THE LIBRARY
OF THE
*
OF
NIVERSIT
OMNIBUS ARTIBUS
KOMMUNE
MINNESOTA
CLASS 339.5
Sa 22
BOOK

Sterling shooting Gen. Morgain.
THE
UNITED STATES
CRIMINAL CALENDAR:
OR
An Awful Warning
TO THE
YOUTH OF AMERICA;
BEING AN ACCOUNT OF THE MOST HORRID
COUNT
MURDERS, PIRACES, HIGHWAY ROBBERIES, &c. &e
A
COMPILED FROM THE BEST AUTHORITIES,
BY HENRY ST. CLAIR.
WITH FIFTEEN ENGRAVINGS.

* *
* "Wither'd Murder,
Alarmed by his sentinel the Wolf,
Whose howl's his watch,) thus with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design,
Moves like a Ghost."-Shakspeare.
BOSTON:
PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY CHARLES GAYLORD.
1835.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1831,
BY CHARLES GAYLORD,
In the Clerk's office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts
339.5
NOV 18 38
بيا زيارة المالية
JAN 20'39 L OF M BINDERI
Sahih
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 has
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
549721
1
CONTENTS.
William Schooler,*(murderer.)
William Franklin, (murderer.) ´.
The Salem Witchcraft,
Robert Kidd, (pirate.)
page 9
11
14
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.)
Henry Phillips, (murderer.)
John Williams, (pirate.)
Francis Frederick, (pirate.) ·
John Peterson Rog, (pirate.)
89
92
99
100
888
85
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
•
viii
CONTENTS.
James Teed and David Dunning, (murderers.)
George Coombs, (homicide.)
William Bevans, (homicide.).
Stephen and Jesse Boorn, (charged with murder.)
Amos Furnald, (manslaughter.)
Elijah P. Goodrich, commonly called Major Goodrich,
(perjurer.)
Daniel H. Corey, (madman.)
Charles F. Clark, (madman.)
Mutiny on board the Ship Globe,.
James Porter, (highwayman.)
John Francis Knapp and Joseph Jenkins Knapp,
. 185
198
200
202.
213
218
•
226
229
233
244
(murderers.)
.-252
John Van Alstine, (murderer.).
261
Edward Tinker, (murderer.)
267
Robert H. Sterling, (homicide.) .
270
The Harpes, (murderers.)
277
Jeroboam O. 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
•
4
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
Pequod's, 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*
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 magistrate 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
I
WILLIAM FRANKLIN.
11
}
murder. From the testimony it seems that it was 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 perish, 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 excommun.cated. 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 Boston, 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 exemplification 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,
in 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
13
FRANKLIN.
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.
:
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
inan, 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,
1
SALEM WITCHCRAFT.
15
"
The
and enable them to see their invisible tormentors.
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.
Os-
The bewitched likewise accused Sarah Good, and
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 fts
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-
Justice Hathorn replied, that in the opinion of all present,
her accusers were bewitched.
upon
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 Good, 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 evider ce 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 to suffer on evidence
which would now be received with contempt.
"1
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 t
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, but 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. Aſdin 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, "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
•
1
18
SALEM WITCHCRAFT.
A
£
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, they 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 to 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
រ
✔
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 all the 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
>
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 et punctuatim for the
honor of his memory, and the better understanding of the way
in which such proceedings were carried on.
"Reverend Gentlemen,
}
"Salem Prison, July 23, 1692,
1
"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

Execution of Rev. George Burroughs.
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,
Mr. Mather, Mr. Allen, Mr. Moody,
Mr. Willard, Mr. Baily.
护
​JOHN PROCTOR, &c.
This appeal availed Proctor nothing. At the place of ex-
ecution he pleaded hard for a little time, saying that he was
not fit to die, but his prayer was disregarded.
George Jacobs was a very old man.
After his condemna-
tion, the sheriff took all his goods from his wife, even her wed-
ding ring, and she was compelled to buy the very food that he
had carried from her house.
Margaret Jacobs, the grand-daughter of George, had ac-
knowledged herself a witch, and had borne witness against Bur-
24
SALEM WITCHCRAFT.
roughs, Willard, and her aged relative. The day before their
execution she asked forgiveness of Mr. Burroughs, and own-
ed that she had sworn falsely. He forgave and prayed for her.
She also wrote, to the same effect, to her grandfather in prison,
avowing that her testimony had been extorted by the threats
of the magistrates. Her own trial was postponed on account
of sickness, and thus she escaped.
On the ninth of September, six more were sentenced to
die, and on the sixteenth one Giles Cory, was pressed to
death. He pleaded not guilty to the indictment; but refused
to be tried by jury. In pressing, his tongue was forced out
of his mouth, but Mr. Sheriff Corwin thrust it back again with
his cane.
Cory was the first that suffered in this manner in
New England.
On the seventeenth, nine more received the same sentence,
among whom was the wife of Giles Cory. She protested her
innocence to the last, and made a prayer on the scaffold.
Another, Wardwell by name, had formerly confessed him-
self guilty, but had been brought to trial for recanting. Noth-
ing appeared against him but his former confession, and the
assertions of the witnesses that his apparition tormented them.
While he was addressing the people from the gallows tree, the
executioner, who was employed with a pipe, smoked in his face,
and interrupted his discourse, which caused some to say "that
the Devil hindered him with smoke. ""
Mary Easty, sister of Rebecca Nurse before mentioned,
when she bade farewell to her husband, children and friends,
was composed, affectionate, and devout. It seems, that be-
side the testimony of confessors and witnesses, a wart was
found on her person, which was deemed irrefragable evidence
of guilt. She addressed a petition for mercy to the court, but
no notice was taken of it, and she suffered with the 'rest.
When they were turned off, the Rev. Mr. Noyes said, "it was
a sad thing to see so many firebrands of hell hanging there.”
In October the wife of the Reverend Mr. Hale, of Bever-
ly, was accused. This man had, at first, been a zealous per-
secutor of witches, but this misfortune changed his opinion
of their guilt. It was at this time a matter of controversy
among the clergy, whether the devil could do ill in the shape
of a good person or not. He had at first taken the affirma-
tive side of the question, but was now convinced of his error.
One Ballard, of Andover, set the bloodhound witnesses on a
new scent. His wife having died of a fever, he sent for some
1
1
SALEM •.
25
WITCHCRAFT.
of them to tell him who had afflicted her. Others followed his
example, and horses and men were sent in every direction in
quest of persons who could see apparitions. When these
came into the presence of the sick person, they usually pre-
tended to be convulsed; after which, being asked who afflicted
the invalid, they commonly named one, who, they said, sat at
the head, and another who sat on the lower limbs. More than
fifty inhabitants of Andover were thus accused. The infatu-
ation extended to many of these, and they charged themselves
with riding through the air on broomsticks, and other the like
absurdities. Parents believed their children to be witches, and
husbands their wives, and so on to the end of the chapter. It
was also common for young people, when they saw the accu-
sers, to fall into convulsions, and to profess to have acquired
this spectral second sight.
7
Justice Bradstreet of Andover, had committed thirty or
forty persons to prison, on such charges; but at last became
convinced of his error, and refused to grant any more warrants;
as soon as this was known, his wife was accused, and he was
himself charged with having destroyed nine persons by his
sorceries. The accusers were sent to see a sick dog; and de-
clared that John Bradstreet, brother of the justice, was riding
on the animal. That gentleman forthwith made his escape.
A dog at Andover was charged with witchcraft, and put to
death. Shortly after, a worthy man in Boston was charged
with.
sorcery by the Andover accusers. He brought an ac-
tion against them for defamation, and thenceforward the accu-
sations were less frequent in Andover.
--
By the end of October, the prison in Salem was so full of
witches that it could hold no more. By the time the commis-
sion of the court expired, nineteen had been hanged, and one
pressed to death. Eight more were under sentence, making
twenty eight in all, of whom more than a third were church
members, and almost all were persons of good character.
Fifty more had confessed themselves witches and wizards;
there were a hundred and fifty more in prison, and two hun-
dred of the accused were yet at large. Here follows some ac-
count of the means by which some of these confessions were
procured, given by the confessors themselves.
They were inhabitants of Andover, and had been told, that
persons bewitched could tell who and what was the cause of
their affliction. Afterwards, they were summoned to the pres-
ence of those bewitched, and bidden to lay their hands on
them. At this the sick persons said they were well, and that
t
2
26
SALEM WITCHCRAFT.
these were the witches, whereupon they were incacerated.
Amazed and affrighted, and being advised by their friends to
confess, as the only means to save their lives, they did accor-
dingly acknowledge themselves witches. Even then their
confessions were dictated, by others, who told them that they
knew their guilt, and frightened them out of their senses; when
they repeated everything that was said. Most of these ac-
knowledgements were, in effect, but a mere consenting to
what these advisers affirmed. When the prisoners were more
composed, and were reminded of their confessions, they
retracted, and professed ignorance of the whole. Wardwell,
thus renouncing his confession, was forthwith tried and execu-
ted; whereby the others were compelled to persevere in
falsehood.
!
It may be added concerning those who did confess, that
confession was the price of life. and liberty. Moreover, many
of them were subjected to long and tedious examinations be-
fore private persons, and were urged, and persuaded, and tor-
tured-by long standing, want of sleep, &c., till they assented
to whatever was said. Beside, they were over persuaded, and
prevailed on by the tears and prayers of their friends, and re-
lations who feared for their lives.
At last the evil so increased, that no man, of whatever stand-
ing, could go abroad with 'assurance that the next door he en-
tered would not be that of a prison. An universal consterna-
tion prevailed. Some accused themselves, in order to prevent
being accused by others, and to escape death; and many fled
the province. At length, about fifteen months after the com-
mencement of the persecution, Governor Phipps put a stop
to all farther proceedings, and the whole country became sen-
sible of their delusion. The jury, and one of the judges of the
court of Oyer and Terminer, made a public acknowledgement
of their error. Mr. Parris, the first persecutor, felt the effects
of general indignation, and was dismissed from his ministry.
We have, necessarily, given a meagre sketch of this unpar-
alleled infatuation, of which the details would have been volu-
minous. We conclude by handing down to everlasting infa-
my, the names of its authors. These were, the Reverend Mr
Parris, Elizabeth his daughter, Abigail Williams his niece,
and Ann Putman, who were not only the beginners, but the
most forward in the subsequent accusations. The other wicked
members of the wicked household, were Mrs. Pope, Mrs.
Putman, Mrs. Bibber, Mrs. Goodall, Mary Wolcott, Mercy
Lewes, and a servant maid. The prime instigator in the
persecution that ensued, was the Reverend Cotton Mather.

Kidd shooting the Indian.
ROBERT KIDD.
THIS man was not a native of this country, nor was he
tried or executed in it; yet, as our coast was the place from
whence he started on his career of crime, and as his name
is familiar to every American, we have judged it not improper
to give some account of his adventures. His crimes have
been the groundwork of many a legend, and his supposed
"last words and dying speech" beginning thus,
"My name was Captain Kidd,
As I sailed, as I sailed.
My name was Captain Kidd;
And most wickedly I did
As I sailed "
has been hawked about the streets of Boston in a ballad.
Yet, though all know that he was tried, convicted, and execu-
ted as a pirate, few are acquainted with the nature or extent
of his misdoings.
The earliest accounts of him, state that he was a mariner of
good credit and fair reputation. In the early part of the reign
of William the Third, he commanded a privateer in the West
Indies; and by his bravery and good conduct earned the char-
acter of a gallant officer, and skilful seaman. In such
esteem was he, that the Lord Bellamont, then Governor of
Barbadoes, recommended him to the crown as a person fitted
to suppress piracy, then very prevalent in those parts, by his
knowledge of the West Indian seas, and acquaintance with
the haunts of these depradators. Lord Bellamont, therefore,
advised that the command of a government ship should be
entrusted to him for this purpose. This suggestion met with
no attention, which was the more pity, as great injury to
British commerce was the consequence of the neglect.
About this time the pirates had made several very important
captures, and it was supposed that immense wealth was accu-
mulated at their places of rendezvous, in the smaller West
India Islands. Under this impression, Lord Bellamont and
others, fitted out an armed vessel, the command of which they
gave to Captain Kidd, hoping to find their account therein.
To give their undertaking the support of law, as well as to
30
ク
​ROBERT KIDD
insure subordination among the crew, they procured the King's
commission for Kidd, of which the following is an authentic
copy.
“WILLIAM REX.
WILLIAM THE THIRD, by the Grace of God, King of Eng-
land, Scotland, France, and Ireland, Defender of the Faith,
&c. To our trusty and well beloved Captain Robert Kidd,
commander of the ship the Adventure Galley, or to any other,
the commander of the same for the time being, GREETING:
Whereas, we are informed that Captain Thomas Too, John
Ireland, Captain Thomas Wake, and Captain William Maze,
or Mace, and other subjects, natives or inhabitants of New
York, and elsewhere, in our plantations in America, have
associated themselves with divers others, wicked and ill dis-
posed persons, and do, against the laws of nations, commit
many and great piracies, robberies, and depredations on the
seas upon the parts of America, and in other parts, to the
great hinderance and discouragement of trade and navigation,
and to the great danger and hurt of our loving subjects, our
allies and all others, navigating the seas upon their lawful
occasions. Now KNOW YE, that we, being desirous to pre-
vent the aforesaid mischiefs, and as much as in us lies to
bring the said pirates, freebooters, and sea rõvers to justice,
have thought fit, and do hereby give and grant to the said
Robert Kidd (to whom our commissioners for exercising the
office of Lord High Admiral of England, have granted a
commission as a private man of war, bearing date the eleventh
day of December sixteen hundred and ninety five,) and unto
the commander of the said ship for the time being, and unto
the officers, mariners, and others, which shall be under your
command, full power and authority to apprehend, seize, and
take into your custody, as well the said Captain Thomas Too,
John Ireland, Captain Thomas Wake, and Captain William
Maze, or lace, as all other such pirates, freebooters, and
sea rovers, being either our subjects, or of other nations asso-
ciated with them, which you shall meet with upon the seas or
coasts of America, or upon any other seas or coasts, with
all their ships and vessels, and all such merchandises, money,
goods, and wares as shall be found on board or with them, in
case they shall willingly yield themselves; but if they will
not yield without fighting, then you are by force to compel
them to yield. And we also require you to bring, or cause
to be brought, such pirates, freebooters or sea rovers, as you
ROBERT KIDD.
31
shall seize, to a legal trial, to the end they may be proceeded
against, according to the law in such cases. And we do here-
by command all our officers, ministers, and others our loving
subjects whomsoever, to be aiding and assisting to you in the
premises. And we do hereby enjoin you to keep an exact
journal of your proceedings in the execution of the premises,
and to set down the names of such pirates, and of their offi-
cers and company, and the names of such ships and vessels
as you shall by virtue of these presents take and seize, and .
the quantities of arms, ammunition, provision, and lading of
such ships, and the true value of the same, as near as you
can judge. And we do hereby strictly charge and command
you, as you will answer the contrary at your peril, that you do
not, in any manner, offend or molest our friends or allies,
their ships, or subjects, by color or pretence of these presents,
or the authority thereby granted. In witness whereof we
have caused our great seal of England to be affixed to these
presents. Given at our court of Kensington, the twenty-sixth
day of January, sixteen hundred and ninety-five, in the sev-
enth year of our reign.
WILLIAM REX."
£
Kidd had also another commission, called a Commission of
Reprisals, to justify him in taking French merchant ships, in
case he should meet with any, England being then at war
with France.
With these commissions he sailed for the city of New Yo, «,
from Plymouth, in May, sixteen hundred and ninety-six, in
the Adventure, of thirty guns, and eighty men. On his passage
he took a French merchant vessel, according to the authority
in his commission of Reprisals.
As he proposed to deal with desperate enemies; when he
arrived at New York he set up a rendezvous, and issued a
handbill, in order to enlist more men. The terms he offered
were sufficiently liberal: every seamen was to have a share
in what should be taken, after a reduction of forty shares for
himself and his owners. This encouragement increased his
company to an hundred and fifty men, very shortly.
