs. He then took off his coat and powdered his clothes and head with some flour that he found in a box, and went down. There were many people about the door, but he passed boldly through them, pretending to be lame. He then took the road to Kilkenny. In the morning he rested several hours at a tavern, and then calling for breakfast, was answered that they did not use to entertain highwaymen. This made him believe that he had been traced, and he departed. Before he had gone many yards, however, he was aware of half a dozen men in full pur¬ suit. He distanced them all, and slept that night in the woods. 134 MICHAEL MARTIN. At Castle Dermot, near Kilkenny, Martin heard that Captain Thunderbolt had lately robbed a nobleman, and that there had been a hot pursuit after him. In this neighbourhood he saw many who recognised him, though he had colored his hair, painted his fhce, and wore a great patch over his eye. Yet no attempt was made to arrest him; and he constantly met some of the United Irishmen, who would have protected him. One day he heard some persons talking familiarly about his associate. In order to discover his retreat, Martin stated that he was a constable, and offered a large reward to any one who would tell him where Captain Thunderbolt might be found. When he left the room an old man followed him, and giving the private signal, offered to show him where the robber lay concealed without any reward. Mar¬ tin followed the ancient three miles, to a little hut, where he found Doherty and passed the night drinking with him. In the time they had been separated the elder robber had labored diligently in his calling, having collected upwards of six hundred pounds, beside watches and jewels. In the morning they set out on foot for the north of Ireland, intending to pass over into Scotland if unsuccessful in that quarter. Their present object was to obtain horses, for which an opportunity presented itself on the third day. They met a gentleman alone on a beautiful horse, and our hero com¬ pelled him to stop, saying he wanted to rob him. A servant then appeared, coming to his relief, but Doherty threatened the man with instant death if he advanced an inch, and he stopped. The gentleman gave up his purse and watch, but at the same time observed that he thought the money was enough for them and he would be glad to retain his timepiece. 'Martin replied that the watch was much too pretty for him, and that he wanted such a one for his wife. The sufferer then asked, very politely, if Doherty was not identical with Cap¬ tain Thunderbolt; to which the robber replied in the afftrma-. tive. The highwaymen compelled the master and servant both to dismount, and rode away on their horses to a spot where they buried their plunder. In four days they reached l.isburne in the county of An¬ trim, without having committed any crime by the way. Hav¬ ing received some affront from the master of the inn where they put up, they exchanged their tired horses for fresh ones from his stable, in revenge, and set off'for Belfast. Meeting an old man riding alone in a sorry chaise, Doher- * tv asked him the way to Belfast, and received a churlish ans- MICHAEL MARTIN. 135 wer. Provoked at this, Martin pulled out a pistol and deman¬ ded his money. Thunderbolt persuaded his companion to desist, and the old man hurried on, threatening to send a party of soldiers after them immediately. Martin became en¬ raged, followed him half a mile, and bade him give up every¬ thing he had. The ancient begged for time,—and his life. Martin dismounted, cut his reins, and tied his own horse to the chaise. He then mounted into the vehicle, took the old man by the throat, and plundered him of an hundred and fifty pounds. After this cruel action he joined his companion, and they reached Belfast the same day. Here they prowled for prey to no purpose. Tired of this, they chartered a small vessel for Scotland, and embarked with their horses. A gale kept them in the Irish Channel two days, after which they reached Preswick in safety. They next went to Glasgow, where Captain Thunderbolt endeavoured to sell several estates he said he possessed in Ire¬ land. Though he exhibited the title deeds, and gave referen¬ ces to imaginary persons, he did not succeed in effecting any bargain. They remained in the city three weeks. They were one day aivare that a gentleman with whom Doherty had become acquainted was about to ride to his country seat, and resolved to rob him. After following him seveial miles they came to a spot favorable to their purpose, and Doherty rode up to him, requesting to borrow a few shil¬ lings. The gentleman called him a rascal and bade him be¬ gone. “ You rascal,” said the highwayman, u stand still— or I’ll blow the head from your shoulders.” The frightened gentleman asked how much would' satisfy him, and was ans¬ wered by Martin u all he had.” He gave up his purse, which was but light, but they dared not stay to examine him. He asked the robbers if the elder was not John Doherty. Do¬ herty replied that that had been his name, but that his com¬ rade had given him a new one—Captain Thunderbolt. The gentleman then declared himself to have been one of Doher¬ ty’s schoolfellows, and gave the robber much good advice. He promised, that if permitted to retain his watch, he would never expose his school-mate, and was in consequence suffer¬ ed to keep it. The highwaymen rambled about the country several weeks without getting any opportunity to increase their possessions, and found, moreover, that they were viewed with suspicion. Advertisements regarding them had found their way over from the sister kingdom. To add to their danger Doherty was 136 MICHAEL MARTIN. well known in Scotland. For all these reasons, Captain Thunderbolt thought it advisable to disguise his person as much as possible. But wherever they went, Captain Thun¬ derbolt was recognised by some person or other. Near the mouth of the river Clyde they fell in with a party of dragoons who pursued them five miles, and at last pressed them so hard that they were obliged to swim the river. Martin got safely over, but Doherty’s horse sunk under him, so that he was com¬ pelled to abandon the animal and swim for his life. As soon as he reached the shore he mounted behind our hero, and they continued to ride in this manner two days. At last the horse was exhausted with fatigue, and they left him, to go on foot toward the river Dee. Finding himself so well known, Doherty determined on another course. He bought a small stock of medicines, and travelled in the character of an itinerant physician, Mar¬ tin attending him as an apprentice. By dint of impudence, Doherty succeeded in picking up some money. He used, when speaking of his own skill, to say he particularly excell¬ ed in bleeding , and that Martin was fast learning the same art. Thus they avoided suspicion, and lived in an inoffensive, if not an honest and honorable manner. Our hero was more than once tempted to adhere to his new profession, but the argu¬ ments of his preceptor, and, perhaps, his own evil propensi¬ ties, were too strong for him. When they became weary of this mode of life, our quacks resolved to return to Ireland, and took Glasgow in their way. They remained in this city some days. One evening seeing a person of respectable appearance in the street., they followed him to a lonely street where they took him by the throat and told him to deliver. He did as he was commanded. The next night they went on board a small vessel that was lying at one of the wharves. There were but two men on board, both fast asleep. The villains awakened and com¬ manded them to make sail for Bangor. They excused them¬ selves by saying that the master was absent, and they dared not sail without him. Doherty, however, compelled them to do as he wished, and Martin cast the fast loose. The morning after the vessel arrived at Bangor. The robbers paid the seamen for their trouble, and started for Dublin. The second night they got into a stable. They found two grooms asleep, of whom they bound one, and obliged the other to saddle and bridle the two best horses. This done, they repaired to Dublin, injuring no one by the way. MICHAEL MARTIN. 137 After having committed some petty thefts, they saw a stage about to start for Kilkenny, and Martin proposed to follow and rob it. Contrary to his wont, Doherty was backward, thinking it too hazardous to attack a coach full of passengers on an open and much frequented road in broad day-light. Martin, however, was not to be deterred: he followed the stage alone, and when he overtook it, cut four trunks from behind. He then returned, picking them up, one by one, from where they had dropped, and carried them into a field His disappointment was great at finding nothing m them but wearing apparel. In his anger he strewed the clothes about under a tree, on which he next hung a red handkerchief by way of auction flag. He then wrote a notice purporting that all these articles were to be sold there the next day at auction. He posted this notice on a tree and walked off. He soon came to a large house, the owner of which was standing at the door. Martin asked him for a draught of beer, and was bidden to go to the next ale house and buy it. Our hero then demanded what auction was to take place in the adjoining field. The man said he had no knowledge of any, and refused to believe what the robber said he had seen. Finally, Martin offered to guide him to the place, and after doing so left him under the tree. The remainder of the affair he heard afterward. Scarcely had Martin left the spot when the people of the stage, who by this time had discovered their loss, came back. Seeing the trunks open on the ground and the gentleman examining their contents, they seized him as the thief, beat him, bound him hand and foot, and carried him before a mag¬ istrate. This person knew the gentleman, and was certain that there was some mistake. Accordingly an investigation took place, and the prisoner was discharged. When our hero got back to Dublin, he found Doherty ab¬ sent, and never saw him more. This Paul Clifford of real life was a Scot by birth. Subsequently, Martin heard that he had left Ireland with his ill earned wealth, in safety, and that he had gone to the West Indies and engaged in reputable business. What became of him eventually, we have no means of ascertaining. Having spent much time in a vain search for his associate, our hero went to the famous fair of Donnybrook, where he participated in the jollity and cracking of crowns for which the place is proverbial. He left it in a jaunting-car which he had stolen with two females, with whom he rode about the 138 MICHAEL MARTIN. country several days. When he was tired of their company he put them into a stage bound for Dublin and bade them farewell. He then sold the horse and car a id walked back to Dublin, committing only one robbery on the way. His next adventure was a bold one, no less than robbing the Lord .Lieutenant of Ireland. He learned from a maid servant of this dignitary with whom he had contracted an intimacy, that he possessed a snuff box richly ornamented with jewels. He also discovered that the Lord Lieutenant was in the habit of walking very early in his garden, alone. By bribing the gardener he got access to the garden the first fair morning. He had not waited long before he saw the nobleman approaching, who presently sat down on a bench by the side of a fish pond. Martin walked up to him with a cocked pistol, and — u your money or your life.” The following dialogue ensued. Lord Lieut. Did you speak to me. Martin. Yes, plase yere honor. Lord. You impudent rascal, what do you want? Get you gone or F 11 have your skin taken off. Mar. Plase yere honor I must first skin yere pockets—and if ye offer to make the laste noise—and if ye don’t be after giving me less of yere blarney, I’ 11 take yere life. The nobleman surrendered a heavy purse and would then have gone away, but our hero desired him to stay awhile, for he had only begun with him. The next demand was for his watch and diamond ring. The nobleman entreated that these might be spared, as he set a higher value on them than their price in money. He even offered to deposit any ransom in any place Martin might appoint. The robber asked if the Lord Lieutenant thought him fool enough to expose himself to detection by going after it. However, he finally suffered him to retain the ring. As he was about to depart, he asked the Lord Lieutenant for a pinch of snuff, a desire that was readily granted, and the robber gained an opportunity to snatch the jewelled snuffbox. Martin then told the noble that he had got enough, and advised him to say little about the matter, or he would visit him again. The Lord Lieutenant said he was sorry such a young man should be a robber, and advised him to sin no more. The highwayman renlb*d that it was his vocation, and that at any rate he had only treated his adviser as his adviser’s countrymen treated the Irish. His excellency then asked his name, and was informed that it was Captain Lightfoot. “ Ah,” said he, “ and where is your comrade MICHAEL MARTIN. 139 Thunderbolt ?” Martin replied that he was absent on business, and that he should come to sup with the Lord Lieutenant if the latter said anything about what had passed. Martin was then urged to enter the house and drink, but declined the in¬ vitation and made haste to escape, as he saw some servants entering the garden. He retreated backward, always holding fast his pistol, to the garden wall. While he was scaling the wall the Lord Lieutenant gave the alarm, and the servants came running after him. Nevertheless he escaped by swim¬ ming over the Liffey In four days he reached Kilkenny, where he found that an advertisement had arrived containing an account of his late robbery and a description of his person. He immediately buried his watches and the greater part of his money, and then ' disguised himself as a beggar. A stolen horse conveyed him speedily to Waterford, where he took passage in a ship bound for New York, under the name of Michael O’Hanlan. The provisions and water failing, the master of the ship resolved to put into seme port in the colonies, instead of pro¬ ceeding to New York. This change of destination was, for obvious reasons unpleasing to Martin, and he brought about a mutiny among the seamen and passengers of whom there were more than an hundred on board. Our hero seized and disarmed the captain with his own hands, and there was a bat¬ tle royal for some minutes. Finally the master was con¬ strained to succumb, and the vessel arrived at Salem on the seventeenth of June eighteen hundred and nineteen. After spending all his money Martin hired himself to Mr. E. H. Derby, to work on a farm. He remained in this gen¬ tleman’s employ over a year, behaving, for him, very well. When he had money, it is true, he spent it in liquor, and at such times was lazy and quarrelsome. The demon of drink at last proved too strong for him, and Mr. Derby was com¬ pelled to discharge him. During this period he learned that his father was dead, and exhibited a sorrow that would hardly have been expected from such a person. He had, it seems, formed the resolution to become an hon¬ est man, and after leaving Mr. Derby engaged in the service of a brewer. Here his worst conduct consisted in drunken¬ ness and gaming. In a few weeks he received a letter from' his brother containing four hundred dollars; his share of his father’s property. With this money he took a lease of a small brewery’in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, hired workmen and began to live reputably. He dealt largely in beer and 140 MICHAEL MARTIN. porter, but found the people too acute for him in the way of bargaining. Becoming* dissatisfied thereat he returned to his former habits of dissipation, and soon became a bankrupt. This was the end of his attempt to be honest: he hired a horse and chaise and took the road to Canada. On the way, in Ver¬ mont, he robbed a Connecticut pedlar of seventy dollars. At first the man resisted, but Martin beat him from his cart and easily overpowered him. He justified this action in a rather singular manner. He took it for granted that the pedlar had obtained his cash by cheating honest men, which was proba¬ bly the case, and thought that the money would be in better keeping for the transfer. This was the only crime he commit¬ ted on the road to Quebec. In this city he sold his horse and chaise, bought a quaker dress and pistols, made inquiries touching the roads, and laid plans for the perpetration of new robberies. He went to Trois Rivieres and put up at the house of a Frenchman, where he fell sick and remained two days. Here the kind¬ ness of his host won so far on him, that he left the house without doing any mischief. The day he left Trois Rivieres he met two well dressed gentlemen in a chaise. He halted in the road, and when the vehicle came up asked the time of day. The man nighest to him took out a valuable watch, and at the sight of it the pre¬ tended quaker presented a pistol and ordered him to give it up. The man complied, but his companion stammered in broken English and pretended not to understand. Martin, enraged at this, snatched the reins and swore to kill them uth unless they complied with his demands. After speakir^; to each other in French, they surrendered their pocket-books and Watches, one of which Martin returned, saying it was not worth the trouble of carrying. He then restored the reins and bade them farewell. The next day he robbed an old gen¬ tleman of thirty-five dollars. The next person he met was a Frenchman, on a fine horse. The robber stopped him with the usual formalities. The man surrendered a pocket-book containing three dollars only, but the robber was not content and ordered the traveller to dismount. He excused himself by saying the horse was a borrowed one, and that he should lose his character by parting with it. Martin replied that he had better lose his character than his life. The Frenchman turned his beast’s head, and would have escaped had not our hero discharged a pistol. The poor man fell from his steed thinking himself dead, and when Martin came up with him MICHAEL MARTIN. 141 begged his life. The robber compelled him to buckle the spurs to his feet, gave him a dollar for his pains, and rode off. Martin now divested himself of his quaker apparel and thus escaped suspicion on his way to Montreal. He heard many inquiries concerning a quaker, but no one thought of ar¬ resting him. Finding no opportunity to fill his purse at Montreal, our hero started for Kingston in Upper Canada. On the road he met an Indian, probably of the St. Regis tribe, riding alone in a chaise. The man was well clad and had many orna¬ ments about him. When the highwayman demanded his ef¬ fects he tried to snatch the presented pistol, but failed*in the attempt. He then gave up his ornaments and sixty-five dollars in cash. This done, he proposed to the robber to throw down" his weapon, and he would fight him for the money. Martin attempted to explain to him the Irish mode of fighting, and used the word shillelah. The Indian understood the term and knew the robber for an Irishman at once. He did more —he consented to fight on Martin’s own terms. Our hero agreed, and told him to wait till he could cut a stick. With that he spurred his horse into the bushes. Suspecting that he was about to escape, the savage pursued with whoop and halloo, and in less than a minute Martin had the pleasure to see a score of Indians running after him. He spurred on to the bank of a river, where he stopped and dismounted to give his horse breath. While he stood thus an Indian came upon him out of the bushes, before he had time to mount his horse, and threw a large stone at him with all his might. While he was stooping for another Martin shot him through the body, mounted his horse, and escaped. He never knew whether the savage was killed or not: if he was, it was the first and last murder he ever committed. After rambling about the country some days Michael di¬ rected his course toward Kingston again. While he was resting at a small tavern a British officer rode up and behaved in a very insolent manner. There was, perhaps, some excuse for it in Martin’s appearance, for his beard was long and his raiment rather shabby. Be that as it may, when our hero asked him the way to Kingston he was answered with abuse. What followed may be a lesson to such persons, showing that no advantage arises from incivility. Having ascertained from the landlord what road the soldier meant to take, Michael started in advance, and lay in wait for 142 MICHAEL MARTIN. him by the road side till dark. When he came up, the foot¬ pad commanded him to stop in a loud voice, and seized the reins of his horse. “Now, master Lobster,” said Martin, “dismount instantly.” He obeyed and gave up a few pieces of money, which Michael threw away with huge disdain. The soldier begged his life in the most abject manner, making it apparent that his cowardice was fully equal to his insolence. Martin asked him why he did not defend himself with the pistols in his holsters, but he replied very submissively that he never fired at gentlemen. The robber then stripped him, tied him to a tree, and left him, threatening to return and shoot him if he made the least noise. Martin then mounted the (Cheer’s horse and rode away. At the first stream to which he came he tied the soldier’s uniform to a large stone and sunk it. He now bent his course toward Montreal. • One night stopping at a farmer’s house, he represented himself as an agent of a company of immigrants who wished to purchase land, and was directed to the house of an old gentleman who had large tracts for sale. In the morning he went thither, and found the land owner with a young man, his son, in his parlour. He was invited to view the house and grounds, and in the course of his walk discovered that there were no males in the house excepting the persons before mentioned. Leaving his son writing in the parlour, the old gentleman led Martin to an upper room to see the prospect. Here the highwayman presented a pistol, and by threats of instant death compelled his host not only to give him what money he had in his pockets but to tell him where more might be found. It was, he said, in a desk in the apartment next to that in which his son was. Martin bound and gagged him and then walked down stairs. Lie told the young man that he was waiting for his father, and desired him to bring his horse in the meantime. While the youth was gone to the stable he opened the desk and took away an hundred and seventy pounds in specie. On the son’s return Martin told him that his father desired to see him up stairs, and as soon as he was out of the room mounted his horse and went off. On his arrival at Montreal he fell into the company of gamblers, whom he managed to cheat at cards, and won two hundred dollars of them. After this he travelled toward the United States and saw advertisements describing him at every inn on the road. At the first tavern south of the boundary line a man overtook him who was sent to stick up handbills offering a reward for his apprehension. This person conversed MICHAEL MARTIN. 143 with him without in the least suspecting his character, and said that he was going through Vermont for the express purpose of sticking up his placards. Martin told the man that he had himself been robbed by the person in question, was in pursuit of him, and would spare the other the trouble of going any farther, if he would trust him with his bundle of bills. The man gave up his charge, with many thanks to the robber for his civility: Our hero, it will readily be be¬ lieved, lost no time in destroying the dangerous papers. At Burlington, Martin put up his horse at an inn. On entering the bar room the first object that met his eyes was an advertisement; and he perceived that he was closely watched. He walked out at the back door, so coolly as to excite no suspicion, and gained the woods, judging it advisable to leave his horse behind him. Avoiding the high roads, he arrived at Enfield in New Hampshire, and thence travelled with caution toward Boston, on foot, as he could not get an opportunity to steal a horse. His intention was to embark for the West Indies and rejoin his congenial spirit Doherty. At about eleven P. M. being between Boscawen and Concord, he heard the trampling of horses behind him, and concealed himself in the bushes. Presently two men came up on horseback, and as the moon shone brightly, discovered him. One of them approached him nearly and asked who he was, to which our rogue responded, u I am the bold Doherty.” Then pul'ing out a pistol, he offered the questioner the alternative of losing his money or his life. The man gave up his cash and papers, and Martin next compelled him to dismount, in order, as he said, that he might ascertain what money might be hid under the saddle. The robber mounted and bade the m,an stand back by the road side, crying at the same time to a supposed accomplice in the bushes to take care of the prisoner. He then rode on. Two days after he overtook a man on horseback, journey¬ ing to Newburyport, and conversed very freely with him on the subject of this last robbery. Our hero said he should like to detect the offender more than anything, and that he did not consider himself safe, as he had money about him. His name, he added, was Morrison. The man replied to this that he did not consider his safety insured by a pistol that he carried about him, as, for aught he knew, there might be a gang of fifty robbers about the country. Finally, they agreed to stand by each other if attacked. 144 MICHAEL MARTIN. While they stopped at a brook that their horses might drink, Michael put the muzzle of a pistol to his companion’s head and bade him deliver. The man gave up two hundred dolla. . After threatening him with death if he should pre¬ sume to follow, the highwayman departed and arrived that night at Salisbury. Here he turned his horse loose in afield and passed the night in a deserted hut, for he feared to enter any house. In the morning he started again. By this time he was tired of riding on horseback, and seeing several chaises with harnesses standing near Salisbury church took advantage of the opportunity to rest his wearied bones. Some rogues would have been deterred from theft in such circumstances, by the confidence evidently reposed in the honesty of the community by the owners of these vehicles, but it had no effect on Michael Martin. He harnessed his horse to one of the chaises unobserved, (it was not yet day,) and drove on till noon, when he reached Newbury port. Here he put up at a tavern, unsuspected: the landlord had known him when a brewer at Portsmouth and thought he had come from that place. His first act in Newhuryport was to make an appointment to meet a girl with whom he was acquainted, at nine o’clock; his second, to go to a lecture with the bar keeper. He slipped out of the church unobserved by his companion, and sought in the streets an opportunity to commit a robbery. It was not long wanting. Meeting a well dressed man in a narrow passage, our desperado asked him what o’clock it might be. The gentleman asked him if he had not just heard the clock strike. u Yes,” replied Martin, “ but if you do not let me hear your watch strike I shall strike your head.” At the sight of the robber’s pistol the man gave up his time piece and forty dollars in cash. Martin then gained the tavern, ordered his horse and chaise, took up the. female before mentioned, and reached Beverly that night. In the morning he gave his companion a considerable sum and left her, promising to return in three days. On his arrival in Boston he put up at the Sun tavern in Battery March Street. We now approach the end of our story, and of his career of crime. Hearing that an assembly was to take place at the house of Governor Brooks in Medford, he mounted his horse and rode thither. He watched the house till he saw Mr. Bray, a very respectable gentleman of Boston, coming from it in a chaise with his lady. They took the turnpike MICHAEL MARTIN. 145 road to Boston; and as soon as they had passed Martin mount¬ ed his horse and followed. He overtook the vehicle near the Ten Hills Farm, presented his pistol at Mr. Bray, and demanded his money or his life. Mr. Bray gave up his watch and all the money he had about him, but the robber did not take his wife’s watch, for, as he remarked, he never robbed ladies. Then he went off in a contrary direction from Medford, and met a negro man and woman in a chaise. He compelled them to get out, and went back to Medford on their horse himself. When he stopped at the tavern he found the town was in commotion on account of the robbery of Mr. Bray, and as he perceived he was suspected, he rode slowly away. At the end of the town he was challenged, and refusing to answer, the people cried u stop thief! ” At this cry he set off at full speed; but before he got far one of the stirrup leathers gave way, and he was thrown with such violence as to dislocate his shoulder. He outran all his pursuers notwithstanding, and concealed himself in the woods where he adopted rather a rough method to bring his bones back to their proper places. He made a line of his suspenders and cravat, tied one end to a tree, the other to his wrist, and pulled his arm into place by main strength. After this, he took the way to Albany, and reached Holliston in safety, by shunning houses and public roads. Being now tired of walking, he determined to steal a horse. This might easily be done, as there were plenty of them in the fields, but it was not so easy to get a saddle and bridle. Yet he was not discouraged: at day-break he entered several houses and barns, and at last found what he wanted in the kitchen of a dwelling belonging to Mr. Adams. He carried off his plunder with no other opposition than that of a large dog, which he killed on the spot with a stone. He next mounted a fine mare which carried him to Springfield. This was his last dishonest action. At Springfield, while our hero was fast asleep at an inn, those who had followed his track to recover the stolen mare came into his apartment and apprehended him so suddenly that he had no time for resistance. Unfortunately for him, he still had Mr. Bray’s watch about him. It was identified, and he was sent to Boston to take his trial for highway robbery. On the ninth of October eij^iteen hundred and twenty one, he was arraigned at Cambridge before the Supreme Judicial Court, and pleaded not guilty. Nevertheless, the testimony 146 MICHAEL MARTIN. was so clear that there could be no possible doubt of hisgui t, and he was sentenced to die on a gibbet on the twenty-second of December; a fate he had a thousand times merited. His conduct during his trial was firm and composed, and when the sentence was pronounced he very coolly said, u Well, that is the worst you can do.” On his re-commitment to the jail at Lechmere Point, he told the officers he would make every effort to escape, and was in consequence put in irons. They were, however, soon taken off, the strength of his dungeon being considered such as to render futile any attempt he might make. At first he showed no signs of contrition, as his mind was wholly oc¬ cupied in devising means to liberate himself, which he hoped to do by the aid of a large knife he had brought into prison with him. Still the obstacles to success were such as would have reduced most men to despair. His cell was eight feet wide and ten long, entirely of stone, and the door was of thick iron, well fastened with bolts. The entrance was only wide enough to permit the passage of one person at a time, and was within two yards of an outer door of solid iron. Moreover he was fastened to a ring bolt in the floor, by a chain rivetted round his ankle. This chain had a branch attached to his right wrist, and the links were half an inch in diameter. For all this he was no whit despondent: he made a saw of his knife and cut off the foot chain at the second link from his ankle, in such a manner that he could join it at pleasure. He also filed off the rivet of his handcuff, and covered the interstices he had made with a compound of tallow and coal-dust so much resembling iron that the daily examinations of the officers were insufficient to discover them. Nay, though his irons were once taken wholly off, the damage was not discovered. Thus prepared, he fixed on the eighth of December for the day of escape. In the morning Mr. Coolidge, the turnkey, came to make his fire as usual, with attendants. He found Martin sitting up vomiting, and wrapped in a great coat. Coolidge went, at his request, to bring him wine, and returned, but as he did not dismiss his followers our hero remained quiet. A little after, the turnkey came again, alone, with the prisoner’s breakfast, and was about to depart when Martin, in a feeble voice, desir¬ ed him to pick up a paper of tobacco from the floor, as he was too weak to do it himself. Coolidfee complied, and while he was stooping, Martin struck him down with his chain, threw off his great coat and sallied forth. A gate, constructed of a double MICHAEL MARTIN. 147 layer of thick planks nailed transversely, obstructed his far¬ ther progress. It was fastened within with a padlock, attach¬ ed to a very strong staple and hasp. The convict threw the whole weight of his body and force of his sinews several times against it, retreating some yards each time for the benefit of the momentum. In the meanwhile he bethought himself that he should have bound the turnkey in his cell, and turned to do so, but hearing the alarm given he made one more desperate leap at the gate. This time lock and hinges gave way be¬ fore him, and he ran for his life. Unluckily for him sever¬ al workmen were at that moment passing, and they gave him chase. Besides, he had been so long confined that he could not run nearly as fast as he was wont, and part of his chain remaining at his ankle impeded him. He was overtaken about a hundred yards from the jail yard; and after knock¬ ing down one or two of his pursuers was overpowered and brought back. He evinced no regret for what he had done, and said he would take leave of the prison again if they did not watch him very closely; but he expressed deep sorrow for having hurt the turnkey, who had always been kind to him He said he had prayed all night that he might only disable and not kill the man. There is good authority for believing that the prayers of such as he are of no avail, but at any rate Coolidge was not much injured. After this he was more heavily ironed, and strictly guard¬ ed. The utmost caution was observed in opening the door of his cell, and he was soon convinced that escape was impos¬ sible. His manner and sentiments underwent a great alter¬ ation, and he earnestly desired the good offices of the clergy of his own persuasion. He expressed repentance for his evil deeds and declared his belief that it was better he should die, as an escape would only have plunged him deeper in crime. He evinced great distress at the disgrace his untimely end would bring on his family, and said he was glad his pa¬ rents had not lived to hear of it. At the same time, though he showed no fear of his approaching fate, there was no bra¬ vado in his manner. His will would seem to show that his repentance was sincere: it began with an avowal of his be¬ lief in the tenets of the Roman Catholic religion, and his as¬ surance of acceptance before God through the merits of the blessed Redeemer. His spiritual comforters were appointed his executors, and desired to restore all his money and goods, as far as they would go, to the persons he had injured. He bequeathed his body to a gentleman of Boston, with a re- 7# 148 i STEPHEN MERRIL CLARK. quest that it might be decently interred, and by no means given over to the dissecting knife. On this subject he was very anxious, and on being told that his remains should be protected, said he should die more easily for the assurance. A few days before his execution, he w r as asked by a friend how this world appeared to him. “ Much,” said he, u like a clou ' 1 of smoke over the city, to be driven away by the first gust.” On the morning of the twenty second, he showed the same fortitude and religious feeling that had marked his con¬ versation since his attempt to escape. He acknowledged the justice of bis sentence, and said he felt no ill will against any person living. He was willing to die, having placed his confidence in God. When his fetters were taken off he walked about the room in order to recover the use of his limbs, “ for,” said he, u I should not like to appear awkward, and I wish the multitude to see that I am not afraid to go before my God.” A few minutes before he was led out he made a fervent prayer, and then adjusted his apparel as well as his pinions would permit before a looking glass. At the place of execution his demeanor was firm, cheerful and re¬ signed. “ He died, as every man should die. Without display, without parade ; Meekly had he bowed and prayed, As not disdaining priestly aid, Nor desperate of all hope on high.” STEPHEN MERRIL CLARK. This person was a youth who never attained the age of eighteen years. He was the son of respectable parents in the town of Newburyport, where he resided all, or the better part of his life. He was a boy of profligate habits and bad character. No incident of his short and evil life possesses the smallest interest, excepting the crime for which he suffered capitally. We ask no youth to be deterred from the like of¬ fences by his ignominious death, for we do not believe a heart so utterly ignorant and depraved as his, beats within the STEPHEN MERRIL CLARK. 149 boundaries of the union. If, however, his story should hinder one individual from following the courses which confirmed his natural hardness of heart, we shall have rendered a ser¬ vice to the community. On the morning of the seventeenth of August eighteen hun¬ dred and twenty, Mr. Fitz, a gentleman who dwelt in Temple Street, Newburyport, perceived that a barn belonging to Mrs. Phoebe Cross, about seventy yards from his own house, was on fire. This was before day-light. He went to the house of Mr. Frothingham, opposite to the burning building, and awoke the family. Scarcely had they escaped when their house caught fire, and within an hour was burnt to the ground. Two more dwelling houses and five or six other buildings were also consumed. Many circumstances concurred to prove this conflagration to be the work of an incendiary, and suspicion was strong against Stephen M. Clark. To shield him from the conse¬ quences, his father sent him to Belfast in the state of Maine; but before he went he told one Hannah Downes that he would return and set fire to the town in four different places. This girl was an inmate of a brothel kept by a Mrs. Chase. As soon as the youth was found to be missing, public indignation was directed against these women, and they were sent to . prison as lewd and lascivious characters. Hannah Downes was discharged a week after, but Mrs. Chase remained a month, after which she became the servant of Mr. Wade the keeper of the prison, in which capacity she behaved with strict propriety. Young Clark returned to Essex county in September. On the twenty-second of that month, as he was passing by- Mr. Wade’s house on his way to Newburyport, Mrs. Chase saw and recognised him. He was asked to go in and get something to eat, a request with which he very unwillingly complied, showing much uneasiness. Mr. Wade went out for awhile, and on his return met Clark, who turned out of the way to avoid him. The jailor asked Clark to go with him, and the youth with some reluctance consented. Mr. Wade took him in his chaise to the office of Mr. Woart, a magis¬ trate of Newburyport. On the way, the youth told Mr. Wade that he came from Belfast by the way of Boston. Mr. Woart sent for the selectmen of the town, and in the * meanwhile placed a keeper at the door to prevent improper persons from entering, for the news of Clark’s apprehension had drawn a concourse of people about the office. He told 150 STEPHEN MERRIL CLARK. the boy he was charged with having set fire to the town, and read to him the law for such.cases made and provided. Clark denied the fact, upon which Mr. Woart told him he had been betrayed, but that he was not bound to say anything that might criminate himself. Several gentlemen came in and questioned .the prisoner, who remained steadfast in his denial, until a Mr. Prince asked, him how be thought it was known that he had taken a candle from his father’s cellar, which he broke, and then took another which he carried to a certain stable. At this question he evinced considerable agitation, and said that if they would tell him how they obtained that information lie would disclose all. Mr. Woart told him that these particulars were obtained from Hannah Downes, Mrs. Chase, and some others, on which he acknowledged his guilt and the manner of it; but said none of the persons named knew anything of the matter, excepting Hannah Downes. Mr. Woart then is¬ sued a warrant against the prisoner, and proceeded to exam¬ ine him, repeating however, at the outset, that he was not bound to criminate himself. Being asked whether he was guilty or not guilty, he replied u not guilty;” which words he explained by saying he did not burn all the buildings, and had not set fire to the barn alone. Clark was then fully committed. It appears from the record that Clark’s confessions were ex¬ torted by his fears, and that threats, promises, and persuasion were employed on this occasion. Nevertheless, the .naivete with which they were made, leaves no manner of doubt of his guilt. The person implicated by his avowal, was a boy of about his own years, Joseph Lawrence by name. In jail, after his commitment, he acknowledged his guilt with all its circumstances, to five different persons. The only excuse or reason he gave for his conduct was, that Lawrence had incited him to it. Ten days after his incarceration he made an attempt at escape, which failed.- On the fifteenth of February eighteen hundred and twenty- one, Stephen Merrill Clark stood before the bar of the Supreme Judicial Court-at Salem, to answer to the charge of Arson. The principal witnesses against him, without whose evidence he could not have been convicted, were his former associates, Hannah Downes and Mrs. Sally Chase. The former testified that she and Mrs. Chase had a conversation with the prisoner near the ruins early in the morning after the fire, whence he walked home with them. On the way he observed that u the fire blazed d—d well, and the fellow who made it was a d—d STEPHEN MERRIL CLARK. 151 good fellow—and if he knew him he would treat him.” To these profane remarks, she replied, that she believed he knew as much about the matter as any one. He nodded assent, and took leave of her. She met him again at sunrise, and heard all the particulars of his guilt from his own mouth. He went, 1 e stau, r.U his father’s cellar and took a caadle. but breaking it accicu ntally, thought it would not serve his purpose, and the~cf re took another. Then taking matches and a lighted segar, he went to the barn and clomb into the upper loft. There he stuck the candle upright in a wisp of hay, put it under the stairs in a position to communicate with certain combustibles, and lighted it by means of his segar and matches. This took place between seven and eight, or eight and nine o’clock. After this he returned home and went to bed to his father, that he might not be suspected. At twelve he awoke, and hearing no alarm, thought the candle had gone out, and slept again. When he awoke again at two the fire had broke out, and he went to see it, telling his father as he started that he believed some person intended to burn the town. By this he referred to recent fires in the place, particularly one that took place about twenty-four hours previous, and which he had himself occasioned. As we have before stated, suspicion fell upon Clark, Han¬ nah Downes, and Mrs. Chase, and they were imprisoned for a while. The women occupied an apartment adjoining Clark’s. The prisoner now fearing that they would betray him, wrote Mrs. Chase a letter entreating her to keep silence, and sent it by William Stanwood, her cousin, to whom he delivered it through a window. Stanwood confirmed their evidence on this point. In the course of the night Clark knocked several times on the partition between them, and reiterated his re¬ quest. After his liberation he told Hannah Downes he meant to go eastward and stay in Maine till suspicion and alarm subsided, and then return to Boston by water. He would next come to Newburyport by night and set fire to it in four different places, so that while the people were extinguishing the conflagration in one place it should break out in another. On her telling him that he would be sent to the state prison if discovered, he replied that that was a matter of indifference to him, and if he staid there twenty years he would be revenged on the town of Newburyport as soon as he came out. On her cross-examination, Hannah Downes farther stated 152 STEPHEN MERRIL CLARK. that the Thursday before the fire, as she was standing at her father’s door, Clark came up and began to talk to her. He put something to her nose that had the odor of brimstone. Being asked what he meant to do with it, he replied that she would soon know. That evening a barn was burned down. This w is the substance of the testimony of Hannah Downes. Mrs. Chase confirmed all these particulars. She added that after the prisoner was liberated she believed the town in imminent danger, and considered it her duty to save it. Following the dictates of this her judgment, she wrote an account of all she knew to Mr. TVoart, in consequence of which Clark was arrested on his rbturn, as has already been seen. It appears from her evidence, that some of Clark’s relatives had opposed his intimacy with Hannah Downes, and that his motive for his crime was to revenge himself for this interference. It was strongly contended by the prisoner’s counsel that no faith should be given to the testimony of such notoriously profligate characters as these women; and that they were such, was proved by abundant evidence. Mr. Moses Clark, the prisoner’s father, especially, did much to discredit them. He stated that being uneasy on account of his son’s intimacy with them, he had gone to their house to remonstrate, a fort¬ night before the fire. On this occasion he asked Hannah Downes what she meant by enticing his boy, and said she would undo him. She replied that she meant to do so. Hard words passed between them. Finding he could not keep his son out of their house, he had complained to the proper authorities. He never, he said, feared that his son would do any mischief, or had any apprehension on his account, excepting as far as related to the company he kept. In answer to this, Mr. Marston, one of the selectmen, stated that when Mr. Clark complained of his son, he said he feared that if something were not done the lad would do mis¬ chief. Nay, he added that he could not sleep quietly for fear he should wake and find the town burning. In proof that Hannah Downes was not actuated by a desire to injure the prisoner, Mr. Woart was called to the stand. He said that on being apprised of Clark’s guilt by Mrs. Chase, he sent for Hannah Downes and questioned her. At first she strenuously denied all knowledge of the matter, and told what sne knew with great reluctance at last. She alleged her promise of secrecy to Clark as the reason of her unwillingness to con¬ fess. STEPHEN MERRIL CLARK. 153 Clark’s counsel objected to the admission of the testimony of Hannah Downes touching his confession to her, inasmuch as it was not proved that an offence had been committed, or that the barn in question had not been set on fire bv accident. The objection was over-ruled by the Court, who decided that nothing was necessary previous to admitting evidence of con¬ fession, save proof of the fact that the calamity might have been brought to pass by human agency. In defence of the prisoner it was urged that the town of Newburyport had suffered often and severely by fire, and that the inhabitants were consequently much excited against him— that this excitement had influenced the testimony. The learn¬ ed counsel insisted strongly on the infamous characters of the two principal witnesses, and on the threat uttered against Clark by Hannah Downes in conversation with his father. Farthermore it was argued that Clark’s confessions to Mr. Woart and others, were extorted by illegal duresse, restraint and menace, and several witnesses were then introduced to prove an alibi: but in this they utterly failed. After a deliberation of five hours the jury found the pris¬ oner guilty, and sentence of death was passed on him. He was executed accordingly. This was the fourth execution in the county of Essex since the revolution, and the first for the crime of arson within the limits of our commonwealth. We can give little sympathy to this malefactor, notwithstanding his youth and inexperience. The offence for which he suffered is the most atrocious and detestable on the catalogue of crimes. Theft, robbery, and murder, have certain objects, limited in extent; but no one can calculate the injury that may be done by arson. We find, too, that the criminal while yet uncertain what loss he had occasioned, whether of property or life, exulted over the ruins he had made, and planned schemes of more extensive d isolation for the future. 154 SAMUEL TULLY. SAMUEL TULLY ■ Was born in Steventown, New York, in seventeen hund' led and seventy-one. His father was a soldier of the revo lution. His parents, being very poor, were unable to educate or provide for him, and therefore at the age of sixteen he went to sea -as a foremast hand, and made two voyages. At the conclusion of the last of these he found himself without re¬ sources at L’Orient in France, and was compelled by actual necessity, to enter on board a French man of war. He did not remain long in the French service, but deserted, and made several more voyages to different ports in different vessels. He was impressed from an American ship into the British navy, was present in several marine battles, and finally desert¬ ed in Italy. He then became one of the crew of an English letter of marque, and at last became a sailmaker in Quebec. He then entered a lake vessel, on board which he remain¬ ed a year, after which he repaired to New York, and thence to Norfolk in Virginia. There he shipped for England, with the yellow fever on board. Several passengers died, but Tul- ly escaped. Nothing worthy of note occurred until the vessel cleared the banks, when she encountered a storm and suffered considerably; notwithstanding which, she reached Hull in safety. Tully’s next act was to marry a woman named Ruth Willeton, in Lincolnshire. He then bought part of a small vessel, and followed the coasting trade till he was impressed on board the British second rate the Nonsuch, Captain Black¬ wood commander. Captain Blackwood having a prospect of getting an active command and seeing that Tully was an able seaman, asked him if he were willing to enter a cruising frigate under his com¬ mand. Tully answered that he would enter under no officer, nor in any vessel whatever, as he was resolved to desert the first opportunity. The next day he was sent on board the Commedea, and sailed with a squadron on a cruise, during which he assisted to capture three French ships of the line. Alter mis he sailed with a fleet under Admiral Parker, and was pi isent at the capture of two sail of the line and the burn¬ ing of another. SAMUEL TULLY. 155 In seventeen hundred and ninety-seven Tully was on board the Brilliant, frigate, one of Admiral Duncan’s fleet. While lying off Blackstakes the Brilliant was boarded by a boat from the Inflexible, manned by mutineers, and our hero was with the rest of the ship’s crew ordered on deck. Here the con¬ spirators desired them to sign articles of agreement, by which the officers of the fleet were to be compelled to grant the pri¬ vate seamen more la:''ude of conduct and a greater allowance of provisions. These the ship’s crew instantly adopted, took possession of the frigate’s ammunition and stores, and pro¬ ceeded to elect officers. They offered Tully the command of the ship, and on his refusal gave him a dozen lashes, threat¬ ening to flog him till he consented. On this he accepted the command, and retained it till Admiral Duncan came from the Texel and took ship after ship from the mutineers, among others the Brilliant. Tully and seven others were sent to Sheerness to be tried by the commissioners, whence they were removed to a prison ship where they remained six months, when they received a full pardon. Tully next doubled the Cape of Good Hope on board the Leopard frigate, one of a fleet. The Leopard anchored off the coast about six degrees westward of Cape Guardefoy, and sent an officer on shore to look for wood and water. He got on shore notwithstanding the surf, but found the natives hostile and was unable to effect his purpose. Three days after, three more boats were despatched, as the fleet was now on short allowance. Tully and eight other persons went in the Leopard’s boat, under the command of Lieutenant Simpson and Mr. Bolger, the boatswain. Lt. Simpson carried with him a pair of pistols, and the boatswain had also a pistol, which were all the arms they carried with them. After they landed the Lieutenant ordered four of the men to remain by the boat, while the rest should make a short ex¬ cursion into the country. He left a pistol with them and ordered them to fire it in case of any misadventure. On their return the officer and his men discovered a great multitude of natives about the boat, and a flock of carrion birds over their heads. When within a quarter of a mile of the savages, the whites saw they were cutting to pieces the body of one of their companions left behind. Tully, who marched in front, was the first to make this discovery, which being communicat¬ ed to the rest, occasioned no little consternation. After a consultation, they agreed not to turn their backs, but to ad¬ vance on the savages and drive them from the boat if possible. 