This done, he sailed to Madeira, where he took in wine and
necessaries, and thence to Bonavista, one of the Cape de
Verd Islands, to furnish the ship with salt. At another of
the Cape de Verd group he obtained provisions. After this
he steered for Madagascar, where a formidable crew of pirates
was then established, and made the coast in February, sixteen
hundred and ninety-six, just nine months subsequent to his
departure from Plymouth. It so happened that, at the time
32
ROBERT KIDD.
of his arrival, all the pirate ships were absent; and getting no
satisfactory intelligence respecting them, Captain Kidd, after
watering his ship and procuring a fresh supply of provisions,
sailed for the coast of Malabar, which he reached in the fol-
lowing June. Hereabout he cruised for awhile, without the
smallest success, till his provisions failed and his ship needed
repait. At Johanna he borrowed money from some French-
men, who had been cast away, but had saved their effects, and
with it he managed to refit the Adventure.
It does not appear that during all this time he had any in-
tention to commit piracy, for it is known that he met several
richly laden India ships, to which he did not the smallest injury,
though he was amply provided with the means. The first of
his delicts on record, was a robbery he committed on the na-
tives of a place called Mabbee, on the Red Sea, from whom
he took a quantity of corn by force. After this depredation,
he sailed to Bale's Key, a little island at the entrance of the
Red Sea. Here he first advised his crew of his intentions.
He informed them that he meant to change his measures; and
speaking of the expected Mocha fleet, he said, “We have
hitherto been unsuccessful; but courage, my boys! we shall
make our fortunes out of this fleet." Finding his men very
willing to embrace piracy as a business, he sent a boat to ex-
plore the coast and make discoveries. It returned in a few
days with the tidings that fourteen or fifteen ships were coming,
some English, some Dutch, and some Moorish.
At first Kidd had meant well, while his hopes of making a
fortune out of the spoils of the pirates lasted; but now, dis-
contented at his want of success, and fearing lest his owners
in their disappointment, should dismiss him, and that so he
'should be brought to want, he resolved, since he could not suc-
ceed in one business, to try another.
He ordered a constant watch to be kept from the mast head,
lest the fleet before mentioned should pass unobserved. In a
few days, and toward evening, the fleet hove in sight, convoy-
ed by two men of war, one under Dutch, and the other un-
der English colors. Kidd steered into the midst of the fleet, and
fired into a Moorish ship, when the armed vessels bearing down
upon him, he was forced to sheer off, as he was not strong
enough to cope with them. But in piracy as in many other
things, ce n'est que le premier pas qui coute, and as he had now be-
gun hostilities with mankind, he determined to persevere, and
so continued his cruise on the coast of Malabar. His first prize
- was a small Moorish vessel belonging to Aden, the owners of
ROBERT KIDD.
33
which were native merchants. The master was an Englishman
named Parker, and there was also a Portuguese, by the name
of Antonio, on board. These men Kidd impressed, intending
to use the former as a pilot and the latter as an interpreter.
He used the Mahometan crew with great barbarity, tying them
up and scourging them, to make them discover whether they
had money. As they had neither gold nor silver, he gained
nothing by his cruelty but one bale of pepper and another of
coffee, which he took from them before he let them go. It
would seem that one act of piracy is enough to render men.
bloody and barbarous; for there are few cases within our
knowledge, where the sufferers have not been personally mal-
treated as well as robbed. Highway robbers are not unfre-
quently known to carry on their trade with some degree of
generosity and humanity, whereas the very reverse is the case
with pirates.
Kidd then touched at Carawar, a place on the same coast,
where the report of the offence he had committed had arriv-
ed before him. Some English merchants in the place had
been advised of it by the owners of the plundered vessel, and
two of them came on board and inquired for Parker and An-
tonio. Kidd denied that he knew any such persons; he had
indeed, confined them in the hold, where he kept them out of
sight till he weighed anchor.
However, the whole coast was alarmed, and a Portuguese
man of war went in search of Kidd, and overtook him. Kidd
attacked her, and the engagement lasted six hours, but find-
ing her too strong for him, he set all sail and escaped, for the
Adventure was much the best sailer.
1
Soon after, he gave chase to a ship with French colors fly-
ing, whereupon the chase hoisted the French flag also. Com-
ing up with her he hailed her in French, and was answered by
a Frenchman, in the same language. Our pirate ordered them
to send their boat on board, which they were obliged to do.
The Frenchman came in her, and the prize proved to belong
co Mahometan merchants, though the master was a Dutchman.
The Frenchman was a passenger. Kidd asked him if he had
any French papers, and was answered in the affirmative;
whereupon the pirate told him that he must pass for captain,
for, by," said he, "you are the captain." He meant by
this, that he would hold the ship as a lawful prize, as though
she belonged to French subjects, according to the tenor of his
commission. The Frenchman did not dare to dissent. After
what Kidd had done, however, it might be supposed that a
((
•
1
2*
34
ROBERT KIDD:
*
it
quibble to shield him from the law would have been of little
use.
In short, he took the cargo, and sold it some time after; but
it seems he was not altogether without misgivings of what the
end of his proceedings would be, for on coming up with anoth-
er Dutch ship, while all his crew were eager to attack her,
Kidd alone opposed it. A mutiny took place, and a part of
the crew armed themselves, and manned a boat in order to
board the Dutch vessel, but Kidd told them that if they left
the, Adventure they should never come on board again, upon
which they desisted. He then kept company with the Dutch-
man some hours, without offering any violence. Man seldom
stops in the road of guilt, and so was seen of Kidd.
зат
·
This very adventure caused him to add murder to the dark
catalogue of his sins. One Moor, the gunner of the Adven-
ture, was talking with him some days after on the subject of
the Dutch ship, and hard words passed between them. Moor
told our pirate that he had ruined the whole ship's company,
whereat Kidd called him a dog, and seizing a bucket, struck
him on the head with it. The blow fractured his skull, and he
died the next day.
At first the freebooter was somewhat affected at the death of
his follower in iniquity, and resolved to reform. He also read
the scriptures diligently, but, unhappily, his penitence was of
short duration, vanishing at the sight of the first vessel he
saw. Following the coast of Malabar, he plundered a great
many boats and small vessels, as well as a large Portuguese
ship, of which he kept possession a week, and finally took from
her a considerable part of her cargo. Shortly after he went
to one of the Malabar islands for wood and water, where the '
natives killed the ship's cooper, who was so imprudent as to go
ashore alone. Kidd landed, and burned and pillaged several
houses, but the people fled.. However, he took one, whom he
tied to a tree and shot. Then putting to sea he took the
greatest prize that ever fell into his hands, being a ship of
four hundred tons burden, owned by natives and command-
ed by an Englishman, and named the Queda. Kidd chased
her under French colors, and having come up with her, order-
ed the master to hoist out his boat and come on board the Ad-
venture. He was obeyed. He told the master that he was
a prisoner, and inquired of him who were on board the Que-
da. There were two Dutchmen and one Frenchman, but all
the rest of the crew were Indians and Armenians; for it was
at that time the custom of the Mahometans to man their ves-
S
}
3
ROBERT KIDD.
35
sels with natives, while the command was given to an Euro-
pean, as being more skilful in navigation.
The Armenians on
board the prize were part owners of her, and Kidd told them
that they must redeem themselves and their vessel with mon-
ey. They offered him twenty thousand rupees, but he was
not satisfied with the proffer. He therefore set the crew
ashore at several places on the coast, and sold as much of
the cargo as brought him about forty thousand dollars. He
also traded with a part of it, receiving in exchange provisions,
and such other articles as he needed, till by degrees he dis-
posed of nearly the whole. The natives of the coast came
on board the Adventure, and Kidd trafficked with them in good
faith, till he was ready to sail, when he took their goods from
them, and set them ashore without payment. They said of
this proceeding, that they had been used to deal with pirates,
and had always found them enemies to deceit, honest in the
way of trade, and that they scorned dishonesty of any fashion
but their own. Kidd, they said, was the first who had be-
haved in a contrary manner. Nevertheless, the pirate divided
the spoil, reserving to himself forty shares. His own part
amounted to about eight thousand pounds, and his crew re-
ceived two hundred pounds each.
Kidd put some of his men on board the Queda, and sailed
in company with her to Madagascar. He had hardly drop-
ped anchor when a canoe came along side, in which were
several English pirates whom he had formerly known. They
saluted him, and said they had heard he had come to take and
hang them. This they thought would be less than kind in an
old acquaintance. Kidd removed their fears by swearing
that he had no such design, and that he was now one of them,
and as bad as they. Then, calling for liquor, he drank the
health of their captain.
These men belonged to a piratical vessel which lay at an-
chor close by. She was named the Resolution, and was com-
manded by one Culliford. Kidd went on board the Resolu-
tion, and offered his friendship and assistance to his brother
robber; and Culliford, in turn, visited the Adventure, and re-
ciprocated the offer. Finding Culliford in want of some
necessaries, Kidd presented him with an anchor and several
pieces of cannon, in token of sincerity.
The Adventure was now so old and leaky that she could be
kept afloat no longer, for vessels decay rapidly in the East
Indian seas. Kidd, therefore, shifted her guns and tackle to
the Queda; and as he had already divided the money, he now
મ
•
36
ROBERT KIDD.
made a division of the remainder of her cargo. Soon after,
the greater part of his crew left him. Some joined Culliford,
and some gained the interior. He had but forty men left,
but put to sea notwithstanding, and sailed to Amboyna.
The name of Kidd was now the terror of the Indian seas,
and indeed famous, or rather infamous, all over the civilized
world. His piracies had created so much alarm among the
English merchants, that several motions were made in Par-
liment to inquire respecting the commission he had obtained,
and the conduct of the persons who had fitted him out. Public
indignation pointed particularly at Lord Bellamont, and that
nobleman thought it incumbent on him to publish an account
of his proceedings. In the meanwhile it was deemed proper
to issue a proclamation, offering the King's free pardon to all
such pirates as should surrender themselves before the last day
of April, sixteen hundred and ninety nine, of whatever crimes
they might have been guilty. This amnesty, however, only
extended to misdemeanors committed east of the Cape of
Good Hope, as far as the meridians of Soccatara and Cape
Cormorin, and Kidd was excepted, by name.
It was on his arrival at Amboyna that he first learned that
his fame had reached England, and that he was esteemed a pi-
rate, but it is probable that he heard nothing of the proclama-
tion, otherwise his subsequent conduct appears like insanity.
He had found sundry French documents on board the ships he
had captured, and imagined that he could so use them as to
give his deeds the sanction of law. He relied, too, upon the
protection of Lord Bellamont, and flattered himself that his
booty would gain him new friends; well knowing that wealth,
like charity, is a cloak for many sins. Thinking, therefore,
that his doings would be hushed up, and that Justice would
wink at him, he sailed directly to New York.
He had no
sooner arrived, than he was taken into custody by order of
the Lord Bellamont, and his papers and effects were secured.
About this time, many of his fellow adventurers, hearing
of the royal proclamation before mentioned, came to Ameri-
ca, and surrendered themselves to the proper authorities.
These were the men who had forsaken-Kidd at Madagascar.
On their surrender they were at first admitted to bail, but soon
after they were strictly confined, in order to be sent to Eng-
land with Kidd, for trial.
Accordingly, Kidd was arraigned at the Old Baily, for pira-
cy, and for the murder of Moor, the gunner, in May, seventeen
ROBERT KIDD.
37
hundred and one. Nicholas Churchill, James How, Robert
Lumley, William Jenkins, Gabriel Loff, IIugh Parrot, Rich-
ard Barleycorn, Abel Owens, and Darby Mullins, were at the
same time arraigned for piracy.
Kidd, on his trial, insisted much on his own innocence, and
the wickedness of his crew. He said that he had embraced
a laudable business, and had had no need to increase his store
by piracy, having been in good circumstances and repute. He
stated that his men had often mutinied, and had threatened to
shoot him in his cabin; and moreover, that ninety-five had de-
serted him at one time, and had burned his boat, so that he had
been unable to bring home his ship, or the prizes he haḍ ta-
ken, in order that they might be condemned in a regular man-
He affirmed that they were French vessels, furnished
with French papers, and had been lawfully captured, by vir-
tue of his commission.
ner.
Being accused of aiding and comforting Culliford, who was
notorious as a pirate, he denied the fact, and said that he
meant to have taken him, but that his men had refused obe-
dience, and many of them had even deserted to Culliford. But
the evidence on this particular was full and particular.
I
He called one Colonel Hewson to testify that he had always
borne a good character, This witness declared that he had
formerly served under Kidd, and had been with him in two
battles with French vessels, in which his skill and courage
could not be too much praised. In one case Kidd, with two
vessels only, had given battle to a squadron of six sail, and
had the better of them. But this testimony was foreign to
the matter, as it related to a period several years before the
acts mentioned in the indictment were committed, and was of
no service to Kidd.
When
Our pirate was found guilty of both indictments.
he was asked why sentence of death should not be pronounced
against him, he replied, "that he had nothing to say, but that
perjured wicked people had sworn against him." When sen-
tence was pronounced, he exclaimed "My Lord! it is a very
hard sentence. I am the most innocent of them all; but the
witnesses have perjured themselves."
Churchill and How pleaded the royal pardon, and proved
that they had surrendered to Colonel Bass, governor of Jer-
sey. This plea was overruled by the court, on the ground
that four commissioners had been named in the proclamation
1
38
ROBERT KIDD.
ร
o receive the submission of pirates, and that no other person
could receive their surrender. Wherefore, as the prisoners
had not complied with the strict letter of the proclamation,
they were not entitled to its benefits.
Mullins urged in his defence, that Kidd was his lawful supe-
rior, having the king's commission, and that he could not have
disobeyed his commander without incurring severe punish-
ment. He said that seamen were never allowed to call their
officers to account, or to question their orders; if they were,
there would be an end of all discipline. He thought that if
anything unlawful were done, the officers should answer for
it, as the men did no more than their duty in obeying their
commands.
He was told by the court, that acting under the king's com-
mission justified obedience in all things lawful, but not in
things unlawful.
He answered, that he needed no justification in doing law-
ful things, but that the case of seamen was very hard, if they.
were to risk their lives by obeying their officers, and at the
same time be liable to punishment for disobedience. If they.
were allowed to dispute their orders, there would be no such
things at sea as order and subordination.
'
This defence seems very plausible, and if Mullins obeyed
illegal orders, through ignorance or a sense of duty, it would
seem unjust that he should be punished for it; but it was prov-
ed' that he had taken a share of the plunder. It appeared,
moreover, that the crew of the Adventure had mutinied seve-
ral times; whence it appeared that they did not obey Kidd on
account of the king's commission, but as a pirate chief, and
that they had behaved in all things like pirates and freeboot-
ers. These considerations moved the jury to find Mullins
guilty, like the rest.
Previous to his execution, Kidd's hardihood forsook him,
and he made confession of his crimes. About a week after
sentence was pronounced he was hanged at Execution Dock,
together with Churchill, How, Loff, Parrot, Owens, and Mul-
lins. When they were dead, they were hanged in chains,
at some distance from each other, along the banks of the
Thames, and there the bodies remained exposed many years.
These are the principal events in the life of this notorious
freebooter. How it should be a generally received opinion
that he haunted the coast of America, or how it should be be-
lieved that he sailed up the North River, and hid money
>
1
SAMUEL BELLAMY.
39
there, and at other places, we cannot explain, for there is no
evidence that he committed any crime in any part of the At-
lantic. Yet such is a very common belief, to which no less a
person than Washington Irving, has given his sanction. Per-
haps tradition has blended his lawful exploits in the West In-
dies with his piracies in the Indian Ocean. On account of
this opinion, we have given him a place in this work.
CAPT. SAMUEL BELLAMY.
We call this man Captain because he was generally known
by that title; not that pirates and robbers are entitled to any
such honorable appellation. His origin is unknown, but it is
supposed that he belonged to Boston.
It will be remembered that in the year 1661, William
Phipps, afterwards Sir William, and Governor of Massachu-
setts, made his fortune by fishing up bullion from a Spanish
vessel, that had been lost on one of the sunken reefs in the
West Indies.
While we see the gold mine fever raging so violently in the
southern States, and when we observe so many lottery offices
open, in our own times, it need not excite wonder that men in
those days were found, who were ready to renounce the
small, though sure profits of honest industry, for the pre-
carious prospect of sudden wealth. The successs of Sir
William Phipps, caused many golden dreams in New England,
and several vessels sailed from our coast with the avowed in-
tention of fishing up Fortune from the bottom of the ocean.
The adventure of Phipps was no idle speculation; he knew
that a vessel laden with specie had been lost, and was toler-
ably well informed of the spot where she lay; but the after
adventurers had no such grounds of hope, and consequently
found their expectations no better than moonshine in the
water.
Bellamy was one of these. He had been, in company with
one called Williams, in search of another Spanish wreck, and
had been disappointed. After engaging in such gambling spec-
ulations, men are seldom willing to return to the regular pur-
suits of life; and, therefore, these worthies, in order to be rich
}
40
SAMUEL BELLAMY.
་
at once, agreed "to go on the account"a cant term, by
which pirates designate their nefarious occupation. The first
who fell into their hands was a Captain Prince, bound from
Jamaica to London, with a rich cargo, and a fine vessel,
adapted to the purposes of marine warfare. She was called
The Whidow. A part of her crew joined Bellamy, making
his crew amount, in all, to an hundred and fifty men. He
armed her with twenty-eight guns, so that she was one of the
strongest piratical vessels that ever cruised on the coast of
the United States. This adventure took place in the month
of February, seventeen hundred and seventeen.
to
Thus provided, Bellamy steered to the shores of Virginia,
where he took several vessels. He had, at the outset, like
to have been cut off in his course of iniquity, for the Whidow
was very near being lost in a storm. At the first appearance
of bad weather Bellamy tock in sail; which was scarcely
done, when a squall struck the ship and threw her on her
beam ends, However, she righted, and as the wind increas-
ed toward night, the top and topgallant yards were sent down,
and she ran before the wind under her forsail only, and finally
under bare poles. Four men at the tiller and two at the
wheel, could scarcely keep her from broaching to, which she
was nigh doing more than once. As the darkness thickened
around, the horror of their situation became more apparent.
The darkness of the night was total-such as, to use a quota-
tion from holy writ, "might be felt,"-and was only broken
by the blinding and incessant flashes of lightning. Every sea
washed the deck, and tremendous claps of thunder seemed
to itimate the wrath of the Supreme. It might be supposed
that this jaring of the elements would have awakened contri-
tion in the breasts of these unhappy wretches, but instead of
this, they endeavoured to drown the voice of sea and air.
with ribaldry, and the most atrocious blasphemies. Bellamy
swore that he was sorry he could not run out his guns to return.
the salute, meaning the thunder. He said he believed the Gods
had got drunk, and were gone together by the ears over their
tipple. We will not repeat more of his impiety. They con-
tinued scudding all night, and the next morning, finding the
mainmast sprung in the step, they were obliged to cut it away,
and at the same time the mizzen went by the board. These
mishaps renewed the blasphemies of the pirates, and their
vociferations became louder when they found, by trying the
pumps, that the ships made a great deal of water; though by
constant labor they could keep it from gaining on them. The
SAMUEL BELLAMY.
41
sloop in which Bellamy had at first sailed, and which still ac-
companied him, was abandoned to the mercy of the winds, but
did not lose her mast. The wind shifted all round the compass,
making a short and outrageous sea, so that their expectations
of outliving the gale were small. One surge broke upon the
stern, drove in the tafferel, and washed two men away from
the helm, who were, however, saved by the hammock nettings.
Thus the sea continued to rage four days and three nights,
when it abated of its fury.
As the weather was now clearing up, and the wind hourly de-
creasing, Bellamy spoke the sloop, and finding that she was not
damaged, determined to steer for the coast of Carolina. But
the wind suddenly shifting to the southward, he resolved to
change his course and sail to Rhode Island. The Whidow's
leak still continued, and it was as much as all the pumps could
do to keep the water from gaining. Upon examination it was
found to be owing to the oakum having worked out of a seam,
which was easily remedied. Having set up jurymasts, they
became very merry again, especially as the sloop had received
no other injury than the loss of her mainsail, which was torn
out of the boltropes when the squall first struck her. Hav-
ing reached the waters of Rhode Island, about the first of April,
their first exploit was to take a sloop, belonging to Boston, com-
manded by a Captain Beer. While they plundered his ves-
sel, they detained Beer on board the Whidow. Williams and
Bellamy would have returned the vessel, but their men would
not consent to it; for where the commander has no virtue, and
has forfeited all claim to respect, there is never any obedience.
So they sunk the vessel, and put Beer ashore on Block Island.
•
A conversation that took place between Beer and Bellamy,
proves the latter to have been an acute, though ignorant man.
"I am sorry they won't let you have your sloop again," said
he, "for I scorn to do any one a mischief when it is not of
any advantage to me. D-n the sloop; why must they sink
her, when she might be of use to you. But you are a sneak-
ing puppy, and so are all those who will submit to be govern-
ed by laws that rich men have made for their own safety.
They get what they have by lying and tricking, and have’nt
the spunk to defend it any other way. D-n you altogether
D-n them for a pack of crafty rascals, and you that serve
them, for a pack of henhearted numskulls. They run us down,
the scoundrels do, when there is only this difference between
us, that they rob the poor under cover of the law, and we plun- ·
der them with no protection but our own courage. Had you
42
SAMUEL BELLAMY.
f
not better make one of us, than sneak after such villains for
employment ?”
Beer replied, that his conscience would not suffer him to
break the laws of God and man.
"You are a devilish conscience rascal!" rejoined the pirate
"I am a free prince, and I have as much right to make wa
on the world, as he that has a hundred sail at sea, and an ar-
my of an hundred thousand men ashore. My conscience tells
me that. But there is no arguing with such snivelling pup-
pies, that allow superiors to kick them about the deck as they
please."
It should be remarked that though the sentiments of this
honest captain were certainly ultra liberal, his logic was
inspired with additional force by a case bottle, which he held
in his hand all the while he was speaking.
1
The damage of the Whidow they soon found means to re-
pair, and then cruised off Cape Cod, where, a fortnight after
setting Captain Beer on shore, they took a vessel laden with
wine, which was a most acceptable windfall; and the crew
served to increase the number of their prisoners. They put
a prize master and seven men on board, and ordered her to
keep company with the Whidow. They then steered to Pe-
nobscot river to careen.
When they reached the mouth of the Penobscot, Bellamy
concluded that the river St. George was a more suitable
place, and entered it accordingly, with the three vessels
They ran up about two miles and a half, and came to anchor.
The next morning they sent their prisoners on shore, under
drivers armed with whips, like slaves, and commanded them
to build huts. They also raised a battery on each side of the
river, and sent their guns on shore. This occupied four days.
The prisoners, whom they treated very barbarously, were then
compelled to dig a magazine and to put a roof upon it. Their
ammunition thus secured, they first hove down the sloop, and
cleaned her, and then the Whidow.
1
When these operations were completed, Bellamy sailed for
Newfoundland, where he made several prizes. He sunk them
all, and detained the crews. They had not been long on the
banks before the piratical squadron was separated by a storm,
which lasted several days. When it was over, Bellamy de
scried a sail, off the Island of St. Paul, and immediately gave
chase. The vessel lay to, and waited for the Whidow.
proved to be a French frigate, of thirty six guns, carrying
troops to Quebec. Bellamy gave her his broadside, which was
She
SAMUEL BELLAMY.
43
promptly returned, and the action was kept up for two hours,
with great spirit on both sides. The Whidow was twice board-
ed, and at last Bellamy, finding himself overmatched; would
have shaken his enemy off. This was not so easy a matter,
for the Frenchman gave chase, and as he sailed full as well as
the Whidow, the pirate must have received the punishment
due to his transgressions, had not the night favored his es-
cape. The loss on board the rover, proves how obstinately
the battle was contested. Thirty six of the crew were killed
outright, and a great many were wounded.
Returning to Newfoundland, Bellamy rejoined his consorts
off Placentia Bay; when they held a council, and agreed to re-
turn to the coast of New England, as the Whidow had suffer-
ed severely in the last engagement, and had a great many
shot holes in her hull. They ran down the coast, and took a
vessel called the Mary Anne, between St. George's Banks
and Nantucket Shoals.
6
Williams still retained command of the wine vessel, on
board which her rightful master remained. He was well ac-
quainted with the coast, and Williams compelled him to act as
pilot, keeping him constantly at the helm. He was determin-
ed on revenge, and one night when Williams and his men were
intoxicated, according to custom, he ran the ship ashore near
the table land of Wellfleet, on Cape Cod. The night was
dark, and the wind high: every soul on board, excepting the
pilot, perished; an example, if an example were needed, of
the evils and dangers of intemperance.
The Whidow, following in the wake of her consort, was
wrecked in the same manner, and all of her company, but two,
lost their lives. It is supposed, that when the Whidow first
struck, the pirates murdered all their prisoners and impressed
men, as many of the bodies came on shore shockingly man-
gled. The sloop ran ashore' on a sandy beach, and five of
her crew landed and escaped into the country. Captain Cyp-
rian Southack was sent in search of them by the government
of Massachusetts.
He arrived at Wellfleet just after the sea had forced a pas-
sage across the cape, and made such a channel that he pass-
ed through it in a whale boat. This channel was soon closed,
and has ever since been kept so, by the attention of the in-
habitants, or, it is probable, that twenty or thirty miles of the
extremity of this wonderful arm of land would have been
washed away long before this time.
Captain Southack found and buried the bodies of an hun-
dred and fifty two men, pirates and others, which had been
44
SAMUEL BELLAMY.
-
washed on shore. Of those captured, six were tried in Bos-
ton by a special court of admiralty, convicted, condemned, and
executed. They were all foreigners, the dregs of mankind.
Most of our Bostonian readers will remember a number of
posts, between low and high water marks, at the foot of Copp's
Hill, east and north of Charlestown bridge; in short, where the
boys of the North End were wont to bathe. They were the
stumps of the gibbets on which these felons were executed.
Five of them died penitent, the sixth behaved with unexam-
pled contumacy. When asked if he had anything to say, he
kicked off his shoes, saying, "that his mother always said he
would die with his shoes on, and he was resolved to make a
liar of her."
Thus ended Samuel Bellamy, and his crew. From the clear-
ness of the water, and the whiteness of the sandy bottom, ob-
jects can be seen at a great depth about the spot where he was
wrecked. Even to this day, the great caboose of the Whidow
is sometimes discovered, as the loose sand in which it is im-
bedded is shifted from place to place by the turbulence of the
sea. Some of the coppers of the reign of William and Ma-
ry, and specimens of cob dollars, are still occasionally found
on the beach.
For many years after the shipwreck of the good ship Whi-
dow, a man of singular and frightful aspect, used every spring
and autumn to be seen travelling on the cape, who was suppos-
ed to have been one of Bellamy's crew. The presumption is,
that he went to some place where money had been secreted by
the pirates, to get such a supply as his exigencies required.
When he died, many pieces of gold were found sewed in a gir-
dle which he constantly wore about him.
As late as the beginning of the present century, aged peo-
ple used to relate, that this man frequently spent the night in
private houses, and that whenever the Bible or any religious
book was produced, or family devotions were performed, he
invariably left the room. It is also stated, that during the night,
it would seem as if he had a legion from the lower world in his
chamber; for much conversation was overheard, of an extreme-
ly profane, boisterous, and blasphemous character. These
things might have been the natural results of the habits of a
veteran pirate. The probability is, that the recollection of the
bloody scenes in which he had been engaged disturbed his
sleep, and that he involuntarily gave vent to such exclamations
as might, with the aid of an imagination on the watch for su-
pernatural occurrences, give rise, in those days, to the cur-
rent opinion that his bed chamber was the resort of infernals.
:
WILLIAM FLY.
sout
The origin of this villain remains in obscurity; which is a
matter of little consequence, as it is certain that he was bru-
tally ignorant, and wholly unfit to command even a band of
pirates, unless his cruelty and blood thirstiness may be consid-
ered a qualification. Of all the miscreants that have disgra-
ced their kind, not one is known to have been more bloody
and remorseless, than William Fly.
In April, seventeen hundred and twenty six, the snow Eliza-
beth Snow, of Bristol, was preparing to sail from Jamaica to
the coast of Guinea. Mr. Green, the master, shipped this Fly
as boatswain. It seems that he had been a pirate before, and
having escaped justice, he had now an opportunity of getting
an honest living, and of attaining some small preferment, of
which he was very ambitious.
Immediately after sailing, Fly sounded the crew, severally,
and found most of them birds of his own feather; ripe for any
guilt he might devise. As he thus found tools ready to his
hands, he conspired with them to seize the vessel and kill the
officers. This done, he proposed to assume the command, and
renew his trade of piracy. His brethren in iniquity fully con-
curred with him.
On the twenty-seventh of May, Fly went up to Maurice
Condon, the man at the helm, accompanied by Alexander
Mitchell, Henry Hill, Samuel Cole, Thomas Winthrop, and
other conspirators. Putting a pistol to Condon's head, Fly
swore, that if he uttered a syllable or stired hand or foot, he
would blow his brains out on the spot. Then, leaving a sen-
try over Condon, he tucked up his sleeves, and went with
Mitchel into the captain's cabin, with a naked cutlass in his
hand. He told the captain, that he was captain no longer,
and must turn out. Captain Green asked what was the matter;
and was answered by Mitchell, that they had no time to an-
swer impertinent questions, and that if he would turn out and
go on deck quietly, it would save them the trouble of scraping
the cabin; but if he would not, then a few buckets of water
and a scraper would take his blood out of the floor; that they
had chosen Captain Fly for their commander, and would have
no other. He said, furthermore, that they were resolved not
to waste their provisions to feed useless mouths.
!
+
46
WILLIAM FLY.
Mr. Green said, that since such was their resolution, he would
make no resistance. He only begged that they would spare
his life; as it would be no obstacle to their designs. He said
that he had never treated any of them harshly, and that there-
fore they could not kill him out of revenge. If they wished
to do so for their own security, he gave his word that he would
oppose them in nothing. If they were not satisfied with the
pledge, he desired them to keep him in irons till they came to
some place where they might conveniently put him on shore.
“Ay,” said Fly, "to live and hang us, if we are ever taken?
No, no; that bite won't take. It has hanged many an honest
fellow already. Walk up! walk up.'
""
Fly and Mitchel then laid hands on him, and pulled him out
of bed. The poor man again entreated them to spare him, for
his soul's sake, and he would bind himself by the most sol-
emn oaths never to appear against them. He continued to
plead for life, mere life, in terms, that had these monsters been
indeed men in anything but form, must have softened them.
He said that he was unfit to appear before the judgment seat
of God; that he was loaded with sins, and that, to send him to
that awful tribunal before these were washed away by tears
of repentance, would be cruelty infinitely greater than mere-
ly depriving him of life, since without having given them any
provocation, they would consign him to everlasting misery.
If they would not be persuaded, he conjured them in the name
of their fathers, of their mothers, and of all they held in rev-
erence, to allow him time to prepare for so great a change.
He asked, he said, no more mercy than the laws would allow
them in case they should be taken hereafter-But it was all
in vain; Mitchell cut his pleading short.
"D-n your blood,” said he, no preaching. Be d-nd, if
'you will; what 's that to us? Let him look out who has the
watch. On deck, you dog; we'll lose no more time about you.
""
They then dragged him into the steerage, and forced him,
on deck, without regard to his prayers and supplications.
Here one of these fiends incarnate asked him, if he would
take the leap like a brave man, or be tossed overboard like a
sneaking rascal. Then, addressing himself to Fly, the cap-
tain said, "Boatswain, for God Almighty's sake, do not throw
me overboard. If you do, I am lost forever; for hell will as-
suredly be the portion of my crimes."
"D-n him," said Fly, "since he's so godly, we'll give him
time to say his prayers, and I'll be parson. Say after me,
'Lord, have mercy on me.' Short prayers are best, so no
more words, and over with him.”

4
Fly and Winthrop killing the Male.
•
?
་་
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, so let them drink together. It
would be a pity to part such good company.'
cr
""
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-
1
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.
If
When the punch was brought in, Fly told his guests that "he
was not a person to mince matters. He and his comrades
were gentlemen of fortune, and they would make bold to try if
Mr. Fulker's sloop was not a better sailer than the snow.
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. Ás
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. Fulker excused himself, say-
ing that it was impossible. "You lie, you dog," returned the
savage, "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,)
WILLIAM FLY.
49
釁
​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 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 FLŸ.
- 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.
"You are an obstinate villain," cried Fly," and yoù 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 of any 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 six 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
I
1
JASON FAIRBANKS.
51
honest men were more numerous, five to one, than thé thieves
remaining with Fly, thought he could never have a better
chance 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.