156 SAMUEL TULLY. They then set forward, Tully and the boatswain going before the rest. When within thirty yards of'the savages, these last retreat¬ ed a little from the boats and made signs to the whites to surrender, on pain of sharing the fate of their companions. They were armed with lances and shields. Seeing that the seamen were resolute and continued to advance, some of them gave ground, but others stood fast and Tully fired one of the Lieutenant’s pistols at them. Their amazement at the report was great, and still greater at seeing the blood flowing from a wounded man. Him they carried off, as well as the bodies of the white men they had slaughtered, which gave the sea¬ men a chance to reach their boat. As soon as they began to move it the savages rushed upon them, but having luckily found the pistol they had left still loaded, they fired two charg¬ es at once, both of which took effect, as the natives stood so thick that they could not well be missed. The beach was flat and the tide was ebbing, and the mariners therefore mov¬ ed their boat slowly toward the water. While they were do¬ ing it, the barbarians recovered their courage and ran again toward them, but were easily routed with the pistols. After several attacks and repulses, the whites got off, under a show¬ er of spears, by which one of their number was killed outright. When the survivors were outside the surf they rested on their oars, and saw the body of the last who had fallen barbarous¬ ly mutilated by the natives. These savages, it seems, were Arabs. On their arrival on board, a man was sent to the mast head (for the fleet was fourteen miles from the shore) with a power¬ ful glass, to look out. He reported that he saw one of the boats coming off, along the land, her crew occasionally firing their muskets, and that several white men were running about on shore, naked. In due time, the boat seen afloat reached the Leopard, and her officer (Captain Ball) brought tidings that the other had swamped in crossing the bar, and that the natives had seized the crew as soon as they reached the beach, excepting one who swam off to his (Captain Ball’s) boat. On seeing this, Captain Ball asked which of his boat’s crew would venture on shore with a note for their wrecked compan¬ ions. They all refused, saying they were certain that the crew of the first boat were all killed, and that it would be certain death to venture. At last one Lanagan, noted as the most thorough reprobate in the fleet, said that to save any man’s life he was willing to risk his own. He accordingly stripped Tully and Dalton murdering Geo . Cummings . I I 158 SAMUEL TULLY. and sprung into the water, but as the crew soon lost sight of him they concluded he was swallowed by the surf. Such was Captain Ball’s story. The mai? who had swam off the shore, was so exhausted with fatigue when he came on board the Leopard as to be unable to speak. He shortly recovered, however, so far as to be able to give the following account of the mishap of his boat, which was commanded by Lieutenant Nears of the Daedalus. He said that after the boat had stamped and the crew had with much difficulty reached the shore, twelve of the natives came to them, and at first seemed very kind. They, the whites, had among them a professed linguist, who could under¬ stand nothing of what they said, but that they wished the mar¬ iners to go with them to their chief, under assurance of good treatment. After making some objections Lieutenant Nears assented, and went with them about half a mile. His resolution failing, he then sat down under a great tree, and told his peo¬ ple to be on their guard. While they remained stationary, a great concourse of Arabs flocked around them. Some of the young ones speedily became enamored of the naval buttons on Lieutenant Nears’s coat, and he immediately cut them off and gave them up. So far all was* well, but this was not all. On a sudden upwards of two hundred Arabs fell on the whites and killed the officer and four of his crew on the spot. The speaker could not say what became of any of the rest, excepting that he had seen one of them running with a spear hanging from his back. He had himself escaped in the ut¬ most confusion, plunged into the surf, and gained Captain Ball’s boat, as above related. Seven of Mr. Nears’s men who had escaped the massacre followed the shore twenty miles till they were, the day after, descried from the mast head of the Daedalus, which was still in the offing. A boat was sent ashore for them, and they were brought on board. They had been stripped by the Arabs, and were so burned by the sun that they appeared more like flesh for the shambles than human beings. Meeting no success in his cruise, the commander of the fleet ran down the coast to Zanabar, where he obtained sup¬ plies, and then returned to the place where he had lost his people. A white flag was flying.on shore, and the commodore sent a boat on shore to see what it meant. When the boat came to anchor without the surf, Murphy, the missing man of Lieu- SAMUEL TULLY. 159 tenant Nears’s crew, swam off to It. It seems,that he obtain¬ ed permission of his Arab master so to do, on condition that he would return the next day with a ransom. The Commo¬ dore now learned his adventures, as well as those of Lanagan, the gallant seaman who left Captain Ball’s boat as above men¬ tioned. When Lanagan reached the shore, all the crew of Mr. Nears were out of sight except Murphy, who had a spear stuck in his back. This man had stopped and was endeavour ing to extract the weapon, when Lanagan came up to him. They went behind a sand hill to perform this piece of surgery, and Lanagan having torn out the spear, bound up the wound in the best manner he was able. While the operation was performing, the savages passed by the other side of the hill in pursuit of the fugitives without perceiving them. Murphy, feeling very faint from loss of blood, now entreated Lanagan to leave him and save his own life if possible; but the latter declared that he would rather die than abandon him in such a situation, and was determined to stay by him and share his fate, be that what it might. They were soon discovered by the Arabs, who finding Murphy unable to walk, carried him to their town. Here a quarrel arose touching the right of property in their prisoners. Murphy was given to one, and two others claimed Lanagan. At last the one who seemed to have the least claim gave Lanagan a wound in the neck, and would have killed him had not the women interfered. Here the two captives remained seventeen weeks, being kind¬ ly treated, after the first week. The Commodore now sent two boats ashore, manned with picked crews, well armed. The officer commanding was to offer the Arabs a thousand dollars in specie, twenty muskets, twenty pairs of pistols, with many other lesser articles, as a ransom for Lanagan. If Lanagan could not be had by fair means the men were to use force, and bring him back at all events, dead or alive. If the Arabs offered any violence, they were ordered to kill as many of them as they could, to burn their town, and bring away or destroy all their possessions. If on the contrary the savages behaved peaceably, the whites were to behave with all mildness; for the Commodore thought such a course might be the means of saving the lives of such unfortunate mariners as might be wrecked on that coast in future. Lieutenants Dodd and Simpson commanded the expedition. The boats got into the mouth of a small river in safety, and 160 SAMUEL TULLY. rowed a mile, up to the Arabian town. It was built on the top of a hill of moderate elevation, about two hundred yards from the bank of the stream. It was walled round; with two gates. The banks of the river were covered with cabbage, palm, cocoa, and calabash trees, and a thick growth of under¬ bush. The trees were covered with apes of all descriptions, and beautiful birds. When the boats came opposite the town the Arab who claimed Murphy was the first who came toward them; and he seemed overjoyed when he saw his man. He threw his arms about Murphy’s neck and kissed him. Presently the rest of the inhabitants came thronging to the water-side, and offered the whites honey and water to drink. These last ranged their boats about twenty yards from the bank for fear of treachery, and demanded through the medium of an interpreter they had brought that Lanagan should be uestored to them. They said he was coming, but after they had stood and talked more than two hours, nothing was seen of him. Finally they all retired within their walls and shut the gates. After some time they came forth again, and made signs to the whites to come to them; but being given to understand that this could not be, they again retired. The officers waited yet an hour, and see¬ ing no signs of their re-appearance, put their boats about as if to depart, on which the Arabs came once more to the river bank, but without Lanagan. The officers now showed them the things they were willing to give by way of ransom, and they appeared desirous to have them, but after much confabu¬ lation, once more shut themselves up. This farce was repeat¬ ed several times, each side suspecting bad faith on the part of the other. At last the whites suspected that they had put Lanagan to death, and prepared to attack them; which attempt, had it been made, must have resulted in their own destruction, as the Arabs numbered over a thousand men, all well armed. Finally, as one of the officers w r as about to lay hands on the chief, some of them brought Lanagan r rom the town, in a sin¬ gular fashion. They had tied his hands and feet together, had thrust a pole through them, and brought him along thus uncomfortably. Even then they feared to trust themselves within reach of the English, and it was agreed that twen¬ ty of them should meet seven of the whites in the midst, both parties unarmed, while the rest should stand aloof. This ar¬ rangement was carried into effect, and Lanagan was soon re¬ leased from his bonds. After this the English gave the A rabs more pris-ents, the common men even stripping their neck- SAMUEL TULLr. 161 cloths from their necks for them, so great was their joy at having recovered their comrade. The whites then returned to their respective ships. The fleet next sailed through the Straits of Babelmandel up the Red Sea to Suez, where the ships remained two months* They then sailed to Bombay, refitted, and returned to Suez. Here the plague was raging terribly, yet as the vessels were in want of many things, the commander was obliged to send his boats on shore every day. Tully was appointed cockswain of one, and though his crew were constantly on shore, did not lose a man. No water was brought on board, and every time the boat came off Tully was ordered to strike her masts, and to smoke her and her crew with frankincense for half an hour. Even then he was not suffered to board either of the vessels, but when the purification was judged sufficient a boat put off from each ship for such things as were wanted on board. This frightful disease first manifested itself by two or three large tumors inside the thigh, attended by violent pain in the head and spine. It often came on so suddenly that the person afflicted would be raving mad within twenty minutes, and expire shortly after. One man, being asked the time of day, was seized with his watch in his hand, clutched it fast, died within twenty minutes, and was buried with it in his hand. The Arabs were employed to bury the dead at low water mark, at two dollars each. Here some of the seamen belonging to the fleet defaced the sculpture of an ancient temple, by breaking off all the projections they could reach. An old priest complained to the admiral of the sacrilege, and was promised that the offenders should be brought to condign punishment. More¬ over, the Admiral gave him a thousand dollars to repair the edifice, and assured him of his sorrow for the outrage, so that he was well satisfied. He said that he did not wish that any one should be punished, as God would take that care on him¬ self, and that no money could replace the beautiful specimens of art that had been carried off, as the skill that formed them had long been extinct. The pile, he said, was upwards of three centuries old, and was the tomb of some of the prophets. He was surprised that any calling themselves Christians could injure it. The admiral was not of the old man’s opinion with regard to referring the article of punishment to a higher tribunal: he caused the men who had been on shore to be searched, took their spoils from them, and gave them two dozen lashes apiece. The fragments he sent back to whence they came. 162 I SAMUEL TULLY. After remaining some time in India, Tully sailed for Eng¬ land in a return ship, arrived safely, and rfx e>ved a furlough for fourteen days. He availed himself of thi f eave of absence to obtain a protection from the American consul, rejoined his wife, and brought her over with him to New York. Thence he went to Albany, fully resolved to pass the rest of his days on dry land; but it was otherwise ordered. He learned that some of his nearest relations were dead, and of the other branches of his family he could get no tidings. Finding him¬ self destitute he returned to New Y'ork, placed his wife in a comfortable situation, and went to sea again. In a short time he amassed a considerable sum, with which he set up a grocery and boarding house for sailors. Here he prospered for a while, and had the satisfaction to find his father, sister, and brothers. Tully continued to do business of various kinds, sometimes at sea, sometimes on shore, till the year eighteen hundred and eleven, when he shipped for his last voyage. In giving our account of this, we must premise, in justice to the fame of others, that it rests on the ipse dixit of one man; and that one a convicted felon. While Tully was at Philadelphia, a Captain Levy asked him if he were willing to go a voyage with him as mate of his schooner. Knowing that Mr. Levy had disagreed with several mates, Tully was at first unwilling to close with the proposal; but being strongly urged at last yielded. Accordingly he went on board the schooner George Washington, and sailed from the Delaware on the seventeenth of October eighteen hun¬ dred and eleven, for Teneriffe and other places. On the fourth da)' after sailing, John Owen the cook, a negro, told Tully that some bread in one of the stern lockers was wet, which circumstance the mate reported to the captain. Mr. Levy went below, leaving Tully on deck where he re¬ mained till eight in the evening. Then going below, he found his birth emptied of his effects and filled with bread. This he took in good part, simply asking the captain if he had taken care of his watch and breast-pin, which he had left in the birth. Mr. Levy replied by cursing the articles mentioned, saying they were nothing to him, and he would study no interest but his own. Tully then asked why the bread might not have been put in his, the captain’s birth, as that was empty; he preferring to sleep in a hammock. Captain Levy slid that such was not his pleasure; to which the mate replied that he had not come on board the vessel to be SAMUEL TULLY. 163 abused; that he knew he was so far the captain’s servant as to be obliged to do anything commanded, but that Mr. Levy had no right to abuse him or his: if he had offended it was for the captain to inform him how and in what, that he might do better another time. Mr. Levy then said, in passion, that he was not to ask Tully what to do; to which the latter rejoined that he hoped he was more capable than to be umk r any such necessity. After this altercation the captain went on deck, and Tully gathered up his effects which were mis¬ placed, and some of them damaged. For about a week all went on smoothly en >ugh. Then, Tully never having seen Captain Levy drink any spirits, asked if he had none on board. The captain said he'had, and ordered the cook to bring some. The mate then said that he had always been used to have as much as he pleased in all the vessels he had ever sailed in, and that if he was to fare thus he should not be able to do his duty long. He added that if he had known he should be allowed no spirits he would have provided himself before sailing, at his own expense. Mr. Levy said he was willing he should have as much as he needed, but that he did not like to see it used extravagantly. He then ordered the cook to give Tully a glass every day at dinner. Soon after his mind changed and he filled a bottle, which he said must last four days. In a fortnight this allow¬ ance was stopped, the captain being of opinion that his spirits and provisions would not hold out. He then ordered Tully to weigh and deliver to the crew a pound of meat daily each, and said that the officers must fare like the men. This allowance did not satisfy Tully or the men, and in consequence an altercation arose between the captain and his mate. Mr. Levy told Tully that he believed he was trying to excite mutiny on board, which the latter denied, but said he should not wonder if the crew should compel him to give them more food. The captain answered that the allowance was sufficient, and if they wanted more, they would ask for it. Tully said that he was not speaking for them, but himself, and the allowance was not sufficient for him. The captain rejoined by calling him a liar and threatening to kick him out of the cabin. Tully ended the quarrel by demanding to be discharged when the vessel should arrive in port, a petition that was rejected by Mr. Levy. After this there was muc j bickering on board, and at last the captain gave Tully his word of honor that he would discharge him, as he desired. In due time the vessel arrived at Teneriffe, where she land- 8 I 164 SAMUEL TULLY. cd her cargo, and took on beard twenty-five hundred dollars in specie. While she lay at this [dace, many disputes took place between the two officers, the captain constantly refusing to discharge the mate. After some days the vessel hoisted sail for the Isle of May, one of the Cape de Yerd islands, where she arrived on Saturday the fourth of January eigh¬ teen hundred and twelve, late at night. The next morning the captain gave Tully directions how to moor the vessel, and then went on shore. He came on hoard again at noon, to see how matters were going on, and then left the vessel, telling Tully to send the boat for him at sunset. As he was about to depart Tully asked some question which led to* a quarrel. Finally he told the mate to give the men no beef, but to make them catch fish during their watch at night, which, he said, would keep them awake. So far we have related the incidents of this unhappy voyage according to Tully’s own account: what follows rests on other authority. When Captain Levy left his own vessel, he went on board another then lying in the roadstead. At eight o’clock two of his crew named Neal and Hopkins came to him in the George Washington’s boat, and gave him such information touching the proceedings on board the said vessel, as induced him to look out for her. He saw that she was gone from her moorings, and he never beheld her again. The next day he caused a search for the anchors, and found that the cables had been cut by some sharp instrument, probably an axe. Shortly after, A r eal and Hopkins left the Isle of May by their captain’s consent, in a ship bound to the United States of America, and he never saw them more. Before the end of the month Tully, another of the George Washington’s crew called John JDalton, and John Owen the black cook, landed from an open boat at St. Lucie in the West Indies. Tully had received several wounds in the head, and was very weak; Dalton also was quite sick. They went to the harbor master and told him they belonged to a vessel that had been wrecked, and the next day they all obtained lodgings. They all had considerable sums of money in their possession. A few days after they were examined by the governor of the island, and not giving a very clear account of themselves were placed under surveillance. Other circumstances com¬ bined to throw suspicion on them, and finally Owen informed against his companions. They were then apprehended and conveyed to the United States. SAMUEL TULLY. 165 Tully and Dalton were arraigned before the Circuit Court at Boston, on the twentieth of October following, on three indictments. One was for piracy, another for the murder of George Cummings, and the third for feloniously scuttling the Schooner George Washington. To the first indictment they pleaded not guilty, and the court proceeded to trial. John Owen testified that on the evening when Captain Levy saw the last of his vessel, he was roused from his sleep by Tully, and ordered to hold a lantern to the binacle, that the mate might see how.the vessel was lying, she being then at anchor. He went to bed again, and shortly after the mate called all hands to make sail on the vessel, declaring that she had drifted. The crew were about executing the order when Neal and Hopkins discovered that the cables had been cut , and refused to hoist the sails. The mate told them that he would give them the boat, and suffer them to depart as soon as the sails were set, and accordingly they obeyed his order. This done, Tully gave these two men the boat, and they left the vessel. Owen stated that he too requested permission to accompany Neal and Hopkins, but the mate would not consent. Those now remaining on board were Tully, John Heathcot, otherwise / Dalton, George Cummings, and the deponent. During the first two weeks at sea, Cummings was melan¬ choly and uneasy; lost his appetite, and frequently kissed the hands and feet of Tully and Dalton. In the evening omdvhich it was expected they would make the land, he asked Dalton when the shore would be seen, and was answered u tomor¬ row.” Lfpon that Cummings bade Dalton farewell, saying they should never see each other again. Dalton treated his expressions with levity, but he persisted in repeating them. Owen then went below, leaving Cummings seated on the deck with the mate and Dalton. In the night Owen heard himself called, and as he readied the deck saw that Tully and Dalton had Cummings on the vessel’s gunwale, in the act of throwing him overboard. Cummings had a knife and a hammer in his hands, and Tul¬ ly had received several wounds in his head, and one on his hand. In his confusion Otfen told Dalton that what he said could not be, but the mate and Dalton nevertheless persisted in throwing the man info the sea. The mate said, u Over he shall go, at the risk of my life.” And he did go over. Nei¬ ther of his mur lerers ever expressed any regret for what they had done. I 166 SAMUEL TULLY. The next night they descried land and the vessel was laid to till morning. The mate then had the long boat hoisted out. put into it such things as he desired, fastened it to the vessel by aline, and made 0\v ;n get into it. The mate then veered the boat astern, and towed it a considerable distance. Af¬ ter a while the mate and Dalton hauled the boat along-side and got into it. From their conversation Owen gathered that they had scuttled the schooner while they were towing Owen astern. Nevertheless she did not sink while they remained in sight. After the boat had left the vessel the money taken was dis¬ tributed among them, and Tully told the others they must keep what had passed a secret. For awhile after reaching the shore, Owen continued to tell the story they had agreed on, but at last, weary of lying to every one who questioned him, he disclosed the truth to the master of an American ves¬ sel. They were all arrested in consequence. Such w r as the testimony of Owen, who it is reasonable to suppose was an accomplice in the piracy if not in the murder. Tully’s account of the matter, while under sentence of death, was as follows. He never thought of unlawful measures till the last orders of Captain Levy on leaving his vessel, raised his anger to • an uncontrollable degree. He spoke of his feelings to Dalton, and they agreed to carry the vessel off, but to suffer any of the hands to leave her who felt so disposed. After the cables were cut Neal and Hopkins were permitted to leave the ves¬ sel as has already been seen, but neither Cummings nor Owen evinced any inclination to accompany them. Two days before they made the land Cummings behaved in such a manner as made Tully believe he was drunk. In the evening he asked Tully to forgive him, to which the mate replied that as there was no injury or offence there was nothing to be forgiven. Cummings answered that he only acted according to the fashion of his own country. u Well, then,” said Tully, “ I forgive you if you have done me any wrong, though I do not know that you have.” Cummings kissed the mate’s hand and left him. From his demeanor Tully believed the man intoxicated. Soon after Cummings approached the mate again and de¬ sired to kiss his feet, but was not permitted. Tully, more¬ over, reproved him for having made too free with wine. About eight o’clock in the evening Cummings brought a pitcher of wine and desired the mate to drink with him. Tully and Dal- SAMUEL TULLY. 167 ton did accordingly drink with him in token of good will. Cummings then retired to rest, but soon rose again. He brought more wine on deck and asked them to pledge him once more. Tully refused at first, but on being told by Cum¬ mings that if he did not drink he would scon die, he complied. After eating and drinking, Tully threw himself on the hen¬ coop, and slept. He was awakened by a severe blow on the head, and before he could gain his feet received two stabs, one behind his ear, and the other near the temple. As soon as he recovered his faculties he saw Cummings standing at the companion-way with a hammer in one hand and a knife in the other. Tully advanced on him and asked what he meant, but received no answer. As the mate laid hands on him he leaned so far over the vessel’s side that both had like to have fallen into the sea together, whereupon Dalton pulled them in, by Tully’s desire, and Cummings fell on the deck. The cook was now called on deck, and by Tully’s order, laid hands on Cummings. Tully then went to the other side of the ves¬ sel where he stood leaning against the long-boat till Dalton and Owen told him they had thrown Cummings into the sea. They said he had told them that he had committed several murders before, and feared that he would do them a mischief. They then took Tully into the cabin and stanched his wounds, for he was weak and faint from loss of blood. When they made the land Tully resolved to heave the ves¬ sel to in tie ordinary track of ships, in hopes she might be picked up by some of them, and gain the shore in the boat. His reason for this procedure was, that as he had neither ca¬ ble nor anchors, and as the negro, who was no seaman, was the only able bodied man on board, he dared not approach the coast. Dalton and Owen hoisted out the boat and loaded her by themselves, Tully being too weak to render any assistance They left the vessel as before stated, but did not scuttle her. The rest of their proceedings are already known to our read¬ ers. Tully and Dalton were found guilty, but the next day a motion was filed in court by the prisoners’ counsel for a new trial on the following grounds. First, because the court had misdirected the jury in committing the case to them, in say¬ ing that if the defendants were proved to have runaway with the vessel and cargo as mentioned in the indictment it con- stiluted the crime of piracy within the meaning of the stat¬ ute Second, because the verdict of the jury had been given against the weight of evidence, they having decided that the 168 SAMUEL TULLT. prisoners piratically took the vessel from the custody of her master; whereas there was no proof that they exercised force or violence against Captain Levy or any other. The evidence on the part of the government proved the contrary. r lhe court decided that the object of the statute was to pre¬ vent atrocious violations of trust on the part of those standing in any particular relations to ships, and that force, violence, or the act of putting in fear, was not neccessary to constitute a piracy. The motion was, therefore, overruled, and the pris¬ oners were sentenced to death. They were immediately removed to the state prison, and there treated with every indulgence consistent with their sit¬ uation. Several worthy clergymen visited them constantly, with pious advice and spiritual consolation. The seed fell on willing soil, and the conduct of the prisoners was patient and resigned. They professed their faith in the Redeemer, and said that the first awakening of their minds to the duties of religion was caused by their awful situation. Both ac¬ knowledged with gratitude that they had been fairly tried and justly condemned, but, to his last breath Tully persisted in the account he had given of the whole matter, and accused Owen of wilful perjury. The evidence of an accomplice certainly is and ought to be good in law, but in this case we should remember that Owen swore for his life, and charitably believe that the piracy may have been Tully’s only crime. Even the negro’s evidence clearly shows that Cummings, un¬ der the influence of Mania a potu, was a dangerous shipmate, and it is very probable he struck the first blow in the affray that cost him his life. How far this fact, if admitted, should absolve those who slew him from the guilt of murder we leave our readers to decide. Perhaps they might have secured him, and put themselves out of danger without taking his life. On the tenth of December the prisoners were taken to the place of execution at South Boston, and after they had as¬ cended the scaffold the death warrant was read. Tully would have read a paper he had prepared, but his strength proved unequal to the task and the Deputy Marshal read for him. It was a declaration of his innocence of the murder, but ad¬ mitted the piracy fully. Also it contained expressions cf gratitude to those by whom he had been kindly treated. T his done the rope was adjusted to his neck, and while in the act of fervent prayer the drop fell, and he expired in the presence of a vast multitude’assembled to enjoy the edifying spectacle. MICHAEL POWERS. 169 Dalton did not desire to say anything. He was made to take his place on the gallows, his arms were pinioned, his neck-cloth removed, the rope was adjusted and the felon’s cap drawn over his eyes. At that awful moment the Marshal stepped forward with a reprieve, and the criminal was taken back to prison. The reprieve was followed by a full pardon some weeks after. MICHAEL POWERS, Was born in Ireland in the county of Wexford, Anno Domini seventeen hundred and sixty-nine. He followed the business of his father, cultivating the earth, till the twenty-eighth year of his age. At that period he joined the ranks of his coun¬ trymen whom English oppression had driven to rebellion, and shared alike their dangers and excesses. At the close of the tragedy he escaped to England, where he lived seve¬ ral years, according to his own account, reputably, by the sweat of his brow. In eighteen hundred and two he came to Boston, where he obtained employment as a common laborer, and soon became noted for his diligence and fidelity to his employers. He did not, like many of his class, squander his earnings in riot and debauchery. He could command the highest wages, and soon saved something for the time of need. For eighteen years he lived in this city in unblemished repute, never in all that time incurring the rebuke of the law in the smallest par¬ ticular. His credit was good with those who knew him, and he had the character v>f an honest, frugal, and industrious citizen. In the autumn of eighteen hunded and seventeen he resolv¬ ed to return with his honorable earnings, which now amount¬ ed to a large sum, to Ireland, there to pass the remainder of his days. On arriving in his native land he found that eigh¬ teen years had produced great changes and made him almost a stranger. He therefore resolved to return to the United States, and three young men, induced by his accounts of his success in life, came with him. One of them, Timothy Ken¬ nedy by name, was his distant relation. Kennedy also soon 170 MICHAEL POWERS. acquired the name of an honest, peaceable and industrious man. The only thing alleged against Powers previous to the of¬ fence for which he suffered, was an illicit intercourse with a loose woman named Susan Campbell. For this connexion, he was reproved by the catholic clergy, and was excommu¬ nicated for refusing to break it off. He lived with his para¬ mour in a one story building in North Russel Street. On the fifth of October eighteen hundred and eighteen Powers applied to Samuel D. Parker, Esquire, for three writs against the three persons who had accompanied him from 1 reland. That against Kennedy was for twenty dollars, alleged to have been lent him by Powers to pay his passage over. The writ was granted, Kennedy was committed to jail, and an action was entered against him. When the case was tried no evidence was exhibited on either side. Powers said that he had lent Kennedy the money trusting to his honor, and that when he asked it again he had been answered with abuse. This statement Kennedy utterly denied, but the parties agreed to leave the business to referees and abide by their decision. Each told his own story before the referees on oath, and the award was that Powers should pay Kennedy five dollars and twelve cents. Powers refused to abide by the decision, and Kennedy could not, though he tried, compel him to do so. Powers was highly indignant at the result of his lawsuit, and resolved to commit one of the most barbarous and atro¬ cious crimes ever heard of in this or any other country. His passion was so absorbing that it overcame his habitual pru¬ dence. Though naturally cautious and reserved, he declared to several persons that he would kill Kennedy. On the second of March eighteen hundred and nineteen Kennedy was seen to walk with Powers into the house of the latter, but no one saw him alive afterwards. His disappear¬ ance occasioned general alarm among his friends, and a warrant was issued against Powers, but he was missing. Stains of blood were discovered in Powers’s house, and alter removing the wood with which the cellar was filled a new made grave was discovered. The body of Timothy Kennedy was found in it, and recognised, though the hands, face and clothes were much burnt. The skull had been fractured by a mortal blow given with some heavy, blunt weapon. A broad axe was found in a closet speckled with blood, and on the head was one hair, corresponding with Kennedy’s. On the liftct nth of the m nth Powers was arrested in MICHAEL POWERS. 171 Philadelphia by a Mr. Fowle, and carried before a magistrate. He confessed his name, business, residence, and acquaintance with Susan Campbell, and said he had left Boston in the lat¬ ter part of February. He had travelled to Providence on foot, and thence by water to Philadelphia, where he arrived the day before his arrest. His examination was to the fol¬ lowing purport. Mr. Fowle. Do you know Timothy Kennedy? Powers. Yes. Mr. Fowle. Did you bring him over to this country, from Ireland, and pay for his passage? Powey's. Yes. Mr. Fowle. Did you sue him afterwards for the money? Powei's. Yes. Mr. Fowle. Did you recover anything on the suit? Powers. I don’t know: Squire Parker had the care of it. I never got anything. Mr. Fowle. Have you had a quarrel with Kennedy? Powers. No. I have had a law-suit with him, but no quarrel. Mr.Fowle. When did you see Kennedy last? Powers. I do not know. Mr. Fowle. I ask you when you saw Timothy Kennedy last? Powey's , much confused. I don’t know—About a fortnight before I left Boston. Mr. Foivle. Did you see him the day before you left Bos¬ ton? Powers. No. The Magistrate. Michael, Timothy Kennedy was in your house the very day before you left Boston. He was seen to go in. Mr. Fowle. Michael, Kennedy has been murdered, and you are charged with having murdered him. Powers , somewhat alarmed. I am not guilty, and no man living can prove it. Mr. Fowle. The proofs are very strong against you. Powers. I am not guilty. Mr. Fowle. Susan Campbell is in jail in Boston. Powey's , very quickly. She has no right to be there. Mr. Fowle. Why? Powers. Because she has no right to be there. Mr. Fowle. Why? Powey's. Because she never did anything wrong. Mr. Fowle. Who has a right to be in jail then? 8 * 172 MICHAEL POWERS. Powers. I—I don’t know. Mr. Fowle. Susan Campbell has probably told the whole story about the murder by this time. Powers. She cannot. No person living can prove it. The Magistrate. Michael, I believe you have killed Ken¬ nedy. Powers. I am sorry you have so bad an opinion of me, sir. Hie Magistrate. I must send you back to Boston. Powers. For what? The Magistrate. To take your trial for this murder. At these words the murderer became agitated and frighten¬ ed. Tears stood in his eyes. He turned, stepped quickly across the room, and sat down. On searching him, an old razor was found in his pocket, and a watch in his fob. He had notes and specie about him: several guineas were sewed into his suspenders. He said he had taken the whole from the Savings Bank before he left Boston, and was loth to part with it, though assured it should be safely kept. He seems to have been avaricious; a fault seldom found in Irishmen. After this he was sent to prison. The next day, the following dialogue took place between him and Mr. Fowle. Mr. Fowle. Did you lay in some wood just before you left Boston ? Powers. No-1 had some pine wood. Mr. Fowle. When did you get it? Power's. Some time last summer. Mr. Fowle. How much did you lay in at that time? Powers. I don’t know. Mr. Fowle. Was there one cord or sixteen? Powers. I do not know—it was more than one cord. Mr. Fowle. Did you buy any more during the winter? Powers. No. Mr. Fowle. Did that last you all winter? Powers , after some hesitation. No. Mr. Fowle. Did you live part of the winter without a fire in your house? Power's. No. On the twenty-third, Powers having asked for a clean shirt and cravat, his chest was sent to him; and while Mr. Fowle was opening it, Powers was much agitated. He said he had bought the chest in Providence. Without looking for a shirt, he took a hat, coat, waistcoat, and trowsers, which were prov¬ ed afterwards to have belonged to Kennedy, and thrust them MICHAEL POWERS. 173 into the fire-place in a great hurry. Then he began to strip, in order to put them on, all the while agitated and trembling. However he was not suffered to take anything but a shirt and cravat. The officers made him put on the coat for a moment, to see if it fitted him, which it did not. He said he had bought this garment at auction, and that he had purchased the rest of the articles. On being asked if the clothes had ever belonged to Kennedy, he said that Kennedy had once given him a pair of pantaloons. Mr. Fowle then showed him a pocket book he had taken from the chest, which, with much hesitation he acknowledged to have' belonged to Kennedy What passed will be more distinctly conveyed in the form of dialogue. Mr. Fowle. How came the pocket book in your possession ? Powers. Kennedy gave it to me. Mr. Fowle. When? Powers. This last fall. We boarded together at the time. Mr. Fowle. Did you take it out of Kennedy’s trunk just before you left Boston? Powers. No. Mr Fowle, showing him a ten dollar bill. How came you by this ? Powers. Kennedy gave it to me for a debt he owed me. Here the prisoner turned and stepped to the other end of the room, as if to avoid further conversation, but presently recovered himself, and answered Mr. Fowle’s next question. Mr. Fowle. Did you make a trap door in the floor of your house ? Powers. Yes. Mr. Fowle. What for? Powers. To throw my wood down. I could not do it be¬ fore without going through another person’s house. Mr. Fowle. Had you been digging in your cellar just be¬ fore you left Boston? Powers. No. Mr. Fowle. Had you an axe in your house? Powers. Yes, I had two of them. Mr. Fowle. Kennedy’s body was found buried in your cel¬ lar. Powers. It must have been after I came away then. If he got an unlucky blow, it was not for his money, for he had not any. I knew he was poor. I never killed him. What should I kill him for? I knew he had not any money. Mr Fowle. You had a quarrel with him. 174 MICHAEL POWERS. Powers. I had a lawsuit with him, but that was all made up before I left Boston. We boarded together. I am not guilty of the murder, and no man living can prove it. I defy any man to prove it against me. Mr. Fowle. How long is it since you saw Kennedy? Powers. I had not seen him for some time before I left Boston—I do not know how long before. Mr. Fowle. Did you see him the day before you left Bos¬ ton ? Powers. No: he was not in my house that day. Mr. Fowle. Why did you leave Boston? Powers. Because business was dull, and I had nothing ta do. I was going to Ireland to lay brick, and had engaged my passage to Dublin. Powers expressed some fear of losing his property if par¬ ted from it, and saw it taken away very unwillingly. In due time he was sent to Boston, and arraigned on the thirty first of March eighteen hundred and twenty, before the Supreme Court, for murder, to which charge he pleaded not guilty. He was all along of opinion that no man could be condemned on presumptive evidence, a fatal yet common error. Admit ting such a principle would be almost equivalent to proclaim¬ ing impunity for crime, as most great offences are perpetrated without witnesses. In addition to what has been above related several damning facts were proved by full and direct testimony. A bill found on the person of Powers at Philadelphia had belonged to Kennedy. His apparel, too, was identified by the tailor who made it. It was proved that the day after Kennedy was last seen, Powers went to his, Kennedy’s, chamber and that his trunk was found a few days after unlocked and pillaged. Another circumstance bore hard against the prisoner. About five weeks before the murder he went to the house where Kennedy boarded, to board himself. At dinner the mistress of the house observed that they did not speak to each other, and asked Kennedy the reason. He answered that Powers v as an old villain with whom he had had a lawsuit, and had not spoken the truth. She offered Powers a chamber by him¬ self, and urged him to take it, but he refused, preferring to sleep in the same chamber with Kennedy. The next day he left the house. About a week before the murder he came there again, and asked the mistress if she would board him. She replied that she would, but when he found that Kennedy had left the house, he went away and did not return again MICHAEL POWERS. 175 Before he went he asked if Kennedy had any money, and seveial other questions. From these circumstances two in¬ ferences may be drawn; that Powers was determined to keep his victim in sight, and to learn where he kept his property, in order to rob him. The testimony of Susan Campbell merely proved that she was from home at the time of the murder, and that Powers’s house was much exposed to observation from w k hout. Several witnesses swore that Powers had several times, and in direct terms threatened the life of Kennedy. Mrs. Mary Fowle lived in part of the same house with Powers. She heard no noise in Powers’s apartment on the day of the murder. One day when Susan Campbell came home, her daughter looked through the key hole and saw Powers come up from the cellar before he admitted the said Susan. The very able defence made by the prisoner’s council could avail nothing against so strong and perfect a chain of evi¬ dence. After a deliberation of twenty minutes the jury brought in a verdict of guilty. On being asked if he had any reason to show why sentence of death should not be pro¬ nounced, Powers rose, and addressed the court in a foreign accent, and with every appearance of agitation and anger. “ I think the court very dishonorable. I am not guilty. It. has not been proved that I am guilty. If there was one wit¬ ness that proved I am guilty I should be satisfied. May it please your honors, I am dissatisfied.” The chief justice then pronounced sentence of death; and so ended a trial developing a degree of malignity and cruelty not transcended in the annals of crime. The excitement of the people was tremendous. Even while the prisoner’s coun¬ sel was pronouncing his defence a tumult took place at the door, and one of the ringleaders was brought in, and committed for a contempt of court. Reports were circulated and cur¬ rently believed, that he was the perpetrator of other atrocious murders, which can be satisfactorily disproved. Nay, he was suspected of having murdered several persons whose death was occasioned by natural causes. He would never confess that he had murdered Kennedy, but gave the following account of the transactions between them. For all the moneys he advanced to his fellow passengers from Ireland he was to be repaid from their first earnings. His favors were received with thanks and every appear¬ ance of gratitude. He was delayed some weeks in Ireland 176 MICHAEL POWERS. and Liverpool waiting for these persons, but this awaken¬ ed no ill feeling in his bosom, as he was ready and willing to render any service to those who had placed their fortunes under his guidance. He was pleased with their company, and believed they would feel his kindness, but in this he was grievously disappointed. They shunned him, or if they did meet him accidentally, treated him with coolness and reserve. They never spoke of paying him, and when he mentioned the subject repulsed him with abuse. At last he resorted to compulsory measures, and the decision of the referees en¬ raged him beyond all bounds, for as each had told his own story on oath, it was plain the referees believed Kennedy rather than him. Therefore he conceived himself virtually convicted of perjury, though innocent, while Kennedy, who had defrauded him, was esteemed an upright man. Moreover, Kennedy wore the apparel of a gentleman, and would scarcely acknowledge his kinsman, who had brought him to this coun¬ try and established his prospects of success in life. Farther Powers refused to disclose. We know not how much or how litlle credit to lend this statement, but if we utterly disbelieve it, it takes away all motive for the crime of Powers, and makes him a literal fiend, doing evil for evil’s sake. Powers forwarded to the executive a petition for pardon, coupled with a request that if mercy could not be extended, his execution might be hastened. It was in vain. He then made his will, by which he distributed his property among his relations, the poor, and his fellow prisoners. He forgave all his enemies, and gave a small sum to each of the women who had testified against him to show that he bore no malice. He never confessed his guilt, which was needless, as it was fully proved; but at the same time he did not attempt to'con- vince the world of his innocence. All he said was u No one can say 1 1 saw him do it.’ ” Powers suffered at the appointed time with firmness and decency. SAMUEL ANGIER. 177 ALPHEUS LIVERMORE AND SAMUEL ANGIER: EXECUTED FOR THE MURDER OF NICHOLAS CREVAY, AN INDIAN These cruel and wicked men were workmen in a nail fac¬ tory in Stoneham. The unfortunate man they murdered was an Indian of the Penobscot tribe. He had for some time dwelt at St. Francis in Canada, where he married, but at the outbreaking of the last war returned to this state with his wife. He was known to, and had dealings with several American citizens; yet fearing to be considered as hostile to his country and tribe, he obtained a passport from a militia officer of rank in New Hampshire, and came to reside with his wife on the borders of Spot Pond in Stoneham. This happened a few days before he was slain. He erected a small cabin and lived after the manner of the descendants of the once lords of the soil; that is, by fishing, fowling, making brooms and other small wares which he sold to the whites. Being like most vagrant Indians addicted to intemperance he rendered himself obnoxious to his neighbours by abusive lan¬ guage, &c. The day preceding the night he was murdered, he was insolent to certain citizens of Malden, and was severely beaten by them. At the close of the day he returned to his hut. At about ten o’clock, as he was lying with his wife on their lowly bed of hemlock boughs, several guns were fired into the hut, ancj a scene took place, scarcely surpassed by the barbarities of Crevay’s unbaptized ancestors. The poor Indian was shockingly mangled by a charge of large nails, five of which entered his body and limbs. His wife was shot through the body by one or more musket balls. The muzzle of the gun from which they were discharged must have been placed in close contact with her person, as her clothes and skin were burnt and blackened by the explosion. Yet the miserable and mangled wretches escaped in this agonized condition into the woods, where they remained till morning. They were then traced by their cries and groans, and carried to the house of a physician, where everything in the power of humanity was done for their relief. The woman was saved, but the man died of his hurts after enduring the most excruciating tortures for six days. 178 ALPHEUS LIVERMORE. The morning after this most shocking massacre several charges of nails, bullets and small shot were found to have passed through the hut, and lodged in various parts of it. The boughs on which the sufferers had slept were wet with blood, and fragments of cartridges were found about the cabin. This abominable transaction took place on the night of the twenty- third of November eighteen hundred and thirteen. The perpetrators of the crime were four in number, namely, the two whose names stand at the head of this article, John Winch, and Mark Packard. On the twenty-third of Novem¬ ber they had manifested an intention, to use their own language, u to rout the Indians,” who were guiltless of all offence as far as they were concerned. In the evening they were, with several of their fellow workmen, at a grocery where they drank freely. After this they returned to the factory, where they remained an hour, during which they avowed to their companions their intention of attacking their victims. Livermore loaded a musket which he kept in the factory, saying he should go armed. Angier procured am¬ munition and arranged his gun so that, as he said, “ it would go completely.” The cartridges procured by Angier were made of a paper corresponding exactly with the pieces found in the hut the next morning. Their preparations being com¬ pleted, they avowed their object, and invited their fellows to accompany them, and on being refused, Angier reproached one of them with cowardice. Winch, too, said to Livermore that he should fire “ nothing lighter than lead.” They then set out for the hut of the Indians, which was two miles distant. About the time they might conveniently have arrived guns were heard; and Crevay was slain in the moment of slumber, harmless and inoffensive, in a way at which humanity shudders. The ruffian assailants left the victims weltering in their blood, and fled. Packard escaped, but the others were taken. They were brought to the bar of the Supreme Court at Cambridge on the third of December following. They could not be arraigned because there were not three judges present, but they were informed of the nature of their indictment, in order that they might have time to prepare for defence. On the fifteenth the court convened and an indictment for murder in the first degree was brought against the prisoners, as well as Packard who had absconded. They pleaded not guilty, and were then asked if they would join in their chal¬ lenges. They replied that they would, provided the wife of AND SAMUEL ANGIER. 179 Winch might be permitted to testify to a fact not in any way relating to her husband. The Solicitor General refused to consent to this, and Winch was therefore remanded. The trial proceeded against Livermore and Angier who had agreed to join in their challenges. The fact of the murder was proved beyond a doubt, and the only point was to fix the guilt upon the prisoners. It ap¬ peared that Crevay declared before he died he believed Joe Hill had shot him. He had a fire in his cabin at the time he was shot. Suddenly some persons came in and told him they were going to kill him. They suited the action to the word, as has already been seen. James Hill, who lived about sixty yards from the hut, tes¬ tified that at about fifteen minutes before ten, he heard the reports of three guns in succession. The sounds were in the direction of the hut. He looked out and saw a light there, but not so bright a one as was usual. Afterwads three more guns were heard. Elizabeth Hill, the sister of James, bore witness to the same facts. Enoch Huntress, one of the workmen in the nail factory, swore that Livermore returned to the factory on the night of the murder before eleven o’clock, and went to bed as usual, without mentioning the outrage he had been engaged in. Mrs. W’inch testified that Angier boarded at her house, and that he came home and went to bed ten minutes before ten the night f he Indians were shot. She was positive with re¬ gard to the time from the circumstance of having looked at a watch. Winch’s house was near the factory. The rest of the testimony went to establish the facts already given. Besides the usual remarks touching the fallacy of presump¬ tive evidence, the prisoner’s counsel laid much stress on the testimony of Mrs. Winch, which, if believed, would prove an alibi in the case of Angier. He argued also, that admitting the testimony of Huntress to be true, it was scarcely possible that Livermore could have been one of the actors in the tragedy. He closed the defence by insisting strongly on the fact that neither of the prisoners had been seen going toward the wigwam, or returning from it. The chain of evidence was too strong to leave the prisoners any hope of escape, and the jury, after a deliberation of one nour, returned a verdict of guilty. When the prisoners were asked why sentence of death should not be pronounced against them, their counsel moved for an arrest of judgment 180 MOSES ADAMS. on the ground that the name of Fitch Hall was first drawn from the Jury box of the town of Medford, returned into the box by the selectmen, and that the name of Nathan Bryant was drawn out instead: that Bryant was returned as one of the traverse jury, and was one of the twelve who tried the prisoners. The counsel contended that the selectmen had no right to return the name of a juror to the box, and draw out another, save in cases particularly mentioned in the stat¬ ute, of which this was not one. The Solicitor General objected to any inquiry touching the selection arid return of the jurors prior to the venire facias. The court were unanimous that judgment should not be arrested. The prisoner’s counsel then submitted a motion for a new trial, on the ground that the jury had been misdirected re¬ specting a rule of evidence, viz; that if any witness for the government had testified unwillingly, or been guilty of sup¬ pressing the truth, his whole testimony should be rejected. This motion, too, was over-ruled, and sentence of death was pronounced. Winch was tried and acquitted, for want of sufficient evi¬ dence, though there was no moral doubt of his guilt. The sentence of Livermore and Angier was commuted for perpetual incarceration in the State Prison. MOSES ADAMS, HIGH SHERIFF OF THE COUNTY OF HANCOCK. On the twelfth of May eighteen hundred and fifteen, Mrs. Mary Adams, wife of High Sheriff Moses Adams, was found to have been barbarously murdered in her own house, in Ellsworth, Maine. The fact was first discovered by her own daughter, a little girl, who immediately gave the alarm. On entering the neighbours found the deceased lying on her right side on the kitchen floor. An axe was lying near her, which had evidently been the instrument of slaughter. There was a mortal wound on the back part of the head, another on the Murder of Mrs. -• 'l 4 » h 5 i - * . I , i: * A ; - >» ‘ I. ' * 4 ■ , ' t - ' if V ' W ... A K »\» TJ «* t» /, * i V«‘.« >. ’ '4 , » . MOSES ADAMS* 181 neck, whence it appeared pieces had been cut entirely out by repeated blows, and the shoulder was broken. The jugular vein was divided, and some joints of the vertebra were cut wholly away. Mrs. Adams had been in her life a re¬ markably mild, amiable and discreet lady, and this horrible butchery created a great excitement, as may easily be believ¬ ed. Circumstances concurred to direct suspicion toward her husband and he was immediately taken into custody. On the fifteenth of June he was arraigned before the Supreme Court and pleaded not guilty. Sewell E. Tuttle swore that at eight in the morning of the day Mrs. Adams was killed her husband walked in the yard before the house, entered, went out again and walked about as before. Between twelve and one he came home to dinner, and sat by the window to cool himself. He appeared very warm. After dinner Tuttle was cutting wood, when Doctor Adams came to him and bade him go for meal to a mill about two miles off. While he was getting the bags ready he saw the Doctor pass from the house to the barn. Then, going in, he saw Mrs. Adams sitting at table in the kitchen. Doctor Adams had on at this time his coat of office, a kind of uniform. When Tuttle got back, after four in the afternoon, he found twenty or thirty people assembled in the house. Elizabeth Rice passed by Mr. Adams’s house at two post meridian and saw Mrs. Adams sitting at the window. She i spoke to Mrs. Adams and passed on. W r hen she returned she heard Mrs. Adams was dead, and saw a crowd about the house. She entered and saw the Doctor sitting on the side of I the bed. He asked her if it were not a dreadful house. / Being requested by one of thd family to put the moveables in some safe place, she set about it, but found the tea spoon^ missing. As she was afterwards going home she found a newspaper near the road side, but threw it away again. It rained that night, and the next morning Mrs. Rice informed a Mr. Nourse where the newspaper lay. He got and dried it. At the request of Doctor Adams, she assisted to wash his family linen, among which was a shirt with one of the sleeves stained, whether with perspiration or otherwise she • could not tell. William R. Ginn saw Dr. Adams on board a sloop at a wharf at quarter past twelve. While Ginn was at dinner he saw the Doctor pass toward his own house. After dinner he knocked at Ginn’s door, and asked for a segar. After that, a little before four, a woman came and said that Mrs. Adams 182 MOSES ADAMS. was dead. Ginn immediately went to the house, and saw the corpse, in the condition before mentioned. Seeing Doctor Adams coming toward the. house, Ginn went forth to meet him, and told him that a horrid accident had happened. The doctor dismounted from his horse, and as he entered stepped in the blood. A bystander advised him not to step in the blood, to which he replied, “ Why not? It cannot hurt her now.” He stepped over the body, put his hand on it, and then went to the bed-room door. An open desk was within. He put his hand to his pocket and exclaimed, u My pocket-book is gone!” Then he lifted the axe, looked at its edge, and cried, u 0 murderer! murderer!” As he stooped to raise the body Ginn prevented him. “ Why not? ” said he, “there are witnesses enough who have seen her.” The body was then raised and placed on a bed. Benjamin Jourdan , on the day of the murder, was at werk in a field near Doctor Adams’s hou$e, when he was informed by the prisoner’s child that Mrs. Adams was dead. He went immediately to let Doctor. Adams know the fact, and he was much agitated at hearing it. Between two and three o’clock Maria Moore saw Doctor Adams going toward the house (Mr. Langdon’s) where Ben¬ jamin Jourdan found him. He walked very fast; faster than she had ever seen him before, and as he went he turned and looked several times toward his own house. Susan Oakes kept a school near Doctor Adams’s house. Between two and three o’clock she saw the prisoner pass the school, walking very fast. After the school was dismissed, as she was in the field hard by, she heard little Mary Adams scream, and say her mother was dead. She hastened to the house and found Mrs. Adams dead, but not yet quite cold. A few minutes after Doctor Adams came in and exclaimed, “ O horrid murder! ” He was much agitated, took his little daughter on his knees, and bade her imitate the good example of her mother. It will bfc observed that where the evidence of more than one witness proved the same fact, we do not repeat, but only give as much as goes to establish or elucidate separate facts. Alfred Langdon testified that at about half past two, he, from his house, saw Doctor Adams pass. In about ten minutes he veturned, and entered the kitchen door. He had so much color in his face, and prespired so freely that Langdon notic¬ ed it and asked him where he had been. He answered that he was right from home, and that it was a very warm day MOSES ADAMS 183 • After some commonplace discourse Adams looked at the clock and observed that it was three, but Langdon remarked that it wanted ten minutes of that time. Adams then took up an old newspaper and by the time he had looked over it the mail arrived, about quarter past four o’clock. Adams assisted Mr. Langdon to open the mail, and while they were thus oc¬ cupied Jourdan arrived with the news of Mrs.'Adams’s death. Mr. Daniel Adams , on hearing of the murder went straight¬ way to Doctor Adams’s house, and found him sitting by the corpse on the bed side. The Doctor shook hands with him, saying, “ I hope you are my friend,” to which the witness re¬ plied, “ Whatever I may have been heretofore, I am now.” The doctor then asked if they were going to let the wretch who did the deed escape, and added that it was toward night, and the murderer could not be far oft'. The witness told the prisoner that he had heard he had been robbed, to which he assented, and it appeared from the conversation that fifteen dollars and a number of silver tea spoons were missing. The next day on examining the prisoner’s clothes, the witness found a blood spot on a button of the coat, and an appearance of blood on the lining. The Reverend Mr. Nourse testified that he went to Doctor Adams’s house on hearing of the murder, and found the doc¬ tor in great agitation and distress. Among other things Doc¬ tor Adams said, u Only think—for the paltry sum of two hun¬ dred dollars! ” This the witness afterwards understood to re¬ fer to the robbery said to have been committed. The prisoner also said, “ This cannot have been done more than three hours; and is nothing to be done to apprehend the murderer? I can do nothing.” He likewise repeated several times that it was an awful deed to have been done in a Christian land. He told Mr. Nourse at first that he had lost sixty or seventy dol¬ lars, which had been wrapped up in a newspaper, but found upon calculation that he had expended all but fifteen. The witness afterwards found the paper, as before stated by Mrs. Rice, and showed it to the prisoner, who said he had no doubt it was the same that had contained his money. When Mr. Nourse found it there was on it the impression of a dollar, that had apparently been wrapped in it. On this occasion, Mr. Nourse did not see Doctor Adams shed tears. He heard him say to his daughter that she never saw him shed tears before. On another occasion, after Doc¬ tor Adams was suspected, but before he was examined by a magistrate, the witness saw him weep. 184 MOSES ADAMS. Sewell Tuttle did see the prisoner weep, and also stated that he usually perspired very freely. It was likewise proved that a little before the murder of his wife Doctor Adams had practised phlebotomy on Pelatiah Jourdan. On this occasion he wore his sheriff’s coat and turned up the sleeves. No evidence was adduced to show whether the prisoner had lived on good terms with his wife or not. The amount of fact proved seems to be as follows. Be¬ tween one and two o’clock Doctor Adams sent his hired man, Sewell Tuttle, to the mill for meal. When Tuttle de¬ parted Mrs. Adams was alive and well. At two o’clock she was alive. Between two and three o’clock Doctor Adams was seen walking from his own house toward Mr. Langdon’s, very fast and occasionally looking behind him. At this time the prisoner’s daughter and a girl who lived in his house were both in school. These two girls went home after the school was dismissed and found Mrs. Adams dead. On his way from his house to Mr. Langdon’s Doctor Adams passed sev¬ eral persons, to some of whom he stopped and spoke, to oth¬ ers not. At half past two Adams passed Mr. Langdon’s house, to which he returned and entered ten minutes after. He was much heated, and remarked that it was three o’clock, though it wanted ten minutes of that hour. After he was in¬ formed of the murder he stated that a sum in specie which had been wrapped in an old newspaper had been taken from his house. On his way from his own house to Mr Langdon’s he passed through a certain field. In this field was found the next day a newspaper, having the impression of a coin on it. On seeing it, he was confident it was the same that had contained the missing money. Stains of blood were found on the coat he that day wore, which might, how¬ ever, have been occasioned by his coming in contact with the body of his wife, or by his professional practice. All the evidence respecting time was founded merely on the opinions of the witnesses, who differed in their estimates. Mr. Lang¬ don’s alone was founded on the regularity of a clock, which might have been wrong. All the circumstances together did not amount to indubitable proof of guilt, and the jury return¬ ed a verdict of not guilty. JAMES TEED AND DAVID DUNNING 185 JAMES TEED AND DAVID DUNNING. Mild and equal laws, promptly and humanely executed, are justly considered among the greatest blessings any people can enjoy ; at the same time they are an indication of the de¬ pravity of the human heart. Were all mankind honest and upright, there would be no need of locks and bolts, of prisons and fetters, of laws and courts, of judgments and executions; if every one followed that golden precept promulgated by the divine founder of our religion, u to do by others as we would that they should do by us,” we should all sit down in safety under our own vines and fig trees, with none to disturb our tran¬ quillity, or make us afraid. But in the present lapsed and sin¬ ful state of mankind, when the greater part are disposed to do evil and not good to their neighbours, it is necessary for the peace and security of society that the wicked propensities of our hearts should be restrained by good and wholesome laws and regulations, whose infraction in order to render them efficacious must be strictly and severely punished. Yet the warning that is given by the laws, and the terror that is held out by punishments, are insufficient to prevent the commission of crimes. A man long accustomed to wickedness becomes callous to benevolent feelings, and seems to take a pride in breaking through the bulwarks of law, and braving the dan¬ gers before him. Knowing these things, a general exertion should be made, by all practicable means, to stop the contin¬ uance, and prevent the increase of such abominations; and as example has a more powerful effect on the mind than pre¬ cept, we have thought proper to give the following brief detail of a most horrid murder, and the lamentable conse¬ quences to the perpetrators. The person for whose murder these men suffered, was Rich¬ ard Jennings. His age was about seventy, and he resided in Sugar Loaf, a small village within the limits of Warwick, about seven miles from Goshen, in the county of Orange His character among his neighbours and acquaintance was far from being amiable, his temper was sour and morose, he was avaricious, niggardly, and hard hearted to the poor; generally engaged in law suits, and on the whole was extremely troublesome and vexatious to the society with which he was 9 186 JAMES TEED AND DAVID DUNNING. connected. We should have spared his memory these recol¬ lections, had they not been a necessary preliminary to the fol¬ lowing narrative. That the reader may correctly understand the transaction, it will be proper to take a concise retrospect of some facts, that were intimately connected with, and were the un¬ doubted cause of the fatal results that ensued. Several years before, a Mr. Teed, since deceased, made his will, in which he devised all his property, which was considerable, to his wife, who was a sister of Richard Jennings, during the con¬ tinuance of her natural life, and to his son, James Teed, the reversion of fifty acres of land, being part of the estate, upon the death of his mother. This will was considered, by those best acquainted with the family concerns, extreme¬ ly partial and unjust. The estate, during the life of the father, had been much incumbered with debts, which must eventual¬ ly have reduced the family to poverty had it not been for the enterprise and persevering industry of this son; but he, by his diligence and economy, in a few years paid all the demands, and cleared the estate of embarrassment. It was natural, therefore, for young Teed to cherish an idea that the estate in justice belonged to him, for services actually performed, in addition to his general right as the natural heir. After the death of the elder Mr. Teed, his widow and son continued for some time to reside together in one house. Under these circumstances, and deprived of his paternal in¬ heritance, James Teed entered into life under all the disad¬ vantages attendant upon poverty. Yet not disheartened by his untoward condition, and desirous of obtaining a comforta¬ ble living, by industry, he engaged with zeal and earnestness in business ; but unfortunately undertaking more than he was able to accomplish, with the means he possessed, he was in¬ volved in debts beyond his ability to pay, and in struggling to extricate himself from embarrassment he prevailed on his mother to release to him her right in the fifty acre lot, that by possessing the same free and clear of incumbrances he might be at liberty to borrow the money he needed upon a mortgage of the land.—Jennings, the brother, understanding what was proposed, very ungenerously interfered, and prevailed on his sister to withhold the release, and taking her home, she lived with him the remainder of her life, and before her death was induced to convey all her right to the estate to him. The effect of these unfriendly proceedings was highly injurious to Teed, who would probably soon have extricated himself from JAMES TEED AND DAVID DUNNING. 187 difficulty, could he have obtained the loan of a small sum ; but being unable to give adequate security, he was soon reduced to the greatest distress. Soon after, however, he conveyed the land to David Conkling, whose sister he had married, and by the pressure of his debts, was induced to leave the country, and was absent afout two years. In the meantime Conkling recovered possession of the land by a suit at law. This was a mortifying stroke to Jennings, and excited all his virulent passions ; he therefore commenc¬ ed a suit against Conkling to recover back the premises. This action passed through the several stages of legal proceed¬ ings, and was terminated in November, eighteen hundred and eighteen,agamst Conkling; and Jennings would have had his writ of possession in January succeeding. Several years elapsed while these controversies were liti¬ gating at a great expense of time and money to the parties, and with no small irritation of their feelings. Small begin¬ nings are often followed by serious and most fatal conse¬ quences in the end. No doubt, the contention about a piece of land, which belonged to neither of the litigants, caused the violent death of one and the utter ruin of the other. While Jennings and Conkling were indulging their malig¬ nant passions in this contest, they were perpetually worrying each other in controversies of minor importance, in the courts, and before justices of the peace. These vexatious proceed¬ ings, indicating a deep and settled hostility on the one side, produced no agreeable feelings on the other. Such violent and persevering animosity was offensive to their families and neighbours ; and in such contentious scenes were engendered those malignant passions which brought about the most atro¬ cious crime that human depravity can suggest. A spirit of litigation once excited in minds previously disposed to conten¬ tion seldom ceases but with the destruction of property, the depravation of moral principle, or the loss of life. When, as in the present instance, that spirit exists among neighbours and relatives, it is more unrelenting, persevering and destructive, than among strangers. This is proved by daily experience. After explaining the causes that led to the melancholy result, we will give a concise detail of the transaction itself, as related in court, and shall then give the testimony in the words' of the several witnesses, premising a short account of the criminals, and the reasons they each had for engaging in the murder. David Conkling belonged to a respectable family, possessed 188 JAMES TEED AND DAVID DUNNING. a decent property, and before this event sustained a good char¬ acter. The great loss of property, and the irritation of his feelings, from his long controversy with Jennings, and ulti¬ mate disappointment, so enraged him that nothing hut the life of his enemy could quiet his mind ; but as either from cowardice or the remains of the moral sense, he recoiled at the thought of doing the deed himself, he resolved to employ an assassin. From what has been already said, the reasons will pretty plainly appear which induced Teed to wish the death of Jen¬ nings, and to participate in the murder. He was a man of ambitious feelings, had a good education, and more than or¬ dinary talents. It was peculiarly mortifying to his pride, and aspiring disposition, to be kept down by the hard hand of Poverty, and compelled to drag out his existence on a level with the lowest grades in society; he had the most bitter an¬ tipathy against the man whom he considered as the wicked cause of his degradation. In endeavouring to place himself in a more eligible situation, he forgot his moral obligations, and while plotting the death of Jennings, procured his own. No reason can be given why Mrs. Teed intermeddled in the business, but her connexion with her husband, her inter¬ est in his affairs, and the obligation she was under to follow his directions. All this, though it may palliate her crime in the view of the world, is by no means a justification. No inducement transpired on the trials sufficient to engage Dunning to assist in the murder, but the promise of Conkling to pay him five hundred dollars, and the prospect that Jen¬ nings would reap the grain he had sown on the land the preceding season, while improving the same under Conkling. These reasons were sufficient to engage an ignorant and pas¬ sionate wretch to take away the life of a fellow being. Jack Hodges, the last of the conspirators, w r as extremely ignorant, but possessed a strong mind, and a most tenacious memory. His moral conduct in general was unexceptionable, excepting a habit of intemperance. It was owing to this fail¬ ing that he was induced to engage in the murder. Conkling knew his foible, and that its indulgence made him a madman ; The means to obtain his end were easily applied, and they produced the intended effect. Jack having on the nineteenth of December concluded as al¬ ready observed, to commit the murder, preparations were made at Conkling’s, who lived near Goshen, and five miles from Teed’s. On Saturday, Conkling charged his gun with pow- JAMES TEED AND DAVID DUNNING. 189 derand shot in Jack’s presence, showing him how to load it in case it should be necessary; and having given him all needful instruction, told him to go to the house where Teed and Dunning lived, and they would assist him in killing Jen¬ nings. Jack accordingly left Conkling’s when the sun was about an hour high, and arrived at Teed’s in the evening, but to his great disappointment learned that he had gone to New York. He immediately made his business known to Dun¬ ning and Mrs. Teed, who freely conversed with him on the subject, the latter telling him it was right to kill the old fel¬ low, as he deserved to die for his conduct to them, and the latter suggested ways and means to carry their purpose into effect; one of which was to go to Jenning’s house and shoot him through the window. To this Jack objected, as thereby they might injure some one they did not intend. Mrs. Teed treated Jack with whiskey as soon as he came, and told him to take it as often as he wanted, for there was plenty of it in the jug, and it was got on purpose for him. It is necessary to mention here, that after Jennings had recovered judgment for the land, in November, there would be a month, or more, during which Conkling and his tenants Teed and Dunning, would continue to occupy it, before Jennings could obtain his writ of possession in January. This interval Conkling determined to improve in the best manner he could, for his own advantage; he therefore direct¬ ed Teed and Dunning to cut, draw away, and sell as much timber as possible before they should be turned out. In con¬ sequence of this direction, great spoil was made of the wood in a grove on the premises. Jennings knew what was doing, and did all he could to prevent the waste of his property, but to little or no purpose. Early on the morning of Mon¬ day the twenty-first of December he told his family he would go and see what was doing on the land, and walked away accordingly. In going to the wood lot he had to pass the house of Teed and Dunning, and as he was going by he was observed by Dunning, who went into Mrs. Teed’s room where Jack was, and told him of it. He rose from the table where he was eating breakfast and took the gun from behind the door, while Mrs. Teed brought him the powder and shot, and gave him another dram. Jack hesita¬ ted about going, and turning to Mrs. Teed, anxiously asked her if it was necessary to proceed in the business. She replied that it was time the old savage was out of the world. Thus encouraged he walked away, taking a direction across 190 JAMES TEED AND.DAVID DUNNING. \ the fields to the woods, while Dunning followed Jennings round in the road; and when Jack came on the ground, he saw Jennings and Dunning talking together. He went toward * them, and when within a short distance Jennings asked Jack if he had assisted in cutting the timber. He told him he had, then turned his back towards them and cocked his piece. Dunning at the same time walked away from Jennings, who probably suspecting from these movements something of the truth, asked Jack if the gun was loaded. Jack said it was not, and instantly taking aim, fired at his head, at the distance of ten feet, and Jennings fell back on his seat. The shot took effect on one side of the face, near the eye, and glanc¬ ing, took off part of the ear. / In the opinion of the surgeon, who afterwards examined the body, the shot wound was not mortal. Jack, on seeing thfi condition that Jennings was in, and reflecting upon what he had done, was horror struck, and was about to go away, when Dunning ran to him, and seizing the gun, exclaimed, “ D—n him, he is not dead yet; will you undertake a piece of business, and not finish it?” and going hastily to Jennings, struck him several times with the gun, till the stock was broken to pieces, and Jennings was quite dead. It appeared on examination that the skull was extensively fractured in the forehead, and that death was evidently the effect of the blows. Dunning then collected the fragments of the gun, gave them to Jack, and they re¬ turned to the house by different ways, as they came. Jack told Mrs. Teed that he had killed Jennings. She appeared pleased, and again treated him. He staid about the house that day, and at two in the morning returned to Conkling’s, when telling what he had done, he gave him the remnants of the gun. The place where the murder was committed was an open field, in plain view of the road and several dwelling houses. Dunning’s almost daily business was to draw wood from the same field, and within a few rods of the mangled body. It was owing to a singular practice of the deceased, that the body was not found till the twenty-eighth of December, a week after the murder. He often left home upon some trifling affair that might be done in a short time, was absent several days, and gave no account of his business, or what detained him so long. The family, therefore, were not concerned at his ab¬ sence till the last of the week, when they became uneasy, and inquired at those places where they might expect to hear of him; but as their inquiries were vain, the people of Warwick JAMES TEED AND DAVID DUNNING. 191 agreed to make a thorough search the next day. The people assembled accordingly at Sugar Loaf, and obtaining such information as the family and others could give, or was sug¬ gested by the circumstances of the case, they took various directions, and the body was soon found in the condition that has been mentioned. A jury of inquest was held on the body, by John Curtice, one of the coroners of Warwick. A large number of witnesses were examined by the jury, and upon due consideration of all the evidence before them gave a verdict, u That Richard Jennings was murdered by Jack Hodges, and that David Conkling and David Dunning were accessaries.” The two last were immediately committed to prison, and soon after James Teed, and Hannah Teed his wife, followed them, but the last, in consideration of her pe¬ culiar condition, was in a few dhys admitted to bail. Strenuous endeavours had been made by Conkling, immedi¬ ately after the murder, to persuade Jack to go away, but he continued to loiter about, apparently unconcerned, till Satur¬ day, when by the joint persuasion of Conkling and Teed, he departed; but was so dilatory in his movements, that though he left Goshen at noon he did not reach Newburg, a distance of only twenty miles, till sunset the next day. Fearing that Jack would not make his escape with sufficient expedition, Teed went after him on Sunday, and overtook him before he reached Newburgh. They staid there that night, and Teed saw him on board the ferry boat before he returned. Jack pur¬ posed to go to New York, and ship for sea as soon as possi¬ ble, and to promote his views he had a letter of recommenda¬ tion from Conkling to a friend of his in New York. Jack, therefore, after crossing the river, took the road over the Highlands towards that city, but after travelling a few miles, he heard of a sloop at Cold Spring Landing, opposite West Point, that was soon to sail for New York; he went thither, agreed for his passage on Tuesday, and arrived at New- York on Wednesday. In the meantime vigorous measures were taking at Goshen and the vicinity, to find and apprehend Jack. Two parties went in pursuit of him on Tuesday. One of them went to Newburgh in his track, crossed the river, and traced him to Cold Spring Landing, but finding he was gone to New York, followed with all possible expedition. Arriving there early on Thursday morning, they arrested him as he was coming out of the vessel on an errand for the captain. They first took him before the city police, and then entered a vessel and sailed to 192 JAMES TEED AND DAVID DUNNING. Haverstraw. Jack denied any knowledge of, or participation in the Murder, but appeared greatly distressed. He contin¬ ued steady in his denial, resisting the solicitation and advice of his attendants till the latter part of the ensuing night, when he made a full confession, and gave a minute relation of the whole transaction. This story, which we shall give at length in its place, he never varied from afterwards, but repeated it steadily in all the subsequent conversations and critical ex¬ aminations in court. At Haverstraw a wagon was procured and the prisoner was conveyed to Goshen, where he arrived on Saturday the second of January eighteen hundred and nineteen. He was examined by five magistrates and commit¬ ted to prison. Jack Hodges was a principal witness in all the trials. He told the story first to those* who took him in New York, afterwards repeated it to five magistrates in Goshen, who wrote it down, and testified on the stand in the several trials. The following statements are answers to questions put to him, which will account for the sentences being short and not con- nected. He said, u A year ago last harvest, Teed told me I was a fit person to destroy Jennings. Sometime last fall Conkling said, after Jennings had been with him, he wished he had killed him, and thrown him intf Ai vf . .4-. ; . . y . ' « • . - 1 ’ / WILLIAM BEVANS. ' 201 him on his post. Lunstrum replied by again calling him a liar, and Bevans, without quickening his pace, walked toward him. When he came opposite the harness cask, on which the cook’s mate was yet leaning, he stabbed him to the heart with his bayonet. For this Bevans was brought to the bar of the Circuit Court on the sixteenth of December following, on an indictment for murder. The indictment was founded oi>a section of that act of Congress which provides for the punishment of crimes committed on the high seas. The section in question speci¬ fies that u the trial for crimes committed on the high seas, or in any | lace out of the jurisdiction of any particular state, shall be in the district where the offender is apprehended, or into which he may first be brought.” The indictment contained two counts, intended to embrace every ground of jurisdiction given to the courts of the Uni¬ ted States in cases of murder. In the first of the counts the murder was alleged to have been perpetrated upon the high seas, and in the second, to have been committed in a certain haven, about half a mile from the shores of the town of Bos¬ ton; and in both counts as having occurred without the juris¬ diction of any particular state. Beside the facts above stated it appeared that the deceased was unarmed during the fatal altercation with Bevans, on whom he made no attack, save with his tongue. It seems that throughout the scene the demeanor of the sentinel was calm and unruffled, undisturbed by any apparent gust of passion, and that when Lunstrum sank at his feet he continued co walk his rounds as before, with coolness and composure. The amount of the offence in the eye of the civil law, for which the cook’s mate suffered a punishment so severe, consisted in the exercise of an unruly tongue. The prisoner was found guilty, which in our opinion is the hardest case in our collection. It was hard to be tried by the civil law for an act committed in a situation where martial law was of more immediate and paramount consideration. Sol¬ diers are acquainted, generally, with no law but law martial, and act in conformity to its statutes. Discipline is the very soul of the army and navy, which could not an hour exist without it. All resistance to lawful authority, is, in the army, overcome by immediate force, and the recusant acts at his own peril. Mutiny may be quelled by blows, and martial law will justify him who strives to overcome it, even if death is the consequence of his endeavors. Instant and wilful dis- 202 STEPHEN AND JESSE BOORN. obedience of orders is mutiny. Besides, the post of a senti¬ nel is in the opinion of soldiers holy ground, not to be pro¬ faned by insult or attack of any kind. The character of Bevan’s profession should not, perhaps, be admitted as an excuse for an act of violence, but it should b£ remembered that a nice sense of honor in its members renders an army doubly efficient. If ever any provocation short of personal violence could justify a deadly retort it was that given by Lunstrum to Bevans. The sentinel bore long and patiently, though vilified as a soldier and a man, and resisted as an officer; for a sentinel for the time being is an officer, and of no slight importance. Sentinels frequently receive special orders to repel abuse offered them on their posts by force and arms, and we believe there are few soldiers who would not consider themselves justified in doing so. In our opinion no court martial would have punished Bevans for the death of Lunstrum in such circumstances. The civil law admits three justifications of killing; ne¬ cessity, advancement of public justice, and preventing the commission of some capital offence. If an officer is resisted in the execution of his duty, he may overcome the resistance even at the risk of taking life, and the law will justify him. It seems to us that this was precisely the case with Bevans— a sentinel is punished for not enforcing his orders. If an officer would compel rioters to disperse, those who obstruct him do it at their own peril. This was the case with Lunstrum and Duncan; they were committing riotous actions, and Lunstrum resisted the lawful authority. On the whole, we opine that Bevans acted rashly, but not so far wrongfully as to deserve the punishment of death. • - STEPHEN AND .TESSE, BOORN. The trial of these two brothers lor a crime they did not commit, and their conviction, furnish a theme of deep interest. The like has seldom happened in any land, and their case has greatly increased the difficulty of convictions on circumstan¬ tial evidence. We give a sketch of their trial, and other STEPHEN AND JESSE BOORN. 203 events connected with it, compiled from documents of unques¬ tionable authority. Russel Colvin, whom they were accused of having mur¬ dered, married a sister of the Booms, and had several children by her. He was at all times possessed of a but feeble capacity, and at times his small intellects were deranged. As he was not always able to provide the necessaries of life for himself and family, he was in some degree dependent on his wife’s relatives. Colvin and the Booms were residents of Manchester, Bennington County, in Vermont. In the spring of eighteen hundred and twelve he disappeared, and was given up by his friends for lost. In September eighteen hundred and nineteen, Stephen and Jesse Boorn appeared before the Supreme Court held at Man¬ chester, to meet a charge of murder. The indictment present¬ ed that they on the tenth of May, in eighteen hundred and twelve made an assault on Russel Colvin; that Stephen struck the said Colvin a mortal blow on the back part of his head with a beechen club, of which he died, and that Jesse Boorn was present aiding and abetting. The second count charged Jesse as principal, and Stephen as accessary. The Booms pleaded not guilty to the charge. - Skinner testified that he knew Russel Colvin many years, while he resided with Barney Boorn, his father in law. It was now seven or eight years since Colvin had been in Man¬ chester. The spring preceding, the witness had attended a court of examination—a button, knife, and some bones that had been found in a certain cellar-hole, were shown by the witness to Mrs. Colvin. They rubbed the button in her presence, and discovered the color, as well as a flower in the centre. The knife was an oldfashioned, long jack-knife, that had been much used. They showed her these articles, to see if she would recognise 1 them as having belonged to her missing husband. According to Mrs. Colvin’s testimony before the court, she knew the button to have been worn by her husband the last time she saw him, and many years before. Mr. Skinner farther testified that on the evening before the search for Colvin’s body took place, Jesse Boorn told him he suspected his brother Stephen had buried the body on a neighboring hill. The next day Jesse and Mr. Skinner went together to search for it. On their return Jesse told Mr. Skinner he had often seen old Mrs. Colvin, Russel’s mother, cut tobacco with the jack-knife that had been found. 204 STEPHEN AND JESSE BOORN. Jlmos Boom was present wheif the knife and buttor were found, and the knife would then open and shut. This hap¬ pened on the first of May preceding the trial. The Sunday after, the witness was one of a party who examined a hollow stump, whence they dug up two nails, and a number of bones. One of the nails appeared to be a thumb nail; the other was much decayed. The witness had heard Jesse Boorn say that he believed the knife to be Russel Colvin’s, and that he felt very badly about it. The said cellar-hole belonged to a house that had been removed nineteen years before. The stump was about sixty rods from the cellar-hole, near the bank of Battenkill river. Amos Boorn farther testified that he had been acquainted with Colvin—that said Colvin had before been absent from home a long time, and had returned. The often mentioned cellar-hole was not large enough to receive a coffin. Trutnan Hill went into the prison to see Jesse Boorn the Saturday after the sitting of the court of examination. Jesse told him he believed the knife was Russel Colvin’s, and that when it and a certain hat were presented to him before the court, his feelings were such that he was obliged to support himself by leaning on a pew. While saying this he was much agitated, and Mr. Hill asked him what was the matter. Being urged, he said he believed his brother Stephen had killed Colvin, but that he had never so believed till he went into William Boom’s shop, when Stephen and William Boorn were both in it. On that occasion, he learned the manner of Colvin’s death, and now thought he knew the spot where the body was buried, within a few rods. About this time, the witness, who kept the keys of the prison, let a Mr. Johnson in to see Jesse Boorn. Mr. John¬ son exhorted the prisoner to confess. Thomas Johnson testified that at the time Colvin disappeared he, the witness, lived on the farm adjoining that of Barney Boorn, Colvin’s father in law. Colvin at that time lived with Barney Boorn. About that tirpe he saw the prisoners, Russel Colvin, and Lewis, Russel’s son, in a lot near his own house. They appeared to be quarrelling, but though the witness lis¬ tened he could not ascertain the cause. He went home, and soon after going to the door, heard the parties still in loud debate. He then went to a rising ground whence he could see them without being himself seen, and perceived that the quarrellers were picking up stones. From that time he never beheld Russel Colvin. STEPHEN AND JESSE BOORN 205 Mr. Johnson heard Stephen Boorn say on the day of his examination, that on the day Colvin disappeared, he, Stephen, was ploughing on the ridge out of sight of the spot where he, the witness, had witnessed the quarrel. He, Stephen, added that he might have gone to the spot to see the boys, but did not work there, or ever pick up stones at that place. Stephen Boorn had since told Mr. Johnson a different tale, viz; that on the day Colvin disappeared, he, Stephen, was at work in other places.* He mentioned that he that day killed a woodchuck and that Lewis Colvin had carried it home. Jesse Boorn had told Mr. Johnson, that on the day so many times specified, he, Jesse, had also been at another part of the town. Three years after Colvin went off Mr. Johnson bought Barney Boom’s farm. His, Johnson’s, children, found on it a hat, which though decayed and mouldy, the witness knew to be that worn by Colvin about the time of his disappearance. Lewis Colvin, Russel’s son, now seventeen years old, testi¬ fied to the picking up of stones mentioned by Johnson. The parties had been picking up stones several days. While thus engaged, a quarrel arose. .Russel Colvin struck Stephen Boorn with a small riding stick, which Stephen requited by a blow on the neck with a club. The stroke knocked Colvin down, but he soon rose and struck Stephen again. Stephen knocked Colvin down again, and the witness being frightened, then ran away. He saw no blood drawn. The club was about a foot long, and not very thick. The next day Stephen Boorn told the witness not to mention what had taken place, threatening to kill him if he did. The witness promised to say nothing about the matter. He never saw his father again, or for a year heard either of the Booms say what became of him. He had once heard Stephen say that after the quarrel Russel Colvin ran away to the moun¬ tain. Witness remembered nothing about the woodchuck mentioned by Stephen Boorn. Mi's. Eunice Baldwin related a conversation that had taken place between Stephen Boom and her husband. On this occasion Stephen said that Russel Colvin had disappeared strangely—that the last time he was seen, he went into the woods in the presence of a number of persons, among whom were himself and his brother Jesse. Stephen added that when Russel Colvin went to the woods, Lewis his son was absent, having gone for drink. When Lewis came back he asked after his father, and one of them, the Booms, answered 206 STEPHEN AND JESSE BOORN. that,he was gone to h—11; the other said they had pjt him where potatoes would not freeze. Stephen observed to Mr. Baldwin that if they had killed Colvin, it was not likely they would have so spoken to his son. Stephen said moreover, that he did not know but some believed he had killed Colvin. Mr. Baldwin testified to the same effect, adding that Stephen spoke seriously. Sarah Colvin , the wife of the absentee, declared that when she returned home after her husband’s disappearance, her son Lewis told her his father was gone to h—11. More than four years before the trial Stephen Boorn told her that her husband was dead, and Jesse said something to the same purpose. Johnson Marsh testified as follows. In the spring before the trial Stephen Boorn came to his house. A girl living there said to Stephen, u They are going to dig up Colvin for you, are they not?” Stephen began to swear, and threaten¬ ed to beat some person, but Mr. Marsh appeased him. Ste¬ phen then said that Colvin often left home and returned again —that when he last departed he was insane and went without his hat—that he was seen at Mrs. Furguson’s when he went off, which was now denied. He added that when Colvin dis¬ appeared, he, Stephen, was absent in Sandgate. Mr. Marsh farther stated that Stephen Boorn had since denied this con¬ versation. Benjamin Doming had been told by Stephen Boorn that he, Stephen, knew nothing about Russel Colvin at the time of bis departure, for that he, Stephen, was then living at Hammond Place. Stephen said Mrs. Colvin had told him her husband went off on Tuesday, and that he, Stephen, was at his father’s house on the Saturday following. Mrs. Colvin then and there told him that her husband went off after dining, saying it was the last dinner he should ever eat there. William Wyman swore that previous to Colvin’s departure Stephen Boorn asked him if there was no way to break ofF the intercourse between Colvin and his wife. The witness replied that he knew of none, on which Stephen said that if there was no other way he would put a stop to their inter¬ course himself. On another occasion Stephen asked Wyman if his, Stephen’s, father was obliged to support Colvin’s chil¬ dren; and being answered in the affirmative, repeated that he would himself put a stop to the intercourse between his sister and her husband. Wyman knew that Stephen Boorn was liv¬ ing with Barney Boorn, in the same house with Colvin, about STEPHEN AND JESSE BOORN. 207 the time the latter went away, but Stephen had since told him that he was then living at Hammond Place. William Farnsworth had questioned Stephen Boorn concern¬ ing the woodchuck before mentioned, and told him his parents denied the truth of his statement. Stephen declared what he had said was true—that in denying it his parents had sworn themselves to the devil, and their condition was worse than his own. Farnsworth then told Stephen what Mr. John¬ son had seen on the day Colvin went off, as before related, and that his parents had contradicted Mr. Johnson. Stephen answered that Johnson had sworn to the truth, anything his parents might have testified to the contrary notwithstanding. William Boorn had been told by Stephen that he was at Hammond Place when Colvin was first missed. Jesse Boorn had told this witness that he was in another town when Colvin went off, (and not in Manchester as he had said to John¬ son.) Daniel Jacobs , in eighteen hundred and thirteen was in¬ formed by Jesse Boorn that Russel Colvin was then an enlist¬ ed soldier in the United States Army. (This witness was hard of hearing.) After Jesse Boorn was arrested he told Joshua French he knew the knife that had been found was Colvin’s. He had often seen Colvin’s mother use it. Silas Merrill , had heard the confession of Jesse Boorn. When Jesse had been several times examined and remanded to prison he told the witness he had been persuaded to Confess by the promise of pardon. Merrill answered that by so do¬ ing he might, perhaps, obtain some favor. That night Jesse and Merrill slept in the same apartment of the prison. In the night Jesse wakened Merrill, being frightened, as he said, by something that had come into the window and got on the bed behind him. He said he wanted to tell Merrill something, whereupon the latter rose and listened. The singular confession that followed of a crime never committed, proves, we think, if the testimony of Merrill was true, which we see much reason to doubt, that Jesse Boorn was insane, or that fear had made of him a blacker villain than twenty murders would have done. What else can we think of a man who to save his own life, would destroy those of his father and brother. Jesse said that the statement of Mr. Johnson respecting the picking up of stones was true, that Stephen Boorn and Russel Colvin, quarrelled while so employed, and Stephen 10 208 STEPHEN AND JESSE BOORN. struck Colvin to the earth with a club. Colvin’s boy ran, and Colvin rose again, when Stephen fractured his skull a little above the ear with a second blow, and the blood gushed out. Barney Boorn then came up, and asked if Colvin was dead. Being answered in the negative, he walked off, but soon returned, and repeated his question. He again received the same answer, again went away and returned the third time. Finding Colvin still living, the old man cursed him. • Jesse then took his brother in law by the legs, and Stephen by the shoulders. With their father’s assistance they carried him to the cellar-hole, where the old man cut his throat with Stephen’s penknife. Stephen and his father buried him in the cellar between daylight and dark, while Jesse kept watch without. Two or three days after, Jesse saw that Stephen had Colvin’s shoes on, and told him that their sister would know them. Jesse never saw them again. Boorn, their father, gave Stephen a hundred dollars, of which Stephen promised Jesse twenty-five. The jack-knife found, Jesse knew to have belonged to his brother in law. This was the confession of Jesse that night, as stated on oath before the court by Merrill. Jesse was soon removed into another apartment in the prison, and when Merrill was afterwards permitted to visit him, said he had informed Stephen of his confession. Stephen then entered the room, and Merrill asked him if he did really kill Colvin. Stephen replied that he “ did not take the main life of Colvin.” About a week after, Stephen Boorn and Merrill met again. Stephen said that he had agreed with Jesse to take the whole business on his own shoulders, and had made a confession, according to which his deed would be manslaughter. Mer¬ rill told him what Jesse had confessed, and he answered that it was true. Jesse farthermore had told Merrill that eighteen months after they buried the body, he and Stephen took it up again, put the remains in a basket and put the bones under the floor of a barn. The spring after the barn was burnt, and they again took up the bones, pounded them, and threw them into the river. The skull bone was so burnt, that it crumbled to pieces. Their father picked up some of the pieces and put them into a hollow stump near the road. On his cross-examination, Merrill added that Jesse had since his confession, desired him to keep the secret. Jesse also told him that Russel Colvin struck the first blow. This was the evidence of Merrill. STEPHEN AND JESSE BOORN. 209 At this stage of the trial, a confession written and signed by Stephen while in prison, was offered to the court. The fact that he had written it was fully proved,- but it also appeared that he had been exhorted to do so, and persuaded by vague hopes of pardon held out to him by several persons. The court rejected the document. Several witnesses testified to the finding the knife, button and bones, at the cellar and stump before mentioned. William, Farnsworth was now called again to testify touching a conversation between himself and Stephen Boorn. On preliminary examination he said that neither he, nor, to his knowledge, any other person, had done anything to influence • Stephen to the talk he was about to communicate, directly or indirectly. A fortnight after he wrote his confession Stephen Boorn told Farnsworth that he killed Russel Colvin. They quarrel¬ led, Colvin struck him, he returned the blow and killed Colvin. He put the corpse in the bushes, buried it, dug it up again and put the remains under the barn that was burnt. After this he took up the bones, and put them into the river, scraped up the remains, and put them into the stump. He perpetrated the whole himself, and no one was present. He knew the nails and the jack-knife were Colvin’s. Farnsworth told him the case looked dark, to which he replied that if Jesse had kept silence, they should have done well enough, for he had put the pieces of bone under the stump through a hole between the roots, and stamped the earth down on them. He said too, that he wished he had a paper he had written back again. This was the substance of William Farnsworth’s testimony. Here the counsel for the prisoners said that as Farnsworth had been permitted, contrary to his expectations, to testify, he asked that the written confession might be produced. To this there could be no objection. The confession was in the fol¬ lowing words. u May the tenth, eighteen hundred and twelve, I, about nine or ten o’clock, went down to David Glazier’s bridge, and fished down below uncle Nathaniel Boom’s, and then went up across their farms, where Russel and Lewis was, being the nighest way, and sat down and began to talk, and Russel told me how many dollars benefit he had been to father, and I told him he was a d—d fool, and he was mad and jumped up, and I told him to set down, you little tory, and there was a piece of a beech limb about two feet long, and he catched it up and struck at my head as I sat down, and I jumped up and 210 STEPHEN AND JESSE B00RN. it struck me on one shoulder, and I catched it out of his hand and struck him a back-handed blow, and being on the jiorth side of him, and there was a knot on it about one inch long. u As I struck him I did think I hit him on his back, and he stooped down, and that knot was broken off sharp, and it hit him on the back of the neck, close in his hair, and it went in about half of an inch on that great cord, and he fell down, and then I told the boy to go down and come up with his uncle John, and he asked me if I had killed Russel, and I told him no, but he must not tell that we struck one another. And I told him, when he got away down, Russel was gone away, and I went back and he was dead, and then I went and took him and put him in the corner of the fence by the cellar-hole, and put briars over him and went home and went down to the barn and got some boards, and when it was dark I went down and took a hoe and boards, and dug a grave as well as I could, and took out of his pocket a little Barlow knife, with about a half of a blade, and cut some bushes and put on his face and the boards, and put in the grave, and put him in four boards on the bottom and on the top, and t’ other two on the sides, and then covered him up and went home crying along, but I wan’t afraid as I know on. “ And when I lived to Wm. Boom’s I planted some po¬ tatoes, and when I dug them I went there and something I thought had been there, and I took up his bones and put them in a basket, and took the boards and put on my potato hole, and when it was night, took the basket and my hoe and went down and pulled a plank in the stable floor and then dug a hole, and then covered him up, and went in the house and told them I had done with the basket and took back the shovel and covered up my potatoes, that evening, and then when I lived under the west mountain, Lewis came and told me that ther’s barn was burnt up, the next day or the next day but one, I came down and went to the barn and there was a few bones, and when they was to dinner, I told them I did not want my dinner, and went and took them and there wan’t on¬ ly a few of the biggest of the bones, and throwed them in the river above Wyman’s, and then went back, and it was done quick too, and then was hungry by that time, and then went home, and the next Sunday I came down after money to pay the boot that I gave to boot between oxens, and went out there and scraped up them little things that was under the stump there, and told them I was going to fishing, and went, and there was a hole, and I dropped them in and kicked over STEPHEN AND JESSE BOORN. 211 the stuff, and that is the first any body knew it, either friends or foes even my wife. All these I acknowledge before the world.” STEPHEN BOORN. Manchester, August 27th, 1819. This closed the evidence on behalf of the state. It appeared in behalf of the prisoners that though Russel Colvfn was in the habit of going from home, he did not use to go without his hat, of which he was very careful. It seems too that Jesse Boom denied ever having confessed to Merrill, and that Merrill was at the time a prisoner for a criminal ac¬ tion, and in chains. It was proved that persuasion and threats had been used to induce both the brothers to confess, and that they had often refused, laying much stress on their innocence. The jury unanimously found both the prisoners guilty, and they were sentenced to be hung on the twenty-eighth of Jan¬ uary eighteen hundred and twenty. Immediately after sen¬ tence was pronounced on these two unfortunate men, a number of the most respectable citizens of Manchester signed a pe¬ tition for a pardon or mitigation of punishment, which was sent to Montpelier, where the legislature was in session. It seems, however, that some were willing that the punishment of Jesse Boorn should be mitigated, but not that any mercy should be extended to Stephen, and they said so on signing the petition. It was in consequence resolved that the pun¬ ishment of Jesse should be commuted for that of imprisonment for life, by a majority of a hundred 'and four to thirty-one. It was judged inexpedient to grant any relief to Stephen, by a majority of ninety-seven to forty-two. Stephen, therefore, was left to suffer according to his sentence. When the news of this decision arrived at Manchester, those who still believed the prisoners innocent immediately caused a notice to be printed in the Rutland Herald, to which few attached any importance. It contained a description of Russel Colvin’s person and desired any who could, to give information respecting him, and thereby save the life of the innocent. Printers of newspapers were requested to cir¬ culate it. ’ An answer soon appeared in the New York Evening Post, to the confusion of all in any way concerned in the condem¬ nation of the Booms. It was as follows. 212 SPEPHEN AND JESSE BOORN. To the Editor of the New York Evening Post. SIR, Shrewsbury, Monmouth. Having read in your paper of November the twenty-sixth last, of the conviction and sentence of Stephen and Jesse Boorn of Manchester, Vermont, charged with the murder of .Russel Colvin, and from facts which have fallen within my own knowledge, and not knowing what facts may have been dis¬ closed on their trial, and wishing to serve the cause of humanity, I would state as follows, which may be relied on. Some years past, (I think between five and ten) a stranger made his appearance in this county, and upon being inquired of, said that his name was Russel Colvin, (which name he answers to this time) that he came from Manchester, Ver¬ mont—he appeared to be in a state of mental derangement, but at times gave considerable account of himself, his con¬ nexions, acquaintances, &c. He mentions the names of Clarissa, Rufus, &.c. Among his relations, he has mentioned the Booms above, Jess, as judge, (I think) &c, &c. He is a man rather small in stature, round favored, speaks very fast, and two scars on his head, and appears to be between thirty and forty years of age. There is no doubt but that he came from Vermont, from the mention that he has made of a number of places and persons there, and probably is the person sup¬ posed 4o have been murdered. He is now living here, but so completely insane, as *not to be able to give a satisfactory account of himself, but the connexions of Russel Colvin might know by seeing him. If you think proper to give this a place in your columns, it may possibly lead to a discovery that may save the lives of innocent men. If so, you will have the pleasure (as well as myself) of having served the cause of humanity. If you give this an insertion in your paper pray be so good as to request the different, editors of news¬ papers in New York and Vermont, to give it a place in their3. I am, Sir, with sentiments of regard, yours, &c. TABER CHADWICK. Many thought this letter a hoax, but others believed it fully. When it appeared, the corporation of New York, with a promptness that does them honor, despatched a Mr. Whelply to New Jersey to ascertain if the person described was the man supposed to be dead. Mr. Whelply had formerly been well acquainted with Colvin, and identified him at once. He was forthwith conducted to New York, where the public curiosity was so highly excited that the streets through which AMOS FURNALD. 