FAIRBANKS.
સ
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
Elizabeth Fales with a knife; and gave her a mortal wound
in the throat, two 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
wounds on her left arm: two mortal wounds on her right arm,
and one mortal wound on her left thumb: of all of which
wounds 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 Mr. 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,
ر
JASON FAIRBANKS.
53
"O 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. The 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 Abijah 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 Fale 3, 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.
She 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-
J
JASON FAIRBANKS.
55
tachment 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, " 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, "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" O dear! O dear!" It appeared to come
品
​}
3*
- 56
JASON FAIRBANKS.
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.
he "
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
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.
Abner 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, "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, "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, "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, "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,
nerhaps two or three years. He said he had told his wife
what he heard, but she answered "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 "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 to have taken place at Bates's shop. In a conversa-
58
JASON FAIRBANKS.
tion 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,
" he did not know but he had said something wrong
before the Grand Jury," and feared that he might be blamed
for it.
Nehemiah 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 Farrington 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 "have gone
through fire and water for the sake of being together."
meetings did not appear accidental, but the result of previous
assignation.
Their
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,
66 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
hat 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.
Sukey 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 Ĵr. 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.
Mrs. Abigail Gay testified that she had witnessed the scuf-
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 we 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
1
4
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
door 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-
ork 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.
Dalways 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, wnere 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 went 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.
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-
quenter 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 rogue.
Shortly after, men were needed on board the Lake Cham-
plain fleet, and Green and his comrade were permitted to en-
ter; but instead of being employed as seamen, as they had
expected, they were ordered to do aty as marines. Herc
they behaved much as usual, but after the loss of the Eagle
and Growler, they were set on shore at Burlington and dis-
charged..
They then returned home, with four hundred dollars only,
which was all that remained of their original stock.
It was
all in good money. On their way home they did no harm to
any one, which may be considered truly wonderful. Green
paid the counterfeiter, according to his agreement, and received
a thousand dollars more. This man was forty years old, and
had passed his whole life in gambling and dishonesty of various
kinds.
If Green had a single good feeling, it was love for his
mother, though even that does not appear to have been very
strong. On his return he gave her a cow.
He now bought handsome clothes, for which he paid coun-
terfeit money; and thinking himself in good business, paid his
addresses to a young girl, the daughter of a poor widow. The
mother, not liking his character, forbade him the house; but
meeting the girl at church, he enticed her home with him, and
kept her concealed three days and nights. Thus, even in the
temple of the Almighty, his depravity was proved. The be-
reaved mother made search, found her child, and confined
her at home, which for sometime hindered Green from meet-
ing her.
•
The tailor of whom he bought his clothes, soon discovered
that he had been defrauded, and, compelled Green to give him
good money. He, moreover, reproved him, and threatened
to have recourse to law, if he ever should detect him again.
This was the first time Green had been questioned on this
subject, and he forthwith repaired to his employer for advice.
The counterfeiter counselled him to break into the tailor's
shop, which he did; and stole goods to the value of an hundred
dollars, for which his patron gave him twenty-five. Shortly
after, he went to a camp meeting with A-
and they pass-
ed a great many bad bills, though they were usually intox-
,
SAMUEL GREEN,
67
icated. At last, Green was detected in passing a counterfeit
five dollar bill at a tavern, and was secured, while the landlord
went for an officer. He made away with the bad money by
swallowing it, so that on searching him, none was found.
"The land ord then offered to release him if he would treat the
company, and give him a dollar for his trouble, to which he
consented. The bad bill was burned, and he was set at
liberty.
Not many days after this, Green and A
were engaged
to make music a day, for a militia company. In the mor..ing
they did well enough, but in the afternoon they were too
much intoxicated to perform their agreement, and were,
therefore, discharged. As they had been paid in advance
they did not care for this, but went to a tavern, where they
played cards with the guests. These took advantage of their
situation, and won from them their last copper, so that they
were unable to pay their reckoning; but the landlord took
their word for the payment, and they sent him the money the
next day. In a short time, Green attempted again to pass a
bad bill at a tavern, but the publican refused to take it, and
would have burned it for fear some other should be defrauded.
He was alone in the house, and as he went toward the fire,
Green and A—— both swore, that if he destroyed the bill, they
would put him into the fire after it. The landlord was a
resolute man, and did as he had said; whereupon Green
caught a chair and struck him down, and the two rogues laid
hands on him, intending to put him in the fire, which they
would have done, but for the interference of his wife and
servant maid, who subdued the one, while the landlord master-
ed the other. They were soundly beaten, and turned out of
doors, but that night they revenged themselves by burning the
publican's fences.
Their next adventure was at a party, on a thanksgiving
evening, where, as usual, they drank to excess, and behaved
so badly that they were ordered to leave the house. They
refused to go, and, in the scuffle that ensued, destroyed the
movables and furniture of the apartment.
A large bounty being offered to recruits, our rogues enlist-
ed again; but as soon as they had received the advance money,
deserted, and went to Compton, where, for a while, they con-
ducted properly, and Green gained the reputation of a steady,
sober young man. A company of militia was draughted, and
he joined it in the capacity of a musician. At Portsmouth,
coming in contact with regulars, he was recognised and taken
68
SAMUEI GREEN.
into custody. After remaining a prisoner three months, he
was tried for desertion, by a court martial, and sentenced to
hard labor for two years, with a ball and chain attached to his
leg. The captain of the militia company, however, assumed
to be his guardian, and shortly procured his discharge. He
then returned to his mother, attended school, and behaved
with due decorum all winter. The March following, he re-
newed his accustomed business by breaking open a shop,
from which he took goods to the value of an hundred and
fifty dollars, which he carried to his original tutor in iniquity.
As Green now intended to visit Boston, this veteran misdoer
instructed him how to cheat at cards, in the use of false keys,
and low to pick locks. He also showed him how to make
false keys, and gave him all the information that might be
useful to a professed thief. Green then repaired to Salem,
and hired himself to work in the Danvers iron factory, but
gave up this employment in a month.
{
He then went to Boston, where his clothes were stolen from
him. After this he procured a place as a servant, in a house
in Somerset Street, where he used to steal his master's wines
from the cellar. This gentleman kept a store on India Wharf,
and his clerk called every night at the house to leave the key.
Discovering this, Green took the key every night, opened the
store, and purloined such articles as he thought would not be
missed. One day, having a good opportunity, he stole a gold
watch, which was soon missed, and he was accused of the
theft, which he denied resolutely. The next day, constable
Reed called with a warrant, and taking Green in private,
advised him to confess, as the only means to avoid a residence
in the state prison for life. Green steadily denied the theft;
and succeeded in convincing Mr. Reed that he was innocent,
as well as his master, who directed him to resume his usual
avocations. He refused, and was driven from the house.
2
After these exploits, Green took passage for Bath, where on
his arrival he found his comrade A- and they spent several
days together, in dissipation and drunkenness, till an opportuni-
ty occurred to commit a new malefaction. Being in a tippling
shop, drinking, a pedlar came in with a box of jewelry, which
he incautiously displayed. A-proposed to Green to way-
lay, rob, and murder the pedlar, which the latter at first
hesitated to do, but was persuaded by A—, who said that
a dead cock never crowed."
66
About half a mile from the shop the road ran through a
swamp by the side of a pond, and by this road the pedlar was

しー
​:
Green murdering the Pedlar.
SAMUEL GREEN.
69
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. Lof 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
L-
something he had forgotten, and raised the hue and cry.
Gréen leaped out of a window, upon a pile of stayes 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. Lwho 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
D
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 rather
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.
རྗ
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 day 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 one burglary.
e
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
èrimes, 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
knife. 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 get 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
einployed in hammering 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
1
it was 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. Colson, also, was seen to secrete a heaver,
(a xind of staff used to set up halliards,) in the boat, proba-
bly with a view to have a weapon ready.
t
CHARLES MARCHant.
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 would be 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. 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 destroved 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.
L
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
steering in one direction while he had the watch, and the
other in a contrary one.
After this, Marchant spoke little about the murder. Once,
speaking with Hughes, he said, that 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 must 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.
Marchant pro-
Hook agreed to give them both a passage.
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
1
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
66 haunted" him three days, before he assented to the com-
mission of the crime.
A
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.
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. Marchant 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 "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 advice of Colson, he, Murray, 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" 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, "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.
1
to
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
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 of his 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 mo₁e
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 yen-
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
ten 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.
1
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, the 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 àgainst 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.
HENRY PHILLIPS.
At the
The 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 accompanied him
to London, and attended him in jail (where he was confined for
debt,) in the capacity of a servant, for three years.
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.
L
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 for 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.
#
1
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.
Vautier 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, ot
of his conduct, than of a child's, and asked Phillips if the
offensive words were his. Phillips answered, "yes; and the
man that blows out the candle I'll 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 Vautier 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 "Holloa ship-mate," Phillips struck him with the
loggerhead and brought him down. He struck one more
}

Murder of Denegri
HENRY PHILLIPS.
91
blow after the Italian fell; and Mc 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 house, and
set him in a chair, but as he appeared to be fainting they laid
him on a sofa. Phillips said, "I have found the kufe, and
have got it in my pocket.". He had, in fact, taken the knife
from Kerr, not from the Italian, but it is probable 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
stay 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
Vautier 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. When sentence was pronounced he shed
tears, and gave many signs of agitation and grief.
1
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 "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
92
JOHN WILLIAMS.
}
}
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.
لد
5
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 his 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'
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 Brazillian 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 ea-
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
1
94
JOHN WILLIAMS.
C
A
another attempt was made to hold the vessel. The rope broke
as before.
The cry
"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 the
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-
y-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, and the captain ordered
all hands to be piped to witness his punishment. He was
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.
༨
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. With 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, is fast as they were emptied. They
carried on this trade a fortnight, and as 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, malgrè 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.
one occasion he called his men soldiers, an epithet es-
teemed very opprobrious by seamen. Williams replied that
On
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 born in the island of Minorca, and 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 ammunition. 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.
The
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.
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 a -taking a pa™ of their lading,
suffered one of them to proce
The och vas 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 a sailmaker,
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 qne 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 Frince 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,
otherwise 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 with a fund-
spike, and threatened to strike any one who should de violence
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
Williams 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-
A
104
PETER PETERSON.
mative 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.
•
After this they went on deck, and at nine Onion was call-
ed. The crew then brought the money on deck and divided 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 pcrtion, 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, "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
saine 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
3
PETER PETERSON,
105
(
the Plattsburg was the fifth vessel he had assisted to take in
the same manner.
·
鳌
​On one occasion Williams said, that when they were
throwing Captain Hackett overboard, the unfortunate man
cried, "Williams, don't you know me?" and was answered,
Yes, d--n you,-to my sorrow." Williams also said, that
in a former quarrel the Captain had threatened to shoot him,'
and he owed him a grudge. He added, that he had been
thrice sentenced to the gallows, once for killing a man in
South America, 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
follow 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
vessel 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 pri-
vate conversation with Onion he protested his innocence,
and said he would never do à murder for gain. He declared
that he was afraid to resist; that at one time he had had an
inclination 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
Williams. 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 Co-
penhagen 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
C
106
PETER PETERSON.
bought goods in company, intending to trade to South America.
To this 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 shall
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 " 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.
J
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 work
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
1
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: Cnion, 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 afraid to do so. It appears that Samberson mistook the
name of the 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.
ק
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,
晨
​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 piracy, 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 nọ
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.
7
officer to flog him.
The chief mate told him to go forward
or he would begin then, and Williams answered that he might
bégin 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 Verd 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.
'111
4
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 human 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.
1
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 Yezer 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 sca 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 Willams 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 "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
and inexperience ought to have saved his life, or at least
procured 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 perpè-
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 disi 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. But 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 al descriptions.
6
116
MICHAEL MARTIÑ.
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
"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 comi-
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 endeavoured 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 villainy.
Before long, his friends were convinced that if he could he
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.
ඒ
•
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 if he 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.
Here 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.
66
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, positively 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.
da
young man resolutely resisted his persuasions. Martin then
went back to his father's house, whence he sent a boy to an
inr for brandy, with which he returned to his friend. They
sp、nt the 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
was 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,
eaving 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 he 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
"Social" doctrine, and consented to unite his fortunes with
those of Captain Thunderbolt. At this time he was twenty-
one years old, light, strong, and agile. He was 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.
VA
MICHAEL MARTIN.
121.
After preaching a long 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-
1
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 in 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 of
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
hım, Martin dared not go in quest of provisions, and conse-
quently the 'robbers were three days without food. The
younger outlaw then went to a farm house, robbed a woman
of a dish of hasty pudding and care it to his companion.
They sustained life in this precarious. anner for a fortnight
Thus, it seems, highway robbery is by no means so pleasan
་
6*
124
MICHAEL MARTIN.
a way of living as Martin had expected. A day of plenty
was followed by a week of starvation; nor 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. Verily, 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-
The knight reined in his horse, when Doherty, producing
a large pistol, commanded him to deliver. He hesitated, but
er.
+
}

Bartın hanging the Mayors' servant.
F
126
MICHAEL MARTIN.
"
1
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 an 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.
MIC
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 comrade's 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 be 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
"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 pega-
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.
1
MICHAEL MARTIN.
129
The veteran highwayman disapproved of Martin's selec-
tion, 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
rar 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.
(6
"Are you really in want of money?" asked the officer.
"Yes," replied Doherty, we are very poor, and you
Englishmen have made us so.
""
One of the gentlemen then said that they would give up all
130
MICHAEL MARTIN.
""
·
the money they had, while the other asked some 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 rècusant, 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 MARTINRTIN
131
.
money Doherty had lent the poor man.
not care to take.
The horses they did
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 introduction 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 fortnight 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.
2
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.
Ôn 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
1
guinea for the owner of what he took a 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. Qur 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, that 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.
1
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 face, 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.
-
1
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
énough 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 affirma-
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 Lisburne 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-
ty 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 aware 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
several 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, "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 "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.
7
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 in 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 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 and 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-" 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 I'll 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'll take yere life.
1
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 snuff box. 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 replied 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 servånts
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 some 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 cons
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 hist
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
7
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 th
unless they complied with his demands. After speaking 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
ハ
​MICHAEL MARTIN:
141
1
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 skillelah. 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.
f
0-53
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 officer'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 riales 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. He 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 it 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, "I am the bold Doherty."
Then pulling 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 man 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 hẹ
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.
2
144
MICHAEL MARTIN.
?
}
1.
While they stopped at a brook that their horses might
drink, Michael put the inuzzle of a pistol to his companion's
head and bade him deliver. The man gave up two hundred
dollars. 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 a field
and passed the night in a deserted hut, for he feared to enter
any house. In the morning he started again.
A
£
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 Newburyport 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 Newburyport 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.
65
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. 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
?
7
1
1
MICHAEL MARTIN.
145
A
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 " 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.
Yet
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.
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 eighteen 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 his gui 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, "Well, that is
the worst you can dọ.”.
-
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,e 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. Coolidge 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 form 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
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 was asked by a friend
how this world appeared to him. "Much," said he, "like a
cloud 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 his 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, "I should not like to appear awkward,
and I wish the multitude to see that I am not afraid to go
before my God."
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 he thought it was known that he had
taken á 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 he
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 "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.
1
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 naiveté
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 "the
fire blazed d―d well, and the fellow who made it was a d-d
STEPHEN MERRIL CLARK.
151
To
good fellow-and if he knew him he would treat him.”
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.'
After
She met him again at sunrise, and heard all the particulars.
of his guilt from his own mouth. He went, le salu, i..t his
father's eellar and took a candle, but breaking it accidentally,
thought it would not serve his purpose, and the ef 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.
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.
1
:
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 was 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. Woart, in consequence of
which Clark was arrested on his return, 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 she 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
1
1
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 by 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
desolation for the future.
-
t
A
154
SAMUEL TULLY.
SAMUEL TULLY
Was born in Steventown, New York, in seventeen hund-
ied and seventy-one. His father was a soldier of the revo
lution.
His parents, being very poor, were unable to educate o
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 màrque, 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.
After nis he sailed with a fleet under Admiral Parker, and
was present at the capture of two sail of the line and the burn-
ing of another.
་
SAMUEL TULLY.
155
A
In seventeen hundred and ninety-seven Tully was on board
the Brilliant frigate, one of Admiral Duncan's fleet. While
'ying 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 scamen more laude 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.
1
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 thè
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
}
و.

་་
་་་་
Tully and Dalton murdering Geo. Cummings.
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 man 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
Dædalus.
He said that after the boat had swamped 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 Dædalus, 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 flesk
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 TÜLLY.
159
A
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 ther, 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.
靠
​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 restored 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 was about to lay hands on the
chief, some of them brought Lanagan from 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 Arabs
more presents, the common men even stripping their neck-
SAMUEL TULLY.
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
SAMUEL TULLY.
After remaining some time in India, Tully sailed for Eng-
land in a return ship, arrived safely, and re eived a furlough
for fourteen days. He availed himself of thi‹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 York, 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 day 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
hat was empty; he preferring to sleep in a hammock. Captain
Levy said that such was.not his pleasure; to which the mate
replied that he had not come on board the vessel to be
I'
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 under
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 enough. 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 much
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
164
SAMUEL TULLY.
1
ed her cargo, and took on board twenty-five hundred dollars.
in specie. While she lay at this place, 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 Verd 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
board 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.
far we have related the incidents of this unhappy voyage
according to Tully's own account: what follows rests on other -
authority.
So
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,"
Neal 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 Dalton, 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.
66
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 on which
it was expected they would make the land, he asked Dalton
when the shore would be seen, and was answered tomor-
row." Upon 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 reached
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 Owen told Dalton that what he said
could not be, but the mate and Dalton nevertheless persisted
in throwing the man into the sea. The mate said, "Over he
shall go, at the risk of my life.' And he did go over. Nei-
ther of his murderers ever expressed any regret for what they
had done.
""
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 a line, and made Owen 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 was 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 Lévy 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.
“Well,
hen," 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.
22
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
ว
#
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 soon 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.
4
When they made the land Tully resolved to heave the ves-
sel to in the 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
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-
coast.
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 run away with
the vessel and cargo as mentioned in the indictment it con-
stituted the crime of piracy within the meaning of the stat-
Second, because the verdict of the jury had been given
against the weight of evidence, they having decided that the
ute
Jak
168
SÁMUEL TULLY.
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.
The 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 constitutë
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 aș-
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.'
This 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.
1
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 d.iven 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 of 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
Ireland. 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 after
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 fifteenth of the month 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?
Powers. Yes.
Mr. Fowle. Did you sue him afterwards for the money?
Powers. 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 á 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?
Powers, much confused. I don't know-About à fortnight
before I left Boston.
Mr. Fowle. 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.
Powers, very quickly. She has no right to be there.
Mr. Fowle. Why?
Powers. Because she has no right to be there.
Mr. Fowle. Why?
Powers. Because she never did anything wrong.
Mr. Fowle. Who has a right to be in jail then?
[
1
1
8*
串
​172
MICHAEL POWERS.
Powers. I-I don't know.
Mr. Foule. Susan Campbell has probably told the whole
story about the murder by this time.
Powers. She cannot.
She cannot. No person living can prove it.
The Magistrate. Michael, I believe you have killed Ken-
nedy.
}
Powers. I am sorry you ve so bad an opinion of me, sir.
The Magistrate. I must send you back to Boston.
Powers. For what?
1
The Magistrate. To take your trial for this murder.
He
. 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.
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.
Boston?
*
Did you lay in some wood just before you left
Powers. No I had some pine wood.
Mr. Fowle.
Powers.
Mr. Fowle.
When did you get it?
Some time last summer.
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?
Powers. 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
筷
​:
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?
C
Powers. No.
Mr Fowle, showing him a ten dollar bill.
this?
How came you by
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?
lar.
Powers. No.:
Mr. Fowle. Had you an axe in your house?
Powers. Yes, I had two of them.
1
Mr. Fowle. Kennedy's body was found buried in your cel-
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.
}
7
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?
A
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?
A
Powers. Because business was dull, and I had nothing to
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
• was 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
and
Before he went he asked if Kennedy had any money,
several 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 we 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
hoine, her daughter looked through the key hole and sav
Powers come up from the cellar before he admited the sad
Susan.
1
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. I
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.
1
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
little 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 "No one
can say 'I saw him do it."",
Powers suffered at the appointed time with firmness and
decency.
F
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 ua 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, and 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.
A
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.
66
•
The perpetrators of the crime were four in number, namely
the two whose names stand at the head of this article, Johr
Winch, and Mark Packard. On the twenty-third of Novem
ber they had manifested an intention, to use their own
language, 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 grocerv
where they drank freely. After this they returned to tho
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 wo ald
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."
·
4
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. Winch testified that Angier boarded at her house, and
that he came home and went to bed ten minutes before ten
the night the 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.
>
s one of
on the ground that the name of Fitch Hall was first drawr
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
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 and 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
mortal wound on the back part of the head, another on the
MOSES ADAMS.
181
1
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.
She
Elizabeth Rice passed by Mr. Adams's house at two post
meridian and saw Mrs. Adams sitting at the window.
spoke to Mrs. Adams and passed on. When 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
the bed. He asked her if it were not a dreadful house.
Being requested by one of the family to put the moveables
in some safe płace, she set about it, but found the tea spoons
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
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.
it.
•
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.
1
✔
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,
6.6 My pocket-book is gone!" Then he lifted the axe, looked
at its edge, and cried, "O 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 work
in a field near Doctor Adams's house, 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.
1
It will be 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
returned, 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

}
11.
Murder of Mrs. Adams.
MOSES ADAMS
183
66
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 off. 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, "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.
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.
The
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.
ก
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, "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 wi
9
186
JAMES TEED AND DAVID DUNNING.
1
1
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.
A
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 arout 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, against Conkling; and Jennings would have had his
writ of possession in January succeeding.
d
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.
1
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
relátives, 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 ins
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 but 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, was 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
der and 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 the 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.
1
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, "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 days 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
C
}
192
JAMES TEED AND DAVID DUNNING.
·
▼
Haverstraw. Jack denied any knowledge of, or participation
in the urder, 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 cọn-
nected.
7
He said, "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 into the brook; and the same
evening Conkling requested me to kill him. During the
court last November Conkling and Teed both said they
wanted Jennings murdered, and wished I would do it. Sev-
eral times after court they both spoke to me, and told me not
to let my mind fail me, for I should have spirits enough, that
Teed and Dunning would assist me, and if I would go, he
would divide a thousand dollars between Dunning and me
On the Thursday before the murder Conkling and Teed took
me out under the hovel, and after half an hour's conversation,
"I agreed to go to Teed's on Saturday and kill Jennings. They
promised to give Dunning and me one thousand dollars for
doing it. On Saturday Conkling loaded the gun in the cellar
kitchen, and showed me how to do it. When the sun was about
an hour high, I went towards Teed's with the gun, and got
there about eight o'clock. Teed was' gone to New-York. I
conversed freely with Dunning and Mrs. Teed about the mur-
der. They both approved of it, and Dunning said he would
assist me. Mrs. Teed gave me whiskey, and told me to help
myself when I wanted, out of a jug which she showed me.
I eat in Mrs. Teed's room, though Ďunning asked me several
JAMES TEED AND DAVID DUNNING.
193
times to eat with him. The next day Mrs. Teed went to meet-
ing, and told me to make free use of the whiskey. Monday
morning, when I was at breakfast and about half done, Dun-
ning came in and told me that Jennings was going by. I
rose from the table, took the gun, and asked Mrs. Teed for
the powder and shot, and some whiskey, which she gave me.
I went out and saw Dunning following at a small distance. I
went across lots by the still house. When I got to the wood
lot Dunning and Jennings were talking together and coming
towards me. When they drew nigh Jennings asked me if I
had assisted to cut his timber. I told him I had. Dunning
walked away from Jennings. I then turned my back towards
them, and cocked the gun. Jennings asked me if it was
loaded. I told him it was not. I then levelled the gun and
fired it at his head, and he fell back on his seat. Ďunning
then ran to me, saying, “D—n him he is not dead yet—will
you undertake a piece of business and not finish it?" He
then took the gun and struck Jennings on the head several
times, he groaning bitterly at every stroke. The gun stock
broke to shivers by the blows, and he picked up the pieces
and gave them to me. We then parted, and I went to the
house as we came. I told Mrs. Teed what we had done; she
smiled and treated me. I staid about there all day, not choos-
ing to be seen carrying a broken gun, and at two o'clock the
next morning left Teed's, and came to Conkling's at day
ight, and put the pieces of the gun under my bed. Conkling
got up, and went down into the kitchen and asked me if I had
done the business he sent me to do, and I told him I had. I
then gave him the broken gun, the powder and shot, and began
to tell him how we had killed Jennings, but he told me he
did not wish to hear it. I laid down and slept part of that
day, and the next morning Conkling told me he was afraid the
murder would be found out, and wished I would go away.
Conkling frequently urged me to go away, till I did go on
Saturday about noon. Conkling then gave me ten dollars,
and a letter to Mr. Adair, an acquaintance of his in New
York. I left my clothes, which Conkling said he would send
to me at New York, and went through Chester, and staid at
Isaac Hallock's that night. I went on the next day, and just
as I was entering Newburgh, Teed overtook me, riding on
Conkling's mare. He reproved me for not going faster, and
told me to keep sight of him and come into the house where
I should see him stop. I slept that night with a black family
in the village, and saw Teed the next morning at the ferry
✓
9*
194
JAMES TEED AND DAVID DUNNING.
3
stairs. He hurried me on board the boat, and told me he
would see me in New York. I crossed the river, and took
the road over the High Lands to New York. At Lobdell's
tavern I heard of a wood sloop at Cold Spring Landing, about
to sail to New York. I went there, and the captain agreed
to carry me for my work on board. We arrived at New-York
on Wednesday, and when I was going into the city to buy
some articles for the captain on Thursday, I was arrested and
brought back to Goshen. I denied at first that I was concern
ed in the murder, but before we left the vessel I told all 1
knew about it.”
Charles B. Durland said, "I was one that went in pursuit
of Jack. We heard of him at Newburgh, where we staid on
Tuesday night. The next morning we crossed the river and
took different routs, till we heard of him at Lobdell's tavern,
and that he was gone to Cold Spring Landing. We went there,
and finding the sloop had sailed, proceeded with all speed to
New York, where we arrested him on Thursday and brought
him to Goshen. In the relation he gave us on board the
sloop, his account of the affair, in everything material, is ex-
actly the same as his testimony before the court."
Joshua Terry said, "I keep a tavern in Newburgh, on the
east side of the street, in a yellow house, and recollect that
Teed and Jack were there at the time he mentions.”
Noble Howell said, "I found a gun lock, and some broken
pieces of the stock near where the body was found.”
Samuel S. Seward said, "I am a surgeon and examined the
head on Tuesday, and judge that the wound on the side of
the head was not mortal, but his skull was deeply fractured in
the forehead, which could not be done without causing death."
Samuel J. Wilkin said, "I have heard Jack's testimony in
court, and find it comport very exactly with the statement on
his examination.' ""
William M'Whorter said, "Dunning told me he saw Jen-
nings on Monday morning, and went with him as far as
Knap's bars, on the way to where the murder was committed."
A number of respectable witnesses testified, that they had
often heard the prisoner wish Jennings dead-and say that
it would be no harm to kill him-that they would as lief kill
him as a Squirrel--that they would give [various sums men-
tioned] to any one who would kill him, and other expressions
of similar import.
Jack Hodges was the most important witness on these
trials; his testimony was direct and positive, and went directly
JAMES TEED AND DAVID DUNNING.
195
to the crimination of the other prisoners. He was critically
and thoroughly examined several times, and uniformly told a
rational and consistent story. In one of the trials he was
more than seven hours uninterruptedly under examination,
when he was sifted and criticised with all the skill and dexter-
ity of the counsel, and no essential deviation or inconsisten-
cy was detected in any part of his long and tedious statement
His story was also confirmed in many important particulars,
as well by the confessions of the prisoners, as the testimony
of other and unimpeachable witnesses. On the whole, there
was such a frankness, and appearance of truth and candor, in
his whole demeanor, that the court and the spectators gener-
ally were fully satisfied of the correctness of his story, and
that implicit reliance might safely be placed thereon. Judge
Van Ness told the convicts in his final address to them, "That
they had been convicted on testimony satisfactory to his
mind."
On the twenty-third of February, a Special Court of Oyer
and Terminer was held at Goshen, at which the following in-
dictments were found. Against Jack Hodges, as a principal
in the murder of Richard Jennings; against David Dunning,
as principal, and accessary before and after the fact; against
James Teed, as an accessary, before and after the fact; against
David Conkling, as an accessary, before and after the fact;
and against Hannah Teed, as an accessary before and after the
fact. On which indictments, being arraigned, they severally
pleaded not guilty.
•
They were then set to the bar severally to be tried. The
trial of Jack Hodges took place on Friday the 26th of Feb-
ruary, and the jury after hearing the cause, retired, and in
about an hour, returned into court with a verdict of guilty.
-
On the same day commenced the trial of James Teed,
which was continued from day to day, until Thursday-the
fourth of March, when the cause was given to the jury, who
in fifteen minutes pronounced the prisoner guiky.
The trial of David Conkling began on the same day, and
was continued from day to day, until Monday the eighth of
March, when the jury retired, and the next morning at the
opening of the court, delivered a verdict of guilty.
On the 19th of March, Hannah Teed was brought into
court, and upon motion of her counsel, and leave obtained,
- she retracted her plea of not guilty to the charge of being ac-
cessary after the fact, and plead guilty; the District attorney
then entered a nolle prosequi upon the charge of being acces-
sary before the fact.
196
JAMES TEED AND DAVID DUNNING.
The trial of David Dunning then commenced, and was
continued until the 10th of March, when he was pronounced
guilty by the jury.
On Thursday the 11th of March, the five convicts were
brought into court to receive sentence. Hannah Teed was
first called, to whom the court observed, that though strict law
would inflict a much severer punishment for her crime, yet as
the purposes of justice would be as well answered, the court
out of feelings of humanity, tenderness to her sex, and a
regard to the delicacy of her situation, had concluded to sen-
tence her only to a nominal punishment, which was "That
she should be imprisoned in the county gaol for one month.'
1
The other convicts were then called up, and Judge Van
Ness after addressing them in a solemn and pathetic manner,
pronounced on them the sentence of the law, which was
That they be taken from hence, to the place whence they
came, and thence to the place of execution on Friday
the sixteenth day of April next, and there, between the
hours of two and three, be hanged by the neck till they are
dead." And that after the execution, "the body of Jack
Hodges be delivered to the president of the Medical Society
of Orange county for dissection."
Previous to the day appointed for the execution of the mur-
derers of Richard Jennings, two of the convicts, David Conk-
ling and Jack Hodges, had their sentence commuted, by the
legislature, into confinement at hard labor in the state's pris-
on, the former for life, and the latter for twenty-one years.
On the 16th day of April, eighteen hundred and nineteen,
James Teed and David Dunning were executed at Goshen, pur-
suant to their sentence, for the murder of Richard Jennings
The prisoners were taken from the gaol, and conducted to the
place of execution at twelve o'clock, under a strong guard of
infanty and dragoons. Sheriff Burnet, after reading the
death warrants of the four convicts, Conkling, Teed, Dun-
ning, and Jack, and the reprieves of Conkling and Jack,
addressed the assembled multitude, in a most feeling and pa-
thetic manner, in the following words.
>
"It is more than thirty years since any person in the coun-
ty has suffered the last pain of the law for the crime of murder.
"I am now, however, called to the performance of a necessa-
ry, but painful duty, appertaining to my office: I hope I shall
discharge it with the feelings that become me. Let me re-
quest your attention for a few moments, before the commence-
ment of that awful spectacle which will engross every power.
and bind up every faculty in terror and commiseration.
•
JAMES TEED AND DAVID DUNNING.
197
+
"The cause which stirred up the vindictive passions of the
unfortunate men you now behold, was in itse.f trifling-in its
consequences how tremendous! An aged and infirm man, in
an unsuspecting moment, was the first victim of violence, and
they, the authors and contrivers of his death, are now about to
become the necessary sacrifice offered by the law, for the ex-
ample and for the safety of all. Doomed to death in the
midst of health, in the prime of life-taken in a moment from
the-most endearing connexions; from wives and children-in
agony and in shame they go to those dark and mysterious abodes,
where penitence is unavailing, reformation impossible, and
their punishment eternal. By your serious and orderly conduct,
let the lesson of their punishment have its full effect-give to
them your pity-let them have your prayers: By the inexora-
ble decree of that law they have dreadfully violated, it is all
they can ask—it is all you can grant.