213 * he passed were crowded. On the route to Manchester, vast multitudes assembled to see him. Nothing could exceed the joy of the people of Manchester on the day he arrived there The bells were rung and cannon were fired to welcome him. Stephen Boorne was released from his chains and prison, that he might see his recovered brother in law. Some con¬ versation passed between them, but Colvin was too much de¬ ranged to hold rational converse with any one. Some questions were propounded to him touching the quar¬ rel said to have taken place between him and Stephen Boorn, but he appeared wholly ignorant of the matter. The Booms were soon after exonerated from the crime of which they stood convicted, and restored to their rights and privileges. So ended a transaction of equal singularity and importance in the annals of criminal law. Judging from the evidence of the record, we know not which most to pity, the men who had so nearly been victims, or the members of the court and ju¬ ry that condemned them. The evidence was certainly so strong that no rational doubt could be entertained of their guilt, and if it had been less so, they furnished arms to be used against themselves. There can be no better example of the fallacy of the confessions of persons accused, unless it may be in the story of the Salem Witchcraft. May every man liable to act as a juror into whose hands these pages shall fall, learn from them to beware of a hasty judgment. AMOS FURNALD. W e now record what we believe to be the most savagely atrocious homicide ever committed in a Christian land. Put¬ ting to death by starving is a thing not unknown, but that a father should so despatch his own offspring is almost incredi- b e, and what adds to the guilt of the offender is, that his bar¬ barity endured five years; from his child’s birth to its death. Neither the ties of nature nor the helpless and unprotected condition of his victim could make him relent for a moment. Amos Furnald was a husbandman and resident of Gilman- ton in the state of New Hampshire. He was married in the 214 AMOS FURNALD. year eighteen hundred and seven, and had several children by his wife ; but this did not hinder him from an illicit inter¬ course with a young girl named Mary Wadleigh, a servant in his house, by whom he had two children. On the twenty- seventh of June eighteen hundred and nineteen this girl com¬ plained to a justice of the peace that she was about to be¬ come the mother of a second child of which Amos Furnald would be the father. A warrant was accordingly issued by virtue of which Amos Furnald was arrested, and made to give a bond for the maintenance of the infant. The child was born on the last of July following, and re¬ ceived the name of Alfred Furnald. The day after, its father went to the house where it was and desired the nurse to let him see it. He took it in his arms and carried it away, despite the remonstrances of the mother, telling her she should never see it. again. Though it rained violently he carried it, un¬ covered, to his own house, a distance of half a mile. The day following he carried the child back to its distract¬ ed mother. He told her she might keep it three weeks, but no longer, unless she would promise to come to his house and remain there. She promised, and Furnald came again for the child as he had threatened. Rather than be separated from her infant Mary Wadleigh went to Furnald’s house, where she remained, as its nurse, till it was eight months old. About this time Furnald said repeatedly, in the pres¬ ence of his wife and her children, that he would use the child like a dog, that it should have neither food, clothing, nor a bed to lie on; that it should obey his legitimate children; that they should chastise it in case of disobedience; that he would chastise it after they were weary, and that if it died under this treatment it should not be buried. Terrified by these threats Mary Wadleigh ran away from his house with her child, and carried it to her father’s dwelling, as a place of safety. The morning after she reached her parent’s house Furnald came and seized the child before it was dressed, swearing he would have its body or its heart’s blood. Mary Wadleigh resisted, but after a struggle, in which he bit her, he prevailed and carried the child back to his own house. The mother then complained to one of the selectmen, after which she went to Furnald’s house, where she found the child naked. Furnald refused to let her have the infant’s clothes, and she therefore went away as she came. A mother’s love is not easily extinguished, and she watch¬ ed an opportunity to carry off her infant by stealth. She AMOS FURNALD. 2 15 found one and carried it home again. In the March follow¬ ing Furnald seized.it once more and carried it home. The twentieth of March Mary Wadleigh saw Furnald and persuaded him to give her the child for a short time. When she received it, it was extremely pale and emaciated, and ap peared to have been burnt or frozen in various parts of its body. She kept and tended it till the next fourth of July, during which time it regained its health, and had the appear¬ ance of other children of its age. Furnald then came, and notwithstanding the entreaties of the mother, carried the child away once more. She never saw it again, but their crimi¬ nal intercourse was renewed, and she had two more children by him, both of which died. From the last time Furnald obtained possession of his child he and his wife treated it with extreme cruelty. Its bar¬ barous usage and forlorn condition became known to a Mrs. Susan Sanborn, who, for the sake of Christian charity, offered to take the child home and keep it a year for ten dollars. Fur- nald assented, and she carried the sickly and feeble infant home with her. It soon became robust and healthy, and ap¬ peared to be a very sprightly and promising boy. About the last of September eighteen hundred and twenty-two Furn¬ ald carried the child back to his own house. From this time till the death of the child, which happened on the eighth of April eighteen hundred and twenty-four, a course of cruelty more barbarous, of inhumanity more depraved has not found a place in the annals of crime. It appears that the formal words of indictment must have literally been made good by Amos Furnald and his wife. They had no fear of God or man before their eyes, but were seduced and insti¬ gated by the devil. The clothing of the unfortunate child of sin and shame was a thin outside frock, as revolting as filth and long use could make it. For two winters it was compelled to sleep in a box four or five inches shorter than its person, on straw, and covered with dirty rags. Its apparel was not changed for months together, and in the coldest weather the unhappy in¬ fant was shut up in a room without fire, without shoes or stockings, and bidden, with threats to bear its pains in silence. It was often heard to utter those moans and complaints which agony extorted in spite of fear, for hours, while Furnald and his family took not the smallest notice. Furnald had a child by his wife about the same age in the house, who was fed, clad and lodged comfortably; all his legitimate children par- 216 AMOS FURNALD. took of such aliments as he had abundant means to provide, but the miserable memento of his shame was never allowed to eat with them. Nay, he was often driven into the street with¬ out shoes or covering, in the coldest of winter, till his feet froze and several of his toes dropped off. In this forlorn plight, no physician was called to visit him. When he was permitted to eat in the same apartment with his half brethren, he was seated on a block in the corner, from which he dared not depart, and fed on the rinds of the potatoes which the other children had swallowed. Sometimes he was allowed gravy, but never a spoon, knife or fork. Nor was this all: hunger, filth and vermin were not consid¬ ered sufficient to compass his destruction. His head and face were constantly seen scarred with blows, and often bleeding. He was unmercifully beaten by parents and children. The young Furnalds (they ought to be called infernals) were seen to throw him down, tie a rope round his neck, and drag him backward and forward across the floor, till his face was black with strangulation. When the victim of this unheard of cruelty was released, he lay for several minutes motionless, and apparently lifeless. In the severity of winter, Furnald was seen to take this hapless child out of doors, strike him down with his fist, and throw him into a puddle. He was seen to whip the infant with a raw hide scourge, with as much violence as a man would punish a refractory horse. He was known to drive the child out of doors when so weak that it could hardly stand, and to knock it down with snowballs. These acts of continuous barbarity at last accomplished Amos Furnald’s purpose. On the first of April eighteen hundred and twenty-four, Furnald began to frame a wood-shed and shoemaker’s shop near his house. Those who worked on the frame and boarded in his family saw the child but once, and it was then standing leaning against the door, presenting the appearance of a bloodless skeleton. For three days after, none of the family mentioned his name, and though the laborers looked for him, they did not see him. But they convinced themselves that he was either in the garret or the cellar. On the eighth, while they were at breakfast, a faint moan was heard in the garret. Mrs. Furnald, after looking her husband in the face, left the table without speaking, and went up stairs. Furnald followed her, but in eight or ten minutes came forth and went to work as usual, without saying a word about the child to any one. A little after, Mrs. Furnald raised the window and asked A ^ J .■ ■ ALFRED FURNALD. 2 17 her husband to come in. He asked her what she wanted, and she replied “ nothing particular.” Furnald entered the house, came out again, and told one of the workmen that Mrs. Furnald wanted him. The man asked him what she wanted, and he replied that the child was dying. The man went in just in time to see the infant expire. Neither Furnald nor any of his family expressed the least concern, matters went on as if no one were sick or dead, and no physician was summoned. When the corpse was laid out for burial it was an object too shocking to look twice upon. It was literally skin, bone and muscle, covered with filth and vermin. News of the fact spread all over the country, and the voice of an unanimous community demanded an inquest on the dead body of Alfred Furnald. The guilty father fled. The corpse was dissected by an able surgeon and it was at once apparent that the child had died of inanition. The in¬ quest pronounced Amos Furnald and his wife guilty of mur¬ der. After some resistance he was arrested, and, with his wife, examined by the proper authorities and committed to prison. The grand jury, after hearing witnesses, brought a true bill against them for wilful murder, and they were ar¬ raigned before the Superior Court of Judicature in Septem¬ ber eighteen hundred and twenty-four. They pleaded not guilty and the trial was postponed till the next term, when they were brought up again. These facts were fully proved, if the witnesses for the government are to be credited. The prisoner’s eldest daugh¬ ter, however, a girl of sixteen, testified that the deceased was well treated in every particular. The jury returned a verdict of manslaughter. Alfred Furnald was notwithstanding believed to have been taken off by foul and damnable means. We think that a deep stain was imprinted on the escutcheon of New Hampshire, no less by his inhuman death than by the mitigated verdict of the jury. The circumstances of the prisoners being poor and the parents of a large family should not have been of any advantage to them. Their jeopardy and distress were of trifling consequence to the community compared with the influence of a too lenient verdict on the morals and character of the rising generation. Judging from the evidence on record we are of opinion that their guilt was beyond a doubt, and that the jury should have forgotten to pity. If pity should have been felt, it was for society at large, and 218 ELIJAH P. GOODRICH. not for the stony hearted monsters who beheld a helpless infant perishing slowly by cold, disease and famine, and who neither soothed its parting spirit, nor followed its body to the grave. ELIJAH P. GOODRICH, COMMONLY CALLED MAJOR GOODRICH. The first account we have of this wretch is that he entered as a foremast hand on board the schooner Jones Eddy of Portsmouth, Richard Sutton master. The vessel was bound to the West Indies. During his stay on board, Goodrich be¬ haved in a very disorderly manner, was habitually disodedient and more than once endeavoured to bring about a mutiny. The Jones Eddy touched at Mevis, St. Christopher, and St. Croix, at which latter place Goodrich deserted, and the mas¬ ter considered himself fortunate in being rid of him. Beside this account, Mr. Sutton deposed that his character was whol¬ ly bad, and that he was unworthy of the least confidence. We next find him established as a merchant at Bangor in Maine, and enjoying considerable credit. In December eigh¬ teen hundred and sixteen he left Bangor in a single sleigh for Boston, and reached Brunswick without mischance. Here he gave the first proof of that fertility of invention which has rendered him so distinguished, and might have insured him a high rank among the American poets had it been properly directed. He told the landlord of the inn where he put up that he had made his fortune the spring before by catching shad, and his method of taking these fishes was truly ingeni¬ ous. He had moored a scow in the middle of the stream, he said, and built a rail fence round it. Finding their passage up stream obstructed, the shad would leap into the scow as fast as ten men could secure them. He tarried long enough at Portland to buy a pair of pistols of Mr. E. Wyer. He also offered a number of soldiers’ land patents for sale, but was unable to show any of them when asked. At Alfred Mr Goodrich put up at a tavern where he had a conversation with the landlord’s son on the topics of lumber and ship-building. In this discourse he again indul- ELIJAH P. GOODRICH. 2 19 ged his predilection for the marvellous, saying he had built a large ship entirely of wild juniper, and sent her to Boston When on the point of departure, as the young man was putting his baggage into his sleigh, he desired him to be careful of the pistols, and observed that it was very dangerous for a gentle¬ man in his capacity to travel unarmed. Before he left the place, however, he stopped to breakfast at another inn, where he expressed his fear of being robbed, but consoled himself with the reflection that he had an excellent pair of pistols about him. At Berwick he again threw the reins on the neck of his fancy and told a very worthy landlady that he had liv¬ ed in Bangor ten years, had made his fortune, and was now returning home in style, as became him, with between four and five thousand dollars in his pockets. He again avowed his apprehension of robbery, but said it would take at least four stout men to plunder him, as he was well armed. At Dover Goodrich put up for the night at Mr. Riley’s inn. In the morning he brought his portmanteau from his bed chamber into the room where Mr. Riley was sitting, and pro¬ ducing a pocket pistol, said, u Old daddy, are you not afraid of this?” Mr. Riley, though a very old man, was nothing daunted by this very uncivil question, and coolly replied, “ No, boy, nor of you either. I have seen more gunpowder burnt when America was fighting for her independence than you ever saw in your life.” Satisfied with this courageous de¬ monstration Goodrich put up his pistol and departed. When he arrived at Exeter he called for a dinner, and put up his sleigh, having resolved to perform the rest of his jour¬ ney on horseback. He sent a boy to buy him some very small pistol balls, which when he had gotten he found too small for his purpose, and the youth then procured some still less. He next asked for a private apartment, in which he managed to make it sufficiently public that he was loading a pocket pistol, probably the same he had shown to Mr. Riley. Thus prepar¬ ed to resist any attempt at violence, he mounted his horse amidst the laughter of the bystanders, and set off* on the road to Boston. He reached Kensington before dark, and then, in passing through Salisbury, missed his way—as he swore. It is prob¬ able he was again misled by his imagination in this particular, as there was but one road, too plain to be missed. He reach¬ ed Essex Bridge in safety just before nine o’clock, paid his toll into the hands of Mr. Ebenezer Pearson, and passed over. Two wagons, driven by two men named Keyser and Shaw 220 ELIJAH P. GOODRICH. passed immediately after, and before these got to the top of the hill next beyond the bridge the mail stage overtook and passed them. As to what happened to the Major after he crossed the bridge we must take his own word, and we are sorry its authority is no better. As he was riding up the hill, and at the distance of about a quarter of a mile from the bridge, he swore that a man sprang toward him from the side of the road. His horse started and had nearly thrown him. The man seized his bridle, present- * ed a pistol, and demanded his money. The Major desired him to wait till he could get it, and under pretence of feeling for his valuables, cocked a pistol, and tried to strike the rob¬ ber’s weapon aside. The thief fired just as the Major was presenting his pistol, and at the same moment saw two others approaching. He, at that moment, became insensible, from some cause not specified. When his senses returned, the robbers were dragging him into the field hard by. He cried for help—and they choked him. He attempted to bite, but finding resistance vain, at last became passive. They jumped on him, stripped him, turned him over and finally left him. He then again cried for help and they returned. He rushed on them and seized one, but was overpowered in the struggle and again left senseless. Mark, reader, while this violent transaction was going on, while Major Goodrich was being maltreated by the robbers, while he was crying for help and struggling with them, the mail stage, full of passengers, and the two teamsters passed the spot, without hearing the slightest noise, though the night was very still. All was as quiet as the grave. Major Goodrich had no recollection of what happened to him after his final struggle with the robbers till he found him¬ self at the bridge, shot through the hand, badly wounded in the side, his head aching with blows and his hip sprained. It is a little remarkable that he should have passed several houses where the people were up and lights burning on his way from the scene of robbery to the bridge, and that in a state of insensibility. Perhaps the reason may be this: it was necessary to get rid of the above mentioned pocket pistol, and it was not safe to throw it where it might be found again. He probably thought it best to hide it in the river, and therefore returned to the bridge. It appears by other and better testimony than Goodrich’s oath, that a little before ten he arrived at Mr. Ebenezer Pear¬ son’s house again. Mr. Pearson Jr went out of the door and ELIJAH P GOODRICH. 221 met this much abused personage, who laid hands on him exclaiming, “ You are the d—d robber.” Mr. Pearson se¬ nior then came forth and Goodrich was taken into the house, apparently delirious, and raving about robbers and his gold watch. Here he received every possible attention, and a physician was immediately sent for. When the physician (Dr. Moses Carter) arrived, Goodrich was walking about the room into which he had been introduc¬ ed, talking incoherently. He expressed a desire to go to the place where he had been robbed to look for his watch, and Mr. Elias Jackman and some others went with him. He walked sturdily along till he was near the place, when he became faint, and the others carried him a little farther and then set him down. He desired them to take his pistol and shoot him rather than drag him along so. They carried him back to the house, in what they thought an expiring condition, but Dr. Carter on feeling his pulse said it was as healthy as that of any one present and that it was no dying case. The peo¬ ple were nevertheless much agitated, for Goodrich complained of severe bruises on the back of his head and on his body. The doctor dressed his hand and then examined him strictly, but found no external mark of injury except the aforesaid wound in the hand and a very slight scratch in the arm. He then said that he had fired his pistol and nearly knocked down one of the robbers, that some one had searched his bosom and taken his watch from his fob. In the meanwhile, as the unfortunate Major continued anx¬ ious about his watch, some of the neighbours went to the field of battle at his request, for he had by this time somewhat recovered. They found his whip and pistol in the road, and in the field his pocketbook, vallise, portmanteau, clothes, pa¬ pers, hat and some money. The hat was beat in, and there was blood on it. His watch they found laid carefully under a board, with the face upward and going. Those who went the next morning to the spot where the robbery was alleged to have been committed, found in the field a screw belonging to the pistol Goodrich had left in the road. Query, if the pistol left his hand in the first scuffle how came the screw in the spot where the second took place? Moreover there was blood on the head of the screw corresponding with more on the stock of the pistol. On the very spot where the Major said he first lost his senses a horse had staled. It may be doubted if the beast would have per¬ formed this operation while a person was robbed on his back or near him. 222 ELIJAH P. GOODRICH. This morning Dr. Israel Balch was summoned to consult with Dr Carter. He found Goodrich lying in bed raving. While Dr Carter was describing the case the patient watched him closely, in silence, but when he caught Dr. Balch’s eye he appeared confused and looked in a different direction. This led Dr. Balch to believe that his delirium was mere pretence. No bruises or wounds besides those above mentioned could be discovered. Presently the patient called for Jerry Balch and the last named physician answered that he was Jerry Balch. Goodrich said “No, you are not Jerry Balch.” Being strongly persuaded that this incoherence was mere sham, Dr. Balch adopted a stratagem to come at the truth. He went down stairs, took off his boots, ^tole softly up again and peeped in at the door. He heard the bed clothes move and saw Goodrich raise himself up and look cautiously around. Before this he had pretended to be in such pain that it took three or four persons to turn him in his bed. Dr. Balch saw him adjust his hair and very composedly spit on the floor. That afternoon he was removed to Newbury port, and the next day he again pretended delirium. He become rational again soon, and never after showed any appearance of insanity. On examining the clothes he wore at the time of the sworn robbery, it was found that a ball had entered the inside of the cuff of the surtout, indicating that the weapon from which it came had been directed perpendicularly to the palm of the hand, and must have been fired very nigh, for the garment was burnt and blackened. After the attending physician told him he might go abroad safely, Goodrich kept his chamber a week. Goodrich went from Newburyport to Danvers. The belief had now become prevalent, that his account of the robbery was a fiction, and as he took no measures to discover the robbers, the opinion gained ground. Some of his friends told him that his reputation was suffering, and he was thereby induced to take more active measures. Better authority being now beyond our reach, we must take the Major’s word for what followed. Some one told him that a certain Reuben Taoer was a person likely to have been concerned in the robbery, and upon mature deliberation, he recollected that a person answering to Taber’s description had taken his horse’s bridle when he stopped at Exeter. He also learned that Taber frequented certain cellars about the market in Boston. He repaired to Boston, found Taber, identified him by name and aske d him to step into Bowden’s tavern in order to converse, but Taber chose rather to go into the back yard. After some conversa- ELIJAH P. GOODRICH. 223 tion Taber said he had formed an opinion on the subject of the robbery, that it would endanger his life to point out the robbers, but for three hundred dollars he would disclose all he knew. He made an appointment with Taber to meet a second time, but Taber did not keep it. Goodrich therefore consulted with Mr. William Jones and other friends, who advised him to disguise himself, in order to meet Taber. He did so. Mr. Jones, as he afterwards testified, accompanied Goodrich to the market, where the Major left him for three quarters of an hour. Goodrich found his man in Ann Street, who agreed to give him the names of the robbers for four hundred dollars, payable in case his information should prove correct. Good¬ rich accepted the terms, and Taber gave him the names of Laban and Levi Kcnniston of Ipswich, who he said must have some of the monejr, if they had not already spent it. During the time spent as thus, alleged, Mr. Jones was watching Goodrich, and actually saw him conversing with a person . whom he believed to be Taber. When Taber was afterwards produced before a court, Mr. Jones swore he believed him to be the same man. Major Goodrich then went to Hanvers and communicated these particulars to a Mr. Page, who consented to assist him in finding and apprehending the Kennistons. They were ac¬ cordingly apprehended and committed for trial. The Major’s suspicions next fell upon Mr. Ebenezer Pearson, senior, the good Samaritan who had so kindly received and sheltered him on the night of the pretended robbery. He caused this gen¬ tleman to be arrested and hired a quack to goto his residence with a divining rod, to search for gold and silver. It seems he had more faith than is common in this our Israel, as he believed there was virtue in a forked branch of hazel to dis¬ cover what never, probably, was lost. Nothing was found, and Mr. Pearson was discharged without a trial. Goodrich seems to have been, for awhile, ashamed of this conduct, for he offered to make every atonement in his power for the affront to Mr. Pearson. This interval of good feeling did not last long. He came again to the house with a sheriff, and searched from garret to cellar. While the inquest was going on, Good¬ rich was seen going to the privy, and on his return, proposed and urged that that building should be searched. The search took place, and some papers were found which Goodrich swore were his. Some pieces of money were also discovered in such circumstances as almost amount to proof positive that Goodrich dropped them himself. 224 ELIJAH P GOODRICH. The Major also entertained suspicions of Mr. Joseph Jack- man, a gentleman who lived near Essex Bridge, who had gone to New York immediately after the robbery. Him he fol¬ lowed and arrested, and found as he afterwards swore, several wrappers of money in his possession, which he identi¬ fied as his own. He wrote from New York that Mr. Jackman made a strenuous resistance, than which nothing could be more false. The Kenniston’s were put to the bar with Reuben Taber on an indictment for robbery. Taber moved for a separate trial, which was granted. From the evidence it appeared, in favor of Goodrich, that the money of which he said he was robbed was his own, and that what he saved belonged to other persons. Several witnesses testified to his general good character. It was proved that the Kennistons were in Newbury port the evening of the robbery, and they gave no account of the manner in which they passed the time from seven o’clock to ten. Dif¬ ferent witnesses swore to the following facts. A Mr. Leavitt who assisted to search their house, swore that he went into a certain apartment thereof, before any other one of the party, opened a drawer and found in it a ten dollar bill of the Bos¬ ton Bank, carefully rolled up. Suspecting it to be a counter¬ feit he threw it back, and did not mention the circumstance to any one. Shortly after another of the assistants, named Upton, went to the draw, found a ten dollar bill, and carried it away. On seeing it, Goodrich claimed it as his own, knowing it, as he said, by certain words written on the back Upton also took down a pair of pantaloons from a bed post on which they were hanging, and found in the pocket a pocket- book containing gold. Now, as the Kenniston’s were very poor, shiftless men, it was not probable they could have ob¬ tained gold honestly. Again, Upton in searching the cellar, found several pieces of gold. It seems, also, that when Levi Kenniston was arrested he “ appeared agitated and perspired profusely though the weather was cold, looking guilty, and frequently changing countenance when urged by those around him to confess what he knew of the robbery.” On the other hand it appeared that the whole story about Taber was a sheer falsehood, for the man was on the limits of the Boston jail at the time of the robbery, and long after. An alibi was also proved in the case of Jackman. It was shown that the Kennistons had no means of knowing that a man was Elijah p. Goodrich. 225 to pass at the time of the robbery with money. At the moment Goodrich was exhibiting his pistol in Exeter the Kennistons were in Newburyport, where they remained the next day, without fear or alarm. It appeared that they lived together in the same house with their sister, and their father lived in another part of the same house. When the house was searched, gold was found in two places where Goodrich had previously been, where he might have put it. As to the bill, the sheriff and Upton both saw writing on the back of it before Goodrich saw it. It was proved that when the sheriff first saw the bill he left it where he found it, and that Good¬ rich was alone in the room before it was finally taken away. After this he recognised the writing on it as his own. Thus he had an opportunity to take away the bill first seen and sub¬ stitute another. From the robbery to the time of their arrest, an interval of six weeks, the prisoners exercised their usual employment, and were not seen or known to have any money. Moreover, it is a little suspicious that in each of his several searches Goodrich identified every article found, every scrap of paper as his own. One of the witnesses said that the pis¬ tol found in the road appeared not to have been fired at all, and he did not account for the smaller one he loaded at Exe¬ ter. The jury unanimously found the prisoners not guilty, and they were discharged. We must now go back to Mr. Pearson. His character was so well established that his arrest produced a strong excite¬ ment. When he was discharged, he was drawn in a wheel carriage to his house by the populace in triumph. He brought an action against Goodrich for defamation, recovered two thousand dollars damages, and the Major was commit¬ ted to jail. It took the jury but five minutes to agree upon a verdict. What was Goodrich’s motive for inventing his tale of rob¬ bery we are unable even to guess. Perhaps he owed money in Boston, was unable to pay, and was willing to adduce a plausible apology. Many inclined to this belief. Perhaps his conduct was the effect of a strong desire of distinction. Other men have been known to prefer infamy to obscurity. Be¬ sides, it is probable he did not foresee the consequences of his ill contrived deception. He might not at first have thought he should be obliged to prosecute any one, or seal his falsehood with perjury. He manifested no zeal in the pursuit, but ap¬ pears to have taken every step at the instigation of others 226 DANIEL H. COREY. A tragedy resulted from the farce common^ -.ailed the Goodrich robbery. There lived in Salisbury an old man named Colburn or Colby, who had been a soldier of the revo¬ lution. Some time before the events we have recorded took place he made affidavit of his military services in order to ob¬ tain a pension. He unwittingly foreswore himself, saying he had served in seventeen hundred and seventy five, whereas the fact was he had been a soldier in seventeen hundred and seventy six. This was excusable, for his memory, as well as his other faculties, were much impaired by age. Yet, when he discover¬ ed his mistake it bore heavily on his mind: he believed himself guilty of perjury and liable to suffer its penalties. He fre¬ quently spoke on the subject, and several thoughtless young persons in the neighbourhood made sport of and increased his apprehensions. After the trial of the Kennistons the people erected a gib¬ bet and hanged Goodrich in effigy near the house where Colby lived. The gallows stood for a long time, to the great terror of the old man, who imagined it was intended for him¬ self in case he should be convicted of perjury. He imagined every stranger he saw was an officer come to arrest him. Those about him amused themselves by confirming his fears, till the old soldier, driven frantic by the fear of infamy, actual¬ ly hanged himself. DANIEL H. COREY. This iniserable person was a poor husbandman of the town¬ ship of Sullivan in New Hampshire. His was a case of he¬ reditary insanity. His father was deranged in mind and so was one of his sisters. Daniel Corey had also had several severe falls on his head, sufficient alone to have induced ali¬ enation of mind. He did not refrain from the use of ardent spirits, as under such circumstances he should have done, and it is probable that his habits tended to increase and irri¬ tate his constitutional infirmity. Some t»me in the year eighteen hundred and twenty-nine he imagined he had discovered a mine of gold and silver on his farm, which piece of good fortune he made known to his neigh¬ bours. He dug a hole in the ground five feet long and two DANIEL H. COREY. 227 deep, and exhibited sand which he believed to be gold dust. To those who conversed with him on the subject he said that the metal extended over his farm, his house, and was fast getting into his neighbours ground. He declared himself the richest man in the world, and averred that he and his wife were to be crowned king and queen of America. Once he directed his son to cover his mine with boards, and it was done. Nor was this the whole of his delusion, he was, it seems, a firm believer in witchcr3.fi;, and was convinced that the ghost of an Indian kept watch over: his treasure in the form of a snake. He thought his black cat was bewitched, and shot her with a silver coin; nay, took many precautions against sorcery. At one time he said his wife had engaged a dozen men to come from Walpole to kill him, and that they had attacked him with guns, but did not prevail, for his guardian angel protected him. Sometimes his language was profane, at others he imagined himself called to preach the gospel. Many and various were the indications of his mental derangement, beside what we have related. About the first of June he went to work in a Wood, but soon returned, affirming that he had been shot at with an air gun, and had heard a bullet whistle by his head. He said his life was in danger, and would not return to the wood. About the same time he declared that he had been thrown from a log in his wood, and fell upon his heqd, which made him think the Devil was seeking to destroy him. A bee flying into the window put him in great distress—he said it was a spirit come to carry him to hell. On the eighth of June he declared that the country was at war, that the British had attacked the Americans, and was of opinion that every man ought to fight. He asked the person to whom he delivered this intelligence if he had not seen strange sights and heard singular noises. The next day he labored at his mine and the day after showed it to several of his neighbours. On the twelfth he kept his wife and children confined all the forenoon. He behaved this day in such a manner that his wife, fearing for her life, procured a letter to be written to the selectmen, describing the situation of her family and desiring them to take care of her husband. She sent this letter to Mr. Daniel Nash, with a request that he would carry it to the selectmen, but he neglected to do so. About noon Corey left the house and went to see his wife’s mother. He told her he could not rest at home because his wife was crazy, or bewitched, or had the devil in her. He 228 DANIEL H. COREY. Jaid down for about an hour, with his eyes shut, but did not sleep. After this he asked his mother-in-law to go to his house and see if she u could not make his wife more recon¬ ciled.” She went, as he desired, and in a short time Corey came home. He went off again and returned about dusk, saying he had gotten a new wife. Then he prayed for his wife and spoke incoherently about her. That night Mrs. Corey and her mother occupied one bed, but could get no rest for his ravings. Toward morning he slept for a little while. When he arose he went to his mine, returned, and said his an¬ gel had told him to take off his black jacket and put on his red one. He put on the red garment and began to talk about his mine. His angel, he said, was in it or about it; it was full of silver and gold, his house was covered with it, but his brother Ben’s had none. After eating a scanty breakfast he went out with his staff. A block with a hole in it was lying before the door. He put his cane into this hole, lifted the block and walked about with it. After going round his field he came back and sat down on his threshold. After sitting awhile he put his arm round his wife’s neck and said, “ Now we shall always live in peace, now I have conquered; we shall always live happy.” She soothingly replied, “ I guess we shall.” His wife and children would have left the house, but he would not suffer them, and said if they did he would knock them down with his staff. He then took down his gun, look¬ ed in the pan, and seeing there was no priming put it up again. He thus kept his family within an hour and a half, when he at last went off himself. They watched him till he was out of sight and then fled to Mr. Daniel Nash’s house. Here Mrs. Corey asked Mrs. Matilda Nash, the mother of Daniel, to go to her house, and unhappily for herself, the old lady complied. To make Corey think she had come on an errand Mrs. Nash took a bundle of flax. Her grandaughter Eliz¬ abeth Nash went with her. When Mrs. Nash reached Corey’s house she found the lu¬ natic lying on his bed. She entered and inquired after his health. He replied, u Get out of the house, or I’ll kill you,” whereupon the old lady and her grandaughter took to flight. He snatched his gun from the place where it had been hanging and followed. When he overtook Mrs. Nash he knocked her down with the butt of his gun, and repeated the blow. He then followed the child, crying “ Stop her,” but soon gave up the chase. The little girl went directly home CHARLES F. CLARK. 229 and informed her father of what had happened. He repaired tathe spot and found his mother dead. Her skull was bro¬ ken to pieces, and the broken butt of the gun was lying on her cheek. ' , After killing Mrs. Nash, Corey went toward his mine, and at a short distance met three men, one his brother, who had been attracted that way by the cry of murder. He had a pail on his arm and a gun barrel in his hand, bloody, as were his sleeves. His brother asked him what he had been doing; and he replied, u I don’t know—what have I?” He gave up the gun barrel without resistance, and as they thought that he had only killed his dog they left him. But when they came to the body of Mrs. Nash they followed him, accompanied by Daniel Nash, who by this time had come up. They found him in the bushes near his mine. He picked up stones, but did not throw them, and they laid hands on him. Nash, who had the breech of the gun in his hand, told him that if he at- empted to get away, he would smite him. Nash also said, u You have killed my mother,” to which he replied “ I ha’ant. I was crazy.” He was arraigned for this homicide before the Superior Cou-rt of Judicature on the fifteenth of June eighteen hun¬ dred and twenty-nine. Many proofs of his insanity beside those we have related were adduced before the jury, which, with the apparent want of motive, and absence of malicious intent, induced the jury to acquit him on the score of insanity. CHARLES F. CLARK. No principle in criminal law is more universally admitted than that the insane man is not responsible for his acts; that guilt does not attach to the individual who is unconscious of his deeds ; that it is the criminal mind, the wicked intent, which makes him the subject of punishment, and yet this principle must be received with some qualification. Voluntary insan¬ ity, brought on by indulgence and excess, is no excuse for crime. A homicide committed in the phrensy of intoxication subjects the offender to punishment. And here insanity and its cause must not be confounded. The law discriminates C 11 230 CHARLES F. CLARK. between the delirium of intoxication and the insanity which it sometimes produces. While the drunkenness continues, the person under its influence is responsible as a moral agent, though reason in the meantime has lost her dominion ; but when the intoxication ceases, if insanity immediately follow as a consequence of the vice, he is in the eye of criminal jus¬ tice, no longer amenable for his acts. This legal distinction in the criminality of acts in relation to insanity and its causes, is exemplified in cases of delirium tremens , a species of mad¬ ness which often deprives the sufferer of the power of distin¬ guishing between right and wrong, and which medical wri¬ ters attribute to frequent intoxication, or the sudden cessation from habitual drinking, or to the combined effect of both up¬ on the system. But however just the distinction, it does not appear to have been judicially settled before the decision of Justices Story and Davis, in a late case, which it is the de¬ sign of these few preliminary remarks to introduce. At the May term, A. D. eighteen hundred and twenty- eight, of the Circuit Court of the United States, Alexander Drew, commander of the whaling ship John Jay, was indict¬ ed and tried for the murder of his second mate, Charles F. Clark, while upon the high seas. It appeared in evidence that previously to the voyage, during which the fatal act took place, Drew had sustained a fair character, and was much respected in the towm of Nantucket, where he belonged. It was proved that he was a man of humane and benevolent dis¬ position, but that for several months he had been addicted to the use of ardent spirits, and for weeks during the voyage had drunk to excess ; that he made a resolution to reform, and suddenly abstaining from drinking, he was seized with the delirium tremens, and that while under the influence of the disease he made an attack upon CJark, and gave him the stab of which he afterwards died. The first witness who testified in the case was George Gal¬ loway, the cooper on board the ship. He stated that he join¬ ed the ship in the Pacific Ocean ; that he found Capt. Drew to be an amiable man, kind to his crew and attentive to his business, but that he often indulged to excess in spirituous liquors. During the latter part of August, eighteen hundred and twenty-seven, he had been in the habit of drinking very freely ; that they spoke a ship from which Capt. Drew ob¬ tained a keg of liquor, and after he returnedrfo his own ves¬ sel he drank until he became stupified : that soon after he recovered a little from his intoxication, and ordered the keg CHARLES F. CLARK. 23 } with its contents to be thrown overboard, and it was accord¬ ingly done. There being now no more liquor on board of the ship, and none to be procured, Capt. Drew, in two or three days discovered signs of derangement. He could not sleep, had no appetite, thought the crew had conspired to kill him, expressed great fears of an Indian who belonged to the ship, called him by name when he was not present, begged he would not kill him, saying to himself he would not drink any more rum. Sometimes he would sing obscene songs and sometimes hymns, would be found alternately praying and swearing. In the night of the thirty-first of August, Drew came on deck and attempted to jump overboard, and when the witness caught hold of him he sunk down trembling and appeared to be very weak. His appearance the next morn¬ ing the witness described to be that of a foolish person. At seven o’clock in the morning of the first of September the witness, Capt. Drew, and others, were at breakfast in the cabin, when Drew suddenly left the table and appeared to con¬ ceal something under his jacket which was on the transom in another part of the cabin. He immediately turned round to Mr. Clark and requested him to go upon deck; the reply of Clark was “when I have done my breakfast, sir.” Drew said “ go upon deck, or I will help you,” arid immediately took from the transom a knife whicfy had been covered over by his jacket, and before another word was spoken by either, he stabbed Clark in the right side of his breast. Clark was rising from his chair at the time the knife struck him, and im¬ mediately fell upon the floor. He afterwards rose up and went upon deck alone—As the witness left the cabin, Drew cocked his pistol, and pointed it at him, and snapped it but it missed fire. Capt. Drew followed them upon deck, and ad¬ dressing the chief mate said, “Mr. Coffin, in twenty-four hours from this, Ahe ship shall go ashore.”—He was then seized, bound hand and foot, arid a guard was stationed over him. His whole demeanor for some time after was that of an insane person. He would frequently call upon persons who were not on board, and who never had connexion with the ship. Some weeks after, when Drew first appeared to be in his right mind, he was informed of the death of Clark and its cause, he re¬ plied that he knew nothing about it, that when he awoke he found himself handcuffed, and that it all appeared to him like a dream. There had not been for months any quarrel or high words between Clark and Capt. Drew. The second witness was Moses Coffin, the first mate of 232 CHARLES F. CLARK. the ship. Coffin stated that Capt. Drew had been in the habit of drinking, and that it was by the order of Drew that the keg of spirits was thrown overboard. He recounted nu¬ merous instances in addition to those before stated, of frivo¬ lous complaints made by Drew of his countermanding his orders, of his fear of being left alone, and his conversation with the imaginary beings by whom he supposed himself sur¬ rounded, all going to prove physical weakness and alienation of mind. Though familiar with his habits, the witness had not before this affair supposed him insane. With regard to Clark, the witness dressed his wound and took care of him. Two physicians at a Spanish port, which they reached soon after, gave it as their opinion that it was not dangerous, and that it would be well in a few days ; but Clark himself had said, in describing his complaint to witness, that the wound caused an internal flow of blood. It healed externally before Clark expired. At this stage of the proceeding, the Court asked the Dis¬ trict Attorney if he expected to change the posture of the case. He admitted that unless upon the facts stated, the Court were of opinion that this insanity, brought on by the antecedent drunkenness constituted no defence for the act, • he could not expect success in the prosecution. After some consultation the opinion of the Court was delivered as fol¬ lows : “ We are of opinion that the indictment upon these admitted facts cannot be maintained. The prisoner was unquestionably insane at the time of committing the offence. And the ques¬ tion made at the bar is whether insanity whose remote cause is habitual drunkenness, is or is not an excuse in a Court of Law for a homicide committed by the party, while so insane, but not at the time intoxicated or under the influence of liquor. We are clearly of opinion that insanity £ a compe¬ tent excuse in such a case. In general, insanity is an excuse for the commission of any crime, because the party has not the possession of his reason which includes responsibility. An exception is when the crime is committed by a party while in a fit of intoxication, the law not permitting a man to avail himself of the excuse of his own gross sin and misconduct, to shelter himself from the legal consequences of such crime. But the crime must take place and be the immediate result of the fit of intoxication, and while it lasts, and not as in this case a remote consequence, superinduced by the antecedent exhaustion of the party, arising from gross and habitual THE SHIP GLOBE. 233 drunkenness. However criminal, in a moral point of view, such an indulgence is, and however justly a party may be responsible for his acts arising from it to Almighty God, hu¬ man tribunals are generally restricted from punishing them, since they are not the acts of a reasonable being. Had the crime been committed while Drew was in a fit of intoxication he would have been liable to be convicted of murder. As he was not then intoxicated, but merely insane from an absti¬ nence from liquor, he cannot be pronounced guilty of the offence. The law looks to the immediate, and not to the re-, mote cause, to the actual state of the party, and not to the cause which produced it. Many species of insanity arise remotely from what, in a moral view, is a criminal neglect or fault of the party, as from religious melancholy, undue ex¬ posure, extravagant pride, ambition, &,c. &c. Yet such in¬ sanity has always been deemed a sufficient excuse for any crime done under its influence.” The jury without retiring from their seats, returned a verdict of not guilty. MUTINY ON BOARD THE SHIP GLOBE. The ship Globe belonged to Nantucket and sailed from Edgarton on the fifteenth of December eighteen hundred and twenty two, on a whaling voyage to the Pacific Ocean. She was commanded by Mr. Thomas Worth. The names of the other officers were as follows: William Beetle, first mate, John Lumbard, second mate, and Nathaniel Fisher third mate. The others of her crew were Samuel B.’ Comstock, Stephen Kidder, Gilbert Smith, Peter Kidder, Columbus Worth, Rowland Jones, John Cleveland, Constant Lewis, Holden Henman, Jeremiah Ingham, Joseph Prass, Rowland Coffin, George Comstock, brother of Samuel, Cyrus M. Hussey, and William Lay. We are thus particular in recording their names because we shall have something to say of each. Shortly after leaving port, Samuel B. Comstock scuffled with Mr. Fisher, the third mate, who proved much too strong for him. Comstock, finding himself worsted, lost his temper and struck the mate, who thereupon seized and threw him very 234 THE SHIP GLOBE. roughly upon the deck. This quarrel led to a result unhappy for both. The ship reached the Sandwich Islands in the following May, and obtained supplies at Oahu. Here six of the crew deserted, and five atrocious villains were shipped in their places. They were Silas Payne, John Oliver, Anthony -Hanson a native of Oahu, William Humphries a black, and Thomas Lilliston. After this the vessel sailed to the coast of Japan, where some of the crew began to grumble because their allowance of meat was not, in their estimation, always sufficient. There w T as no just cause of complaint beside this. The me*n w r ere never abused by the officers, or treated with farther severity than was necessary for the maintenance of discipline. These remarks do not, however, apply to the wretches shipped at Oahu, who received frequent reprimands, and on one occasion one of them was severely whipped. Nevertheless, some of the crew resolved to leave the ship in case she should touch at Fanning’s Island, but this determina¬ tion was superseded by another more desperate and bloody. In the whaling ships of the Pacific the master and the first and second mates stand no watch unless there is blubber to be boiled. The boat steerers and their respective boat’s crews divide the watches. Some whale ships have six boats, but the Globe had but three, and consequently but three watches were set on board. This explanation is necessary to explain what happened after the Globe left the coast of Japan, near the Sandwich Islands. She was cruising for whales in company with the ship Lyra; and the masters had agreed to set a light at night as a signal for tacking, in order that the vessels might not part company. On the night when the terrible event w T e are about to relate took place, Gilbert Smith, a boat steerer, had the first watch. He was relieved by Samuel B. Comstock, also a boat steerer, and the first watch retired to their births. George Comstock took the helm. When his time was out he announced the fact with a rattle, an instrument used on board whale ships for that express purpose. While, thus employed his brother came to him and peremp¬ torily commanded him to desist, threatening to slay nim if he made the least noise, after which he went into the steerage with a lighted lamp. Alarmed at this conduct George was about to sound his rattle again, but Samuel arrived in time to prevent him, and so awed him by his threats that he dared not stir. Samuel Comstock then laid a large, sharp, two edged whaling knife on a bench near the companion way, and went THE SHIP GLOBE. 