"And may God have mercy on their souls!"
1
.
Divine service was then performed by the reverend gen-
tlemen present, and a solemn and appropriate discourse was
delivered by the Rev. Mr. Fisk, from Numbers, xxxii, 23.
Teed was extremely affected, and seemed to be in an agony of
distress. He prayed audibly and fervently fifteen minutes,
and then earnestly exhorted all to take warning by his
miserable end, and avoid those wicked practices which had
justly brought him to an untimely and shameful death. Dun-
ning acknowledged the justice of his sentence, but declared to
the last, that he did not strike Jennings as testified by Jack..
At half past two the drop fell, and the unhappy men expired:
The sheriff behaved with great humanity and propriety on
the affecting occasion. No accident occurred, though the
number of spectators was estimated at twenty thousand or
upwards.
The community, on a review of the whole of this interest-
ing case, appeared to be impressed with a great similarity of
feeling and opinion. A bold and atrocious murder had been
committed; those charged with the crime had had a fair and im-
partial trial; the Court, and all its attendants manifested un-
wearied patience through the tedious investigations, and every
indulgence, that the condition of the prisoners, or humanity,
required, was fully granted, and their conviction and con-
demnation accorded with their deserts. There is also but
one sentiment respecting the commutation of the punishment
of Conkling and Jack, and the execution of the others; it is
believed that if such a measure was expedient, the selection
1
198.
GEORGE COOMBS.
of the legislature, made from partial and incorrect representa-
tions, was erroneous; it would have given greater satisfaction
to the public, had all the convicts shared the same fate, either
of commutation or execution; but if a distinction were prop-
cr, Conkling was the first of the four who ought to have been
set apart for execution; for he was, beyond a doubt, the orig-
inal contriver, instigator, and promoter of the murder, which
never would have taken place had it not been by his procure-
ment. This is the universal opinion.
GEORGE COOMBS.
This person was a seaman by profession, and served in the
navy of the United States through the late war. He was one
of the crew of the Enterprise when she captured the Boxer, and
was in the battle between the Constitution and the Cyanne and
Levant. His general character was good. On the return of
the Constitution to port he formed an illicit connexion with
an abandoned woman by the name of Maria Henry. They
dwelled together in Clark Street at the North End of Boston,
as man and wife.
On the fifteenth day of June eighteen hundred and sixteen
the soi disant Mrs. Coombs was somewhat intoxicated; never-
theless they passed the day quietly till late in the afternoon, at
which time the lady was sitting on the sailor's knees. One
Eliza Snow was present. Mrs. Coombs requested her part-
ner to make a fire, and he peremptorily refused, with an oath.
She then said that she would make the fire and get tea,
but that he should not partake of it.
With that the woman
left the room in a passion, and went into the kitchen.
followed her, as much enraged as she, and a quarrel instantly
took place. A woman in the next apartment, hearing the noise,
looked through a gimlet hole, and saw Coombs strike his
paramour down. The sufferer cried murder and begged him
to desist. Howbeit he persisted in striking and kicking
her; nay, even stamped on her twice. At last when the
neighbours, attracted by the noise, came in, he raised her in
his arms and laid her on a bed.
He
She said, "George Coombs, you have given me my death
GEORGE COOMBS.
COOMBS.
199.
wound; you have`killed me.” To one of the bystanders she
said she had hurt herself by falling; to another that Coombs
had killed her. She then requested that some one would
go for a physician. Coombs. refused to stir, but one of the
females present went.
When the doctor entered, Coombs was walking about the
room much agitated, but not intoxicated. Mrs. Coombs was
weak, had no perceptible pulse, and was scarcely able to
speak. At midnight she expired. A post mortem examination
discovered a bruise on the left side, which had ruptured two
blood vessels. The deceased was a robust, strong woman.
For this homicide George Coombs was brought to the bar
of the Supreme Court on the first of June eighteen hundred
and sixteen on an indictment for murder. He pleaded not
guilty.
A mistake did then, and still does, generally prevail that
to kill a person in the heat of passion can be no greater crime
than manslaughter. To correct this impression we must here
state that "Murder" is, in law, the voluntarily killing any
human being under the peace of the commonwealth, with
malice aforethought. The sense of the word malice is not
confined to any particular ill will to the slain, but denotes an
action proceeding from a wicked and corrupt motive, and
done with an evil mind. This applies to an act committed in
such circumstances as evinces a heart regardless of social
duty and fatally inclined to mischief. Therefore in any
deliberately cruel act against another, however sudden, malice
is implied. These principles are clearly enforced by Black-
stone.
It appeared in the prisoner's favor that the deceased was
habitually drunken, given to profane and indecent language,
and of a turbulent and furious temper. Coombs had always ap-
peared to be much attached to her, and on the fatal evening said
he feared he was about to lose his best friend. On being advis-
ed by a man present to abscond, Coombs ordered him to leave
the house. He willingly gave money to procure tne physic
ordered by the physician. After the death of his paramour,
he made no attempt to escape, but went to Charlestown and
returned again fearlessly. Also, four out of seven of the
witnesses to the blows given were common prostitutes. The
person who witnessed the act of stamping, however, was of
unimpeached character. Admitting this fact to be true, the
act of Coombs was undoubtedly a savage murder, but the tes-
timony of this witness was in some degree contradicted by
other evidence. The prisoner was acquitted and discharged.
200
WILLIAM BEVANS.
1
་
WILLIAM BEVANS.
This person was born in the state of Connecticut, and spent
the early years of his life without any settled employment.
He rambled from place to place, in different occupations, till
he was fifteen years old, when he enlisted in the United States
Marine Corps. His countenance was rather prepossessing
than otherwise. The offence which gives him a place in our
record was committed in the eighteenth year of his age.
He was on board the United States line of battle ship In- .
dependence, then lying at her moorings in Boston harbor,
about half a mile from the shore. On the sixth of November
eighteen hundred and sixteen, he was stationed by a proper
officer as a sentinel on the gun deck, near the galley, where
the cooking is usually performed. He was armed with a bay-
onet, as is usual.
The harness cask, being that cask which contains the ship's
daily provisions, stood close to his post. While he was walk-
ing backward and forward, in the discharge of his duty, Pe-
ter Lunstrum, one of the cook's mates, commenced a playful
scuffling with one Duncan, within the precincts of Bevan's
-post. Bevans had received orders to keep silence about the
galley, to allow no noise or quarrelling, or interference with
the cooks. In pursuance of these orders Bevans commanded
Lunstrum and Duncan to desist. Lunstrum, in return, call-
ed him “a d-d marine son of a b-h," and bade him attend
to his post. He then went behind the harness cask, where
as cook's mate he had a right to go, though in this instance
he did not go thither in the discharge of his duty. Leaning
on the harness cask, still on the sentinel's post, Lunstrum
continued his abuse of Bevans, and repeatedly called him a
liar. Bevans remonstrated against this treatment, and find-
ing that Lunstrum would not desist, struck him two or three
-blows across the wrist with the flat of his bayonet; not how-
ever, with great violence. Lunstrum on this became still
more angry, and in addition to the words he had used before
accused the soldier of having stolen his clothes.
*
Bevans now bade him go about his business, wishing, as
he said, to have nothing to do with him. Still the cook's mate
persisted, and repeatedly called the marine a liar. Bevans
at last told him that if he repeated the words again he would
'un through the body him or any other man who should abuse
:

Bevans killing the Cook's Mate.
WILLIAM BEVANS.
201
1
hin 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 on 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 "the trial for crimes committed on the high seas, or
in any place 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 to 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 be 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 JESSE BOORN.
The trial of these two brothers or 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-
fial 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.
1
Russel Colvin, whom they were accused of having mur
dered, married a sister of the Boorns, and had severa.
children by her. He was at all times possessed of a buf
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 Boorns 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 Boorns 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 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.
Amos Boorn was present when 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.
Truman 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 Boorn's shop, when Stephen and William Boorn
were both in it. On that occasion, he learned the manner of
Còlvin'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 time 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 Boorn'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 Boorns
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.
Mrs. Eunice Baldwin related a conversation that had taken
place between Stephen Boorn 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 Boorns, answered
206
STEPHEN AND JESSE BOORN.
that he was gone to h-ll; the other said they had put 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-ll. 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, "They are going to dig up Colvin for
you, are they not?" Stephen began
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 Deming had been told by Stephen Boorn that he,
Stephen, knew nothing about Russel Colvin at the time of his
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
he 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.
A
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 th
picking up of stones was true, that Stephen Boorn ad
Russel Colvin, quarrelled while so employed, and Step' en
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.
A
Jessc 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.'
وو
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. Mér-
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.
Jesse also told
On his cross-examination, Merrill added that Jesse had since
his confession, desired him to keep the secret.
him that Russel Colvin struck the first blow.
evidence of Merrill..
This was the
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.
"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 Boorn'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 BOORN.
\
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 north
side of him, and there was a knot on it about one inch long.
"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 nèck, 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. Boorn'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 Í
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
Colvin 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 Boorn 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.
(
It
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.
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 Boorns. It was as follows.
A
212
SPEPHEN AND JESSE BOORN.
"
SIR,
•
To the Editor of the New York Evening Post.
1
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, &e. Among his relations, he has mentioned
the Boorns 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 sups
posed to 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 theirs
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.
J
•
He
was forthwith conducted to New York, where the public
curiosity was so highly excited that the streets through which
.8
AMUS FURNALD.
213
t
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 Boorns
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.
Put-
We now record what we believe to be the most savagely
atrocious homicide ever committed in a christian land.
ting to death by starving is a thing not unknown, but that a
father should so despatch his own offspring is almost incredi-
be, 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-
ten in the state of New Hampshire. He was married in the
J
214
AMOS FURNALD.
$
}
1
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 bè-
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
sec 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.
1
A mother's love is not easily extinguished, and she watch-
ed an opportunity to carry off her infant by stealth. She
AMOS FURNALD.
215
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 extréme 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-
10*
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: hurger, 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
D

Murder of Alfred Furnald.
ALFRED FURNALD.
217.
•
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.
pity should have been felt, it was for society at large, and
If
1
{
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.
A
T
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 în
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-
1
ELIJAH P. GOODRICH.
219
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 tò 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 inen 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, "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.
1
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
920
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 distar.ce 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
M
J
ELIJAH P GOODRICH.
221
inet 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.
孱
​•
-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, stole 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 Newburyport, 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 nigli, 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 activé 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 Taper 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 asked 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 Kenniston of Ipswich, who he said must have
some of the money, 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 Danvers 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 go to 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.
A.
1
224
ELIJAH P GOODRICH.
I
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,
J
✔
·
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 Newburyport 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 Ke.iniston'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.
GOODRI
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-
Dery 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 É. COREY.
-
A tragedy resulted from the farce commonly called 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 imr aired 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 frè-
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 miserable 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 time 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-
hours. 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 witchcraft, and was convinced that the ghost of
an Indian kept watch ove.. 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.
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.
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At
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 head, 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
}
1
228
DANIEL H., CÓREY.
༣
laid 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 "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
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.
-
was
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.'
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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, "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
1
"
CHARLES F. CLÁRK.
*229.
and informed her father of what had happened. He repaired
to the 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, "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-s
empted to get away, he would smite him. Nash also said,
"You have killed my mother," to which he replied "I ha'ant.
I was crazy."
+
>
He was arraigned for this homicide before the Superior
Court 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 för 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 intoxicatio
subjects the offender to punishment. And here insanity and
its cause must not be confounded. The law discriminates
•
**
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 town 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 reformn, 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 Clark, 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 returned to his own ves-
sel he drank until he became stupified; that soon after he
recovered a little from his intoxication, and ordered the keg
息
​CHARLES F. CLARK.
231
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," and immediately took
from the transom a knife which 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, the ship shall go ashore."-He was then seized,
bound hand and foot, and 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.
1
1
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.
A
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.
externally before Clark expired.
•
It healed
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 is 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.
3
D
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 was no just cause of complaint beside this.
The men were 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 eruising 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 we 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 him 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
66
O
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. "O Payne!" he exclaimed,
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.
1
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 Samueí 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 hè
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. "I'll give you water,'
replied the savage, and with one more thrust left him sense-
less.
"9
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.
In
The master's body was next shockingly mutilated by the
mutineers, and then committed to the deep. This done, Com-
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.
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.
"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 galicws."
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, was
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.
↓
し
​239
THE SHIP GLOBE.
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 " 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.
}
·
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 exainined 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
A
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 ale
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 SHIP 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 was 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 away. 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 an
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.
ť
ㅠ
​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.
L
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.
1
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 Lane, Porter started from the road side,
took the off leading horse 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
1
書
​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'
He
heaus, ran up and dashed the light out with his pistol.
asked the passenger if he had any weapons, and being answer-
ed in the negative, 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 rub-
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
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.
very
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
ruffian, "I dare say all this business will be published, and
then I shall know where to direct the papers. I will send
you a letter." -
·
7
246
JAMES PORTER.
*
Mr. Clarke 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, "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. "I 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 around, 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 de 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 "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 "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 for Porter and Poteet. On the ninth of February Mr.
Stewart, 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 Kimber-
ton mail, saying there would not be so many passengers or ŵ
•
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 abusing 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. "No," replied the villain, "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. "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
250
JAMES PORTER.
!
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, "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.
وو
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.
tavernkeeper in the city had lately adorned his sign post with
*
A
0
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 be no objection.
They collected the amount on the spot by subscription, tore`
down the portrait, and made a bonfire of its fragments.
5.
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.
"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. "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.
"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 mountains,
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.
"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.
1
This barbarous murder done in the watches of the night
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 entrance. 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 I 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
4
1
..T
1
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 "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,
"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.
་
دو
t
:
May 13th, 1830.
"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
a'ruck him on the head with a heavy piece of lead and then-
1
2
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.
"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
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.
66
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
1
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 must have gone at large, and
might have avowed their sin with impunity. Luckily, 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 floor 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, "When did you see Dick?” John replied, "I saw him
this morning." Joseph rejoined, "When is he going to kill
the old man?" John answered, "I don't know." Joseph
said, "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-
nation 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 KNAPP 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 hist
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 would 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.
After
In the afternoon Frank Knapp came again to Danvers in a
chaise and Richard Crowninshield went away with him.
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, Paimer 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 the 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.
He
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.
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
1
260
JOHN FRANCIS KNAPP &c.
then asked Knapp what he thought of the two Crowninshields,
who were then in prison. Knapp replied, "They are as
innocent as you or I." Burns asked him who he thought
was the m'irderer, and was answered that Stephen White was
one. Burns said, "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.
VAN ALSTINE was born at Canajoharie, 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 tlireẹ
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 with 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
to 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, "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 Van 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, "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 for 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 Van
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.
1
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
paken 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.
26.5
*
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-
է
266
JOHN VAN ALSTINE.
ed. Blood was observed on the fence and in the barn where
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
rerdered.
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.
喝
​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
ཉ
#
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 procurę
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, "What brother! are you going to your ves-
sel at this time of night?' 99 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
1
EDWARD TINKER.
269
ษ
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 due 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 suborn and whom he
proposed to reward with "a likely negro."
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.
1
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
1
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 á
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 by 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, "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
272
ROBERT H. STERLING.
time he 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.
273
•
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 H. 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 off the thrust, he threw the pis-
tol at Morgan, which hit his head. At this time, Powell 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.
J
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.
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 "send your principal-I will see
·
The
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 coinmunication. 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, “You
do, hey;" and, thereupon, passed on down the street. When he
had proceeded between eight and twelve paces, lie (Morhouse)
turned, with his back towards Morgan, and made two or three
steps up the street, remarking, "The only reason you can
have, for 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.
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-
horse) 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
As
276
ROBERT H. STERLING.
1
?
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 eighteen 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 hè 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 shoulder;
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
IIe could not plead that the life or limbs of his relative were
in any such danger as to require his interference. Supposing
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 Iuisiana, 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 travelli
through in parties. Mr. Langford, either not dreading
- danger, or not choosing to delay, determined to proceed alone
'
13
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 room 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, as 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. Neithe
avarice, want, nor any of the usual inducements to the com-
THE HARPES.
279
I
mission of crime, seemed to govern their conduct. A savage
thirst for blood 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, was 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 genuine 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.
"
3
"the
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 "cankers of a calm world and a long peace,
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 sluniber. Frequently they are as
harmless as the wart upon a man's nose, and as unsightly; bút
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, nór dread
punishment, determined to leave behind them no évidence 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.
1
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 wounded Harpe through the
1
282
THE HARPES.
1
body; the latter, turning in his seat, lévelled 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, “Then I am
a dead man.”
66
""
That would make no difference," replied Leiper, calmly;
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. "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 none 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
2
from his body. This bloody trophy they carried to the near-
est magistrate, 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 Harpe's Head, and
a public road which passes it, is called the Harpe's IIcad
Road.
The other Harpe made his way to the neighbourhood of
Natchez, where he join d a gang of robbers, headed by a
man nameď 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 "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 was a decent female,
of delicate, prepossessing appearance, who stated that she
284
J. O. BEAUCHAMP.
•
had married 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-
inarkable. 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 vest. 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,
E
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
his 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. O. 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 knc-vledge 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 ea ned
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*
286
J. O. BEAUCHAMP.
1
爨
​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 inspired Beauchamp
. 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
1
J. O. BEAUCHAMP.
287
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 a book 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. O. BEAUCHAMP.
1
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 o. e 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, 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. O. BEAUCHAMP.
EAUCH
-289
•
1
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.
He
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.
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. O. 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.
"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. Willy
Sir, or not?"
you,
Sharp stood still without replying and Beauchamp continued
"Answer me, Colonel Sharp. Will you fight a duel with me?”
My dear friend," replied Sharp, "I cannot fight you on
Miss Cooke's account."
66
On this Beauchamp drew his dirk and, assuming a menacing
attitude, bade him defend himself.
"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. O. BEAUCHAMP.
291
L
"My friend,” replied Sharp, "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 her
husband, I will never raise my hand against you.
66
""
"I am not her husband, Sir," said Beauchamp, “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,
you shall die."
Sharp fell on his knees. "My life is in your hands," he ex-
claimed. "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. "Get up you coward," he
cried, " and go till I meet you to-morrow in the street."
he rose Beauchamp gave him a kick. Now," he said “ go
and arm yourself, for to-morrow I will horsewhip you in the
streets and repeat it daily till you fight me."
66
As
Sharp, calling Beauchamp " 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,
Stand off,
you villain," 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.
"It is of no use," answered Beauchamp," 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."
"Why," said Sharp, "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.
"Very good, Colonel Sharp," said Beauchamp," 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
C
292
J. O. 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.
Sueli 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
and Miss Cooke.
1
1
J. O. 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
thought 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 Cooke's house 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. O. BEAUCHAMP.
the letter was an artifice to entrap him, as indeed it was.
The next 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 naturallý 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 post offices 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. O. 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. O. BEAUCHAMP.
1
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, he 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.
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.
Thus
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
•
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J. O. BEAUCHAMP.
297
:
shoes, two pairs of yarn stockings, to prevent his steps from
being heard, and his track from being identified. Bet veen
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 slauder touch-
ing the black child, but his wife had dissuaded him
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.
Now,
no
To lure Sharp to the door Beauchamp could think of
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-
·
298
J. O. BEAUCHAMP.
"
3
(
*
gage his wrist, and asked, "What Covington is this?" "John
"I don't know
A. Covington, Sir," replied the murderer.
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, "And did you not know me, sure
enough?” 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.
""
"Come to the light, Colonel," said the assassin in a per-
suasive tone, "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, "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 to her husband, but he could not answer.
In a very brief space Doctor Sharp ran in and ex
claimed, “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 ordinary apparel,

MIKATE
Assassination of Col. Sharp.
J. O. 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
re
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.
"Don't you think," said the other abruptly, "that some man
went to Sharp last night and killed him?
"Great God,"
cried the assassin, with well affected composure, “is it possible?
What, Colonel Sharp dead!" "Yes," said Scott, "Colonel
Sharp is dead.” Beauchamp stood a moment mute, and then
asked, "How did it happen Sir? In a fight?" "No," replied
Scott, some stranger called him to his door and just stabbed
him dead." As he was about to retire Beauchamp called him
bac's with, "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.
66
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. O. BEAUCHAMP.
1
ཉ
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 met several
more in the course of the day, to whom he told the mere, fact
that Colonel Sharp was dead, but did not mention the par-
ticulars, even those he had heard from Mr. Scott, for he
feared to mention something which that person might deny
having told him. At least such is his own account of his
conduct, though it was contradicted by several witnesses on
his trial.
+
·
He got home on the fourth day, and informed his wife that
his purpose was accomplished. She fell at his feet and
returned thanks to Heaven, and clasping his knees, called
upon the spirits of her deceased relatives to bless him, and
intercede with their Maker to protect him; for this singular
woman considered the murder of Sharp a righteous action.
She then asked if he was safe. He told her that he cared
not for anything mortals could do to him, since his hand had
avenged her, but that the avenger of blood was on his track.
Then, having retired to a more private place, they conversed
about what had befallen, and were happy, for they had brought
themselves to believe that the murder of Sharp was the most
glorious deed that could be done. This opinion consoled
them for all their troubles, and made them regardless of
danger.
It was agreed between them that he should put his house
in order for battle, and defend himself to the last extremity
against the Sharps, if they should come to arrest him.
He
even revolved in his mind the propriety of firing on his pur-
suers, whoever they might be, and then making his escape.
J. O. BEAUCHAMP
301
!
Had they arrived that night it is probable he would have.
fought them, but believing that no proof could be brought
against him, he came to the conclusion, before morning, to
remain and brave investigation.
The next evening, before sunset, as he was' cleaning and
loading his rifle in the yard, four men rode up, one of whom
he recognised as a person he had seen in Frankfort. Though
he knew they were come for him, he walked cheerfully to meet
them, and one of them asked if his name was Beauchamp, and
if he had not just returned from Frankfort. He answered in
the affirmative, and one said that he was suspected of the
murder of Sharp, and requested him, as a gentleman, to
go with them to Frankfort and acquit himself. He affect-
ed great surprise at being suspected, but said he was ready
to start for Frankfort immediately, if anything had been said.
injurious to his reputation. He told them that he was on his
"own premises, free, and in a condition to defend himself, and
that if, as they said, they only called on him, as a gentleman,
to go forward and meet the charge, he would cheerfully do so,
but that he neither could nor would be taken to Frankfort as a
prisoner. As he was now apprised that he was suspected,
he should go thither at all events, but not with them, if they
intended to consider him a prisoner. They assured him they
had no such intention, and he then invited them to alight and
refresh themselves, while his horse should be getting ready
To convince the men of his sincerity he ordered his servants
to bring out his arms and deliver them to them. He had
enough weapons to have armed his servants. Presently one
of the men asked leave to examine his dirk, for our readers
must know that almost every gentleman in Kentucky wears
a dagger. This pleased him, for he knew it would not cor-
respond with the wound, and he was also glad to learn that
they had the measure of a shoe track which had been found
near Sharp's door, and which every one supposed to have
been that of the murderer. It however frightened him to
see that it did not vary materially from the dimensions of his
foot, and one of the men, in the belief that he had made his
fortune, cried," Exactly! Exactly, to a hair's breadth!" A
great reward had been offered for the apprehension of the
assassin.
When he was ready to start Beauchamp asked for his dirk,
which they returned, seeing him angry, with some reluctance.
They had the handkerchief before mentioned with them, but
did not tell him so, nor did he deem it prudent to inquire
about it
302
J. O. BEAUCHAMP.
A short distance from the house the party was joined by
John W. and Isaac Covington, Colonel Sharp's intimate
friends. They too, asked to see Beauchamp's dirk, and he
handed it to them. When he asked for it again they said
they had lost it. They had thrown it away, if Beauchamp
is to be believed, but according to their account he threw
it away himself. Be that as it may, it was described in the
newspapers as a broad weapon with keen edges, but it was
found and produced in court, where it did not answer this
description at all.
}
When they had passed the boundary of Simpson county
they mentioned the handkerchief, and Beauchamp asked to
see it. His dismay was great at seeing that one corner was
cut off, and that there were two holes in it, as if the assassin
had stabbed through it. He believed the Sharp's would prove
it to have been found before their dead kinsman's door, and
therefore resolved to get it into his own hands and destroy it.
At night they slept in a room in which there were two beds,
one of which was assigned to Beauchamp, and the other to
those of the party who slept while the rest watched. They
had liquor, of which Beauchamp prevailed on them to drink
freely. He then asked to look at the handkerchief, and re-
turned fervent thanks to Heaven that it had been found at
Sharp's door, telling the bystanders that it would clear him,
by leading to the detection of the really guilty. He then
gave it back, taking notice which of them put it in his pocket.
He invited this man to sleep with him. The fellow took
off his coat, with the handkerchief in its pocket, and threw it
upon the bed. Beauchamp, after getting into bed, c、mplain-
ed of cold, and drew his cloak over his bedfellow's coat, so
that the two who watched might not see how he employed his
hands. He had so fuddled one of these that his eyes were
of little use to him. Beauchamp after picking the coat pocket.
of the handkerchief, rose to stir the fire, as he said, and the
moment the sober watcher looked another way, threw the
handkerchief upon the coals, and it was consumed in a
moment.
The next morning they stopped to breakfast at a tavern,
where two of Beauchamp's friends came to see him. He
expressed to them his great willingness to meet investiga-
tion, saying that the assassin's handkerchief had been found,.
and with divine assistance, would, he doubted not, lead to the
detection of the really guilty. His friends asked to see it, and
Beauchamp asked the guard to show it to them. The man
J. O. BEAUCHAMP.
303
1
felt for it and exclaimed that it was gone. "For God's
sake"-cried Beauchamp, "I hope not. Do look for it again."
When they had looked a long time in `vain for it they were
much out of countenance, and the bystanders laughed at them.
Beauchamp, however, put on a face of deep concern, and
begged them to go back and make a thorough search for it.
They refused, and he told them he believed they did not wish
it should be found. They retorted by charging him with
taking it himself, and a violent altercation ensued, Beauchamp
abusing them till they agreed to send back and search.
due time they reached Frankfort.
In
The Sharp
What Beauchamp had foreseen came to pass.
party attributed their leader's death to the opposition, and
Amos Kendall, then the unworthy editor of the Argus, called
on the people to mourn for him as a martyr in the cause of
the people. Nay, he threatened any who should dare to
attribute the murder to other than political motives. Sharp's"
relations followed in the same cry, naturally preferring to have
it said that their admired kinsman had been slain for fear of
his matchless abilities, than that he had been the victim of a
private revenge for ingratitude and a base seduction. For
a while nothing offended them more than the insinuation that
Beauchamp was the assassin, wherefore the latter began to
feel safe, and prided himself much on his foresight, but an
unexpected circumstance changed the complexion of his
destiny.
This was a story, first set forth by the "Heaven born"
Kendall, making Beauchamp the, instrument of the old party
in politics. A fellow named Darby, the editor of an opposition
party, was said to have shared in his guilt and was prevailed
on to give color to the fiction by his evidence, which was
neither consistent, nor, in some points, uncontradicted. This
man, being himself in danger, swore Beauchamp had made
him the confidant of his design to kill Sharp, at a time when
they were strangers to each other.
It was expected to prove that Beauchamp must have made
the track found near Colonel Sharp's door, but it did not
exactly correspond with the length and breadth of his foot.
The attempt to prove that Beauchamp dropped the so often
mentioned handkerchief at the door failed also.
The evidence of many of those to whom Beauchamp related
the news of the murder between Frankfort and his own house
was highly unfavorable, imputing to him suspicious behavior.
Mrs. Sharp swore to his voice; and the particulars of his
conversation with her husband before stabbing him, coincided,
304
J. 0. EEAUCHAMP
1
as testified by her, with the account he had given of himself
to Mr. Scott.
He had called himself John A. Covington in speaking to
Colonel Sharp, because he was perfectly familiar with the
name of John W. Covington, and could not therefore be sup-
posed to mistake. He hoped that this circumstance would
tend to remove suspicion from him, as indeed, at first, it did.
But another circumstance deprived him of the benefit of his
cunning: two persons swore that they had heard him, in
speaking of John W. call him John A Covington. Another
swore Beauchamp had told him he always mistook the name,
and said John A. for John W
Mr. Scott, a man of high character, he in whose house
Beauchamp had lodged, declared that on the night of the
murder he heard the prisoner descend the stairs, and leave
the house. His account of Beauchamp's conduct the morn-
ing after the murder was different from that we have given
above, but here he was contradicted by other witnesses.
What weighed most against Beauchamp was the testimony
of one of his neighbours named Lowe, supposed to have been
suborned by Darby. He had, according to Beauchamp,
offered to swear, that Darby had attempted to bribe him,
to save Beauchamp's life. Accordingly Beauchamp sent
him a, written statement of the supposed facts to which he
desired him to make oath. This document Lowe produced
in court. He also swore that Mrs. Beauchamp had told him
that her husband was guilty. This attempt at subornation
of perjury adds a darker shade to Beauchamp's character,
supposing his account to be strictly true. However, he
was contending for life
Lowe also swore that he had heard Beauchamp and his
wife both threaten Sharp's life, and that on his return from.
Frankfort, Beauchamp had intimated to him that he had
accomplished his purpose.
Many other particulars, on which it would be tedious to
dwell, were given in evidence. Mr. Pope, Beauchamp's
counsel, made a powerful defence, in which Darby was not
spared. This gave occasion for a display of the prisoner's
pugnacity, which even his perilous situation could not quell.
While the jury were deliberating on their verdict Mr Pope
left the court and at the door met Darby, who assaulted him
with a cane. Beauchamp saw this from the bar, and his
choler boiled over. He sprang from the bar, and rushed out
to attack Darby, dragging two persons who held his arms
after him. He was overpowered and forced back, and at the
J. O. BEAUCHAMP.
305
•
same time Darby was borne away by the crowd. So far had
anger prevailed over better feelings, that Beauchamp scarcely
heard the sentence of death, which was immediately pro-
nounced.
It was intended to have indicted Mrs. Beauchamp as an
accessary before the fact, and Lowe made oath that she had
confessed to him that she had devised and instigated the
assassination. This tale the justices utterly disregarded and
refused to commit her for trial. -
It was intimated to Beauchamp while in prison that governor
Desha would pardon him, if he would accuse some of his politi-
cal opponents as his accomplices. He was desired to say that
there had been a conspiracy to assassinate Desha, and seve-
ral of the most distinguished supporters of his administration.
The love of life prevailed on the wretched young man to
accede to this base proposal: he accused Darby, and agreed,
as soon as he should be pardoned, to accuse any other persons
Desha might indicate. Beauchamp, to the last hour of his
life, never doubted that this proposal emanated from Desha;
but though there is abundant proof of the weakness of that
unfortunate governor, we have no reason to believe him capa-
ble of such wickedness.
Beauchamp had written his accusation of Darby, and it was
lying on the table before him in prison, when Darby came in
to see him. Several others were present. Beauchamp could
not resist the temptation to torment his enemy, and therefore
accused him to his face, with great vehemence, of having been
present, aiding and abetting in the murder. The solemn
accusations and bitter reproaches cast on him by the convict
overwhelmed Darby with confusion, and he went away firmly
persuaded that Beauchamp would die avowing that he was an
accomplice in the assassination. His friends too, were greatly
disconcerted. Beauchamp soon repented this ebullition of
ill feeling, and in the memoir he left behind him completely
exonorated Darby from the charge.
Mrs. Beauchamp accompanied her husband from the court
to the prison, and after his conviction never left him. The
same high but misguided feelings, that had made her so thirst
⚫ for the blood of Sharp, impelled her to share Beauchamp's
fate. She also persuaded Beauchamp to avoid the ignominy
of a public execution by suicide, nor, as he had always been
devoted to her, did he deny this last request. They had an
ounce phial of laudanum, which Mrs. Beauchamp divided
into two equal portions, with as much composure as she had
+
306
J.. O. BEAUCHAMP.
ever poured out a glass of wine. Then, having prayed their
Maker to permit the action, if done against his will, they
drank the deadly draught, and laid down in each others arms
to die. So fully had they persuaded themselves that they
should awake in Paradise that they could not refrain from
singing for joy.
This desperate and wicked attempt was not successful.
They lay for hours expecting to drop asleep, to wake no more.