235 to summon his fellow conspirators. He came back with Payne, Oliver, Humphries and Lilliston. The latter „came no farther than the companion ladder, and then went forward again to his birth. According to his own account he only went so far to show himself as courageous as the rest, and retired because he did not believe they would carry their designs into effect. The rest went into the cabin with Comstock. The captain was asleep in his hammock, when Comstock struck him a blow with an axe which nearly severed his head in two. The stroke was distinctly heard by the man at the helm. After repeating the blow he joined Payne, who was stationed ready to attack the first mate as soon as he should awake, armed with the whaling knife before mentioned. Payne awoke him with a thrust. “ 0 Payne!” he exclaimed, “ O Comstock! is this—Don’t kill me—don’t. Have I not always ?” —“ Yes,” cried Comstock, “you have always been a d—d rascal. You’ll tell lies of me out of the ship will you? It’s a good time to beg now, but too late.” He accompanied these words with oaths and blasphemies which we do not care to repeat. Mr. Beetle finding all expostulation vain, sprung at him and caught him by the throat. The light was struck out in the scuffle and the axe fell from Comstock’s hand. Payne felt for the weapon on the floor and put it into the hand of the murderer, who managed to free his right arm and struck Mr. Beetle a blow that fractured his skull and beat him to the floor. By this time Humphries had brought a lamp and by its light Comstock and Oliver mangled the yet groaning mate. In the meanwhile the second and third mates were lying in their respective state rooms, the doors of which had been fastened by the mutineers. The light was again accidentally extinguished and Comstock, after posting a guard at the second mate’s door went to the binacle to light it. His brother, who still remained at the helm, there asked him if he intended to kill Smith, the other boat steerer. The mutineer replied in the affirmative and asked where Smith was. George answered in tears, that he had not seen him, whereupon Samuel asked why he was weeping. “ I am afraid,” said George, “ that they will hurt me!” “ I will hurt you,” his brother replied, “ if you talk so.” He then returned to the cabin to complete his bloody work. He began by firing a musket bullet through the door of one of the state rooms, as nearly as he could judge in the direction of the officers. He then called to know if either was hit. Fisher replied that he was shot in the mouth. The 236 THE SHIP GLOBE. conspirators then opened the door and entered, Comstock foremost. The officers seized him, and Mr. Fisher took the gun out of his hands and presented the bayonet to his breast. Had he plunged the weapon in his heart it had been better, but on being assured his life should be spared if he would submit, he gave it up. Comstock took it, and deliberately ran Mr. Lumbard through the body several times. He then told Mr. Fisher there was no hope for him. “ You must die,” he said, “ Remember the scrape you got me into.” Finding his case indeed hopeless Mr. Fisher said he would at least die like a man. Comstock bade him turn his back to him, which he did, and firmly said, “ I am ready.” The mutineer put the muzzle of the gun in contact with his head and fired. In the meanwhile Mr. Lumbard, though mortally wounded was begging for life. Having despatched Mr. Fisher, Com¬ stock said to him, “ I am a bloody man: I have a bloody hand, and I will be revenged.” With that he gave him another stab. The wounded man begged for water. u I’ll give you water,” replied the savage, and with one more thrust left him sense¬ less. The conspirators then went on deck, and Comstock called for Smith the other boat steerer. He came forward, resolved either to save his life by supplication or sell it dearly. On meeting, the murderer threw his bloody arms round his neck and asked if he would not be one of his crew. Smith replied that he would be obedient in all things. All hands were then called to make sail, and a light was set for the Lyra to tack while the Globe kept on her course, by which means the ships parted company. The master’s body was next shockingly mutilated by the mutineers, and then committed to the deep. This done, Corn- stock ordered the bodies of the mates to be brought up. Beetle was not quite dead, but they threw him overboard notwithstanding. Fisher was next dragged up by a rope fas¬ tened round his neck. Lumbard was drawn up by the feet, and, strange to relate, he had strength enough to lay hold of the plank sheer as they were putting him into the sea. In this posture he reminded Comstock of his promise to spare his life, but the monster forced him to quit his hold and he fell into the water. As he appeared able to swim Comstock or¬ dered a boat out to despatch him lest he should be picked up by the Lyra, but countermanded the order before the crew had time to obey. They then shaped their course for the Mulgrave Islands. While on the passage thither they effaced THE SHIP GLOBE. 237 all the marks of murder, and appointed officers. Comstock was captain, Payne mate, the black, Humphries, was called purser, and George Comstock was appointed steward in his place. Five days after the mutiny the new steward saw his predecessor loading a pistol in the cabin. On being asked what he was about, the black replied that he had heard some¬ thing very strange and would be ready to meet what was to follow. George immediately informed his brother what he had seen and heard, and the elder mutineer went to the cabin with Payne and asked the black what he intended to do with the pistol. The negro said he had heard something that had put him in fear for his life. To this Comstock answered that if Humphries had heard anything of the kind it was his duty to have come to him with a complaint instead of loading pistols. He then demanded to know what the soi disant pur¬ ser had heard. His replies were vague and unsatisfactory, but the substance of them was that Peter Kidder and Gilbert Smith the boat steerer intended to retake the vessel. Com¬ stock then convened a council of war at which he presided himself, and summoned the accused before him. They utterly ' denied the intention imputed to them. The next morning Comstock appointed two men to act as a jury, and Humphries was brought before them in chains. Smith and Kidder were summoned as witnesses. The trial began with some questions put to the unfortunate negro by Comstock which his confusion and terror prevented him from answering distinctly. At this stage of the proceedings Comstock rose and made a speech. u It appears,” said the barbarous and ignorant wretch, “ that William Humphries has been accused guilty of a treacherous and base act, in loading a pistol for the purpose of shooting Mr. Payne and myself. Having been tried the jury will now give in their verdict, whether guilty or not guilty. If guilty, he shall be hanged to a studdingsail boom rigged out eight feet upon the foreyard, but if found not guilty Smith and Kidder shall be hung upon the aforementioned gallows. ” This morsel of logic left no doubt in the minds of the jury of the guilt of the prisoner, and they found him guilty. That sentence and punishment might be consistent with each other, preparations were instantly made for his death. His watch was taken from him and he was forced forward. Comstock then compelled him to seat himself on the vessel’s gunwale; the rope, reeved to the end of the studdingsail boom, wta fastened round his neck, and a cap was drawn over his face 11 * 238 THE SHIP GLOBE. The whole crew was ordered to take hold of the rope, while ■Comstock stood ready to ring the ship’s bell as a signal to run him up. He was then told that he had but fourteen seconds to live, and asked if he had anything to say for himself. He began, “ Little did I think I was born to come to this.” The bell struck, he was instantly at the yard arm, and died without a struggle. After he had hung a few minutes the rope was cut to let him fall overboard, but became entangled, and the body was towed some distance alongside. A weight was then attached to it and it sunk. Thus died one of the mutineers while the blood of his murdered officers was scarcely dry upon his hands. Two days after the session of this notable court of justice the Globe passed the King’s Mill Islands, near Marshall’s Island. A boat was despatched to the shore, but did not land, as the natives appeared hostile. Some of them came off toward the boat in a canoe, but taking a sudden fright paddled back again. Just as they turned the boat’s crew fired a volley and killed or wounded several. The white savages then gave chase to a canoe in which were two of the islanders, on whom they fired as soon as they came within gunshot. On approach¬ ing more nearly it was seen that one of the natives was wounded. In an agony of fear they held up their garments and some beads, giving their inhuman pursuers to understand by signs that they would give all for their lives. The boat returned on board without doing them any farther injury. Three days after this wanton and unnecessary act of cruelty the vessel made the Mulgrave Islands. Comstock sent a boat on shore which returned with some of the native women, some cocoa nuts and fish. The next day the muti¬ neers looked about for some spot fit for cultivation, and at last came to a low narrow island where they determined to anchor the ship. On the fifteenth of February, four days after their arrival, all hands were set to work to construct a raft of the spare spars on which the provisions etc. might be conveyed on shore. Comstock’s statistic talents now produced a penal code, by which the conduct of his subjects should be regulated. The penalty for one offence was as follows. If any one saw a sail in the offing and did not report it instantly he was to be bound hand and foot, put into the ship’s caldron, and boiled in oil! Every man was obliged to sign and seal the instrument of which this was a part. The mutineers sealed with black seals and the rest with blue and white ones. THE SHIP GLOBE. 239 The raft being completed it was anchored with one end rest¬ ing on the rocks, while the other was kept seaward by an anchor. A good part of the provisions were sent on shore, as well as most of the ship’s sails. While this was going on Comstock was on shore, while Payne, the second in command, remained on board, to attend to discharging the lading. Comstock, it seems, was much elated at the acquisition of so much property, for he gave the natives the officers’ clothing and other articles. Payne took umbrage at this and sent him word that if he did not change his conduct he would do no more, but would leave the ship. Comstock was much irritated at this message, and sent for him. An altercation ensued, and Comstock said u I helped to take the ship and have navigated her to this place I have done all I could to get the sails and rigging on shore, and now you may do what you please with her. But if any man wants anything of me, I’ll take a musket with him.” “ That,” replied Payne, “ is what I want. I am ready.” This reply cooled Comstock’s courage and he ended the debate by saying he would go on board the vessel once more, and after that Payne might do as he pleased with her. Accordingly he went on board, abused the crew and challenged them to fight with him. He destroyed the paper on which he had recorded his laws and possessed himself of a sword, which he said he would keep by him as long as he lived. Then, as he left the ship, he bade those on board look to themselves, as he was going to leave them. He then left his companions, and joined a party of the natives whom he endeavoured to persuade to destroy Payne and the rest. Before dark he passed their tents with fifty of the savages which made Payne believe he meditated some mischief. Payne, therefore, posted sentinels, with orders to shoot any who should attempt to pass without giving the countersign. However, the night passed without any dis¬ turbance. In the morning Comstock was seen coming toward the tents and Payne proposed to Smith to shoot him. As he, and those who had not been concerned in the mutiny refused to take any part in the business, Payne and the other mutineers loaded their muskets, and stood in front of the tents to await his arrival. He advanced with a drawn sword in his hand in a menacing fashion, but when he saw their muskets levelled he cried to them not to shoot him for he would not hurt them. Nevertheless they fred and killed him on the spot. Two balls struck him, one in the breast and the other in the head 240 THE SHIP GLOBE. t Fearing that he would rise again, Payne ran to him with an axe and almost severed his head from his body. So died, by the hands of his own instruments, the wretch who conceived and carried into effect the most abominable mutiny that has come to our knowledge. His former followers buried him as well as they were able. They sewed his body in a shroud of canvass, and dug a grave in the sand, into which they put with his body every article that had belonged to him, except¬ ing his watch. The funeral ceremonies concluded with read¬ ing a chapter in the Bible and firing a musket over him. In the afternoon Payne sent Smith on board with six men to take care of the ship. This man had plotted to carry her off, and this order afforded him a fair opportunity. In the evening, he furnished his men with weapons to keep the muti¬ neers off in case they should attempt to board, and cleared the running rigging. A handsaw was greased and laid by the windlass to saw off the cable, and a hatchet was placed by the mizzen mast to cut the stern fast. Smith then took one man with him upon the fore topsail yard, loosed the sail and shook out the reefs, while two others were loosing the main and maintop sails. This they did with the greatest possible celerity, fearing that the mutineers would come off and put them all to death. When the sails were all ready Smith de¬ scended, took the handsaw and sawed off the cable. The ship’s head fell away from the land and a favorable breeze instantly filled the canvass. The stern fast was then cut and the Globe departed from the Mulgrave Islands forever. We will follow her for awhile before we return to those, left on shore. After a long and stormy voyage she reached Valparaiso, where the American consul took possession of her and sent her scanty crew on board a French frigate, in irons. They were shortly after examined and gave the same account of the mutiny and subsequent proceedings that we have related above. They all agreed that Joseph Thomas, who had come with them to Valparaiso, was privy to the mutiny. The ship was then new rigged and sailed under the command of a Mr. King who brought her safe to Nantucket, where Thomas was committed to jail to await his trial. We will now return to the Mulgrave Islands. While Smith was preparing for escape Payne set a watch to guard against the natives, and the crew lay down and slept. Suddenly they were awakened by the cry, “ The ship has gone! The ship has gone!” They hastened to the beach and found that the THE SHIP GLOBE. 241 news was true. When morning came nothing was to be seen of her. Payne vented his rage in execrations, but finally re¬ covered his temper, and set about building a boat. He told the natives, indeed, that the wind had forced the ship to sea and that she would never return, but in reality he feared that she would reach some port, whence his own punishment would soon come. The natives were about them in great numbers eyeing their proceedings with no little curiosity. Up to this time their deportment had been friendly: they gave the whites bread fruit, fish, cocoanuts; in short, everything they had, and re¬ ceived in return tools, pieces of iron and such other articles as could conveniently be spared. The small islands which compose the Mulgrave group are in many instances separated from each other by reefs of coral extending from the extreme point of one to another. These reefs are nearly dry at low water, and the inhabitants pass from one island to another on foot. This fact was discovered on the twentieth of the month by a party of the whites who crossed over to the next island. After following the tracks of the savages seven miles they came to a village where they were hospitably received. The natives presented them with bread fruit and cocoa nut milk; and the wonder of those who had not yet seen a white man was excessive. The women and children expressed their astonishment by uncouth grim¬ aces and boisterous laughter, dancing and shouting for joy. What surprised them most was the color of the skins of their visiters. At last the whites left them and returned to their tents. The next day another party went to the village, carrying with them firearms, the use of which they demonstrated. The natives were struck dumb with wonder at the reports of the guns and the effect of the bullets. Yet though thus con¬ vinced of the power of the whites they continued to visit the tents on the most amicable terms. The mariners, too, lived without fear; placing the utmost confidence in them. Payne and Oliver took one of the boats and set out to ex¬ plore the group. The next day they returned, bringing with them two young women, whom they took to wife. These females at first showed no dissatisfaction. The mutineers now abandoned all distrust and no longer posted a guard, and perhaps had matters rested there, there would have been no need of any. But one morning Payne’s wife was missing, at which he was greatly enraged. He, Oliver and Lilliston, 242 THE SHIT GLOBE. ' set out in search of her, armed with muskets. They reached the village in the night, and hid themselves, in hopes of seeing the absentee in the morning. When day broke they saw that one of the huts w as thronged with the natives, and the woman they sought was among them. One of the whites fired a blank cartridge, and they all showed themselves at once. The natives were frightened and fled, but Payne followed till he came up with the one he sought and laid hands on her. He took her back with him to his tent, where he first gave her a severe whipping and then put her in irons. This treatment he repeated several times, till the savages became irritated, and retaliated by theft and other petty vexations. One morning it was found that the tool chest had been bro¬ ken open in the night, and that some of the tools had been taken aw T ay. This put Payne in an outrageous passion and he vowed vengeance on the thieves. He informed several of the natives of his loss, and made them comprehend that something terrible would happen if the articles were not re¬ stored. The savages were about the tent all day, expressing their concern, and at night one of them brought back the half of a chisel that had been broken. Instead of thanking him for his pains Payne put him in irons, and told him that he must go with him to the village in the morning, to point out where the rest of the articles might be found, as well as the person who had stolen them. In the morning he armed four men and gave them powder and small shot. He refused them balls, because, as he said, the mere report of their guns would be enough to frighten the savages into submission. He put the prisoner into their hands, and ordered them to bring the things lost and the thief or thieves. They succeeded in getting a hatchet, but as they were about to return the natives attacked them in a body, with stones. They retreated, and the savages overtaking the hindmost, named Jones, killed him on the spot. They threw their missiles with great accuracy, and the three survivors reached the tents with great difficulty, bruised and bleeding. They were followed by the enemy, prepared for war. No time was lost in arming, and the motions of the whites were none the more tardy that they saw the islanders collecting from all quarters. The enemy stopped a short distance before the tents, and appeared to hold a council. After some deliberation they began to tear to pieces the boat Payne had been build¬ ing, than which nothing could have grieved the mutineer more. To stay their proceedings he ventured to go among THE SHIP GLOBE 243 them, and after a long conference he returned to communi¬ cate the conditions he had been able to procure. These were as follows. The islanders were to have all the property of the whites, even their tents, and the latter were to go with the savages to their villages and live among them, governed by their customs. These terms were enforced by menacing gestures and the brandishing of clubs and spears. After this treaty the islanders began the pillage, and pulled the tents down. This done they fell upon their prisoners with the utmost fury. Two only escaped with life: William Lay, and Cyrus Hussey. The former had been withdrawn from the tents before the fray, by an old man and his wife, who now covered his body with their own, to protect him from the rest. Hussey was saved in nearly the same manner. These two men remained among the Mulgrave Islands some months, living with the natives, wearing their dress and speak ing their language. After the first ebullition of their rage had subsided the natives treated them well, though they were always suspicious of some injury to be done by them. At last, on the twenty-third of December, eighteen hundred and twenty-five, a vessel hove in sight, to the alarm and confusion of the islanders. After mature deliberation they agreed to swim on board one by one, and when two hundred should have gained the deck to assail and massacre the crew. But the sight of the cannon and the arguments of their prisoners induced them to forego their design. The vessel proved to be the United States’ schooner Dolphin, which had been sent in quest of the mutineers. Lay and Hussey were soon released, and the Dolphin left the Mulgraves. An account of these islands, and of the adventures of the prisoners would no doubt be interesting, but as these matters do not fall within the scope of our plan we refer our reader to a little book written by Lay and Hussey. We have no means to ascertain what became of Joseph Thomas, the only surviving mutineer of the Globe. Our impres¬ sion is that he was tried and acquitted for want of evidence. These unhappy adventures have been commemorated by ah American poet whose name we do not remember. We believe, however, he may frequently be seen in Washington street. The last four lines of his poem must conclude our article. “ Let this example a warning be To all young men as follow the sea; Let your correction be ever so severe Stick to your duty and don’t mutineer ” % 244 JAMES PORTER. JAMES PORTER Was an Irishman, and a weaver by trade. He had been a robber in his own country. We know not what events induced him to seek a refuge in America, or what were his first adven¬ tures on this side of the Atlantic. We first find him in Phil¬ adelphia, ostensib y working at his trade, but in reality gaining his livelihood by dishonest practices. He had two accom¬ plices, George Wilson and Abraham Poteet, weavers, who had learned their trade in the penitentiary. The former was but twenty-three years of age, yet though his days were few his iniquities were many. Poteet had been convicted at the Bal¬ timore City Court of stealing four handkerchiefs, for which he was sentenced to five years imprisonment. For a second theft he was sentenced to imprisonment. He had also been convicted of breaking prison, of attempting a stage robbery and wounding the driver, and of shooting at the keeper of the Baltimore penitentiary. He was a native of Baltimore, and Wilson also was an American. They became acquainted in the penitentiary, and were jointly concerned in the attempt to break out, in which the life of the keeper was endangered. Such were James Porter and his associates. Porter and Poteet became tired of stealing wee things , for so silver spoons were denominated by Porter, and resolved to rob the Reading mail, in order to make their fortune at once. To prepare for this exploit Porter and Wilson crossed the Schuylkill on the twentieth of November eighteen hundred and twenty-nine, and broke into the shop of Mr. Watt, a gun¬ smith. They took thence five pistols and two powder flasks: After this the three companions repeatedly practised with their pistols to ascertain their qualities. On the sixth of December the mail stage started from Philadelphia at two in the morning driven by one Samuel M’ Crea. There were nine passengers inside and another on the'box with the driver. The night was dark and cloudy. When the stage had got two miles from the city and was near¬ ly opposite Turner’s Line, Porter started from the road side, took the off leading hoise by the head and turned him round. At the same time Wilson and Poteet came up, one on each side of the coacl, with presented pistols, bidding the driver JAMES PORTER. 245 stop, “ or they would blow his d—d guts out.” He struck the horses with his whip, but could not make them go forward. Poteet then ordered the driver and the passenger who sat beside him to come down. The driver obeyed and the pas¬ senger was about descending, when Porter swore at his com¬ rades for not putting out the lamps. Poteet put out the lamp on his side with the butt of his pistol: Wilson merely broke the glass of the lamp next him. Porter then left the horses’ heads, ran up and dashed the light out with his pistol. He asked the passenger if he had any weapons, and being answer¬ ed in the negaiive, took his handkerchief and tied his hands with it. The robbers then rifled the passenger and bound the driver. Poteet asked the driver if he did not think this a very rough introduction. He answered that it was. The rob¬ ber then asked him if he got his living by stage driving, and he replied that he did and “ it was a hard way too.” “ Well,” said the ruffian, “ this is the way we get our living, and ’tis very hard with us sometimes.” While these matters were going on Poteet and Wilson held their pistols in their hands, but Porter, more collected, thrust his into his bosom. This done, Porter and Poteet went to the doors, while Wilson watched the two bondmen. Porter told the passengers they should receive no injury if they did not resist. A Mr. Clarke proposed to attack the robbers, but was overruled by the rest of the passengers. The gentlemen then concealed some of their valuables. Porter asked if any of them were armed, and being answered in the negative, answered sneeringly “ that it was a pity.” The thieves next compelled the true men to alight, one by one. Porter searched them, and tied their hands with their kerchiefs. As fast as he tied them he turned them over to Poteet, who kept them quiet with his pistol. One of the pas¬ sengers after being tied asked the robbers for a quid of tobac¬ co, which was readily put into his mouth by Poteet. Anoth¬ er was very reluctant to part with his watch which he said had been long in his family, and at his urgent entreaty Poteet re¬ stored it. From another, who was a physician, Porter took the seal of a corporation and a case of lancets, but put them back into the doctor’s pockets on being told what they were. The gentleman then asked Poteet for half a dollar to pay for his breakfast, and the robber complied. Another of the pas¬ sengers asked Porter to restore his papers. “ O,” said the tuffian, “I dare say all this business will be published, and then I shall know where to d' rect the papers. I will send you a letter.” 246 JAMES PORTER. Mr. Clarice was the last but one who came out of the coach As Porter was plundering him he said that if the other pas¬ sengers had followed his advice they would not have been robbed. “ Well done,” replied the robber, “ I like to see a man of spunk.” After being tied Mr. Clarke walked up to Poteet in order to be able to recognise him, if they should meet again. The rogue bade him stand off*. “ I hope,” said Mr. Clarke, u you are not afraid of a small man, and he bound too.” “No sir,” said Poteet,“ but I don’t want to be better ac¬ quainted with you.” u l hope,” rejoined Mr. Clarke, “ that we shall have a longer acquaintance than this yet.” “ I hope not, sir,” said Poteet. On Mr. Clarke’s again observing that the passengers would have done better to resist, Porter re¬ marked that if they had, they would have seen the conse¬ quences. After the passengers had all been examined the robbers took the baggage out of the coach and from before and be¬ hind it. They then tried to open the boot in which the mail bags were contained, but finding some difficulty they com¬ pelled the driver to do it. Mr. Clarke now remarked that another stage would soon be along, and this intelligence quick¬ ened their proceedings. One of them busied himself in rifling the mails and trunks while the other two put the passengers into the coach again without untying them. They tied the driver again and lifted him into his seat, after which they tied the leading horses to the fence by the road side. This done the robbers went off, so softly that neither the driver nor any of the passengers were aware of their departure. The gentlemen sat still in the coach some minutes after they were gone, till one of them contrived to untie himself, and unbound the rest. After some consultation it was thought best to return to the city. When they arrived at the post- office a person was despatched to the scene of the robbery, where he found the mail bags cut open and the packages and newspapers scattered ai^und, but the villains had carried away the letters. On the sixteenth of December Wilson carried one of the watches they had taken to Crosswel Holmes, a pawnbroker, and pledged it for twenty dollars. He said he was a carpen¬ ter unable to get employment, and was therefore obliged to raise money on his watch. He agreed to repay Mr. Holmes in — days, with two do'ars commission, and signed the obli¬ gation John James, North Second street. On the twenty-first Porter carried another watch (a golden JAMES PORTER. 247 one) to a Mr. Prentiss, a pawnbroker, and asked sixty dollars on it. Mr. Prentiss refused to advance more than forty-five, *when Porter left him, saying he could get fifty anywhere On this occasion he represented himself as a carpenter, who wanted money to repair his house. The next day Wilson called on Mr. Prentiss with the same watch, saying the gen¬ tleman who owned it had made up his mind to take the forty- five dollars offered, and that he would act as his agent. Mr. Prentiss gave him the money, and wrote a receipt which Wil¬ son signed u George Brown, for John Keys.” Nothing occurred to direct suspicion to either of our rogues as the robbers of the mail till the middle of January, when a Mr. Jeffers, a police officer of Baltimore, found reason to be¬ lieve that Poteet and Wilson were the persons who shot at the keeper of the penitentiary and at the stage driver before mentioned. He sought them and found Wilson first, in a tavern. The robber drew a pistol from his pocket and bade Mr. Jeffers stand off, but the latter seized him by the wrist and collar and held him till the landlord came into the room. The landlord took the pistol from Wilson at the request of Jeffers, who then asked the culprit for the other, but he de¬ nied having any. However, after the police officer had near¬ ly strangled him he gave up another. Mr. Jeffers thrust him into a chair when he said u Let me up and I’ll give it to you.” With the landlord’s assistance Mr. Jeffers took him to a mag¬ istrate’s office. He was committed to prison. The next day Mr. Jeffers visited him and told him he had heard that two men had offered to pawn a gold watch, and he believed from the description that he was one of them. At the same time he gave Wilson a description of the other man. Wilson replied that it was Porter, and but for him, he, Wil¬ son, would not have been in this difficulty. He added that Porter had a better right to suffer than himself, and he would therefore disclose the whole matter. His story, as told to Mr. Jeffers, was as follows. He had gone out three several times with Porter to rob the Lancaster mail, but his heart failing him, they returned with¬ out effecting their purpose. When Porter and Poteet pro¬ posed to him to rob the Reading mail he would have had nothing to do with it had he not feared that Porter would kill him if he refused. He then described the robbery, and the part each had taken in it, pretty much as we have related above. While the pillage was going on, he said, he was very anxious to get away, but Porter declared he would not hur- 248 JAMES PORTER. ry himself. He added that he was sorry he had ever seen Porter. He was steady at work in Philadelphia till he came and seduced him from his employment. He believed Porter would as lief kill a man as eat his breakfast. All this con¬ fession took place without any inducement on the part of Jeffers. This confession put the police of Baltimore on the look out foi Porter and Poteet. On the ninth of February Mr. Stewait, a constable, met Porter in the street, and accosted him with a question concerning his health. He added that he had been looking for him all day and must now take him with him. Porter asked what he wanted, and on what authority he arrested him. The officer replied that he car¬ ried his authority in his face, and then asked if he knew Wilson or Poteet, or could tell where they might be found. He denied all knowledge of them but followed Mr. Stewart quietly to his house. The officer searched him, and took from him a powder flask and a pair of pistols. Porter ask¬ ed if he meant to keep them, and the constable replied that he did. Porter very sternly said, “ I hope I shall live to buy another pair for somebody.” He admitted before a magistrate that he knew Poteet. While in prison at Baltimore Wilson was visited by Mr. Reeside, the mail contractor. Wilson offered to tell him the whole story, but Mr. Reeside told him expressly that if he did ‘ it must be without fee or reward. Wilson said that as he had mentioned the matter to another person before, he had no ob¬ jection to repeat it. Porter, he stated, had said to him that it was better to rob the mail and get something at once than re¬ main in the city picking up silver spoons as they were in the habit of doing. After some deliberation he replied that he would not engage in the undertaking unless Poteet would join in it. At first Porter objected to taking in a third part¬ ner, but finally consented that Poteet should join them. They had been told that the Lancaster mail was a very valuable one, and went out three times to rob it. But his heart failed him; he did not wish to commit robbery or murder, and told Porter so. The third time they went to attack the Lancaster stage, it was full of passengers, and this time Porter threatened to kill* him if he flinched. Through fear of Porter he feigned him¬ self sick, and sat down by the road side and said he could not walk. Porter threatened to murder him if he ever flinch¬ ed again, and proposed that they should attempt the Kirnber- ton mail, saying there would not be so many passengers or so JAMES PORTER. 249 great a risk. At last they committed the robbery we have re¬ lated, and when they had finished Porter said to him, “ George, the six o’clock stage is coming along. We may as well give them a touch as not.” On his refusal Porter got into a vio¬ lent passion and cursed him for a coward. Alarmed at Por¬ ter’s threats Wilson quickened his pace toward the city, the other abusii g him all the way. Mr. Stewart conducted Wilson to Philadelphia first, and Porter afterwards. After they got into the stage Wilson said that he believed his case was hopeless, and that he would plead guilty to every charge brought against him. Mr. Stewart asked if he were not afraid to undertake to rob a stage so full of passengers. u No,” replied the villain, u three good men could rob a dozen at any time.” Mr. Stewart said he supposed they had made good provision of ropes to tie the passengers, but Wilson replied that they had not: they pre¬ sumed each passenger had a handkerchief, with which he might be tied. Mr. Stewart asked what they would have done if the passengers had resisted. u Why,” said Wilson, “ if they had I suppose we should have shot two or three of them, and that would have damped the rest.” As they came toward Philadelphia, Wilson pointed out the spot where he and his companions had robbed the Kimberton mail, and afterwards the shop they had broken open to procure weapons. Poteet was also arrested, and consented to save his own life by becoming state’s evidence. Porter’s demeanor after his arrest was marked by that cool courage that seems to have been the only favorable trait in his character. He spoke freely of his past life, without showing the least compunction, and said that if the passengers had re¬ sisted he would not'have scrupled to shed blood. On the twenty-sixth of April eighteen hundred and thirty, James Porter and. George Wilson were brought before the Circuit Court, and the grand jury presented six bills of indictment against them. For robbing the Kimberton mail and putting the carrier thereof in jeopardy of his life. For robbing the Kimberton mail. For obstructing the Kimberton mail. For robbing the Reading mail and putting the carrier in jeopardy of his life. For robbing the Reading mail. For obstructing the Reading mail. They pleaded not guilty to all these indictments and applied I 2 50 JAMES PORTER. * 0 • for separate trials, which was granted. Wilson was first arraigned on the fourth indictment; for robbing the Reading mail and putting the carrier in jeopardy of his life. The in¬ dictment was divided into three counts. The law touching this offence is, u That if any person shall rob any carrier of the mail of the United States, or other person entrusted therewith, of such mail, or of part thereof, such offender or offenders shall, on conviction, be imprison¬ ed not less than five or exceeding ten years; and if convicted a second time for a like offence, he or they shall suffer death; or if in effecting such robbery of the mail the first time the offender shall wound the person having custody thereof, or put his life in jeopardy by the use of dangerous weapons, such offender or offenders shall suffer death. And if any person shall attempt to rob the mail of the United States, by assaulting the person having custody thereof, shooting at him, or his horse, or mule, or threatening him with dangerous weapons, and the robbery is not effected, every such offender on conviction thereof shall be punished by imprisonment not less than two nor exceeding ten years.” On the trial Wilson was identified as one of the robbers, by the evidence of some of the passengers as well as that of Poteet. The watches taken from the passengers, and pawned by him were produced in court and sworn to. So were the weapons stolen from Mr. Watt’s shop. The other facts re¬ lating to the robbery were proved, in substance, as we have given them. The jury found a verdict of Guilty. Porter was next arraigned and found guilty on the same evidence. Sentence of death was passed upon him and Wilson. After sentence Porter showed contrition, but suf¬ fered with the same hardihood he had exhibited throughout. We can accord him no pity. He was the master spirit, the ringleader, the captain of a band of highway robbers. He had collected a gang about him, drilled, marshalled, and equipped them, and led them forth to an unholy warfare against the peace and interest of society. Wilson was pardoned by President Jackson, for what reason we cannot pretend to divine. The pardon set forth that certain disclosures were expected from him, but we never heard that he made any. A great many of the citizens of Philadelphia were much irritated at this partiality, and ex¬ pressed their resentment in a rather ludicrous manner. A tavernkeeper in the city had lately adorned his sign post with JAMES PORTER. 251 an effigy of the reforming president, and the mob assembled to destroy it. The publican begged them to pause, and con¬ sider that the sign had cost him thirty-five dollars, but the angry citizens were resolved that this should be no objection. They collected the amount on the spot by subscription, tore down the portrait, and made a bonfire of its fragments. We know not that we can close our article better than by copying some remarks of Mr. .Dallas, the district attorney, on the importance of the mail. u The mail, as every one knows, is the medium by which the benefits and charms of social intercourse are maintained.; and in a trading community like ours, the commerce, the wealth, the comfort, the security of almost every individual depend upon the mail. u The' mail” carries through this vast continent every day, property to an immense amount It holds communion with, and draws together distant friends. It apprises far-off merchants of the success or the hazard of their speculations. It produces a sympathy of feeling, an identity of interest, and a fellowship of knowledge between those separated by an almost frightful space. Like the veins and arteries of the human system, it cannot be assailed with¬ out injury ; to rob a single channel of its accustomed succour, is to draw the very life’s blood from the social and trading in¬ tercourse of mankind. Severe penalties are therefore im¬ posed in order to protect it. These penalties are justified by other considerations. In this country the facilities for plunder are so great, that if connived at, or unpunished when detected, no man can estimate the wide-spread and fatal consequences. u In the United States there are not less than nine thousand different post-offices, and the length of road over which the mails traverse, embraces an extent of not less than twelve thousand miles in a continued line ! These mails are carried in coaches, on horseback, in steam boats, and by other con¬ veyances, travelling, within the most moderate computation, the enormous space of fourteen millions of miles in the course of a single year! “ How fearfully and constantly exposed then is this instru¬ ment of intercourse in trade, civilisation, and feeling! How necessary to protect it—not as you would an almost valueless piece of personal property—a hat, a spoon, an umbrella, •-, which administers to a momentary comfort, but as you would that which is the very life and soul of all that contri¬ butes to comfort, security, and happiness. “ In no country on the globe, perhaps, is the mail exposed to greater danger than in this. This danger arises from the 252 JOHN FRANCIS KNAPP AND nature of our country, its vast extent, and the comparative sparseness of its population. We are but on the threshold of a boundless and unexplored continent. Some of our mails travel through dark and dismal forests and deserts, over mighty rivers, through gloomy swamps, and on untenanted mountain's, continually incurring all kinds of danger, and that danger hopeless, unless the powerful arm of the law, and the still more powerful arm of Providence be lifted for its protection. u The voice of our citizens imperatively demands the pro¬ tection of the mails: and this demand is made because every man feels that he has a right to do with his property what he pleases ; he has a right to move about himself and to transfer his worldly substance when and as often as he pleases.” JOHN FRANCIS KNAPP AND JOSEPH JENKINS KNAPP. On the evening of the sixth of April, eighteen hundred and * thirty, Mr. Joseph White, a respectable and very rich citizen of Salem, Essex county, Massachusetts, retired to his bed at nine o’clock, his usual hour. The only inmates of his house beside himself were Benjamin White and Lydia Kimball, his servants, and Mrs. Beckford his niece, who officiated as his house-keeper. This night Mrs. Beckford was absent on a visit to her family at Wenham. In the morning Mr. White was found dead in his bed. His skull had been fractured by a violent blow, and he had received several stabs with a dag¬ ger in his breast and left side. Either the fracture in his skull or the stabs were sufficient to have caused his death. This barbarous murder done in the watches of the ni^ht awakened the wildest alarm in the community. Such utter atrocity had never been known in Massachusetts. Here was no purpose of revenge, no burst of passion, no provocation to palliate the guilt of the assassin. It was apparent from all circumstances that the crime was premeditated. No force had been used in effecting an entranoe. The window by which the assassin had entered was unbarred, and the person who slept nearest Mr. White was out of the way. The object of the murderer had been blood, not plunder, for nothing was taken away. There appeared to have been no motive. The excitement was tremendous. A great reward was offered by JOSEPH JENKINS KNAPP. 253 the government for the discovery of the assassin, and Mr Stephen White the nephew of the deceased, offered another. Some of the citizens of Salem formed themselves into a Com¬ mittee of Vigilance for the express purpose of investigation: but for awhile no discovery was made. Shortly after the two persons whose names stand at the head of this article, rode to Wenham in a chaise. On their return they reported that an attempt had been made to rob them near Wenham Pond, by two men. They had resisted manfully and saved their purses, and the robbers had taken to flight. This account appeared in one of the Salem newspapers, which at the same time vouched for the respectability of the Knapps. No one, for a while, doubted it. On the contrary the belief gained ground that Essex county was infested by an organ¬ ized band of robbers and murderers. The first step taken by the proper authorities was to arrest a young man, the nephew of Mrs. Beckford. Nothing ap¬ peared against him: besides, he proved an alibi and was dis¬ charged. About the fifteenth of May, a letter was found in the Salem post-office directed to J. J. Knapp. The father of the young man bore the same name and took the letter from the office, supposing it to have been intended for himself. We let this letter speak for itself. “ Belfast, May 12, 1830. “ Dear Sir—I have taken the pen at this time to address an utter stranger, and strange as it may seem to you, it is for the purpose of requesting the loan of three hundred and fifty dol¬ lars, for which I can give you no security but my word, and in this case consider this to be sufficient. My call for money at this time is pressing or I would not trouble you; but with that sum \ have the prospect of turning it to so much advan¬ tage, as to be able to refund it with interest in the course of six months. At all events I think that it will be for your interest to comply with my request, and that immediately— that is, not to put off any longer than you receive this. Then sit down and enclose me the money with as much despatch as possible, for your own interest. This, sir, is my advice, and if you do not comply with it, the short period between now and November will convince you that you have denied a request, the granting of which will never injure you, the re¬ fusal of which will ruin you. Are you surprised at this asser¬ tion—rest assured that I make it, reserving to myself the rea¬ sons and a series of facts, which are founded on such a bottom 12 254 JOHN FRANCIS KNAPP AND as will bid defiance to property or quality. It is useless for me to enter into a discussion of facts which must inevitably harrow up your soul—no—I will merely tell you that I am ac¬ quainted with your brother Franklin and also the business that he was transacting for you on the 2d of April last; and that I think that you was very extravagant in giving one thou¬ sand dollars to the person that would execute the business for you—but you know best about that, you see that such things will leak out. To conclude, sir, I will inform you, that there is a gentleman of my acquaintance in Salem, that will ob¬ serve that you do not leave town before the 1st of June, giv¬ ing you sufficient time between now and then to comply with my request; and if I do not receive a line from you, together with the above sum, before the 22d of this month, I shall wait upon you with an assistant. I have said enough to convince you of my knowledge, and merely inform you that you can, when you answer, be as brief as possible. Direct yours to Charles Grant, Jun. of Prospect, Maine.” Mr. Knapp Seinor handed this letter to the Committee of Vigilance. On the sixteenth of the month J. J. Knapp Jr. in¬ formed’one Allen that his father had received an anonymous letter u from a fellow down east,” which contained a great deal of trash and had given it to the Committee of Vigilance at his request. He then gave Allen two, one superscribed to the Hon. Mr. Barstow and the other to Mr. Stephen White, and desired him to put them in the post-office, in order, as he said, u that this silly affair might be nipped in the bud.” Allen did as he was desired. That to Mr. Barstow was directed in¬ side to the Committee of Vigilance, and ran as follows. * “ May 13th, 1830. u Gentlemen of the Committee of Vigilance—Hearing that you have taken up four young men on suspicion of being con¬ cerned in the murder of Mr. White, I think it time to in¬ form you that Stephen White came to me one night and told me if I would remove the old gentleman, he would give me 5000 dollars; he said he was afraid he would alter his will if he lived any longer. I told him I would do it, but I was afeard to go into the house, so he said he’d go with me, that he would try to get into the house in the evening and open the window, would then go home and go to bed and meet me again about 11. I found him and we both went into his chamber. I Cruck him on the head with a heavy piece of lead and then JOSEPH JENKINS KNAPP. 255 stabbed him with a dirk; he made the finishing stroke with another. He promised to send me the money next evening, and has not sent it yet, which is the reason that I mention this. Yours &c. Grant.” The letter sent to Mr. Stephen White was in these terms. “ Lynn, May 12, 1830. u Mr. White will send the five thousand dollars or a part of it before to-morrow night, or suffer the painful consequences. N. Claxton, 4th.” Immediately on the receipt of the letter from Belfast, sign¬ ed Grant, the Committee of Vigilance sent a letter directed according to request. At the same time they despatched a police officer with orders to watch the post-office, and arrest the person who should apply for the letter. In consequence of this arrangement a person by the name of Palmer was taken. He was a man of infamous character, and had been two years in Thomastown, where, as he said, he had been u occupied in cutting stone for the state.” In other words he had passed two years in the state prison. Upon the strength of information obtained from this gallows bird six persons were apprehended, viz. John Francis Knapp, Joseph Jenkins Knapp, his brother, Richard and George Crowninshield, also two brothers, Benjamin Selman, and one Chase. The Knapps were both very young men, mariners by pro¬ fession. Joseph, the younger, had married the daughter of Mrs. Beckford, the niece of Mr. White before mentioned. The Crowninshields belonged to a highly respectable family, but were both desperate villains, Richard especially. He had been suspected of several daring robberies before. He was ostensibly a machinist, but in reality one who lived by depredations on the public. On searching his premises a quantity of stolen goods were found, which discovery and the belief that his case was hopeless reduced him to despair. He therefore hung himself with his neckcloth to the grating of his cell, and died as he had lived, obdurate to the last. He left two letters in which he acknowledged the excessive wickedness of his character in general terms, but made no direct avowal of his participation in the slaughter of Mr. White. The Reverend Mr. Colman was anxious for the sake of their family that one of the Knapps should confess, and save his life by becoming state’s evidence. He therefore went to J. J. Knapp’s cell to advise nim to this course. He told him that unless he confessed before the arrival of Palmer’s par- 256 JOHN FRANCIS KNAPP AND don, would be too late. Joseph agreed to confess, provided the consent of his brother could be obtained. In this inter¬ view Mr. Colman learned some of the particulars of the mur¬ der, particularly where the club with which the first blow was struck, was hidden. He afterwards went to see John F. Knapp, and told him that if Joseph did not confess there would be no chance of saving his life, but if he did, he might, thereby escape, and he, John Francis, might be pardoned on account of his youth. He moreover asked Francis at what time the murder was done. He replied, at an early hour of the evening, and that but one person was in the house at the time. That person was Richard Crowninshield. He also stated that the club before mentioned was in a rat-hole under the steps of the Howard street Church, and that the dagger had been worked up in a factory. It had been intended at first to indict Richard Crownin¬ shield as principal in the murder, and the Knapps as accessa¬ ries, but the death of Crowninshield frustrated this arrange- . ment. As the law stands no person can be convicted as an accessary to any crime before the principal has been convict¬ ed. It was therefore necessary to indict one of the Knapps as principal. The law itself is absurd: Here was a very val¬ uable citizen slaughtered in his bed by a hired bravo, the bravo dead, and unless it could be proved that one of those who instigated and paid him was present aiding and abetting at the perpetration of the deed, this dreadful crime must have remained unpunished. The Knapps though more guilty than their miserable tool rnust have gone at large, and might have avowed their siri with impunity. Luckily y evi¬ dence was found, sufficient to obviate this difficulty. The grand jury found an indictment against John Fran¬ cis Knapp as principal in the murder of Joseph White, and against Joseph Jenkins Knapp and George Crowninshield as accessaries before the fact. One count described the wounds as having been given by J. F. Knapp, Richard Crowninshield being present aiding and abetting. Another reversed these circumstances. J. F. Knapp was arraigned before the Su¬ preme Court at Salem in July and pleaded not guilty. The fact of the murder was proved by the evidence of Mr. White’s domestics. Benjamin White stated that when he arose the morning after the murder he found the window of an apartment on the ground floo-r in the back part of the house open. The shutter of this window was very hard to open and fastened with a bar, which he found standing by the side JOSEPH JENKINS KNAPP. 257 of the window. A plank was leaning against the outside of the house under the window, as if for some one to climb in upon, and foot-prints were discernible on the ground. The government had been pledged to pardon Joseph Jen¬ kins Knapp, in case he would bear witness against his com¬ panions. He was now called into court, but refused to tes¬ tify, on which the court recalled the pledge of government, and Benjamin Leighton was called and sworn. He stated, that being at Wenham, he, about a week before the murder, sat down behind a certain wall. In this situation he heard voices, and looking out, beheld the two Knapps approaching. When they came nigh him he heard Joseph say, u When did you see Dick? ” John replied, u I saw him this morning.” Joseph rejoined, u When is he going to kill the old man?” John answered, “I don’t know.” Joseph said, u If he does not kill him soon I will not pay him.” Af¬ ter this conversation they turned about and Leighton neither saw nor heard more of them at that time. The day after the murder Leighton made use of some in¬ advertent expressions which induced a belief that he knew something of the matter. He was examined and declared all • he knew. However, but for this examination he would have disclosed nothing, for he stood in mortal fear of the Knapps. The Reverend Henry Colman was next called. He said that on the twenty-eighth of May he went to John F. Knapp’s cell with his brother Phippen Knapp, at the request of Phip- pen. On entering, Phippen said, “ Well Frank, Joseph has determined to make a confession, and we want your consent.” The prisoner replied that he thought it hard Joseph should have the benefit of confession when the deed was done for his benefit. He said that when Joseph first proposed the thing to him that it was a silly business and would only get them ‘into difficulty. Phippen then said that if Joseph should be convicted there would be no chance for him, but he, Francis, might hope for pardon, and appealed to Mr. Colman. Mr. Colman replied that he was unwilling to hold out any improper encouragement. Mr. Colman had proceeded thus far in his testimony when Mr. Dexter, the prisoner’s counsel, objected to the contin¬ uation of this confession, on the ground that an inducement had been held out to the prisoner. The court sustained the objection but directed Mr. Colman to state all that was said relative to encouragement. He said .hat in the course of the interview Phippin Knapp 258 JOHN FRANCIS RNAPP AND more than once told his brother that there might be a hope of pardon. Frank asked him, the witness, to use his influence in his behalf. Mr. Colman replied that he could promise nothing, but thought his youth might be in his favor. He received precise directions from Frank where to find the club before mentioned and found it accordingly. When Palmer, the convict, was called, Mr. Gardiner, also counsel for the prisoner, objected to his evidence, on the ground of a want of religious belief, but on declaring his faith in a future state of rewards and punishments he was permitted to testify. He stated that on the second of April he saw the prisoner in company with George Crowninshield at Danvers. On the same day, the witness had a conver¬ sation with the two Crowninshields touching the proposed assassination of Mr. White. They had been moved to the undertaking by Frank Knapp. George Crowninshield pro¬ posed to Palmer to take a part in the murder, and offered him a third of the reward promised by Joseph Knapp, if he would consent. The reward was a thousand dollars. George said that Mr. White was then at his farm, and Richard urged that it would be easy to meet him and overturn his carriage that very night. George told Palmer that he was poor and needy, and that this would be a good opportunity to supply his wants. He added that the house-keeper ivould be away at the time of the murder. Joseph Knapp’s object in the affair was under¬ stood to be to have a will destroyed which was contrary to his wife’s interest as one of the heirs of Mr. White. The will was said to devise all Mr. White’s property to Mr. Stephen White, and it was intended to destroy it at the time of the murder. In the afternoon Frank Knapp came again to Danvers in a chaise and Richard Crowriinshield went away with him. After this Palmer went to Belfast, whence he sent the letter already mentioned to Joseph Knapp. He did not positively know when he wrote, that Joseph Knapp had any hand in the crime, but wished to know. At the time the Crowninshields pro¬ posed the murder to him, Palmer thought it a mere joke and did not change his opinion till after the deed was done. The testimony of Allen, who put the letters written by Joseph Knapp into the post-office, corroborated that of Palmer, as far as it. related to the alleged visit of Frank Knapp to Danvers. The keeper of a livery stable in Salem also certified that Frank Knapp had had from him first a saddle horse, and afterwards a horse and chaise on th° second of April. JOSEPH JENKINS KNAPP. 259 Stephen Mirick kept a shop near Mr. White’s dwelling. A little before nine on the evening of the murder he saw a man whom he believed to be Frank Knapp standing leaning on a post before his shop. When auy one came along in the di¬ rection from Mr. White’s house this man left his post, met him, and returned to his place. The witness stood awhile to see if any one would meet and accost him, but as no one did, closed his shop, and went away, leaving the man on his post. If Richard Crowninshield was at that time committing or attempting to commit the murder, and if Frank Knapp was waiting for him in the street, the conduct of the latter would, it is probable, have been like that of the man seen by Mirick. Near ten o’clock on the same evening, Mr. Peter Webster was passing through Howard street, and passed two persons in company one of whom he took to be Frank Knapp. They were walking very slowly, and appeared to be waiting for some one. Several more persons saw the same man standing at the post before mentioned, and all believed him to be Frank Knapp, though none could swear positively to his identity. Two of them, thinking his appearance suspicious, watched him. One of these, Mr. Bray, saw a person come up to him. They stood a few moments together and then ran off, one down Howard street and the other in an opposite direction. From the place where the first was watching Mr. White’s windows could be seen. Joseph Burns was a Spaniard who had lived in this coun¬ try many years and kept a stable. He testified that some¬ time after the murder Frank Knapp came to him and asked if any one was in the stable beside himself. On being an¬ swered in the negative, Knapp asked Burns to go with him into the stable loft, as he had something private to say to him. Burns assented, and when they had gained the loft Knapp asked him if he knew anything concerning the murder. He replied that he did not—he wished he did, for he would soon make it known. Knapp then said that the Committee of Vigilance had heard that Burns was abroad after ten o’clock, on the night of the murder. He advised him if he had been out himself, or had seen any of his friends out, and should be questioned to keep what he knew to himself. He observed that he and his brother were friendly to Burns and had a good deal of money. He added that the Committee would learn one thing or other by pumping. Burns replied that he was ready to answer anything the Committee might ask. He 260 JOHN FRANCIS KNAPP &C. 1 then asked Knapp what he thought of the two Crowninshields, who were then in prison. Knapp replied, “ They are as innocent as you or L” Burns asked him who he thought was the murderer, and was answered that Stephen White was one. Bur*s said, u Don’t tell me about Stephen White, I have known him since he was eighteen years old.” At these words Knapp laid his hand on the hilt of a dirk, but Burns told him he did not care for him and twenty dirks. Knapp then said he had come as a friend to Burns to put him on his guard. Here the conversation ended. Mary Weller, an infamous prostitute and keeper of a bro¬ thel was introduced to prove an alibi in the case of George Crowninshield. As far as her evidence was credible she established the fact. Another person proved the connexion of Mr. Joseph White with Stephen White and with the Knapps. Stephen White' was his nephew. Palmer being recalled stated that after the murder George Crowninshield told him that he and his brother had no hand in it. Richard, speaking on the same subject, said they, the Crowninshields, were suspected and that they meant to leave home, as it was a bad plan to be arrested. He also said that they had melted the dagger with which the murder was com¬ mitted. Mr. Webster, counsel on the part of the prosecution, now moved for a reconsideration of the grounds on which the court had excluded the confession made by Frank Knapp to Mr. Colman as evidence. After a long argument the court decided that the confession should be given in evidence and Mr. Colman was called to the stand. The amount of his testimony was that John Francis Knapp had admitted his guilt and assented to everything his brother had confessed. There was some discrepancy between the testimony of Phippen Knapp and that of Mr. Colman, and it was attempt¬ ed to prove an alibi, but the endeavour was fruitless. A very eloquent defence was made by the prisoner’s counsel, and it availed. The jury could not agree on a verdict. A second jury, having heard the same testimony found John Francis Knapp guilty and sentence of death was passed on him. It appears that the property of Mr. White, had- he died without a will, would have descended to Stephen White and Mrs. Beckford. Joseph J. Knapp, however, understood there was a will in favor of Stephen White, and of course un JOHN VAN ALSTINE. 261 favorable to his mother in law. It was his object and purpose to destroy Mr. White and the will and he succeeded in both. Unluckily for him another will was found substantially the same with the one destroyed. It is known that Richard Crowninshield killed Mr. White while Frank Knapp kept watch without. The old gentleman was probably slain outright by the first blow with the club, but to make sure the assassin lifted his left arm and gave him thirteen stabs. Even then he was not satisfied that his victim was dead till he had consulted his pulse and found that it had ceased to beat. He never got even the miserable bribe that had been promised. At the trial of Joseph J. Knapp his written confession was produced and he was convicted as an accessary before the fact. He also received sentence of death. Frank Knapp showed no fear during his trial or afterwards He received spiritual consolation in prison, and by his own request was executed as soon as he appeared on the gallows. His brother was not so firm. He died many times before his death, and it was necessary to support him at the place of execution. George Crowninshield was tried as an accessary before the fact and acquitted. According to the confession of Jo¬ seph J. Knapp he knew what was intended long before it took place. The prevailing opinion respecting this dark transaction is wonder that New England should contain four persons base enough to have engaged in it. JOHN VAN ALSTINE. V Van Alstine was born at Canajoharief Montgomery coun¬ ty, New York, in the year seventeen hundred and seventy- nine. He was the only son of his father and on that account was treated with injudicious indulgence. He was a youth of strong natural parts, ambitious, and so active and industrious that from the age of twelve years his parent confided the management of his farm and the chief control of his affairs to him. His education was such as is usually given to the sons of husbandmen: he could read and write, and knew something 12 * ' 262 JOHN VAN ALSTINE. of figures. In seventeen hundred and ninety-five, the fami¬ ly removed to Sharon, in Schoharie county, and the year after the elder Van Alstine died, leaving the subject of this memoir at the age of sixteen to support a mother and three sisters. His worldly affairs prospered: his anxiety to acquire prop¬ erty stimulated him to uncommon exertions which were crown¬ ed with success. He gained considerable money by the bar¬ ter of petty articles, and finally became a jockey and swapper of horses. In all these matters he held fast to his integrity, but his desire of getting and keeping money grew by habit into a passion, which finally brought him to an untimely and ignominious death. Nevertheless, he was for a long time considered one of the most respectable men in the neighbour¬ hood. After a courtship of five years he married a young woman to whom he was warmly attached, and whose character justi¬ fied his affection. Their harmony was never interrupted, and in all his crosses and afflictions she sustained her proper part; that of'a kind, tender, and obliging helpmate. One affliction only had its source in his marriage. Two years after it took place a dispute arose between his wife and the other mem¬ bers of his family. Van Alstine took part witfl his wife, and in consequence his mother and sisters left his house. After this event his fortune seemed to undergo a change, and his affairs did not prosper as before. This change was in some measure owing to his peculiar character. He was, though a man of kind and warm feel¬ ings, very irritable and obstinate. He was close and prudent in his affairs, but the poor man never went away empty from his doors. He was easily moved by persuasion, but could not be swayed in the least by opposition or harshness; on the contrary he became more inflexible as difficulties thickened around him. His stubbornness was so great that when engag¬ ed in lawsuits with his neighbours, he would make any sac¬ rifice rather than make the slightest advance toward an ami¬ cable arrangement. His temper, we have said was violent, but he was easily appeased, and it never caused him to raise his hand to strike, but in two instances. Once he killed a refractory horse of his own in a moment of passion: the oth¬ er instance will presently come under consideration. Delib¬ erate injury he never committed, unless when he had been previously wronged. In such cases he often carried his re¬ venge so far as to hurt himself His character was partly JOHN VAN ALSTINE. 263 constitutional, partly owing to the way in which he was brought up. The only other fault with which he can be charged was an inordinate fondness for horse-racing, which led him into many troubles. He was so fond of this pastime that he would ride sixty miles to enjoy it, neglecting his business. This conduct brought embarrassments on his property, which had become considerable, and these rendered him more irri¬ table and morose than he would otherwise have been. It is painful to see a man so estimable in many things so led astray by passion as to imbrue his hands in the blood of a fellow-creature. In the year eighteen hundred and eighteen Van Alstine was involved in lawsuits, the result of which was that a part of his property was advertised to be sold for the benefit of one Horning, his creditor. At a former sale of part of his property on a like account, Van Alstine had, or thought he had just cause of complaint against William Huddlestone, the sheriff. On the present occasion the sale was appoint¬ ed to take place on the nineteenth of October, and on that day, Van Alstine remained in his house till the afternoon, but finding that no person came, he went into one of his fields and began to harrow it. While he was thus at work, four persons came up on horseback, and he went with them Ho his house, leaving his horses in the field in their harness. One of them asked if there was not to be a vendue at his house, and he replied, u Yes, they are always having vendues, but they may sell and be d—d. If they take my property they will be glad to bring it back.” He also abused Mr. Huddlestone in no measured terms. While they were thus conversing the unfortunate sheriff rode up, and Yan Alstine asked why he had not come before, as they had been waiting for him. Mr. Huddlestone said it was time enough, and ask¬ ed if Van Alstine had any money for him. He replied, tc No, and I don’t want any.” The others then rode off leaving Van Alstine and the sheriff together. Mr Huddlestone told Van Alstine that the sale was post¬ poned foi a week, but that he had another execution against him and asked if he could pay a small sum on an old one. He answered that perhaps he could, and Mr. Huddlestone then proposing to give his horse some oats they went to the barn together. They had to pass through a fence and Yan Alstine let down the bars. While the Sheriff was leading his horse over, Van Alstine in a jocular manner remarked that he would take his own horse and run away. Huddlestone 264 JOHN VAN ALSTINE. answered that he had better not, as he should follow him Van Alstine now gave the horse some oats, and the sheriff sat down on a bushel measure to calculate the sum due on the old execution, which amounted to about eight dollars. Van Alstine asked to see the last execution, and the sheriff showed it to him, without, however, letting it go out of his hands. He then said that he had been ordered to collect the whole sum due on it, without allowing for the payment of sums for which Van Alstine held receipts. These words put the miserable man in an outrageous passion, and without the least hesitation he struck Huddlestone a violent blow with an oaken bar that he held, and felled him to the floor. He then repeated the blow, beat out one eye and fractured the skull of his victim. The weapon was a heavy one, being the bar used to fasten the barn doors. Compunction succeeded anger; he dropped his club and at the same moment perceived his two sons coming toward him Thinking they had seen something he jerked the body into the barn by the foot, and ran to meet and prevent them from coming nigh. Having sent them away on other errands, he returned, dragged the corpse of his victim into a corner of the barn, and covered it with straw. Then to divert sus¬ picion he busied himself in chopping wood, all the while resolving in his mind the means of concealing the body. Had he dug a grave in the green sod it would have attracted imme¬ diate notice, and he therefore determined to bury Huddle- stone in the ploughed field he had been harrowing. Having formed this resolution he went home to sup, and await the darkness. It was a bright moonlight night, and as the homicide was executing his purpose conscience raised up a thousand wit¬ nesses of his doings. After digging the grave he went to the barn, took what money was in the pockets of the deceased and shouldered the body. He carried it by a round about way to the grave, to avoid being seen, a distance of four hundred yards, without once stopping. On the way he was obliged to climb over a fence with' his load on his shoulder. At every sound he fancied he heard the footsteps of a pursuer. He then took off his victim’s boots, threw him into the hole and covered him up. He hid the boots under a stone, and an inkstand that had been in Huddlestone’s pocket under a fence. All the bills he had taken, excepting a three dollar note, he put into a stump, where they were afterwards found nibbled by mice. Nothing now remained but to dispose of JOHN VAN ALSTINE. 265 the sheriff’s horse, and had he.attended to this on the same night he might have escaped detection. Instead of so doing he went home and went to bed. He rose in the morning at day-break, and rode the horse about half a mile from his house to a bridge, under which he hid the saddle. He next took the animal into a swamp and tied him to a sapling, returned, and harrowed over the grave. He also endeavoured to efface the stains of blood from the fence over which he had clomb. A little before sunset he went and loosened the horse which ran half a mile before he could lay hands on him again. Just as he had caught the horse he saw that he was observed by a woman, and putting a bold face on the matter he led the animal directly toward her. After this he hid the horse at different times in different places. When Huddlestone was missed suspicion fell upon Van Alstine. He had passed the bill he took from the deceased, and it was observed to be stained with blood. On the sixteenth of the month conversing with a neighbour on the subject, he declared his belief that the sheriff had absconded with the money he had collected. He said it had been intimated to him that he had killed Huddlestone, that he had received the bill before mentioned from a friend whom he could produce if that would give any satisfaction. Having learned that a search for the body was to be made the next day, he went and hid Huddlestone’s horse in what he thought a safe place in the woods, and returned home. He went to bed without any intention of escaping. He woke about midnight and his wife observed that he had been speaking about removing, and if he chose to go and look for a place she was willing and would take good care of his affairs in his absence. He asked her why she spoke in this manner, and she answered that everything seemed to turn against him. He demanded to know if she believed him guilty of the murder. She replied that she did not know. Guilty as he was Van Alstine could not bear to lower himself in this af¬ fectionate woman’s esteem by acknowledging his crime. He said he should probably be apprehended the next day on sus¬ picion, and that he would as lief be in hell as in jail. He added however that if he took to flight suspicion would be stronger. Finding that she wished him to escape, he arose, carried a saddle to Huddlestone’s horse and took the road to Canada. The search took place the next day and the body was found, as well as the bills and other articles Van Alstine had secret- 266 JOHN VAN ALSTINE. \ ed. Blood was observed on the fence and in the barn whtrc the murder had been perpetrated. * The homicide reached Kingston, in Canada, in safety, pass¬ ing by the name of John Allen. Here he fell in with one Page, who showed him a proclamation offering a reward for his apprehension. Thence he went to Buffalo and embarked on board a schooner, intending to proceed to Sandusky or some other remote town in the western states. Opposite Long Point a head wind compelled the vessel to anchor and increased in violence till she parted her cable. There was a passenger on board named Slocum, who compared Van Al- stine’s person with the description in the governor’s proclama¬ tion, and came to the conclusion that he was the fugitive indicated. As soon as the schooner reached the shore, which she did at Black Rock, Slocum caused him to be arrested and lodged in Buffalo jail. He persisted in calling himself Allen till he was identified by a person who had seen him before. He then gave up all thoughts of concealment, and was con¬ veyed to Scoharie. He avowed that when apprehended at Buffalo he was strong¬ ly tempted to commit suicide, and went so far as to attempt to strangle himself with his neckcloth. He thought more than once on the road to Scoharie of throwing- himself head¬ long out of the carriage, but the thoughts of what must be the punishment of such a crime in the next world deterred him. On the sixteenth of November he was arraigned and pleaded not guilty. It was proved that the spectacle case of Huddlestone was found in the straw where his body had lain; and that Van Alstine had pretended to have paid the execu¬ tions against him, wishing to make it appear that the sheriff had absconded with the money. It appeared too in evidence that he had made use of ambiguous expressions touching the in¬ tended sale of his property, which were now construed unfavor¬ ably for him. The fact of his having fled on Huddlestone’s horse was also clearly established. His guilt was made appar¬ ent by other incontestible evidence, and the jury brought in a verdict of guilty. The chief justice then asked him if he had any reason to offer why sentence of death should not be pro¬ nounced, and he replied that he had none. Sentence was then rei dered. The suggestions of avarice and passion had not been able to eradicate the good principles in which the unhappy man had been educated. His penitence was as signal as his guilt. EDWARD TINKER. . 267 It is to be hoped that by referring his burden of sin to him most able to bear it, he made an acceptable atonement. He was executed pursuant to his sentence EDWARD TINKER. This man belonged to Newburn, Craven County, North Carolina. He there married a Miss Durand, by whom he had children. He was the master of a small schooner, and was engaged in the coasting trade. Peter Durand, his brother in law, was one of his crew and sailed with him. In eighteen hundred and ten, while his schooner was lying at Baltimore, an Irish lad, only known by the name of Edward, came on board and desired to be received as an apprentice. He seemed to be about seventeen years old. After some conversation Tinker agreed to receive him, and he became one of the crew. No indentures were made out, but it was understood that they were to be prepared on the arrival of the vessel at Newburn. The vessel was insured to her full value, and before she sailed from Baltimore, Potts, the mate, and Peter Durand bored holes in her bottom with an inch auger, and stopped them with wooden plugs by Tinker’s orders. He said it would be very lucky if she ever reached Newburn. She sailed on the second of March, and while on the passage Tinker treated the boy Edward kindly, appearing to be attached to him. Once when Potts was about to chastise him Tinker prevent¬ ed it. When the schooner had passed Ocracock Bay, Tin¬ ker ran her on a reef, and ordered the plugs to be taken out, which service was performed by Potts and Durand. The master and crew saved themselves and a large sum in specie in the boats. When they came to Roanoke Island, Tinker waited on the Notary Public with a written declaration that his vessel had been cast away in a gale of wind. To this statement he made oath, and persuaded Durand to do the same, telling him it was a matter of no more moment than drinking a glass of grog. Truly these men had but small respect for the awful name they thus took in vain. Durand was indeed a young man, and under many obligations to his brother in 268 EDWARD TINKER. law. Potts perjured himself without scruple, following the example and advice of his principal, as did another sailor named Smith. These persons, with Edward, constituted the whole crew. Edward was the only one who would not swear, and his virtue made it necessary for Tinker to get rid of him. When they reached Newburn they all went to board with Tinker in his house, till he should get another vessel, which he soon did. For some reason unknown Edward became dissatisfied, and on the seventh of April applied to Captain Cook of the revenue cutter for employment. Captain Cook shipped him at sixteen dollars per month. This increased Tinker’s enmity, and he resolved to destroy the unfortunate lad. On Sunday evening the eighth of April, Tinker went to church, and after his return desired Peter Durand to procure some rum. He did so, and on his return Tinker desired him to awaken the boy Edward without disturbing the rest of the family, and tell him they were going to shoot ducks. Durand did as he was commanded, and while Edward was dressing Tinker got his gun. When about to start the lad said he had left his hat in the kitchen, but Tinker told him not to mind that for he would not want it, which unhappily proved but too true. The boy tied his handkerchief round his head and they all started together. As they went along the street they met two watchmen. One of them said, u What brother! are you going to your ves¬ sel at this time of night? ” Tinker nodded in token of assent. They then left the watchmen and when they had reached Tinker’s boat, the wretch proposed to go to a neighbouring marsh to kill ducks. Durand said that if he was going down the river they had better proceed without delay, but Tinker insisted on going to the marsh first, saying they should have time enough. When they reached the marsh Tinker bade Edward go for¬ ward and see if there were any ducks in the creek. The boy obeyed, and when he had proceeded five or six yards Tinker levelled his gun and lodged the whole charge of coarse shot in his back. He fell dead without uttering a syllable. Durand was terrified at beholding this ruthless deed, and cried out for very fear. The savage bade him “ hold his jaw,” and offered him a glass of spirits, having first taken one himself. He then cut off the boat’s painter, and with that and a cord tied two stones weighing together upwards of sixty pounds to the body. He then threw it into the water, tied it EDWARD TINKER. 269 to the bow of the boat and ordered Durand to push the boat off. When they had towed the corpse into deep water Tin¬ ker cut the rope, and it sunk. On this Durand was greatly agitated and told his' brother in law he would disclose the murder. Tinker bade him hold his peace, said he would leave the country, and that his motive for killing the boy was his in¬ tention to quit him and ship on board the revenue cutter, They then rowed back to the town and went home. To avenge this foul and most unnatural murder the stream gave up its dead. The body of the slaughtered youth rose, with all the weight attached to it. It was discovered floating and brought to the wharf at Newburn, a foul and disgusting spectacle, in the last stages of putrefaction. Many mortal shot wounds were plainly discernible. It was at once recog¬ nised, but though the public excitement was great Tinker showed no anxiety, no curiosity to behold the mangled remains of his apprentice. Guilt had sealed his lips. His first care was to take boat and descend the river to his vessel. Suspi¬ cion necessarily fell on him, and Captain Cook, who it will be remembered had also a claim on the boy, followed him. When he reached the vessel’s deck and told Tinker he was a priso¬ ner the latter said, “ What the devil is all this about? ” but asked no farther questions touching the cause of his arrest. One of the posse remarked that if he had any orders to give concerning his vessel he had better do it then, as it would pro¬ bably be long before he would see her again, but this elicited no answer. He was then taken to Newburn and committed. In d ue time he was arraigned before the Superior Court of Craven county, but in consequence of a deficiency of jurors, no trial took place, and the prisoner applied to have his trial removed to Carteret*county, giving such reasons as satisfied the presiding judge. He was removed to Carteret county and soon after broke jail and fled to Philadelphia. The sher¬ iff of Craven county offered a high reward for his apprehen¬ sion, and he was shortly, recognised, taken, and carried back to Newburn. While he was awaiting his trial he wrote a letter to Peter Durand, entreating him by the love he bore his sister and her children to retract the admissions he had made when examin¬ ed before the magistrates and to swear the murder to Potts. On this condition he promised to leave the country, and added that it would be better to tell twenty lies than persist in a true story to his brother’s disadvantage. In another letter to a Mr. Haywood he offered to give any sum provided he would 270 ROBERT H. STERLING. procure a witness to swear that Peter Durand shot the boy, and said that one good witness in his behalf would be enough to clear him. He also wrote to a Mr. Hamburg to request that he would procure witnesses in his favor. In a second letter to Peter Durand he besought him to consider the dis¬ tress of Mrs. Tinker and her children, put him in mind that he owed Potts money, and again entreated him to charge Potts with the murder. In case they should be convicted of perju¬ ry, the worst he said, that could happen to either would be the loss of a piece of one ear. A fourth letter to his sister pointed out the person he wished her to subor.n and whom he proposed to reward with u a likely negro.” None of these let¬ ters were received by the persons to whom they were address¬ ed excepting those to Peter Durand, and they were all after¬ wards produced in court, to his confusion. Tinker was tried at the Carteret Superior Court in Septem¬ ber eighteen hundred and eleven. The positive testimony of Peter Durand to the facts above related was corroborated by much circumstantial evidence. To counteract the testimony of Durand, it was urged that he had no respect for the sanctity of an oath, as he had before perjured himself in his account of the loss of the vessel. It was also truly alleged, that for ten days after the murder he had said nothing concerning it, and that he had himself been apprehended on suspicion. His testimony before the magis¬ trates at the time of his arrest differed from that he gave on the trial. On the other hand he had received many favors from Tinker, was his near connexion, and could have had no motive to kill the boy himself. While the trial was proceeding Tinker’s wife appeared as a spectator, in mourning weeds, surrounded by her children, and made the hall of justice resound with her lamentations. This appeal to the feelings of the jury could not prevail against a perfect chain of evidence. The prisoner was convicted, sentenced, and in due time hanged. ROBERT H. STERLING. This person was a lawyer of fair repute in Monroe, Ouach¬ ita, Louisiana. We give the following account of his trial for a cold-blooded and inhuman murder, because it serves to ROBERT H. STERLING. 271 show in what esteem human life is held in Louisiana, and to what fatal results party zeal may lead. It may be proper to state, by way of preliminary, that General Ferdinand Morgan, the man slain by Sterling, was elected a senator "of Louisi¬ ana in the summer of eighteen hundred and thirty. Colonel Morhouse, Sterling’s brother in law, was the rival candidate. In the course of the contest General Morgan gave some of¬ fence, the precise nature of which is unknown to us, to a Captain Hemkin, who thereupon sent him a challenge by Morhouse, on the sixth of September. General Morgan re¬ fused to receive it, and what ensued may best be learned from the following report of Sterling’s trial which took place in December. The facts of the case as stated b'y Dr. Savary Lewis, an eye witness, who was on the opposite side of the street at the time, were, substantially, that on the seventh Sept. 1830, Gen¬ eral Morgan was passing the door of Col. Morhouse’s office, in company with Mr. Alexander, when Col. Morhouse came out of his office and presented a note or communication to Morgan, which he refused to receive. Morhouse spoke mildly and politely, but Morgan was loud and angry. The witness did not hear what was said while they were together. Morgan and Mr. Alexander proceeded down the street, the way they were walking when accosted by Morhouse. When they had gone about forty feet, Morhouse, who had moved up at the same time a few steps above the door of his office, said to him, u I believe you to be a d-d coward.” Mor¬ gan instantly turned round and started back. The Doctor then looked and saw that Morhouse was standing with his side to General Morgan, his right arm extended, and a pistol in his hand presented at Morgan, who continued to advance with his cane in one hand, which he thought was his left, raised about level with his breast. When he came within about eight feet, Morhouse snapped the pistol at Morgan, who still advanced and struck a blow over his right shoulder. Some blows then passed, without much apparent effect, and they became separated. Morhouse then threw his pistol at Mor¬ gan, and hit him on the head; being at that time too far from him to hit without throwing the pistol. Morgan staggered back about three paces, recovered himself and was advancing towards Morhouse, when Sterling shot him in the back from the office door. About the time Morgan was making the first step, after being stunned by the blow of the pistol, Dr. Lewis observed Sterling in the door of the office. At the 212 ROBERT H. STERLING. time lie shot, only his arm was seen, and the muzzle of the pistol was three or four feet from Morgan’s back when he fired. Morgan made one step forward and put his left hand on the spot where he was shot. The Doctor did not see the sword-cane drawn ; he saw only the wooden part until after the first blow was given. When the cane fell it was unsheath¬ ed. He saw the cane in his hand, from the time he turned till he fell, and was positive he saw no blade till he was falling. Morgan could not have seen Sterling when he fired. Dr. McGuire, who examined the wound, stated that the ball entered near the back bone, between the ninth and tenth ribs, and that he found it lodged under the skin, near the left pap, a little above, and cut it out. The ball was exhibited in court, and was not flattened or bruised. He stated it as his opinion that Morgan must have been half bent when he was shot, from the direction which the ball took. The floor of the office where Sterling stood was eighteen inches above the street. Wm. Robinson proved that Gen. Morgan had dislocated his right wrist some months before his death, and that he contin¬ ued to carry his right hand in a sling. The day before his death he tried to lift a hammer with his right hand, in which he failed, and was obliged to use his left hand to drive a nail. About the middle of August the same wrist was hurt again by his horse, which took fright. Dr. Mason stated that he had attended him as surgeon and set his wrist ; that the ligaments were much lacerated ; that a few days before his death, he could not shut his right hand; the muscle had become rigid, and he used a pen with much difficulty with his thumb and fore finger. He had habitually carried it in a sling in public. Three or four days before his death, he knew, from a particular examination, that the joint was enlarged, and the ligaments, though not so rigid as they had been, did not enable him to close his hand. It was the Doctor’s opinion, that at the time of his death Gen. Morgan could not use a sword-cane with any effect, and that he was neither left handed nor ambidexter. Dr. Holmes and Mr. Filhiol, who were standing together a little up street, were also eye witnesses, of the affair. Dr. Holmes heard the epithet coward uttered by Morhouse at the time he thought he was going into his office; at which, Morgan turned and advanced towards Morhouse, who was thirty or forty feet off. Morgan appeared to have his sword- cane in both hands. As Morgan was in the act of ad- ROBERT H. STERLING. 213 vancing, Morhouse drew a pistol and presented it at him; he held it towards Morgan some time. When Morgan arrived (as it appeared to him, who was nearly in a line with the par¬ ties) within three or four feet, the pistol flashed; Morgan still advanced, and Morhouse either threw the pistol at General Morgan, or struck him with it without throwing. At that instant a pistol was fired from the neighbourhood of the office. General Morgan fell in a short time, and the spear or blade fell from his hand. When Morgan turned, as the word cow¬ ard was uttered, it appeared to the witness that he / was either placing himself in an attitude of striking or of drawing the blade. Colonel Morhouse held his pistol at Morgan sometime before he flashed it. General Morgan evinced a great deal of courage in advancing on a presented pistol in that way.* Dr. Holmes was confident he did not see the cane drawn; yet he might be mistaken. He saw the blade for the first time when it fell from Morgan’s hand. The whole was done very quickly and produced considerable confusion. Mr. Filhiol, who was examined for the prisoner, stated near¬ ly as others did, the interview at the door of Morhouse’s office. He said that when Morgan and Alexander had got about ten or twelve paces from the office, and Colonel Morhouse made two or three paces toward where he and Dr. Holmes were standing, he heard the word coward uttered by Morhouse. At that moment, General Morgan wheeled and started towards Morhouse. He thought that Morgan had made one or two steps, before Morhouse discovered that he was coming to¬ ward him; he might have advanced three or four yards, before this witness discovered that Morhouse was present¬ ing a pistol;—after Morgan came pretty near, he heard the pistol snap. At that moment Gen. Morgan rushed at Mor¬ house, and gave him a blow; from Filhiol’s position he could not see how. Morgan then made a pass at Morhouse; he saw Morhouse give a blow with his pistol; he could not say whether on the head or shoulder; it appeared that the blow made Morgan retreat about two paces; it appeared to him that Morgan was rushing again on Morhouse; at that mo¬ ment he heard the pistol from the door of Morhouse’s office. When Morgan wheeled he held the cane in both hands; he could not see whether it was drawn or not; he was much confused by the occurrence. On his cross-examination, he stated that he did not see the blade of the sword-cane, and that he could not see in which hand Morgan held the cane. David Powell, who was standing near Dr. Holmes and Mr. 274 ROBERT II. STERLING. Filhiol, stated that as Morgan wheeled, he drew’ the sword from the scabbard; that Morhouse turned round and drew a pistol, and while Morgan was advancing, snapped it; that Morgan advanced with the spear in his right hand, braced against his own body, and the scabbard part in his left hand uplifted; that Morhouse struck as if to ward off a thrust from his breast; that the pistol did not escape from his hand; that Morgan raised the scabbard with his left hand, as if to ward off the blow, and knocked off his own hat, which fell with the scabbard. He saw Morgan give no blow*, but as soon as Morhouse had struck, to ward oft* the thrust, he threw the pis¬ tol at Morgan, which hit his head. At this time, Pow’ell said he was running up to prevent mischief, and ran from five to fifteen steps, when he heard the report of a pistol, cast his eye on Morgan, and saw that he was hurt. He saw the spear in Morgan’s right hand, and at the time Morgan was shot, he had the blade part of the cane in that hand. He was farther from the combatants than Dr. Holmes or Mr. Filhiol, and was nearly in a line with the combatants. He stated, that the throwing of the pistol by Morhouse, and the report of the other, were at the same instant. He stated, on his cross- examination, that he was rather near sighted. Three or four witnesses were introduced to discredit Pow¬ ell, who swore positively, that from a general knowledge of his character, they did not think him worthy of belief, on oath. Colonel Morhouse, who was engaged as principal in the recounter, and who was indicted at the same term, for an assault on General Morgan, with intent to kill, was examined as a witness. He stated that when General Morgan and Al¬ exander were passing his office door, he politely offered Gen¬ eral Morgan a communication from Captain Hemkin, and told him it was the same which he had presented him the day be¬ fore, and which he had refused to receive. General Morgan wheeled round very abruptly, and stepped forward, staring him full in the face, and nearly treading on his toes. The witness stepped back, and presented him the note which he held in his hand. General Morgan observed that he would receive no communication from him, when he told him it was a communication from Captain Hemkin. He replied, the Colonel thought, with an oath, that “ he would be d-d if he would receive any communication from either of them.” He was asked if he objected to Hemkin, or the bearer. He said, to both, but also said u send your principal—I will see ROBERT H. STERLING. 275 him.” He declined saying who he meant by the principal. The witness then told General Morgan he should expect him to assign his reasons for not receiving the communication. Mor¬ gan made some equivocal reply, not recollected, as that he would give them in due form, or when he pleased. Morhouse repeated that he should expect it, and Morgan said, u You do, hey;” and, thereupon, passed on down the street. When he had proceeded between eight and twelve paces, he (Morhouse) turned, with his back towards Morgan, and made two or three steps up the street, remarking, “ The only reason you can have, (or he can have,) for not receiving it, is that you are a coward.” His voice was not high, and he thought his back was towards Morgan when he said it. The expression was used, to he heard by the bystanders, and he did not think his voice had reached General Morgan. Turning to go into his office, he saw that Morgan had turned, or was in the act of turning, and when he first observed him, thought he had the blade in his right hand, and the scabbard in the left. He continued to advance rapidly, with the cane in that posi¬ tion, as he thought. Morhouse said he then drew a small pistol from his pocket and presented it at Morgan, aiming to show the General that he was armed. He thought Mor¬ gan advanced from twenty-five to thirty feet, after the pistol was presented. He had no expectation he would continue to advance, but when he had approached within about six feet, perhaps a little more, his pistol snapped or flashed. At that instant Morgan rushed on, with the blade in the right hand, held crosswise, and the scabbard in the left. He made a side thrust with the spear, which passed within eighteen inch- • es or three feet of Morhouse; and their shoulders came in contact. The witness raised the pistol, the same way he held it when it snapped, and struck Morgan over the head. As he struck, Morgan threw up the sheath and either the sheath or the pistol knocked off* Morgan’s hat. During this conflict their bodies were not more than a foot apart. On receiving the blow, Morgan retrograded two short steps, and he (Mor¬ house) stepped back about the same distance, to get out of the range of the sword-cane; as Morgan was in the act of advancing with the spear, and Morhouse finding he could not reach him, turned the pistol in his hand, threw it, and hit Morgan on the head; as he was about to throw, Morgan bent down and threw up his left hand to ward off the blow. After he was hit on the head Morgan recovered his position, and as he threw himself up, braced his body back one step; then 276 ROBERT H. STERLING. advanced a little, bending forward, (about two paces) with the spear presented, and pointed at Morhouse. He was in that position when the pistol was fired from the door of the office. When shot, the point of the spear was within eightee-n inches or three feet of Morhouse’s breast. One witness, Duval, who was on the opposite side of the street, stated that the parties had separated, and he thought the fight over, when the pistol was fired from the office. He did not see the blade of the sword-cane, but thought that Mor¬ gan was trying to draw it during the conflict. Dr. Angel testified that a person stepping in with a chair might have separated the combatants. When he saw the blade in Mor¬ gan’s hand, he was neither in the act of lunging or stabbing; he was not in a position to do so; he did not think either in danger from the other. After the flash of the pistol he saw the sword-cane in Morgan’s hand in the awkward position men¬ tioned. Mr. Alexander, who was in company with General Morgan, stated positively that he did not draw his sword-cane; that the scabbard flew off in striking the first blow, which was struck with the left hand, over Colonel Morhouse’s right shouJder; and he could not say whether it hit him or not. When Col¬ onel Morhouse threw the pistol, Morgan stooped, half bent, to avoid the pistol. While he was in that posture, Sterling shot from the door of the office; the muzzle of the pistol was within from three to six feet from General Morgan’s back, when it was discharged; and Morgan could not have seen who shot him. The sling was on his neck when he was killed, and he was buried with the bandage on his wrist. Such was the sub¬ stance of the evidence. The charge of Judge Overton, who presided, was very positive. He told the jury, that a third person, interfering in a sudden quarrel or affray, without giv¬ ing notice of his intention, and taking sides with one of the parties, and killing the other, without an absolute necessity to save life, was guilty of either murder or manslaughter, according as circumstances show malice or otherwise. The jury retired, and in about two hours returned a ver¬ dict of Not Guilty. This murder seems to us to have been clearly proved. Morhouse engaged in a personal recounter with General Mor¬ gan in the highway, near his own office. Sterling, seeing the affray, but without having received any personal provo¬ cation, gave Morgan a deadly wound from a place of ambush THE HARPES. 277 He could not plead that the life or limbs of his relaUve were in any such danger as to require his interference. Supposii ig his interposition to have been necessary, he was by no means justifiable in killing Morgan. If this trial be an example of the way in which justice is administered in Louisiana, we desire to be thankful that we do not reside there. THE HARPES. The following strange but authentic account of the Harpes is taken from “ Letters from the West,” by Judge Hall. The author’s name is a sufficient voucher for its truth. Any at¬ tempt to improve the article would be worse than losing time, and we therefore give Mr. Hall’s language verbatim. Many years ago, two men, named Harpe, appeared in Kentucky, spreading death and terror wherever they went. Little else was known of them but that they passed for bro¬ thers, and came from the borders of Virginia. They had three women with them, who were treated as their wives, and several children, with whom they traversed the mountainous and thinly settled parts of Virginia into Kentucky, marking their course with blood. Their history is wonderful, as well from the number and variety, as the incredible atrocity of their adventures; and as it has never yet appeared in print, I shall compress within this letter a few of its most prominent facts. In the autumn of the year 1799, a young gentleman, named Langford, of a respectable family in Mecklenburgh county, Virginia, set out from this state for Kentucky, with the in¬ tention of passing through the Wilderness , as it was then called, by the route generally known as Boon's Trace. On reaching the vicinity of the wilderness, a mountainous and uninhabit¬ ed tract, which at that time separated the settled parts of Kentucky from those of Virginia, he stopped to breakfast at a public house near Big Rock-Castle River. Travellers of this description—any other indeed than hardy woodsmen— were unwilling to pass singly through this lonely region; and they generally waited on its confines for others, and travelled through in parties. Mr. Langford, either not dreading danger, or not choosing to delay, determined to proceed alone. 278 THE HARPES. While breakfast was preparing, the Harpes and their women came up. Their appearance denoted poverty, with but little regard to cleanliness; two very indifferent horses, with some bags swung across them, and a rifle gun or two, composed nearly their whole equipage. Squalid and miserable, they seemed objects of pity rather than of fear, and their fero¬ cious glances were attributed more to hunger than to guilty passion. They were entire strangers in that neighbourhood, and like Mr. Langford, were about to cross the Wilderness. When breakfast was served up, the landlord, as was custom¬ ary at such places, in those times, invited all the persons who were assembled in the common, perhaps the only roopi of his little inn, to sit down; but the Harpes declined, alleging their want of money as the reason. Langford, who was of a lively, generous disposition, on hearing this, invited them to partake of the meal at his expense; they accepted the invitation, and eat voraciously. When they had thus refreshed themselves, and were about to renew their journey Mr. Langford called for the bill, and in the act of discharging it imprudently dis¬ played a handful of silver. They then set out together. A few days after, some men who were conducting a drove of cattle to Virginia, by the same road which had been travelled by Mr. Langford and the Harpes, had arrived within a few miles of Big Rock-Castle River, when their cattle took fright, and^, quitting the road, rushed down a hill into the woods. In collecting them, the drovers discovered the dead body of a man concealed behind a log, and covered with brush and leaves. It was now evident that, the cattle had been alarmed by the smell of blood in the road, and as the body exhibited marks of violence, it was at once suspected that a murder had been perpetrated but recently. The corpse was taken to the same house where the Harpes had breakfasted, and recog¬ nised to be that of Mr. Langford, whose name was marked upon several parts of his dress. Suspicion fell upon the Harpes, who were pursued and apprehended near the Crab Orchard. They were taken to Stanford, the seat of justice for Lincoln county, where they were examined and committed by an inquiring court, sent to Danville for safe keeping, and probably for trial, a|s the system of district courts was then in operation in Kentucky. Previous to the time of trial, they made their escape, and proceeded to Henderson county, which at that time was just beginning to be settled. Here they soon acquired a dreadful celebrity. Neither avarice, want, nor any of the usual inducements to the com- THE HARPES. i 279 mission of crime, seemed to govern their conduct. A savage thirst for blood—a deep rooted malignity against human nature, could a one be discovered in their actions. They murdered every defenceless being who fell in their way, with¬ out distinction of age, sex, or color. In the night they stole secretly to the cabin, slaughtered its inhabitants, and burned their dwelling—while the farmer who left his house by day, returned to witness the dying agonies of his wife and children, and the conflagration of his possessions. Plunder was not their object: travellers they robbed and murdered, but from the inhabitants they took only what would have been freely given to them, and no more than was immediately necessary to supply the wants of nature; they destroyed without having suffered injury, and without the prospect of gain. A negro boy, riding to a mill, with a bag of corn, was seized by them, and his brains dashed out against a tree; but the horse which he rode and the grain were left unmolested. Females, children, and servants, no longer dared to stir abroad; unarmed men feared to encounter a Harpe; and the solitary hunter, as he trod the forest, looked around him with a watchful eye, and when he saw a stranger, picked his flint and stood on the defensive. It seems incredible that such atrocities could have been often repeated in a country famed for the hardihood and gallantry of its people; in Kentucky, the cradle of courage, and the nurse of warriors. But that part of Kentucky which was the scene of these barbarities was then almost a wilder¬ ness; and the vigilance of the Harpes for a time ensured im¬ punity. The spoils of their dreadful warfare furnished them with the means of violence and of escape. Mounted on fine horses, they plunged into the forest, eluded pursuit by fre¬ quently changing their course, and appeared, unexpectedly, to perpetrate new enormities, at points distant from those where they were supposed to lurk. On these occasions, they often left their wives and children behind them; and it is a fact honorable to the community, that vengeance for these bloody deeds was not wreaked on the helpless, but in some degree guilty, companions of the perpetrators. Justice, how¬ ever, wr.s not long delayed. A frontier is often the retreat of loose individuals, who, if not familiar with crime, have very blunt perceptions of virtue. The geiuine woodsmen, the real pioneer, are independent, brave, and upright; but as the jackal pursues the lion to devour his leavings, the footsteps of the sturdy hunter are 280 THE HARPES. closely pursued by miscreants destitute of his noble qualities. These are the poorest and the idlest of the human race— averse to labor, and impatient of the restraints of law and the courtesies of civilized society. Without the ardor, the activity, the love of sport, and patience of fatigue, which distinguish the bold backwoodsman, these are doomed to the forest by sheer laziness, and hunt for a bare subsistence; they are the u cankers of a calm world and a long peace,” the helpless nobodies , who, in a country where none starve and few beg, sleep until hunger pinches, then stroll into the woods for a meal, and return to their slumber. Frequently they are as harmless as the wart upon a man’s nose, and as unsightly; but they are sometimes mere wax in the hands of the designing, and become the accessories of that guilt which they have not the courage or the industry to perpetrate. With such men the Harpes are supposed to have sometimes lurked. None are known to have participated in their deeds of blood, nor suspected of sharing their counsels; but they sometimes crept to the miserable cabins of those who feared or were not inclined to betray them. Two travellers came one night to the house of a man named Stegal, and, for want of better lodgings, claimed under his little roof that hospitality which in a new country is found at every habitation. Shortly after, the Harpes arrived. It was not, it seems, their first visit; for Mrs. Stegal had received instructions from them, which she dared not disobey, never to address them by their real names in the presence of third persons. On this occasion they contrived to inform her that they intended to personate methodist preachers , and ordered her to arrange matters so that one of them should sleep with each of the strangers, whom they intended to murder. Stegal was absent, and the woman was obliged to obey. The strangers were completely deceived as to the character of the newly arrived guests; and when it was announced that the house contained but two beds, they cheerfully assented to the proposed arrangement: one crept into a bed on the lower floor with one ruffian, while the other retired to the loft with another. Both the strangers became their victims; but these bloody ruffians, who seemed neither to feel shame, nor dread punishment, determined to leave behind them no evidence of their crime, and consummated the foul tragedy by murdering their hostess and setting fire to the dwelling. From this scene of arson, robbery, and murder, the per¬ petrators fled precipitately, favored by a heavy fall of rain, THE HARPES. 281 which, as they believed, effaced their footsteps. They did not cease their flight until late the ensuing day, when they halted at a spot which they supposed to be far from any human habitation. Here they kindled a fire, and were drying their clothes, when an emigrant, who had pitched his tent hard by, strolled towards their camp. He was in search of his horses, which had strayed, and civilly asked if they had seen them. This unsuspecting woodsman they slew, and continued their retreat. In the meanwhile, the outrages of these murderers had not escaped notice, nor were they tamely submitted to. The Governor of Kentucky had offered a reward for their heads, and parties of volunteers had pursued them; they had been so fortunate as to escape punishment by their cunning, but had not the prudence to desist, or to fly the country. A man, named Leiper, in revenge for the murder of Mrs. Stegal, raised a party, pursued, and discovered the assassins, on the day succeeding that atrocious deed. They came so suddenly upon-the Harpes that they had only time to fly in different directions. Accident aided the pursuers. One of the Harpes was a large, and the other a small man; the first usually rode a strong, powerful horse, the other a fleet, but much smaller animal, and in the hurry of flight they had ex¬ changed horses. The chase was long and hot: the smaller Harpe escaped unnoticed; but the other, who was kept in view, spurred on the noble animal he rode, and which, al¬ ready jaded, began to fail at the end of five or six miles. Still the miscreant pressed forward; for although none of his pursuers were near but Leiper, who had outridden his com¬ panions, he was not willing to risk a combat with a man as strong and perhaps bolder than himself, who was animated with a noble spirit of indignation against a shocking and un¬ manly outrage. Leiper was mounted upon a horse of cele¬ brated powers, which he had borrowed from a neighbour for this occasion. At the beginning of the chase, he had pressed his charger to the height of his speed, carefully keeping on the track of Harpe, of whom he sometimes caught a glimpse as he ascended the hills, and again lost sight in the valleys and the brush. But as he gained on the foe, and became sure of his victim, he slackened his pace, cocked his rifle, and deliberately pursued, sometimes calling upon the outlaw to surrender. At length, in leaping a ravine, Harpe’s horse sprained a limb, and Leiper overtook him. Both were armed with rifles. Leiper fired, and woundted Harpe through the 282 THE HARPES. body; the latter, turning in his seat, levelled his piece, which missed fire, and he dashed it to the ground, swearing it was the first time it had ever deceived him. He then drew a tomahawk, and waited the approach of Leiper, who, nothing daunted, unsheathed his long hunting knife and rushed upon his desperate foe, grappled with him, hurled him to the ground, and wrested his only remaining weapon from his grasp. The prostrate wretch—exhausted with the loss of blood, conquered, but unsubdued in spirit—now lay passive at the feet of his adversary. Expecting every moment the arrival of the rest of his pursuers, he inquired if Stegal was of the party, and being answered in the affirmative, he exclaimed, u Then I am a dead man.” “ That would make no difference,” replied Leiper, calmly; u you must die at any rate. I do not wish to kill you myself, but if nobody else will do it, I must.” Leiper was a humane man, easy, slow spoken, and not quickly excited, but a tho¬ rough soldier when roused. Without insulting the expiring criminal, he questioned him as to the motives of his late atrocities. The murderer attempted not to palliate or deny them, and confessed that he had been actuated by no induce¬ ment but a settled hatred of his species, whom he had sworn to destroy without distinction, in retaliation for some fancied injury. He* expressed no regret for any of his bloody deeds, except that which he confessed he had perpetrated upon one of his own children. u It cried,” said he, “ and I killed it: I had always told the women, I would have no crying about me.” He acknowledged that he had amassed large sums of money, and described the places of concealment; but as ru ne was ever discovered, it is presumed he did not declare the truth. Leiper had fired several times at Harpe during the chase, and wounded him; and when the latter was asked why, when he found Leiper pursuing him alone, he did not dismount and take to a tree , from behind which he could inevitably have shot him as he approached, he replied that he had supposed there was not a horse in the country equal to the one which he rode, and that he was confident of making his escape. He thought also that the pursuit would be less eager, so long as he abstained from shedding the blood of any of his pursuers. On the arrival of the rest of the party, the wretch was des¬ patched, and he died as he had lived, in remorseless guilt. It is said, however, that he was about to make some disclosure and had commenced in a tone of more sincerity than he had before evinced, when Stegal advanced and severed his head THE HARPES. 283 from his body. This bloody trophy they carried to the near¬ est magistiate, a Mr. Newman, before whom it was proved to be the head of Micajah Harpe; they then placed it in the fork of a tree, where it long remained a revolting object of horror. The spot which is near the Highland Lick, in Union (then Henderson) county, is still called Harpers Head , and a public road which passes it, is called the Harpe’s Head Road. The other Harpe made his way to the neighbourhood of Natchez, where he join :d a gang of robbers, headed by a man named Meason, whose villanies were so notorious that a reward was offered for his head. At that period, vast re¬ gions along the shores of the Ohio and Mississippi were still unsettled, through which boats navigating those rivers must necessarily pass; and the traders who, after selling their cargoes at New Orleans, attempted to return by land, had to cross immense wildernesses, totally destitute of inhabit¬ ants. Meason, who was a man rather above the ordinary stamp, infested these deserts, seldom committing murder, but robbing all who fell in his way. Sometimes he plundered the descending boats; but more frequently he allowed these to pass, preferring to rob their owners of their money as they returned, pleasantly observing, that u those people were taking produce to market for him.” Harpe took an opportunity, when the rest of his companions were absent, to slay Meason, and putting his head in a bag, carried it to Natchez, and claimed the reward. The claim was admitted; the head of Meason was recognised; but so also was the face of Harpe, who was arrested, condemned, and executed. In collecting oral testimony of events long past, a consid erable variety will often be found in the statements of the per¬ sons conversant with the circumstances. In this case, I have found none, except as the fact of the two Harpes having ex¬ changed horses. A day or two before the fatal catastro¬ phe which ended their career in Kentucky, they had murder¬ ed a gentleman named Love, and had taken his horse, a remarkably fine animal, which big Harpe undoubtedly rode when he was overtaken. It is said that little Harpe escaped on foot, and not on his brother’s horse. Many of these facts were disclosed by the latter, while under sentence of death. After Harpe’s death the women came in and claimed pro¬ tection. Two of them were the wives of the larger Harpe, the other, of his brother. The latter w r as a decent female, of delicate, prepossessing appearance, who stated that she 284 J. 0. BEAUCHAMP. had mariied her husband without any knowledge of his real character, shortly before they set out for the west; that she was so much shocked at the first murder they committed, that she attempted to escape from them, but was prevented, and that she had since made similar attempts. She imme¬ diately wrote to her father in Virginia, who came for her, and took her home. The other women were in no way re¬ markable. They remained in Muhlenburgh county. These horrid events will sound like fiction to your ears, when told as having happened in any part of the United States, so foreign are they from the generosity of the Ameri¬ can character, the happy security of our institutions, and the moral habits of our people. But it is to be recollected that they happened twenty-seven years ago, in frontier settlements, far distant from the civilized parts of our country. The principal scene of Harpe’s atrocities, and of his death, was in that part of Kentucky which lies south of Green River, a vast wilderness, then known by the general name of the Green River Country , and containing a few small and thinly scattered settlements—the more dense population of that state being at that time confined to its northern and eastern parts. The Indians still possessed the country to the south and west. That enormities should sometimes have been practised at these distant spots, cannot be matter of surprise; the only wonder is that they were so few. The first settlers were a hardy and an honest people; but they were too few in number, and too widely spread, to be able to create or enforce wholesome civil restraints. Desperadoes, flying from justice, or seeking a secure theatre for the perpetration of crime, might frequently escape discovery, and as often elude or openly defy the arm of justice. JEROBOAM O. BEAUCHAMP. The fate of this man may serve to teach a respect for the laws of honor, for revenging the violation of which he gave hi? life. It may teach such as triumph in the abuse of female innocence, that even though the victim may have no parent or biother, some other arm may be nerved to vengeance. It J. 0. BEAUCHAMP. 285 may show the danger of calumny and warn the young and violent not to take the laws into their own hands. It speaks volumes against seduction, slander, promise-breaking and suicide. Jeroboam 0. Beauchamp was the second son of a very worthy farmer in Kentucky. The early part of his education was pious and salutary, for his parents were professors of re¬ ligion. He was volatile, idle and eccentric, but showed such indications of genius as made him the pride and favorite of his father, who sent him to the best schools in the country, and made great personal sacrifices to give him a liberal edu¬ cation. Young Beauchamp had the good fortune to be placed under the tuition of Doctor Benjamin Thurston, a man of worth, learning, and ability, who, by the time he reached his sixteenth year, had given him a tolerable English educa¬ tion, a knowledge of the Latin tongue, and a respectable acquaintance with many branches of science. Young Beau¬ champ now perceiving that his father had much difficulty to provide for a large rising family, resolved to depend for the future on his own exertions. To raise money to defray the farther expenses of his education he betook himself to shop keeping, but finding it left no time for his studies he ob¬ tained recommendations from Dr. Thurston and others, and obtained the preceptorship of a school. When he had earned a little money in this way, he gave up his employment and resumed his studies. Shortly after, he was invited by his former friend and benefactor Dr. Thurston into his school, where he remained, as an usher, till he was eighteen years old, by which he had completed his education as far as was necessary preparatory to the study of the law. He then began to attend the courts at Glasgow and Bowling Green. About this time public indignation was excited to the ut¬ most against Solomon P. Sharp, an attorney of high reputa¬ tion and a colonel of militia. The act which incurred the general disapprobation was the seduction of Miss Ann Cooke, accompanied with circumstances of peculiar atrocity. She belonged to one of the best and most wealthy families in Kentucky and was herself ^celebrated for beauty, talents, and accomplishments. What added a darker shade to Sharp’s wickedness was, that he owed his success in life to the patron¬ age of her family, which had been extended to him when he was young and poor. But when the case was reversed, when the Cookes had met with reverses, and he had become rich and powerful, he requited their benefits by seducing their 13 # J. 0. BEAUCHAMP. 286 * daughter, whose strong mind was not proof to his talents and promises. The offspring of his guilt did not long survive its birth; whereby hangs a tale. By a strange succession of calamities Miss Cooke’s father brethren and friends had de¬ scended successively to the grave, and she now retired with her aged mother, her only surviving near relation, to a small farm, near Beauchamp’s father’s farm. Here she secluded herself from the world, refusing to be comforted, and hiding herself from society. Shortly after, Colonel Sharp paid his addresses to a Miss Scott, and to remove her scruples touching his connexion with Ann Cooke, forged a certificate stating that the child of his sins was a mulatto, thus degrading his victim still farther. He then married Miss Scott. Beauchamp was well acquainted with Sharp, who had evinc¬ ed much good will toward him. He had also heard much of the beauty and accomplishments of Miss Cooke. When, therefore, the transactions we have briefly related became the common topic of discourse, his indignation at Sharp’s conduct was vehemently kindled. A gentleman who lodged in the same apartment with him, and whom he regarded as his near¬ est friend, had formerly paid court to Miss Cooke, and he now spoke of her in such exalted terms, and with so much contempt and abhorrence of Sharp that he inspirediBeauchamp with his own feelings. The latter had been delighted with Sharp’s eloquence and had sought his acquaintance, nay, had expressed a desire to study the law under his direction; but now he treated him very coldly. On one occasion, Sharp asked Beauchamp if he intended to begin the study of the law. Our hero replied that he did, in a few months. Sharp then observed that he had heard he intended to come to Bowling Green to study with him. Beauchamp sternly replied that he did indeed intend to study at Bowling Green, but not with him. Though something surprised at his incivility Sharp complimented him with an augury of his success, and said it would give him pleasure to facilitate his progress in any way. With these prepossessions for Miss Cooke and against Sharp Beauchamp went to his father’s house in Simpson county for the benefit of his health, which he had impaired by hard study. Here he learned that Miss Cooke dwelt in the neigh¬ bourhood with her aged mother and a few servants. He im¬ mediately resolved to become acquainted with one of whom he had heard so much, but was at first deterred from the attempt by hearing that she refused to make any acquaintances J. 0. BEAUCHAMP. or receive any company. However, the more he heard of her the stronger his curiosity grew, and at last he ventured to her house. As he approached he saw her through a window, but on his arrival she retired. On his entrance he was received by the servants, who set refreshments before him, but the object of his visit declined to see him. He sent a second message which brought her into the apartment, and he introduced himself. He told her that though he knew she was not inclined to receive visits, he had resolved to hazard the mortification of a denial. His strong desire to be ac¬ quainted with her, sprung he said, from the conversation of his friend before mentioned, who had spoken very highly of her. He found it hard, he continued, to pass away the time in retirement without books or, society, and hoped she would grant him the use of her library, even though she should decline his acquaintance and the visits of his sisters, who wished to call on her. She replied that she had left Bowling Green purposely to avoid society, and never would again mingle with the world. She was therefore unwilling to receive visits, but her library was perfectly at his service. She then showed him her books and they spent the afternoon together, reading, and convers¬ ing on what they read. Toward night, when about to take leave, Beauchamp select¬ ed abook to take home, though Miss Cooke would have had him take several. He said he would read the one he had selected and then return for more. She smiled, on perceiv¬ ing that his design was merely to have a pretext for repeating his visit. However he took but one book, and scarcely delayed long enough to read that before he returned for another. Pity, it is said, melts the. mind to love, and so was seen in this case. The enthusiastic youth had seen Miss Cooke but once, and had lost his heart and his reason wholly. She was a fascinating woman and • he was a mere boy, little acquainted with the world, and of a romantic disposition. Therefore, there is little matter of astonishment in the fact. Perhaps, too, she exerted herself to gain him to her purposes, but if that was her first intention it is certain that her attach¬ ment soon became as strong as his. Indeed, her heart must have been hard indeed had it withstood the proofs of his de¬ votion. On his return Miss Cooke refused to see him, but caused him to be conducted into her library, where he read for some hours alone, and finally departed without seeing her. He 288 J. 0. BEAUCHAMP. met the same reception on a third visit, and this treatment very much inflamed him, as, perhaps, she intended it should. She now haunted his mind in a way that every man older than twenty will readily comprehend, and he went a fourth time to her house, determined not to be repulsed. After reading some hours he sent for her, alleging some especial reason for his conduct. She came, and he re¬ monstrated long and urgently against her refusal to receive him. He said that she and not her books brought him to the house, and employed all his rhetoric to persuade her to relax in her resolution and suffer his sisters to be introduced to her. She refused firmly, giving him such reasons why his sisters ought not to see her as his own reason would have suggested, had he not been led astray by passion. She could never be happy in society again she said, and as she could not return the visits of his sisters, they would not wish to see her. As to his own visits, she would admit them when the use of her library was their object. The next day Beauchamp ventured to take his sisters with him, her refusal to see them notwithstanding. She received and entertained them politely, but refused to return their visit, nor did she ask them to come again. After this Beauchamp visited her very often, and always insisted on seeing her, so that at last by his importunate .perseverance, he prevailed on her to receive him as a friend and acquaintance. She con¬ sented to meet and spend part of the time of his stay in the same room with him, after which she would retire to read, design, or other amusements. However, as his language to her began to grow warm, she imposed on him as an indispen¬ sable condition that he should not speak of love, but regard her merely as a friend. Every one knows what such friendships end in: in a short time such an affection was enkindled between them as mortals seldom feel. He, to use his own language, u was in love, with all the ardor of passionate and feeling youth, when it first feels the buddings of that sweetest of all passions, which reciprocated make a heaven of earth.” Though he kept his promise and did not mention his folly to Miss Cooke, she read it plainly enough in his eyes. Yea, he soon perceived that with all her pretended Platonism, she felt something more than mere friendship for him. Alas, that what was so sweet to the taste should have been so bitter in digestion. At last his passion broke all bounds, and he declared him¬ self. . He could see that the avowal awakened no very violent J. 0. BEAUCHAMP. 289 displeasure, yet she declined hearing anything more on the subject. Where the fox can enter one paw, his body soon finds admittance, and, the ice being broken, they could now talk about the tender passion, not, it is true, as lovers, but as friends. She always said that there was an insuperable bar¬ rier between herself and any honorable man, but Beauchamp would not believe it. When at last he broke through all re¬ straint, and formally solicited her hand, she burst into an agony of passion, and told him that though her heart could find no objection in him, there was yet an insuperable obstacle to her happiness. For a long time she refused to name the obstacle, but at last he would take no denial, and obliged her to declare herself. She said, coolly and firmly, that the hand that should clasp hers before the altar must revenge the injury she had sustain¬ ed. Her heart could never cease to ache till Colonel Sharp should have received his death wound through her means. He had blighted her earthly happiness, and she should feel unworthy of an honest man’s love, till he was in his grave. She would kiss the hand and adore the person of him who should avenge her, but she would not consent that any but Beauchamp should do it. Far from thinking this condition hard, the infatuated youth was delighted with it. Indeed he had thought of the matter before and considered Sharp’s death as the necessary con¬ sequence of his marriage with Miss Cooke. Such, in his opinion, was the only way to repair his wife’s honor and secure his own. He heard her require what he had desired and calculated upon with rapture. He told her that it had been his fixed purpose to slay Colonel Sharp, if he married her. She con¬ sented to become his wife, and in the ardor of his feelings he re¬ solved to fight Sharp immediately, for he had not yet resolved on assassination: as a stranger, not allied to Miss Cooke, he did not feel himself justifiable in killing Skarp, if he should refuse to fight. It may seem strange that he could have be¬ lieved such an act justifiable in any case, but be it remember¬ ed that human life is little regarded in the western states. Colonel Sharp was then in Frankfort. He had just re¬ ceived the appointment of Attorney General, and was to send for his family in order to fix his residence where he was. Beauchamp resolved to go thither immediately, though Miss Cooke remonstrated against it. She said Sharp was a coward who would fight in no case, and that being surrounded by his friends in Frankfort he would have every advantage. She desired him to wait till Sharp should come to Bowling Green, 290 J. 0. BEAUCHAMP. where her friends lived, who would support him in his purpose Beauchamp would listen to no expostulation. His determina¬ tion was to force Sharp into a personal combat if possible; but if that could not be, he pledged himself to Miss Cooke by an oath, that he would do the murder in a way to endanger his own life as little as might be. He took leave of her in the presence of his sister. She burst into tears and invoked heaven to be his defence and shield in his unhallowed enter¬ prise. Miss Beauchamp was much astonished, as were all his family, to'whom his business in Frankfort was a mystery. This happened in the year eighteen hundred and twenty-one. When Beauchamp reached Frankfort the Legislature was in session, but he saw no one he knew till he met Colonel Sharp at the Mansion House. He accosted Beauchamp in the most cordial manner. The latter took him by the arm tel¬ ling him he had come to Frankfort to see him on impor¬ tant business, and asked him to take a walk. They walked along the river bank out of the town till they came to a retired spot, where they halted, as the bell of the Mansion House was ringing for supper. Beauchamp then turned short upon Sharp and asked if he remembered the last words the injured Miss Cooke had spoken to him. At this question Sharp stood still, pale and trembling. u Colonel Sharp,” said Beauchamp, “ I have come deputed and sent by her to take your life. I am the man of whom, in the spirit of prophecy, she spoke to you, when she forbade you her presence. She says you will not fight me. Will you, Sir, or not?” Sharp stood still without replying and Beauchamp continued. u Answer me, Colonel Sharp. Will you fight a d-uel with me ?” u My dear friend,” replied Sharp, “ I cannot fight you on Miss Cooke’s account.” On this Beauchamp drew his dirk and, assuming a menacing attitude, bade him defend himself. u Upon my honor, Sir,” said Sharp, “ I have no weapon but a small penknife.” Beauchamp took from his pocket a Spanish knife and offer- *ng that and his dirk to Sharp said, “ choose one of these Sir, and I will throw it to you.” “ My dear friend,” Sharp repeated, “ I cannot fight you on Miss Cooke’s account.” Beauchamp threw the knife toward him, lifted his dagger and cried, “ You d—d villain, what do you mean by that? That she is not worthy you should fight her friend and avenger?” J. 0. BEAUCHAMP. 2 91 u My friend,” replied Sharp, u I meant that I never can fight the friend of that worthy, injured lady. If her brothers had murdered me I never could have had the heart to raise my hand to defend myself. And if you, my friend, are hei husband, I will never raise my hand against you.” u I am not her husband, Sir,” said Beauchamp, u but I am her friend-and avenger. She has sent me to take your life. Now, Sir, tell me if you will fight a duel with me.” With these words the speaker again raised his dagger, and seeing Sharp about to run, sprang upon him and seized him by the collar, “ Now, you d—d villain,” said he, u you shall die.” Sharp fell on his knees. u My life is in your hands,” he ex¬ claimed. u My friend, I beg my life. Spare it for mercy’s sake.” Beauchamp let him go, and struck him in the face, so rudely that he reeled backward. u Get up you coward,” he cried, “ and go till I meet you to-morrow in the street.” As he rose Beauchamp gave him a kick. u Now,” he said u go and arm yourself, for to-morrow I will horsewhip you in the streets and repeat it daily till you fight me.” Sharp, calling Beauchamp u dear friend” in every sentence, began to implore more lenient treatment, saying that his con¬ duct had made him miserable. His whole estate, he said, should be at the command of Miss Cooke and Beauchamp, or he would do anything they might require if they would only spare his life, for the sake of his wife and child. All this humility did not mollify his enemy in the least, u Stand off, you viHain,” he cried, “ or I will take your life for the insult of offering me your estate .” Sharp said that he meant no insult, but he would do anything that could possibly be required, so his life might be spared. u It is of no use,” answered Beauchamp, u to multiply words. You must either kill me, or I will kill you, so you had better consent to fight me at once. I will give you any ad¬ vantage you choose as to the manner of fighting, but fight you must, or die.” u Why,” said Sharp, u my dear friend, if you were to take a dirk and I had a sword, I could not raise it against you. My friend, if John Cooke had beaten me to death with a stick, and I had had a sword, I could never have raised it against him.” This he said weeping. u Very good, Colonel Sharp,” said Beauchamp, u you are just such a whining coward as I was told you were. But Sir, it will only give me the more prolonged pleasure in killing you. For if I don’t beat you in the streets daily, till I make you 292 J. 0. BEAUCHAMP. fight me, or till I beat you to death—one or the other I will certainly do. So now go to sleep upon that, till I meet you to-morrow in the streets.” He then began to look for the knife he had thrown down, while Sharp spoke again, in the deprecating style he had already used, and begged his life over and over! “ O,” said he, “you are the favored possessor of that great and worthy woman’s love. Be it so then—here, take my life—I deserve it. But do not disgrace me in the streets.” Beauchamp bade him begone instantly, or he would take him at his word. At the same time he started toward him, which made Sharp think it best to move off toward the town. After looking a long while in vain for his knife Beauchamp also went back to his lodgings. Such scenes of ruffian violence as we have described are not uncommon in the west. Beauchamp, not satisfied with having humbled Sharp to the dust, prepared to repeat the air with variations and additions. To this end he bought a very heavy whip, and after breakfasting in the morning, patroled the streets, in search of his enemy, armed at all points. He expected that Sharp would be found surrounded by his friends, and would fire on him as he advanced to the assault. He also had pistols, and to keep to windward of the law intended to approach without uttering a word. If Sharp fired, he meant to return the fire from a distance. Thus he was sure of having the advantage, for he knew that Sharp was unskill ed in the use of the pistol while he was himself an excellent shot. This circumspection would convict him of cowardice, had he not before offered to fight Sharp fairly; at any rate it proves that his moral perceptions were by no means acute. May Heaven forgive his wickedness. He walked round the town several times in the course of the day, and seeing nothing of the intended victim, concluded that he had kept his room. Our hero repeated his promenade the next day, till becoming impatient, he made inquiries and learned that Sharp had set off at daylight the morning after their rencontre for Bowling Green, in order, as he had said, to bring his family to Frankfort. Beauchamp mounted his beast and pursued, but leisurely, as he knew he could not overtake his enemy short of Bowling Green, where he would rather have met him than in any other place. When he got to Bowling Green he found he had been deceived: Sharp was not there, nor was he expected. He then returned to home an # 1 Miss Cooke. J. 0. BEAUCHAMP. 293 They concluded to defer their marriage till Colonel Sharp should come to Bowling Green, when they intended to lure him to Miss Cooke’s house, so that she might kill him with her own hand. Beauchamp did not like this plan, for he chought he should be dishonored if Sharp fell by any hand but his own. But she was inflexible, desiring more than all things to avenge her own wrong; and that she might not fail, she practised daily with pistols, in the use of which her lover instructed her. At last Sharp came to Bowling Green, and she wrote a letter which she hoped would bring him within her reach. Notwithstanding the feeling she had manifested toward him at their last meeting, she said, that though she had forbid¬ den him ever to see her again, she found that such was not the dictate of her heart, but of a delirious passion. He ought not to be surprised that the enthusiastic and chivalrous feelings of a youth like Beauchamp had made him hope to win her favor by fighting a duel in her behalf. It was true she had been pleased with Mr. Beauchamp’s character, and might have encouraged his hopes by some heedless expres¬ sions, but she had broken off all intercourse with him, on ac¬ count of the violent course he had taken. She expected soon to leave the state, and as he had conjured her by letter to consent to an interview, she now thought that before she left the state she should like to return his letters and have back her own, if he still retained any of them. She therefore requested him to call, at a stated time, and desired him to apprise her by the servant who carried the letter whether he would come or not. On reading the letter, Colonel Sharp asked the servant whether Mr. Beauchamp was at Miss CookeVhouse when he left it. The man answered no, for he had been instructed so to do. Sharp then asked if Beauchamp continued to visit his mistress, and was informed that he did. The next ques¬ tion was respecting the time since Beauchamp’s last visit, which he was informed took place several days before. He learned that a marriage had been spoken of between Miss Cooke and Beauchamp, and was falsely informed that his enemy was not in the neighbourhood. In his answer he expressed no less delight than surprise at a permission to see her once more, of which he acknowledged himself unworthy, and said that nothing but death should hinder him from attending her at the hour appointed. How¬ ever, he did not come, having probably some suspicion that 294 J. 0. BEAUCHAMP. the letter was an artifice to entrap him, as indeed it was. The nsxt morning Beauchamp started for Bowling Green, re¬ solved to settle the business with Sharp in some way, but found on his arrival that he had been gone two days on his way to Frankfort. Wherefore our hero determined to pur¬ sue his studies quietly in Bowling Green till Sharp should venture thither to arrange his affairs, which he had left in an unsettled state. He felt, as he afterwards said, that he never could consider Miss Cooke as his wife till he should have de¬ stroyed her seducer, and she thought that Beauchamp would be degraded by marrying her before her injuries should be avenged. Beauchamp made a journey to Tennessee, of which more anon, before he married. He abstained long from any attempt on Sharp, because Miss Cooke could not be persuaded to forego the purpose of immolating him with her own hand. This womanish idea was worth many days of life to him. In June eighteen hundred and twenty-four, Beauchamp, having com¬ pleted his studies, married Ann Cooke, and he now thought himself privileged to revenge her, even by assassination. That year the gubernatorial election took place, the con¬ test being between Judge Tompkins and General Desha. Beauchamp looked forward with hopes for the success of Judge Tompkins, because he forsaw that he should be obliged to petition for executive clemency, and he knew that Colonel Sharp was Desha’s right hand man. He also knew that Sharp possessed great influence in Frankfort, and was there considered the head of a powerful party, for which reasons, he naturally feared to come before a Frankfort jury. Sharp had long been expected in Bowling Green, but as he did not come, Beauchamp began to be impatient, and fearful that he would never more venture thither. He hit on an ingenious expedient to ascertain the truth. He caused letters to Colonel Sharp, to be put into various postoffices about the country, signed with the names of imaginary persons, and purporting that the signers wished to know when he would be in Bowling Green, that they might consult him on business. However, he received no positive answer, and therefore determined if Sharp did not soon come to Bowling Green to seek and slay him in whatever corner of the world he might be found: About this time an event occurred which confirmed him in his resolution Sharp was a candidate for a seat in the legislature, and, as may be supposed, his political opponents did not fail to reproach J. 0. BEAUCHAMP. 295 him with the seduction of Miss Cooke. This injured his prospect, and to do away with the unfavorable impression, a report was circulated that Miss Cooke’s child was the offspring of a negro. Sharp supported the tale by reference to the forged certificate before mentioned. He was led into this villainy by the imprudence of - his wife’s family, for whose satisfaction the certificate had originally been forged. It is by no means probable that he at first meant to make so open a use of it. Yet the story having been once told, on his au¬ thority, he was obliged to persist in it, for one falsehood is the sure progenitor of a thousand more. When this thing came to Beauchamp’s ears he resolved to go to Frankfort at once, and assassinate Sharp, whatever the danger might be, and although Desha was governor. He was encouraged by Desha’s private affairs. At that moment Isaac Desha, the governor’s son, was lying in prison, awaiting his trial for a robbery and murder committed on the highway, with circumstances of peculiar atrocity. He thought, from a knowledge of the governor’s character, that he would pardon his son, and could not therefore refuse to extend the executive clemency to him also. He hoped to es¬ cape with impunity for other reasons, viz: Colonel Sharp was the main pillar of the new administra¬ tion. Party rage ran very high, and Beauchamp thought, with reason, that if he should slay him on the second night of the election, his party would be glad to turn his death to account, by charging the old court party with it. Even Sharp’s own fam¬ ily, he believed, would be glad to enhance the value of their kinsman by giving currency to the report. But for an unfore¬ seen occurrence, the junction of the two parties, this stra¬ tagem would have had the effect he intended. He waited patiently till the night before the meeting of the legislature, and in the meanwhile took his measures to divert suspicion, and to effect his escape to Missouri. Three weeks before the meeting of the legislature, he made sale of his property, and reported on all occasions that he should start for Missouri, the very day on which he really intended to kill Colonel Sharp. He had his wagon, horses, and everything ready, and even hired persons to come, two days previous to the time of the premeditated murder, to assist him in loading his wagon. Yet he had secretly prepared an excuse for defer¬ ring his departure till a week later. He had managed to have business in Frankfort, that would 296 J. 0. BEAUCHAMP. render it necessary for him to go thither before his departure for Missouri. However, he never intimated his intention to go there, because he wished to have it appear a casual thing. That this might be more apparent, lie told his business to one Lowe, and offered to hire him to go and transact the business for him, well knowing that Lowe would refuse. On Lowe’s refusal he told him he could not possibly attend to the matter himself, and would therefore get his brother to go for him. But the Saturday before the Tuesday on which he really intended to start for Frankfort, he procured a process to be issued against him, which if executed, must necessarily pre¬ vent his projected removal to Missouri. On Saturday evening he was informed of this process, at which he affected the utmost astonishment. He told his informant, Mr. Bradburn, that it would ruin him, by preventing his removal. Bradburn said it was a mere vexatious thing, intended to delay him, and advised him to keep out of the way and avoid it, till his friends could get his family ready to start. Beauchamp said he would rather remain and defend himself, as the next Sunday was the day he had set for his departure. The next day he met Lowe, who was a constable, and forbade him to approach, saying he was armed and would defend himself. On several occasions he expressed his determination to stay and brave the law, but at last, on the urgent solicitation of his friends, consented to leave the country to avoid the process, while they should prepare for the departure of his family. Thus he availed himself of the process as a pretext for going to Frankfort, for which he immediately started. He carried with him a bundle of old clothes, such as are worn in Kentucky by negroes, to disguise himself in, and had, beside, a black silk mask, made by his wife for this express purpose. So well had she fitted it to his face, that he could not have been dis¬ tinguished, with it on, from a negro, at the distance of five yards. Moreover he was provided with a large butcher’s knife, the point of which Mrs. Beauchamp had poisoned. He was told at the Mansion House in Frankfort that he could not be accommodated, and had the same answer to his demand for lodgings at another tavern. Here he was told that Mr. Scott, the keeper of the penitentiary, might take him in, and accordingly went thither and was admitted. He retired early, and equipped himself for the deed he had so long meditated. Unluckily for him, he threw the handker¬ chief in which his bundle of old clothes had been tied on the outside of the bed, and left it there. He put on, instead of J. 0. BEAUCHAMP. 297 shies, two pairs of yarn stockings, to prevent his steps from being heard, and his track from being identified. Between nine and ten he stole down stairs, and crept softly out of Mr. Scott’s house, unheard, as he thought, by any one. He went directly to Colonel Sharp’s house, the position of which had been accurately described to him, and looked into the windows. The victim was not there. He then sauntered to the Mansion House, and saw Colonel Sharp within through the windows. He had so long thought of killing this man that he believed he could do it coolly and dispassionately. But at the sight of him he was excited to such a degree that he could scarce refrain from rushing in, and stabbing him in the crowd. After awhile he lost sight of him, and went to his house again, but he was not there. For fear, therefore, of missing him, Beauchamp determined to watch the house till he arrived. He could not reconcile it to his mind that Sharp should die without knowing his murderer, and therefore re¬ solved to lay hands on him in the street, whisper his name, and instantly despatch him. But while he was examining the back part of the house, Sharp got in unperceived, and thus frustrated one part of his plan. After a few moment’s reflection, the assassin concluded to wait till all in the house had retired, and then call the Colonel up. He had originally intended to have killed Doctor Sharp, the Colonel’s brother, who had been one of the promulgators of the slander touch¬ ing the black child, but his wife had dissuaded him Now, while he was lying in the public square doubting whether to knock at the front door or a secret one in a dark alley, he concluded to kill the Doctor also, lest he should be the means of detecting him. An accident saved him: one of the neigh¬ bours came and asked him to accompany him home, and he went. To lure Sharp to the door Beauchamp could think of no better plan than to call himself one of the Covingtons, Sharp’s most intimate friends. For reasons of his own he intended to alter the name a little. Having matured his plans the assassin drew his dagger and knocked at the door in the alley, three times, loud and quick. “Who’s there?” cried Sharp. “ Covington,” replied Beau¬ champ. The assassin soon heard Sharp approaching, and saw under the door that he carried a light. He drew his mask from his face, and the instant Sharp opened the door seized him with the left hand. The violence of the grasp alarmed the victim, who sprung back, trying in vain to disen- 29S J. 0. BEAUCHAMP. gage his wrist, and asked, “ What Covington is t nis ?” u John A. Covington, Sir,” replied the murderer. “ f don’t know you,” said the other, “ I knew John W. Covington,” “ My name,” the assassin repeated, “ is John A. Covington.” At this moment Mrs. Sharp, who had come to an inner door with her husband, being alarmed at the little scuffle he made to free his wrist, disappeared. Beauchamp then said in a tone of deep mortification, u And did you not know me, sure enough?” u Not with your handkerchief about your face,” he replied, for the handkerchief with which he had bound on his mask, was still bound round Beauchamp’s forehead. u Come to the light, Colonel,” said the assassin in a per¬ suasive tone, u and you will know me.” With that he gave Sharp a pull and he came readily to the door. Beauchamp planted one foot on the first step of the door, tore away the handkerchief, and looked up full in his victim’s face. Horror struck at the sight, Sharp sprang back exclaiming, “ Great God, It’s he!” and so saying fell on his knees after failing to release his wrist. As he fell the murderer shifted his grasp from his wrist to his throat, dashed him against the facing of the door, choaking him all the while to prevent him from crying aloud. “ Die villain,” he cried, at the same moment driving the knife to his heart and letting him go. He rose from his knees, endeavouring to throw his arms round his murderer’s neck, and said, u Pray Mr. Beauchamp”—As he spoke his enemy struck him in the face with his left hand and knocked him down upon the floor. Then seeing the light coming he put on his mask and ran a little way off. Being desirous, however, to know if he had done his work thoroughly, he came back and squatted down in the alley to listen. He heard Mrs Sharp speak toiler husband, but he could not answer. In a very brief space Doctor Sharp ran in and ex claimed, u Great God, Beauchamp has done this! I always expected it!” The town was now alarmed, and the people began to collect, but Beauchamp did not budge, he wanted to hear what would be said, and moreover wished to be seen and taken for a negro. At last, as he was trying to look into a window, Mrs. Sharp came upon him, and cried to the com¬ pany that she saw the murderer. He started and ran, pursued by all the people, but he distanced them every one, and went to the river side to get his hat and coat. He went farther down and sunk the old hat and coat in which he had done this ruthless deed in the river, with a stone. He also concealed his knife. Then after dressing himself in his ordinaryapparel, / ■ »• .• K tl stfc.* * • V. ■ ' * A * ' ‘ • • J &3L ! fe4 4 V\. * i . >. . . . . V. :* f . . ^ • *5 ' f *M »■ f * 't ■ iftf >d! ^ r& •'«** ; 4 i on. ** *«* ••• ■ - i»} . v ‘ '• . • i » • V % . h t * * .*' >«j t; v m I u 4 J. 0. BEAUCHAMP. 299 he returned into the town, and passed Colonel Sharp’s house, where all was now silent as the grave. However, he had heard and seen that Sharp died without uttering a syllable, before he left the house, which was the chief cause of his anxi¬ ety. He regained his chamber, as he had left it, lighted his candle, burned his mask, washed his hands, and laid down, with a tolerable certainty of being arrested in the morning. Will it be believed? he slept soundly till the stirring of the family awakened him in the morning. Mr. Scott, Beauchamp’s landlord, was a relation of Mrs. Sharp. In the morning Beauchamp heard the news of Sharp’s death told to Scott, and expected a visit from him in his cham¬ ber. Shortly he came into the room and bade good morning to the murderer, who returned the salutation very politely. u Don’t you think,” said the other abruptly, “ that some man went to Sharp last night and killed him? u Great God,” cried the assassin, with well affected composure , (f is it possible ? What, Colonel Sharp dead!” “ Yes,” said Scott, “ Colonel Sharp is dead.’’ Beauchamp stood a moment mute, and then asked, u How did it happen Sir? In a fight?” u No,” replied Scott, u some stranger called him to his door and just stabbed him dead.” As he was about to retire Beauchamp called him back with, u Stay, Sir; for God’s sake tell me something about this horrid affair.” “I can tell you nothing in the world about it, Sir, said Scott, “ farther than that Colonel Sharp was called to his door from his bed, and stabbed down dead upon the floor.” With that, his suspicions being probably removed, Scott retired. When Beauchamp went down stairs Mrs. Scott asked him into the dining room and told him about the murder. He told her he had heard of it before, from her husband, and asked if any one was suspected. She answered in the negative, and he then went to the Register’s Office. He had before sent the documents relating to certain surveys to be entered on the register’s books, in order to account for his presence in Frank¬ fort. After searching the files, he found that this business had been neglected by the person to whom it was entrusted, and saw, to his confusion, that he should not be able to give a satisfactory account of himself. He therefore resolved to start immediately for home to avoid being arrested, hastened back to Mr. Scott’s house, and ordered his horse. While the servants were preparing his horse, he entered into conversation about the murder with Mr. Scott, and per¬ ceived, by his manner, that his suspicions had revived 14 300 J. 0. BEAUCHAMP. However, he answered all questions politely, and even ad¬ mitted that he had married Ann Cooke. This information made a strong impression on Mr. Scott, but he did not never¬ theless arrest Beauchamp, who mounted his horse and rode off unmolested. When he had gotten a little way from Frankfort, he recol¬ lected having left the handkerchief before mentioned on his bed, and at first thought of turning back for it, but remember¬ ing that it was ragged and worn out, and thinking that the blood on it came from his own nose some weeks before, he concluded it could avail nothing as evidence against him, and so kept on. Reflecting, too, that it would be difficult to avoid incurring farther suspicion, he resolved only to tell the news of the murder where there were several persons present, so that as witnesses, one might be a check on the other. He soon met two persons, but as he himself afterwards stated, did not mention the matter to them. He m « ,#yV ;f * I' ■ :>V ♦ i # THOMAS I. WANSLEY. 32 1 captured a ship from Charleston, took her to Cape Antonio, and were busily engaged in landing her cargo, when the United States brig Enterprise, Captain Kearney, hove in sight, and discovering their vessels at anchor, sent in her barges to attack them. A serious engagement followed; they defended themselves for sometime behind a four gun bat¬ tery, but in the end, were defeated with considerable loss, and compelled to abandon their vessels and booty, and fly to the mountains for safety. They left hot, poisoned coffee on the cabin table, in hopes that some of the American officers would drink it. This statement is confirmed by Captain Kearney. What follows is an abstract of what passed between Gibbs and Mr. Justice Hopson in prison. ' Question. Charles Gibbs,—my name is Mr. Hopson, I understand from Mr. Merritt you wished to see me. He told me so some ten or twelve days since, and the weather being so cold, I have put off coming until now. He informed me you wished to make some communications whch you would not make to any other person. Jins. I have. * Ques. Gibbs, are you going to tell me the truth, or is it to amuse me, and make me write a long story that will not amount to anything ? Jins. I shall tell nothing but the truth; and it is only on condition that you will swear not to divulge anything I may say, when I am on my trial, and at no time after, if I should get clear. My reply was, (says Mr. Hopson,) that I should not take my oath, but I would give him my word that it should be kept a secret according to his request. Under this promise he stated as follows:—that he had commenced piracy in the year eighteen hundred and sixteen in the schooner Sans Souci, belonging to the Island of Margaretta, and since that time, has been in several other vessels engaged in the same business. That many of his comrades are now living in the United States, whose names he never would mention: That they had taken from many vessels large sums of money, and various articles of merchandise. He had no doubt he had been concerned in robbing forty different vessels; and on reflection, could men¬ tion many of the names. He gave the names of upwards of a score of vessels taken by the pirates under his command, whoso crews had been murdered. One crew, ho had spared 15 $22 CHARLES GIBBS AND because they were of Providence, and he could Dot resolve to slaughter his townsmen. Ques. Gibbs, why were you so cruel as to kill so many per¬ sons, when you had got all their money, which was all you wanted? Ans. The laws are the cause of so many murders. Ques. How can that be? What do you mean? Ans. Because a man has to suffer death for piracy, and the punishment for murder is no more. Then, you know, all witnesses are out of the way, and I am sure if the punishment was different, there would not be so many murders. Ques. Have you any objections to tell me the names of any persons who have been concerned in piracy, or who re¬ ceived the gains of pirates? Ans. There are many now in the United States, but I will not mention their names. I know that when I was cruising, the governor of the Isle of Pines was concerned with pirates, and I won’t mention any others. Here we separated (says Justice Hopson) and he wished me to call and see him again, which I promised. I visited him again on the nineteenth March. At thaf visit, nothing particular took place. I asked him many ques- . tions; he conversed with great freedom; repeated to me the vessels he first informed me had been robbed and destroyed. He also on subsequent occasions named many more, and detailed the circumstances of their capture. On one occasion Gibbs stated that he cruised for more than three weeks off the Capes of the Delaware, in the hope of falling in with the Rebecca Sims, a Philadelphia ship, bound for Canton. He knew that she would have a large quantity of specie on board, but was disappointed of his booty. The ship passed the pirate in the night. Sometime in the course of the year eighteen hundred and nineteen, he stated that he left Havana and came to the United States, bringing with him about thirty thousand dollars. He f passed several weeks in New York, and then went to Boston, whence he took passage for Liverpool in the ship Emerald. Before he sailed, however, he had squandered a large part of his money in dissipation and gambling. He remained in Liverpool a few months, and then returned to Boston in the ship'Topaz, Captain Lewis. His residence in Liverpool at that time is satisfactorily ascertained from another source beside his own confession. A female now in New York was well acquainted with him there, where, she says, he lived THOMAS I. WANSLEY. 323 like a gentleman, with apparently abundant means of support. In speaking of his acquaintance with .this female, he said, “ I 1 fell in with a woman, who I thought was all virtue, but she deceived me, and I am sorry to say that a heart that never felt abashed at scenes of carnage and blood, was made a child of, for a time, by her, and I gave way to dissipation to drown the torment. How often when the fumes of liquor have subsided, have I thought of my good and affectionate parents, and of their Godly advice! But when the little monitor began to move within me, I immediately seized the ctip to hide myself from myself, and drank until the sense of intoxication was renewed. My friends advised me to behave like a man, and promised me their assistance, but the demon still haunted me, and I spurned their advice.” He subsequently returned to Boston, sailed for Havana, and again commenced his piratical career. In eighteen hun¬ dred and twenty-six, he revisited the United States, and hearing of the war between Brazil and the Republic of Buenos Ayres, sailed from Boston in the Brig Hitty, of Portsmouth, with a determination, as he states, of trying his fortune in defence of a republican government. Upon his arrival, he made himself known to Admiral Brown, and communicated his desire to join their navy. The admiral accompanied him to the governor, and a Lieutenant’s commission being given him, he joined a ship of twenty-four guns, called the Twenty Fifth of May. “ Here,” said Gibbs, “ I found Lieutenant Dodge, an old acquaintance, and a number of other persons with whom I had sailed. When the governor gave me the commission, he told me they wanted no cowards in their navy, to wfyich I replied that I thought he would have no appre¬ hension of my cowardice or skill when he became acquainted with me. He thanked me, and said he hoped he should not be deceived J upon which we drank to his health and to the success of the Republic. He then presented me with a sword, and told me to wear that as my companion through the doubtful struggle in which the Republic was engaged I told him I never would disgrace it, so long as I had a nerve in my arm. I remained on board the ship in the capacity of fifth Lieutenant for about four months, during which time we had a number of skirmishes with the enemy. Having suc¬ ceeded in gaining the confidence of Admiral Brown, he put me in command of a privateer schooner, mounting two long twenty-four pounders and sixteen men. I sailed from Buenos Ayres, made two good cruises, and returned safely to port. 324 CHARLES GIBBS AND I then bought the half of a new Baltimore schooner, and sailed again, but was captured seven days out, and carried into Rio Janeiro, where the Brazilians paid me my change. I remained there until peace took place, then returned to Buenos Ayres, and thence to New York.” After the lapse of about a year, which he passed in travel¬ ling from place to place, Gibbs states that the-war between France and Algiers attracted his attention. Knowing that the French commerce presented a fine opportunity for plun¬ der, he determined to embark for Algiers and offer his servi¬ ces to the Dey. He accordingly took passage from this port in the Sally Ann, belonging to Bath, landed at Barcelona, crossed to port Mahon, and endeavored to make his way to Algiers. The vigilance of the French fleet prevented the accomplishment of his purpose, and he proceeded to Tunis. There, finding it unsafe to attempt a journey to Algiers across the desert, he amused himself with contemplating the ruins of Carthage, and reviving his recollections of her war with the Romans. He afterwards took passage to Marseilles, and thence to Boston. From Boston he sailed to New Orleans, and there entered as one of the crew of the brig Vineyard. To a question why he, who had been accustomed to command, should enter as a common sailor on board the Vineyard, he answered that he sought employment to assuage the horrors of reflection. He solemnly declared that he had no agency in the mur¬ der of the mate, for which he was tried and convicted, and could not understand how he could be found guilty, when he stood by and looked passively on the scene of destruction. He readily admitted, however, his participation in the mutiny, revolt and robbery, and in the murder of Mr. Thornby. He often asked if he should not be murdered in the streets, if he had his liberty, and was recognised, and frequently exclaimed, u Oh, if I had got into Algiers, I never should have been in this prison to be hung for murder.” Though he gave no evidence of a u contrite heart” for the horrible crimes of which he confessed himself guilty, yet he evidently dwelled upon their recollection with great unwil¬ lingness. If a question was asked him, u how were the crews generally destroyed?” he answered quickly and briefly, and instantly changed the topic either to the circumstances that attended his trial, or to his exploits in Buenos Ayres. After his trial, his frame was somewhat enfeebled, his face more pale, and his eyes more sunken, but the indications of his THOMAS I. WANSLEY. 325 bold, enterprising and desperate mind remained. In his cell he seemed more an object of pity than abhorrence. He was affable and communicative, and withal so gentle that no one would have taken him for the abominable villain he was. His conversation was lucid and pertinent, and his style of dis¬ course altogether original. To correct the statement of some of the papers that Gibbs, like other criminals, was disposed to magnify and exaggerate his crimes, it may be well to state that one of Jocelyn’s charts of the West Indies was handed him, containing the names of about ninety vessels which were boarded and plundered by pirates from eighteen hundred and seventeen to eighteen hun¬ dred and twenty-five, with a request that he would mark those of whose robbery he had any recollection. The chart was returned with but one mark, and that upon the ship Lucias of Charleston. When questioned afterwards in regard to that vessel, he gave such an account of her, and her subse¬ quent re-capture by the Enterprize, as left no doubt of the truth of his statement. Gibbs wrote two letters to the female mentioned in the foregoing pages, in which he advises her to turn from her vicious course, and seek repentance, before her lamp of life expires. These letters indicate considerable native talent, but not many signs of education. His spelling is very bad. He quoted Scripture with considerable readiness, and read fluently. For the gratification of our readers, we give one of these letters entire. Bellevue Prison, March 20, 1831. It is with regret that I take my pen in hand to address you with these few lines, under the great embarrassment of my feelings, placed within these gloomy walls, my body bound with chains, and under the awful sentence of death. It is enough to throw the strongest mind into gloomy prospects, but I find that Jesus Christ is sufficient to give consolation to the most despairing soul. For he saith that he that cometh to me I will in nowise cast out. But it is impossible to describe unto you the emotions of my feelings. My breast is like the tempestuous ocean, raging in its own shame, harrowing up the bottom of my own soul. But I look forward to that serene calm when 1 shall sleep with kings and counsellors of the earth. There the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary be at rest. There the prisoners rest together; they hear not the voice of the oppressor. And I trust that there my breast will not be ruffed by the storm of sin,—for 326 CHARLES GIBBS AND the thing which I greatly feared has come upon me. I was not in safety, neither had I rest; yet trouble came. It is the l ord, let him do what seemeth to him good. When I saw you in Liverpool, and a peaceful calm wafled across both our breasts, and justice no claim upon us, little did I think to meet you in the gloomy walls of a strong prison, and the arm of justice stretched out with the sword of the law, awaiting the appointed period to execute the dreadful sentence. I have had a fair prospect in the world, at last it budded, and brought forth the gallows. I am shortly to mount that scaffold, and to bid adieu to this world, and all that was ever dear to my breast. But, I trust, when my body is mounted on the gal¬ lows high, the heavens above will smile and pity me. I hope that you will reflect on your past, and to fly to that Jesus who stands with open arms to receive you. Your character is lqst, it is true. When the wicked turneth from the wicked¬ ness that they have committed, they shall save their soul alive. Let us imagine for a moment, that we see the souls stand¬ ing before the awful tribunal, and we hear its dreadful sentence, depart ye cursed into everlasting fire. Imagine you hear the awful lamentations of a soul in hell. It would be enough to melt your heart, if it was as hard as adamant. You would fall upon your knees and plead for God’s mercy, as a famished person would for food, or as a dying criminal would for pardon. We soon, very soon, must go the way whence we shall ne’er return. Our names will he struck off the records of the living, and enrolled in the vast catalogues of the dead. But may they ne’er be numbered with the damned. I hope it will please God to set you at liberty, and that you may see the sins and follies of your life past. I shall now close my letter with a few words, which I hope you will receive as from a dying man: and I hope that every important truth of this letter may sink deep in your heart, and be a lesson to you through life. Rising griefs distress my soul, And tears on tears successive roll,— • For many an evil voice is near, To chide my woes and mock my fear; And silent memory weeps alone, O’er hours of peace and gladness flown, I still remain your sincere friend, Charles Gibbs. THOMAS I. WANSLEY. 327 On Friday, April twenty-second, Gibbs and Wansley paid the penalty of their crimes. Both prisoners arrived at the gallows about twelve o’clock, accompanied by the marshal, his aids, and some twenty or thirty United States’ Marines. Two clergymen attended them to the fatal spot, where every¬ thing being in readiness, and the ropes adjusted about their necks, the throne of Mercy was fervently addressed in their behalf. Wansley then prayed earnestly himself, and after¬ wards joined in singing a hymn. These exercises concluded, Gibbs addressed the spectators nearly as follows: MY DEAR FRIENDS, My crimes have been heinous—and although I am now about to suffer for the murder of Mr. Roberts, I solemnly declare my innocence of the transaction. It is true, I stood by and saw the fatal deed done, and stretched not forth my arm to save him: the technicalities of the law believe me guilty of the charge-but in the presence of my God, before whom I shall be in a few minutes, I declare I did not murder him. I have made a full and frank confession to Mr. Hopson, which probably most of my hearers present have already read; and should any of the friends of those whom I have been accessary to, or engaged in the murder of, be now present, before my Maker l beg their forgiveness—it is the only boon I ask—and as I hope for pardon through the blood of Christ, surely this request will not be withheld by man, to a worm, like myself, standing as I do, on the very verge of eternity! Another moment, and I cease to exist—and could I find in my bosom room to imagine that the spectators now assembled, had forgiven me, the scaffold would have no ter¬ rors, nor could the precept which my much respected friend, the marshal of the district, is about to execute. Let me then, in this public manner, return my sincere thanks to him, for his kind and gentlemanly deportment during my confine¬ ment. He was to me like a father, and his humanity to a dying man I hope will be duly appreciated by an enlightened community. My first crime was Piracy , for which my Life would pay the forfeit on conviction; no punishment could be inflicted on me farther than that, and therefore I had nothing to fear but detection, for had my offences been millions of times more aggravated than they now are, Death must have satisfied all. Gibbs having concluded, Wansley began. He said he might 328 CHARLES GIBBS. be called a pirate, a robber, and a murderer, and he wa3 all of these, but he hoped and trusted God would, through Christ, wash away his aggravated crimes and offences, and not cast him entirely out. His feelings, he said, were so overpowered that he hardly knew how to address those about him, but he frankly admitted the justness of the sentence, and concluded by declaring that he had no hope of pardon except through the atoning blood of his Redeemer, and wish¬ ed that,his sad fate might teach others to shun the broad road to ruin, and travel in that of virtue, which would lead.to honor and happiness in this world, and an immortal crown of glory in that to come. He then shook hands with Gibbs, the officers and clergy¬ men—their caps were drawn over their faces, a handker¬ chief dropped by Gibbs as a signal to the executioner, caused the cord to be severed, and in an instant they were suspended in air. Wansley folded his hands before him, before he was run up, and did not again remove them, but soon died with very trifling struggles. Gibbs died hard; after being near two minutes suspended, he raised his right hand and partially removed his cap, and in the course of another minute, raised the same hand to his mouth. His dress was a blue round¬ about jacket and trousers, with a foul anchor in white on his right arm. Wansley wore a white frock coat, trimmed with black, with trousers of the same color. After the bodies had remained on the gallows the usual time they were taken down and given to the surgeons for dissection. Gibbs was rather below the middle stature, thick set and powerful. The form of Wansley was a perfect model of manly beauty. * The boy Dawes was not prosecuted, having been received as State’s evidence against Gibbs and Wansley. We are informed, on respectable authority, that Gibbs made a full disclosure of all the accomplices, aiders and abettors of his piracies, and that it was the intention of the person who has the information in his possession, to proceed to Washington and communicate it without delay to the President. When published, it is said “ it will astound the peopl! of this nation.” JESSE STRANG. 329 JESSE STRANG. What we have to relate concerning the celebrated murder of Mr. Whipple, is founded on facts disclosed at Strang’s trial, and on his confessions while under sentence of death. Jesse Strang was the son of poor parents and was brought up to hard labor. When he arrived at man’s estate he mar¬ ried, but being naturally of a restless, depraved disposition, he soon left his spouse to shift for herself, and went to Ohio. Becoming tired of the western country he returned to the east, and in July, eighteen hundred and twenty-six, arrived in Albany, whence he vvent to Cherry Hill, near the residence of P. P. Van Rensselaer, and hired himself to a Mr. Bates. To avoid recognition by any of his former acquaintance he took the name of Joseph Orton. Mr. Bates kept a public house. About the beginning of August, Strang being in the bar room, saw two females enter, one of whom was young, handsome, and very giddy and play¬ ful. This person was not, as he supposed from her demeanor, a girl, but a married woman. She was the wife of Mr. John Whipple, who was much her senior. As to her character, it appears that though her husband treated her with the utmost gentleness and affection, and though she had borne him a son, she was tlie slave of animal passion, which influenced her conduct the more; that she was totally devoid of religion and moral principle. Such was the famous, or more properly, the infamous Elsie D. Whipple, the first sight of whom lighted the flame of lawless love in Strang’s bosom. About the end of August, Strang went to live with Mr. Van Rensselaer, who dwelt in a house in which Mr. Whipple and his wife were boarders. For a long time no particular inti¬ macy took place between Strang and the object of his desires, nor did any part of her conduct encourage him to declare his feelings toward her, which were daily gaining strength. But near the end of October she held a conversation with him, in which she displayed so much levity, as induced him to think that she reciprocated his feelings. Strang went by the familiar name of u The Doctor” in the family. A few hours after the conversation above mentioned, Mrs. Whipp*3 proved herself capable of making the first 15 * 330 JESSE STRANG. advances. She accosted him with, 11 Doctor, I want you to wiite me a letter.” Supposing that she could not write, he exclaimed in astonishment, “ What! I write you a letter?” 11 Yes,” she rejoined, u I hate to write the first one.” Then desiring him to consider the matter and write that very night, she left him. For awhile he doubted whether this her pro¬ posal might not be a device to entrap him, but the recollection of her manner toward him and his own passion gave him courage to comply. We subjoin this modei of epistolary writing to show what qualifications were necessary to com¬ mand the love of Mrs. Whipple. It ran thus, Dear Elsie—I have seariesly considred on it as you re¬ quested of me yeasterday and I have concluded two compose a few lines two You and I thought that it was not my duty two right very freely not nowing Your object perhaps it is two get sum of my righting two show two your husband as you ar a marid woman, and If that is your intenshin It is my whish fore you two let me now it fore it is a thing that I skorn two make a distirbance between you and your husband but If in the outher hand It is out of pure offections I should be quite hapy for two have the information in your hand riting and I hope that you will not take any offen in A my maner of riting two you as we ar pirfict strangers two each outher, but hop that thoes few lines may find free exceptan with you and after I find out your motive I can right mour freely on the subject and as for my offections thay ar quite favorible I shall expact an answer from you If that is your motive, sow I remain your well whisher. Joseph Orton. The morality contained in this beautiful piece of com¬ position was suggested by the reflections of the Sabbath day, and the letter was delivered thereon. Three quarters of an hour sufficed Mrs. Whipple to indite an answer, which began with u Dear Doctor,” and assured him that she had no evil design toward him. Her motive, she said, was pure love, excited by the first sight of his beautiful eyes. Since that moment she had enjoyed neither happiness nor comfort. She had eloped to bq married and could do so again. She had waited long, hoping that he would declare himself, and now desired him never to leave the place without taking her with him. She had long been of opinion that the passion of love had no real existence, but he had convinced her of her error, and she solicited a continuation of his correspondence. She JESSE STRANG. 331 subscribed herself Elsie D. Whipple, his true and affectionate lover till death. * In answer to this Strang wrote her a proposal to elope with him, promising, if she would consent, to do all in his power to support anti protect her. She accepted the offer without hesitation, saying she would go to the end of the earth to get him. However, she was unwilling to stn r t till she should have obtained twelve hundred dollars for their expenses. In a subsequent conversation she explained her plans more fully by word of mouth. She had always been desirous to keep a public house and thought the sum she had mentioned would be enough to begin with. Strang objected that he knew noth¬ ing of the business, but thought that he might turn his hand to it as well as to anything else. He proposed that they should go first to Montreal, and remain there till Mr. Whipple should be reconciled to his loss, and then proceed to Sandusky in Ohio, where they might be married by fictitious names, and carry their project into execution. The wretches had little opportunity for conversation, and therefore continued their intercourse by letter. The topics of these were the means of raising money, and being unable to hit on any feasible plan, the infatuated woman at last pro¬ posed directly that Strang 'should forge a check, in Mr. Whipple’s name, on the bank in which his money was deposit¬ ed. Strang did not want the will, but his education had not qualified him for such an act of villainy. Impatient of delay, his paramour entreated him to assassinate her husband; thus proving that a woman makes more rapid strides in the path that leadeth to destruction, when she has once set her foot in it, than a man. She proposed that he should hire some laboring man to do the deed, or failing in that to do it himself. If he should conclude to take the business in his own hands she offered to procure her husband’s pistols for him. This wicked¬ ness was entirely the suggestion of her own mind, for Strang had never intimated any such intention to her, and though she had often wished for Mr. Whipple’s death, she had never before spoke of murdering him. Strang was shocked at the proposal, and told her so. He said that though his affection for her was not susceptible of increase, he would rather labor all his life than be guilty of a murder. He loved her, not for her property, but for herself: if she loved him well enough to become his companion he would work himself to death to maintain her, but if the pos¬ session of hei depended on the murder of an innocent man, 332 JESSE STRANG. there was an end of the affair. In writing thus he still hoped that her suggestion had not been serious. She answered that she had thought Strang was a man as resolute as another who had offered to kill Mr. Whip¬ ple. This person she did not love, and was confident that he had no affection for her, but was actuated in his offer by the desire of obtaining her property. If Strang, she continued, really loved her as he pretended, he would have consented for the sake of her person and property, and that he might live without work: but as he had refused to do her will, she had concluded to live on the same terms with him as before, until they could otherwise obtain the means to elope. We had forgotten to mention that while this intercourse was being carried on, Mr. Whipple was absent. In January he returned. One day in the February succeeding, his wicked wife called Strang aside, and with every appearance of indig¬ nation told him that her husband had struck her, which, probably, was false, as such an action was not in keeping with the worthy man’s character. Strang asked if he should not waylay and kill the supposed offender, and Mrs. Whipple eagerly assented. He said he could not, and she then desir¬ ed him, if he was so faint-hearted, at least to procure poison, which she would administer herself, being resolved to bear such abuse no longer. Strang refused to do this, too. A few days after, as Strang was sitting in the kitchen, Mrs. ' Whipple passed through with a bowl of milk. She stopped and told him her husband had just called for the milk, and observed that had he consented to procure the poison, it would have been an excellent opportunity to administer it unsuspected. Matters kept on in their usual train till March, when find ing it impossible to raise money, and urged by Mrs. Whipple, Strang bought a dose of arsenic, which he gave her, and she put it into her husband’s tea. They then pledged themselves by the most solemn oaths, never, under any circumstances, to betray each other; as if those capable of such a crime, would regard the sanctity of an oath. But whether the druggist had suspected Strang, and given him a harmless potion, or whether Mr. Whipple’s constitution was uncommonly strong the dose had no effect on him. Strang then bought a quantity of arsenic at another shop divided it into three equal parts, and gave it to Mrs. Whipple A week after, she informed Strang that she had given her husband one of the oortions in sulphur, and asked if he thought JESSE STRANG. 333 it would operate taken in that manner. He replied that he thought it would, and they both impatiently waited for the fesult. The next morning Mr. Whipple refused to take a second poisoned dose of sulphur proffered by his wife, the last having, as he said, cramped his stomach. She told him it had had the same effect on her, and persuaded him to persevere. He took a part, and gave the rest to his son, while the guilty mother looked on, afraid to remonstrate. By Strang’s advice she gave the boy salt, by way of antidote, but the precaution was apparently needless, for the poison had no effect on father or child. . ^ Being resolved to destroy Mr. Whipple, Strang applied to a female slave named Dinah Jackson, and asked if she would poison him for five hundi'd dollars. She gave him no direct reply, and on being again asked the next day if she had made up her mind to do it, replied, “ No, that I wont. I wont sell my soul to hell for all the world. If I should do it, I should never have any comfort after it.” What a moral contrast between this poor, miserable, degraded negro and the young and beautiful Elsie Whipple! In April, Mr Whipple being about to start for Vermont, his wife requested Strang to take one of his pistols, or a club, or an axe, and waylay and slay him. She even pointed out the spot where it could be done most conveniently. He replied that he would think of it, but took no measures, and Mr. Whipple departed unharmed. Despairing of, being able to work Strang to the pitch of wickedness she desired, and desperately determined on mur¬ der,' Mrs. Whipple wrote, in the presence of her paramour, and with his assistance, two letters to different persons, offering them five hundred dollars to kill her husband. But finding some difficulty in directing them, they were never sent. Mr. Whipple’s absence gave this abominable pair an opportunity to carry, not their adulterous intentions, but their acts, farther than they had ever done before. The injuied husband’s return was not suffered to interrupt their criminal enjoyment. Pretending to have business elsewhere, Strang left the house, saying he should be gone two days, and met Mrs. Whipple at a place of assignation. He took her into a wagon, and drove to a public house where they put up for the night, in the characters of man and wife. The next day they returned to Albany, and regained their house by different 334 JESSE STRANG. roads. The expenses of this excursion were defrayed by Mrs. Whipple, with her husband’s money. They now agreed to collect a hundred dollars, due Mr. Whipple from one of his tenants, and elope without farther delay; but not being able to persuade herself to leave her child, the guilty Elsie desired Strang to shoot her husband through his window, with one of his own pistols. Strang replied that he had never fired a pistol in his life, and should be as likely to kill any other of the family as the one intended: he said he could do it with nothing but a double barrelled gun, and she sent him to Albany to inquire the price of the weapon. It proved too high for her means, and it was agreed between them to buy a rifle, the price of which was lower. Their course being now fixed, Strang reported that he fiad seen persons lurking about the house and grounds, late at night, and apparently with evil design. This he did to divert sus¬ picion from himself when the deed should have been done. Mrs. Whipple furnished him with money, and he bought a rifle, which he hid in the loft of the privy, after which he wrote a letter to the infatuated woman, stating that all was ready, but that if she was willing, he would go no farther. But she had gone too far in crime to stop there. She desired him to try his gun, and to shoot at the mark through a pane of glass, as she had heard of an attempt to shoot a man through a window which failed, by the glancing of the ball. This, she told him might be his case, or he might hit some other person, She furnished him with two panes of glass and powder and ball for the experiment. This done, she dressed and started for church. (It was Sunday.) Strang took from the butt of a whip-stock a piece of lead which he cut into bullets, and then proceeded with his rifle and glass to the woods. He set a pane upon a stump, and fired through it at a mark on a pine tree, which he hit. He shot again through the glass doubled, and then at an angle with its surface, and the result was, that he satisfied himself that a bullet would not glance from a window. After this he secreted his gun and returned home. When Mrs. Whipple returned from church she questioned him touching his experiments, and asked to see the rifle. He told her where to find the weapon, and she went and looked at it. As Strang had expended all his lead, she brought him a bullet saying, u Mr. Whipple is loading his pistol to save his own life, and I have taken the last ball he had left for you to kill him with. What a wicked creature I am!” Scarcely JESSE STRANG. 335 had this conversation ended, when Mr. Whipple entered and asked Strang what the people said to lurk about the house at night could mean, and why he did not shoot them. . Strang said there was a gun hanging over the door for that express purpose. ' Mr. Whipple told him to be sure to hit and hurt them, so that he might be able to lay hands on them, and left him. A short time after, Mrs. Whipple came to Strang and asked if he had loaded the rifle with the ball she had given him. He said he had not, but was about to do it, and he did so. She came again, and being satisfied that preparations were thus far advanced, asked him from what place he intended to fire on her husband. He answered, from the roof of a shed, that was situated behind and close to the window of Mr. Whipple’s room. She approved of the project and promised to roll up the window curtain! He asked for her over-shoes, and on being told they were so small he could not possibly get them on, said he must have a pair of socks, at any rate, and she said she would put them under his pillow. She demanded what he meant to do with the gun after firing, and he replied that he should throw it into the river, or the well. She also agreed to give him certain signals that he might know where the different members of the household should have bestowed themselves. They parted, and not having an opportunity to speak to him again, slipped a note into his hand, directing him to throw the gun as far as he possibly could, if any of the family should come out. If we had not read of the murder of Mr. White, we should say that the sang froid of these two criminals was never equalled. Strang went to Albany in the afternoon and lounged away his time till the hour for the consummation of his crime had arrived. About ten o’clock he took his rifle, pulled off his boots and hose and donned the socks Mrs. Whipple had pro¬ vided, according to agreement. He pulled off his upper garment, wrapped his boots and a bundle he had brought from the city in it, and deposited it under a fence about fifty yards from the house. This done he went to the shed before mention¬ ed^ and by the aid of a large box clomb upon the roof, and took his station opposite Mr. Whipple’s window. The un¬ fortunate gentleman was sitting at a table and Mr. A. Van Rensselaer was near him; not so near however, but that Strang could fire without putting his life in daqger. After examining the priming, Strang put the muzzle of his rifle close to the sash, took deliberate aim under Mr. Whipple’s left arm, 336 JESSE STRANG. and fired. Mr. Whipple exclaimed, u Oh Lord!” and fell from his chair. The instant Strang discharged his piece he retreated three or four steps, slipped, threw the gun from his hand and fell from the shed to the earth. He instantly sprang to his feet, audibly thanking God he was not hurt! picked up his rifle and ran to the place where he had left his bundle. Thence he proceeded at his full speed to a wet ravine, where he buried the murderous implement in the mud, stamped it down, and strew¬ ed leaves over it. His muddy socks he disposed of in the same manner, but in another place. Having readjusted his apparel, he regained the main road from Albany, went to the house and knocked at the door. A female slave let him in, and told him Mr. Whipple had been shot. He went into the room where the body was lying and exhibited the first symptom of guilt in turning pale at the sight of it, as was afterwards specified on his trial. Mr. Van Rensselaer desired Strang to take his gun, and go round the house, lest, peradventure, the assassin might be still lurking about it. He went accordingly, but soon re¬ turned, and was sworn as one of the coroner’s jury, the sitting of which was adjourned till the next morning. The next morning Slrang averred that he supected Mr Whipple had been murdered by some of the laborers on the canal, and gave a minute account of the persons he said he had seen about the house. His zeal to fix the guilt on strangers aroused the suspicions of his fellow jurors, who, however, returned a verdict of “ murder committed by some person or persons unknown.” In the afternoon Mrs. Whipple came to Strang as he was sitting in the kitchen, and asked if he had secured u that piece” and the socks, and he said he had. Immediately after he was summoned to the Police Office and examined, on oath, touching the persons said to have been seen about the house. Here he added perjury to the list of his crimes, and gave a plausible account of the matter. In the afternoon of the next day Mrs. Whipple told him they were suspected, and immediately after they were appre¬ hended. On his several examinations he stated many false¬ hoods, but at last admitted the facts relative to the journey to Schenectady with Mrs. Whipple, as already related. He was then fully committed on a charge of murder, and Mr. Yates to whom he applied to act as his counsel, refused to do so. He then employed Calvin Pepper Esq. to whom he JESSE STRANG. 337 confessed his guilt. He also desired Mr. Pepper to go to the place where he had left his rifle, and remove it, lest it should be found and furnish evidence against him. But to his father and step-mother, who visited him about this time in prison, he strenuously denied his guilt, and they engaged Mr Oakly of Poughkeepsie to assist in his defence. He was visited by the Grand Jury, in a body, the next June, and informed by them that Mrs, Whipple herself had furnished sufficient proof of his guilt for conviction, and that his case was hopeless. Thus reduced to despair, he sent for the jailor, and confessed his crime, with all its circumstances, and told him where the rifle, socks, glass, balls, and a part of the arsenic he had procured for Mrs. Whipple might be found. The next day he was conducted to Cherry Hill by the constables, accompanied by a crowd of people, and showed them the fragments of the glass he had used in his dreadful experiment, and the marks of his bullets, which were cut out of the tree in his presence. The socks could not be found. Mrs. Whipple was lodged in the same story in jail with Strang, and near him. By persuading the jailor to leave her door open to admit a free circulation of air, she was enabled to come to the door of Strang ? s apartment and converse with him. She showed no penitence or compunction, but repri¬ manded her wretched tool for making a confession, saying that had he been silent both might have been acquitted. Now that the dreadful consequences of their mutual guilt had come upon him, his feelings toward her were wholly changed, and he desired nothing so much as that she might be convicted with him. He hoped that in this case the influence of his and her friends might prevail on the governor to commute their punishment, and save them both from the ignominy of a public execution. To this effect as he had destroyed her letters to him, he endeavoured to copy some from memory and endeavoured to imitate her hand writing, but was unable. He then copied one of the letters he had written to her, and gave it to Mr. Pepper, with a request that it might be hidden at Cherry Hill, so that he might direct a search to be made for it. Mr. Pepper took the letter without remark. The next morning Mr. Pepper and the District Attorney visit¬ ed the prisoner. The latter told him that he must not hope to obtain pardon or favor by testifying against Mrs. Whipple, for that he was guilty, and he, the District Attorney, would be the last person to recommend him to mercy. Strang then resolved to have his confessions rejected, if 338 GEORGE SWEARINGEN. possible, and to stand his trial. When he was arraigned he pleaded not guilty, but all the circumstances we have rela¬ ted that admitted of proof were proved against him, and he was convicted. He suffered accordingly. No positive proof, beyond Strang’s confessions, could be found against Mrs. Whipple, and though there was and is no doubt of her full participation in the guilt of her ignorant and miserable paramour, she was acquitted. She . has since married again! Such are the fruits of adultery. GEORGE SWEARINGEN, Was born in the year eighteen hundred, in Berryville or Battletown, Frederick County, Virginia. His father, beside being a wealthy man, belonged to one of the best families in the state. After attending school till the twelfth year of his life, young Swearingen was sent to the Academy at Battle- town, where he comported himself to the satisfaction of his superiors, and made considerable progress in polite learning. Nor was his religious education neglected: his parents were methodists, and therefore procured for him the instructions of the most eminent preachers of that persuasion. At the age of sixteen his father placed him in the office of the clerk of the county, where he remained six months, and behaved so well that on his departure he obtained a certificate of his ability and good character from his principal. After this he remained a twelvemonth in his father’s house, and then obtained a place in the office of the clerk of the Wash¬ ington County court in Hagerstown, Maryland. During the fifteen months he remained there, he attended so strictly to business, that a pulmonary disease was the consequence, and he was compelled to relinquish the situation. His employer was so well pleased with Swearingen, that he wrote a letter to his father, expressing his regret at losing his services. He availed himself of the time of his illness to acquire a knowledge of the law, and after the restoration of his health was examined by the competent authorities, and obtained a license to practise law in Virginia. GEORGE SWEARINGEN. 339 Toward the end of eighteen hundred and twenty-one he became a clerk in the office of his uncle, John V. Swearingen, who was at that time sheriff of Washington county in Mary¬ land. Here he remained three years, boarding in his uncle’s house; gaining daily on public esteem by his assiduity in business. Up to this time his character was excellent: He was temperate, seldom or never profane, and not at all addic¬ ted to the vices common to young men of his age. No event of any importance occurred to chequer his life, excepting his marriage, and a previous attachment to a young lady, to whom he engaged himself. He became estranged from her by the intermeddling of certain officious persons, and the engagement was finally broken off by mutual consent. Ill eighteen hundred and twenty-three Mr. James Scott oi Cumberland, brought his daughter, Mary Scott, to Hagers¬ town, in order that she might attend the schools in that place, and boarded her with Mr. John V. Swearingen, in the same house with our hero. As she was the child of wealthy parents and of a very respectable family, some of George Swearingen’s relations advised him to make prize of her. Though he was at the time engaged to the damsel before mentioned, he deter¬ mined to follow their counsel, and paid his addresses to Miss Scott. When the other engagement had been broken off he asked her in marriage of her father, who gladly gave consent, and they were married. Little did the parent think that what he intended should contribute to her happiness and respectability would soon prove her destruction. As for Swearingen’s fault, though a common one, it must be pro¬ nounced a moral fraud, practised on an affectionate and inex¬ perienced girl. However, he took her home to his uncle’s house, where they lived together harmoniously till eighteen hundred and twenty-five, when he removed her to a house of his own. For awhile Swearingen’s habits continued to be regular, and for if he was not a truly loving husband, he was at. least a kind one. He lived with her in peace, neither con¬ tradicting, denying her anything, nor setting bounds to her expenses. But, as she was a thoughtless, heedless woman, as might be expected from her age, and was constantly desiring to visit her relations in Cumberland, their harmony was ere long interrupted. It became apparent to his neigh¬ bours and friends, that he would gladly have been rid of her. W 7 hen they had been married nearly two years, she, being then at her father’s house, gave him a daughter. Her own 340 GEORGE SWEARINGEN. and her child’s ill health kept her absent from her husband six months, during which he more than once transgressed the marriage law, according to his own confession. At this time he began to associate with lewd and lascivious women, a habit to which he owed his utter ruin. As yet these irregularities were covered with a veil of decent mystery, and his wife returned home with him, un¬ suspecting. Shortly after her return her father died suddenly, and Swearingen administered on the estate, at the request of his mother-in-law. Some time after this, Mrs. Scott sent another of her daughters to school in Hagerstown, and con¬ fided her to the care of Swearingen. These circumstances serve to prove that he had the confidence of his mother-in-law up to this time. In the meanwhile, he being a candidate for the Sheriffalty, attended public meetings, visited private houses, and, in short, used every means to ensure his election. In June, eighteen hundred and twenty-seven, while his wife was absent on a visit to her mother, Swearingen became ac¬ quainted with his infamous paramour, the since celebrated Rachel Cunningham. The prevalent belief that this woman was exceedingly beautiful, well educated, and fascinating in her manners, is unfounded. She was an ignorant, vulgar prostitute of the lowest grade, with no other attraction than a very moderate share of personal beauty. She had had an illegitimate son years before Swearingen saw her, and at the time he first knew her received the visits of high and low. It seems strange that a man of family, property and respecta¬ bility should form an attachment to such an object, but such was the case Such as she was Swearingen saw and loved her. He first called at the house where she resided with her brother to hire her to wash and mend for him, one of her avoca¬ tions being that of laundress. Soon after he took her with him to a camp meeting, in a barouche. It seems he was but an indifferent driver, for on his return he ran the vehicle against a, stump, broke it in pieces and hurt his ignoble * mistress. About this time her conduct became so publicly scandalous that her landlord gave her notice to quit, of which she complained to Swearingen, whose sympathies were there¬ by more strongly excited in her behalf. He furnished her with the means to hire a single apartment, where he visited her constantly, supported and protected her. On one oc¬ casion he severely horsewhipped a negro woman for speaking to her as she deserved. GEORGE SWEARINGEN. 311 Bringing his wife back from Cumberland, Swearingen upset the gig in which they rode, over a steep bank on Mar¬ tin’s Mountain. Mrs. Swearingen was thrown to a conside¬ rable distance, much bruised, and otherwise sorely wounded, but her husband and child suffered no injury. Her head struck foremost on an oak stump, was deeply cut, and she bled pro¬ fusely. For some days A her case was considered doubtful. However, neither she nor her mother imputed the occurrence to design. They made no complaint: on the contrary, Mrs. Scott often solicited Swearingen to give up his pretensions to office, and live near or with her in Cumberland. Mrs. Swearingen continued to repose full confidence in her spouse, insomuch that she gave him a fee simple of her inheritance, in order to enhance his credit and enable him to procure security for the bonds he was about to be obliged to give. His own account of the affair is this. As they were about to descend Martin’s Mountain, they discerned a dark cloud before them that appeared to be surcharged with wind. More¬ over, it was drizzling abo-ut them. Things being thus, Mrs. Swearingen desired her partner to return to a house a quarter of a mile back, for the sake of the child. As he was turn¬ ing the vehicle, with its back toward the precipice, the horse caught one of the reins under his tail, which caused him to back. A wheel came off and the gig went over the bank: Swear¬ ingen jumped out as it fell. He immediately ran to see if his wife and child were injured, and found Mrs. Swearingen in the condition already related. The child had been received and protected from harm by some grape vines. The gig was turned bottom upward, and the horse lay on his back in the shafts as if dead. Mrs. Swearingen was sensible, and exclaimed , u O, George!” Her husband first deposited their child in a safe place, and then, lest the horse should injure his wife in trying to rise, cut the harness with his pocket knife. This done, the ani mal rose and ran down the hill. Swearingen then ran with the child to the house before mentioned, and obtained assist¬ ance to carry his wife under cover. This accident, if it was an accident, afterwards did him great prejudice on his trial. At the time, his enemies imput¬ ed it to design, in order to hinder his election. His connex¬ ion with Rachel Cunningham was also made an objection to him. Yet few believed him capable of murder, and though he had several highly respectable competitors, he was elected sheriff by a large majority. As for our own opinion, we think 342 GEORGE SWEARINGEN. the upsetting of the gig was accidental. He had before upset one whom he loved better than his wife, and he had no interest to injure her. When under sentence of death, he called his Maker to witness his innocence in the matter, though this, alone, is not conclusive. Besides, men do not become har¬ dened in crime at once. So bad was Rachel Cunningham’s character, that even Swearingen, infatuated as he was, had no confidence in her. When, in the next winter, she was likely to become a mother, lie let her know that he believed she had been faithless to him. Thereupon she attempted suicide, by swallowing a large dose of laudanum. One of the neighbours informed Swearingen of it, and going to the house he found her in an apparently dying condition. The physician he called to her relief refused to attend, swearing it would be better that she should die, that Swearingen was insane, and that he, the doctor, was too much his friend to do anything for her. The sher¬ iff then returned to the house, forced open her mouth, and ad¬ ministered an emetic that saved her life. His intercourse with this abominable woman led to several occurrences which afterwards were brought in evidence against him. Having, at her request, written a letter for her (she was incapable of writing intelligibly herself) to the father of her child, he heedlessly signed his own name to it. Before the ink was dry, he perceived his error, ran his finger across the signature, to blot it; and signed her name over it. However, his name was still legible and the letter was after¬ wards used to his damage, as were several others he wrote to her. On another occasion, seeing some verses inscribed to- in a newspaper, he cut them out, erased the name, substituted u To Rachel ” in its place, and wrote “ George ” at the bottom. When her effects were seized by the sheriff his successor, these verses were found in her trunk and once more found their way into a newspaper. Here they are. TO RACHEL. i • I’ve seen the darkened, waving cloud Curl o’er the sky at night; And still, beneath the mantle proud The stars were dazzling bright. Still I can see that lovely eye Though hid beneath the mantled sky. GEORGE SWEARINGEN. 343 Still I can view the smiling beam That glows upon thy cheek; Those chidings, which so fearful seem, In sweetest friendship speak. They tell that thou hast still a heart That can the sweetest charm impart. Rachel, I swear no power above Would make my tongue deceive, Or make my heart forget to love, Couldst thou my vows believe: No power but thine can rule my heart, And from thy charms I ne’er can part Ask of the angels in the sky If I can change my love; The cherubs would in joy reply, “ His friendship cannot rove ; Believe his vows—thou ne’er shalt sigh. Nor tears fall from thine angel eye.” Rachel, I love but thee alone; I cannot view another’s charms ; That love which I can call my own Is that which fond affection warms. Then Lady, smile again in peace, And let thy doubts and chidings cease. George. Much cannot be justly said in praise of this namby pamoy, but as those lines which have any meaning at all, happened to coincide with Swearingen’s feelings, the whole pleased his fancy prodigiously. u George ” also employed a painter to take her likeness, but the artist, discovering the relative situation of the parties, became disgusted and refused to finish it. We have seen a fac simile, and if the outlines, even, are correct, Rachel Cunningham had no more pretension to beauty than the female ourang outang lately brought over. Indeed the ape is insult¬ ed by the comparison. Swearingen’s attachment grew stronger and stronger, not¬ withstanding the remonstrances and entreaties of his almost broken-hearted father, who was at the time dangerously ill. The old gentleman implored his lost son in the name of everything sacred, for the sake of his reputation, family, friends, and self, to put the wanton away. His advice was disregarded, and so was that of a committee of the first men 344 GEORGE SWEARINGEN. in the county, among whom were two of his uncles. They sent for him, and after a world of useless advice informed him, that for the honor of the neighbourhood, they would take measures to remove his harlot, if he continued recusant. To this he replied that the matter was in nowise connected with his official duties or obligations, and that they had no right to meddle with his private affairs. Howbeit, he was willing to resign his office if they were dissatisfied with him. His uncles persisted to remonstrate, till, overcome by his feelings, he wept aloud; but all was of no avail. The intercession of Mrs. Scott in her daughter’s behalf had no better effect. 'When she heard of Swearingen’s illicit connexion she came to Hagerstown and entreated him to put .Rachel Cunningham away, at the same time saying she had no other reproach to make. She threatened to take her daughter home with her if he refused. He made no answer and she did take Mrs. Swearingen away, without op¬ position on the part of her husband or herself. In this, the good lady was certainly indiscreet, for no one has a right to interfere between husband and wife in any case but that of personal violence, but if ever there was excuse for such a proceeding, she had it. By this time the infamous cause of all this trouble had re¬ moved to a new house, that Swearingen had built expressly for her reception, where, however, S she did not remain long. As soon as the gentleman who was her next neighbour dis¬ covered her residence, he wrote to request her keeper to re¬ move her, on account of the bad example she presented to his daughters. The sheriff promised to remove her, and was speedily compelled to keep his word. The mob being about to demolish the house, he took her home to his,own, and kept her there five days for fear she should be torn to pieces. She was not safe, even with him: the threat was renewed, and the infatuated man procured weapons; resolved to defend her to the last extremity. But by the advice of a friend he gave over his desperate intention, and took her to his father’s dwelling, where there were none but servants at the time. He then went to Cumberland and told his wife he had sent her rival away, whereupon she joyfully consented to return home with him. He soon again sought the foul embraces of the courtezan. Being advised by his father’s overseer to abandon her, he promised to think of it, and took her to a tavern near Charlestown where he left her, provided with money, for some- GEORGE SWEARINGEN. 345 time. During this period she visited Charlestown, and call¬ ing herself Mrs. Swearingen, was invited to visit several respectable families. The true Mrs. Swearingen, it should be observed, had never been in that part of the country. For awhile, the shameless played her part well, calling Mrs. Scott mother, and answering all questions touching the family with equal facility and assurance. At last she was discovered, and wrote to her dupe, who provided her with a new lodging, whence she was once more compelled to remove, at short warning. In short, after being obliged to remove her several times front place to place, and being himself threatened with public shame, he finally fixed her with a person named* Bargdoll, one of his tenants, at a place called the Tevis Farm; six miles from Hagerstown. There he continued to visit her, sometimes staying three or four days together. He accounted to his wife for his absence by pretending official business. In August, eighteen hundred and twenty-eight, Mrs. Swear¬ ingen visited her mother in Cumberland. In September her husband went to bring her home again. They had necessarily to cross a small stream, and there, it was alleged on his trial, the husband attempted to drown the wife. But as she said nothing of it to one of her relations at whose house they lodged that night, and as she showed no displeasure, it is pro¬ bable that such was not the fact. They travelled on horseback, and the next day their road brought them near the Tevis Farm. They were seen approaching it. This was on the eighth of September. A man who was conducting a drove of cattle from Hagers¬ town found Swearingen sitting beside his wife’s dead body, with his child in his arms, within half a mile of the house where Rachel Cunningham was. The sheriff told this per¬ son that Mrs. Swearingen had been thrown from her horse, and desired him to keep on to Cresaptown (which was near) and send one Robert Kyle to bleed her. He did so, and Kyle soon arrived. They got a cart, placed the corpse in it, and carried it to the house of Mrs. Cresap, Swearingen’s aunt, in Cresaptown. The coroner’s inquest sat on the body, and finding that the knees of the horse she had ridden were cut, as if by a fall, found a verdict of, u came to her death by an act of Providence.” While the jury were sitting, Swearingen was informed that one of the women had said his wife had received an internal injury, but that the jury had paid no attention to her. He accompanied the funeral procession to Cumberland, where 16 346 GEORGE SWEARINGEN. the body was interred, without exhibiting compunction or feeling. Th^ next day violent suspicions arose, founded on the re¬ marks of the women who had seen the body, that the deceased had come to her death by foul means. A Mr. Reid proposed to Swearingen to have the corpse taken up and examined, but he refused, alleging that he was averse to an indecent ex¬ posure. He said, however, he would consult Mrs. Scott, but did not do so. He asked another person’s opinion on the subject, and was advised to permit the examination. The same man told him that Mrs. Scott suspected not him, but Rachel Cunningham, of having killed her daughter. His brother consulted Mrs. Scott, at his request, and returned with the old lady’s declaration that rather than have her daughter exposed, she would cause her to be taken up and reinterred in her cellar. They then went together to Mr. Reid and told him of Mrs. Scott’s determination. He ob¬ served that it was unfortunate that Rachel Cunningham had been at Tevis Farm when the accident happened. The younger Swearingen instantly replied that she was not there, and that he defied any one to prove it. He merely affirmed what his brother had told him and he believed. The sheriff bade him hush—and told him that she was there, but knew nothing of the matter. He spoke incoherently and in con¬ fusion. The two Swearingen’s then repaired to Mrs. Scott’s house, while Mr. Reid went to summon a jury. The body was dis¬ interred for dissection, and Swearingen was invited to attend. After the dissection, the surgeons and physicians decided that, from the state of the body, they could form no opinion respect¬ ing the causes of her death. Fearing that the suspicions now prevalent would have consequences dangerous to his chere amie , the criminal went to Tevis Farm to take her away. If his confession is to be believed, she said to him, u George, why, in the name of f God, if you had any idea of killing Mary, did n’t you tell me? I could have told you better—that you could not do such a thing here without beihg accused with it, especially as I am here, and so much fuss has been made about us.” To which he, as he said, replied that he would have told her, if he had had any such intention, but that his wife’s death had been sudden, and unexpected by him. He then told her that Mrs. S. had been killed by an accidental fall from her horse, s ✓ ft ‘I I s fits 6 1 S BOSTON COLLEGE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY HEIGHTS CHESTNUT HILL, MASS. Books may be kept for two weeks and may be renewed for the same period, unless re¬ served. Two cents a day is charged for each book kept overtime. < A If you cannot find what you want, ask the Librarian who will be glad to help you. The borrower is responsible for books drawn on his card and for all fines accruing on the same. 3 9031 BOSTON COLLEGE 01651752 6 DOES NOT CIRCULATE f T