This time they spent in prayer; and in the fury of his delirium
Beauchamp shouted aloud and awakened all within reach,
declaring that his sins were forgiven. At last his wife slept,
but strange to tell, twenty-four hours passed away, and the
laudanum had had no material effect on Beauchamp. Mrs.
Beauchamp awoke, and after vomiting, took a second potion,
but all was of no avail.
1
*
Beauchamp now tried to persuade his wife to live, and to
let the law take its course with him, but she declared that
he should not be buried before she would follow him, even if
she should be obliged to starve herself. Wherefore he yield-
ed to her earnest entreaty, that they should stab themselves
and die together. He then wrote directions for their inter-
ment, that they should both be buried in one coffin, his wife
to be folded in his arms.
On the morning of the fifth of June, eighteen hundred and
twenty-six, the drums were heard beating in the streets of
Frankfort, and a vast multitude were hurrying to the gibbet
which was erected, black and ominous, on a hill near the
town.
At ten o'clock there was but one person in the same cell
with the Beauchamps, the dungeon was feebly lighted with.
one candle: its only entrance was through a trap door above..
About eleven o'clock Mrs. Beauchamp desired the guard
to leave the cell a few moments that she might rise, and dress.
He did so. He had scarcely got out of the dungeon when
he heard a deep sigh, and Beauchamp called him back. He
went down and found Beauchamp lying on his back, in earnest
prayer. His wife was beside him, with her arms round his body.
Not thinking anything serious had happened the guard sat down
in silence till Beauchamp had finished his prayer. "Tell my
father," he then said, "that we are going straight to heaven-
we are dying." No, I reckon not," replied the guard.
"Yes," said Beauchamp, "it is so; we have killed ourselves."
The man then saw that Mrs. Beauchamp held a bloody
66
:
ม
7
J. O. BEAUCHAMP.
307
knife in her hand and asked where they got it. Both answer-
ed that they had long kept it concealed for the occasion.
They had both stabbed themselves, but neither groaned or
showed any sign of pain. Beauchamp said that he had struck
himself first and that his wife had then wrested the knife from
him, and plunged it into her own body. He added that he
feared his wound was not mortal and begged the guard to get
him some laudanum.
The jailor came, and Mrs. Beauchamp was removed into
another apartment, without any resistance on her part. To
those who questioned her she replied, "I struck the fatal
blow myself, and am dying for my dear husband." She now
suffered violent pain, and screamed so loudly that Beauchamp,
heard her in his dungeon. He wrote to her as follows:
"Your husband is dying happy! For you I lived—for you
I die! I hear you groan. I hope you may yet be recovered-
if you are, live till it is God's will to take you, and prepare
to meet me in a better world- Your dying husband.
J. O. Beauchamp."
My beloved Anna.
It was now determined to take him to the gallows as soon
as possible. As they were carrying him out of the house. he
begged to see his wife, but the physicians said she was not
badly, hurt, and would soon recover. The officers objected.
to stopping. He said it was cruel, and they then carried him
into the room where she was dying, and laid him beside her.
He put his hand on her face and affectionately asked her if
she knew him, but she could not answer. "Physicians," he
said, "you have deceived me, she is dying." Then, to the
ladies," From you, ladies, I demand a tear of sympathy."
He held Mrs. Beauchamp's pulse till he felt its last throb
and then said, " Farewell, child of Sorrow-farewell victim
of persecution and misfortune! You are now. safe from the
tongue of slander. For you I lived-for you I die. He
kissed her lips and said he was ready.
As he was too weak to sit up on his coffin a covered wagon
was prepared to convey him to the gallows. As the procession
proceeded he expressed his confident hope of a happy immor-
tality to the attending clergymen. The drums beat as he
went along and he observed that the music was delightful and
that he had never moved more cheerfully. He continued
waving his hand to the ladies at the windows till the proces-
sion got out of the town
14*
1
308
J. O. BEAUCHAMP.
1
He was unmoved at the sight of his coffin under the gallows,
and at every pause in the conversation expressed his impa-
tience. He was then assisted to get upon his coffin in the
cart under the gallows and supported there. This done he
asked for water and that the music would play Bonaparte's
retreat from Moscow. It was done. He then gave the sig-
nal, and ended his short and evil life. His body was given
to his father who buried it pursuant to his directions.
We
Beau-
Thus ended the tragedy: a man of the first talents had
fallen, as he deserved, for his crimes, and another, who might
have equalled him in rank, and who might have been an honor
to his native state, was cut off in the flower of his age.
know not which ought to be held in most abhorrence.
champ had no right to avenge the wrongs of another, or even
his own, with his own hand, and every well-constituted mind
must revolt at an assassination so treacherous and cruel as
that of Sharp. The destruction of his own life was a sin of
no less magnitude. It may be said in his excuse that he was
actuated by a sense of honor highly commendable, had it not
been misdirected, and that he was instigated by a woman he
fondly loved.
On the other hand there was never villainy more cruel,
more cowardly, more atrocious, than that of Colonel Sharp.
There was no palliating circumstance-not even the heat of
young blood. He deserved all he got, and more. As to Mrs.
Beauchamp, we have not the heart to blame her. It is idle
to say that the laws afford redress for all injuries. That for
such as hers, is absolute insult. The woman who could
take the price of her dishonor, who would barter virtue for
gold, is unfit to live. For a petty theft a man is sent to the
penitentiary, but for stealing the fair fame, the whole hope
of earthly happiness of woman, for crushing her heart in the
spring of life, for violated oaths, and diabolical treachery, he―
pays damages! Seduction should be made criminal in law.
Perhaps our readers will not be displeased to see a speci-
men of the poetic powers of the Beauchamps.
The following was written by Beauchamp in prison, on be-
ing awakened by a vision of his wife before she joined him.
Daughter of Grief, thy spirit moves
In every whistling wind that roves
Across my prison grates;
It bids my fainting soul to bear
And with its sister spirit soar
Aloft to Heaven's gates.
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Mutineers of Brıg Vineyard burying the Money.
ར
THOMAS I. WANSLEY,
313
Gibbs was arraigned for the murder of William Roberts,
and Wansley for that of William Thornby.. They were both
found guilty, and the district attorney moved for judgment
on the verdict. There was nothing peculiar in their deport-
ment during the trial. The iron visage of Gibbs was occa-
sionally darkened with a transient emotion, but he had evi-
dently abandoned all hope of escape, and sat the greater part
of the time with his hands between his knees, calmly surveying
the scene before him.-Wansley was more agitated, and
trembled visibly when he rose to hear the verdict of the jury.
-
The judge stated to Wansley in the usual form, the substance
of the charge on which he had been indicted, arraigned and
found guilty, and asked him the usual question. Wansley
said he would say a few words, though he did not know
that it would be of any use to him. He said he had al-
ways known that a difference of color produced a difference
of treatment, where white men were the judges. They had
taken the blacks from their own country. There was an
antipathy, as he knew, entertained by the whites against
colored persons. He had found it so himself, both as regarded
the witnesses and jurors in this case, and in the behavior of the
district attorney. Much false testimony had been given, as
he of course had the means of knowing. The witnesses
would not disclose the manner in which he first came to give
information as to the money on board. Two indictments
were found against him, of the offence charged in one of
which, he was guiltless. He guessed he had said enough.
The court told him to proceed, if there was anything else
he wished to say. He then stated that he was the first man
who went on board of the Vineyard. He saw the money
brought on board. When a conversation arose among the
crew, as to what amount of money each had, he observed, in
the way of conversation, that there was plenty on board.
Atwell said, "then let's have it." This remark he took
for a mere jest, and considered it such until a week after, when
Atwell told him that a conspiracy had been formed; that they
were the strongest party; that they meant to take the lives
of the officers, and of such of the men as would not join them.
He felt no inclination to do so, and spoke to Church about
it next day. Charch was the only one of the crew he
had known before he shipped in the Vineyard. Church
advised him not to inform against the conspirators. If he
had done so he would have only been in the same situation in
which he was at present. He had nothing more to say.
314
CHARLES GIBBS AND
He was quite coherent in his remarks, and distinct in his
utterance; but there was nothing impudent in his demeanor.
He had naturally a sullen smile on his countenance.
But
Gibbs spoke fluently, rapidly, and with propriety. He said
he wished to state how far he was guilty, and how far innocent.
When he went on board he knew only Church and Dawes.
He was asked by Harry Atwood (so he pronounced the name)
to join the conspiracy, and at first refused to do so.
he subsequently agreed to it. So did all the crew, including
Brownrigg and Dawes. He afterwards began to think that
it was a dreadful thing to take a man's life, and declared that
he would not assent to killing the captain and mate; that he
would break any man's nose who proposed it to him. He
persuaded all of them to abandon this part of the project,
except Church and Dawes; and their opposition was such
that he yielded. Brownrigg agreed to call up the captain,
and did so. The mate was thrown overboard by Church and
Dawes. He [Gibbs] protested before God that he was inno-
cent of the murder of the mate. He did help to throw the
captain overboard.
་
The judge then proceeded to pass sentence. What had
fallen from the prisoners, he said, might excite some feeling,
but only tended to confirm the justice of their sentence. He
observed to Wansley that whatever prejudice he might imag-
ine existed, growing out of the distinctions of color, the utmost
impartiality had been observed in his case. Admitting that
both Brownrigg and Dawes had sworn falsely, the prisoners'
own words, just uttered, admitted that they had been guilty
of a most horrible crime, that of taking human life, without
provocation. If the Court could entertain a doubt that, in
the case of Wansley, the least injustice had been done, or
the slightest advantage withheld from him, they would afford
him another opportunity of being tried. But there was not
a shadow of such a doubt.
When the accused denies the charges against him, ccurts
must proceed upon testimony. There is no other mode of
arriving at a conclusion. Sometimes, with all the care that
may be taken, they may err; and it is most distressing for
them to execute their painful duty of pronouncing sentence,
when they entertain the supposition that a mistake may have
been made in convicting. But here there was no such
embarrassment. The prisoners stood, for the last time, in
the presence of an earthly tribunal, and admitted their deep
and unequivocal guilt. In ordinary cases of the kind, there
THOMAS 1. WANSLEY.
315
were some circumstances of palliation, or such as tended
to excite sympathy. The offender may have been led to
commit the act by sudden passion, or strong resentment
newly awakened; there may have been violent provocation
to the deed; or other circumstances, which may take away
the control of reason for the time, may mitigate the turpitude
of the offence. It was not so here. What cause of offence
had either the captain or mate ever given to the prisoners?
They trusted in them as able seamen ånd good citizens, and
confided to them their lives and property. A sum of money
was the temptation, and over the scheme to obtain it they had
deliberated long and cautiously-they had slept upon it, and
reasoned long about it. - If what Gibbs had stated were true,
and though he did not strike the mate, still he was equally
guilty as an abettor, in the eye of the law, and in his own
conscience. He might have stretched out his hand and saved
him, when he stood by assisting and encouraging his mur-
derers, and the unfortunate inan was petitioning in his agony
for mercy..
Notwithstanding all this, the judge said, he could not be-
lieve the prisoners so wholly callous, and incapable of feeling.
contrition, as not to have their hearts softened and awakened
to repentant emotion when they looked back upon their
unprovoked outrage. They were American citizens. They
had shown in what they had said in court this day, that
they were possessed of a more than ordinary share of in-
telligence, and must have participated to some extent in the
blessings of education so widely scattered over this country.
They well understood their civil duties and responsibilities.
The court would believe them when they stated, that up to a
certain time, they were averse to the commission of the
crime. In youth their early feelings must have been taught
to revolt, when they heard of the commission of murders,
mutinies and robberies. Yet now, in mature manhood, they
stood convicted of all. When they entered on the hazardous
profession they had adopted, those crimes must have presented
themselves as the most dangerous against which they would
have to guard; nor could they then have dreamed of perpe-
trating them. But the evidence convicted them of every
offence laid in the indictment, of murder, mutiny, robbery on
the high seas, and scuttling the vessel; the penalty for each
of which is death. If they had saved the lives of the offi-
cers. and the cargo likewise, and had scuttled the vessel, their
condemnation would have been the same.
316
CHARLES GIBBS, AND
He then proceeded to pass sentence on them severally, that
each should be taken from the place where they then were,
and thence to the place of confinement, and should be
hanged by the neck till dead; and that the marshal of the
Southern District of New York should see this sentence
carried into execution on the twenty-second day of April fol-
lowing between the hours of ten and four o'clock.
a
་
He observed that the only matter which the court had had
under deliberation, was as to the time of executing the sen-
tence.. In many countries this follows the sentence immedi-
ately; nor was there any legal reason why they should not
be forthwith conveyed to the scaffold, from the dock where
they stood, to undergo their fate: The court had allowed
them six weeks for preparation; but it was by no means with
view of allowing them to indulge in a hope of pardon. They
must not let their minds dwell on it for a moment. Their
death was inevitable. It was as certain as that they were now
living men, that by the twenty-second of April they must die.
He asked if it was not an affecting subject of consideration
for them, to hear this inevitable decree-did they realize,
apply and understand it? The court hardly knew in what
manner to present to them its closing remarks, or what view
of their case would most penetrate and melt their hearts.
Surely it must sometimes have presented itself to their minds,
that it is a dreadful thing to die. Even in age, when the
faculties have lost all their vigor, and the mind and body
perform their functions most feebly, it is natural to cling to
life. Doubly so, in the fulness of strength and manhood.
When laid on the bed of sickness, though surrounded by
the nearest and dearest friends, attended with every com-
fort and every appliance to resist the last enemy, it is felt to
be a hard thing to die. In their perilous profession, in which
they must sometime have been exposed to the dangers of
tempests, rocks. and shipwrecks, they must have felt the
power of that principle which induced them to make every
exertion to save their lives, by the most desperate efforts
Even in the uproar and excitement of battle, where all the
angry passions are aroused, the principle of self-preservation
exists and operates.
But if the prisoners had never thought or felt that it is an
awful thing to die, he besought them now to consider of it
coolly; and with a steadfast attention to regard it singly. Let
them also consider what is to come after it. The humanity
of the marshal would afford them every convenience for
THOMAS I. WANSLEY.
317
communication with pious men, such as they might choose to
The court had discharged its duty.
see.
Gibbs asked if he might see his friends. The court replied,
that the marshal would allow him every proper indulgence:
Soon after his arrest, and before his trial, he expressed a
desire to Henry W. Merritt, one of the police marshals, to
make some communications to a magistrate respecting his
career and crimes. The officer made known his wish to
James Hopson,, Esq. one of the police magistrates of New
York, and that gentleman, presuming that a developement of
the circumstances attending his piracies would be highly im- .
portant and valuable to the mercantile community, proceeded
to the prison at Bellevue to receive his confession. The
disclosures made to that gentleman will be found in the sequel.
The other details presented in the following narrative, were
communicated to Mr. Merritt, police officer, the deputy
keeper of Bridewell, and another person, at different times;
and were committed to paper by them on the spot, very nearly
in his own language. Some of them are so strongly corrob-
orated by circumstances, as to leave hardly a doubt on the
minds of the most skeptical.
The first account which he gave of himself is, that his
father obtained a situation for him in the United States sloop.
of war Hornet, Captain Lawrence, during the last war with
England, in which vessel he made two cruises; in the last of
which she captured and sunk the enemy's sloop of war
Peacock off the coast of Pernambuco, after an engagement
of twenty minutes. On the arrival of the Hornet in the.
United States, Captain Lawrence was assigned by the gov-
ernment to the command of the frigate Chesapeake, then
lying in Boston harbor, and Gibbs accompanied him to that
ill-fated vessel in the month of April, eighteen hundred, and
thirteen.
This statement of his services was proved to be false, and
acknowledged as such by himself. His motive for the false-
hood was, he said, to conceal his real adventures about
this time, that his proper name might not be discovered.
There is much to corroborate and nothing to disprove what
follows.
After his exchange, he abandoned all idea of following the
sea for a subsistence, went home to Rhode Island, and re-
mained there a few months, but being unable to conquer
his propensity to roving, he entered on board a ship bound
to New Orleans and thence to Stockholm. On the home-
318
CHARLES GIBBS AND
;
ward passage they were compelled to put into Bristol,
England, in distress, where the ship was condemned, and he
proceeded to Liverpool. He returned to the United States in
the ship Amity, Captain Maxwell. Shortly after his return
home, the death of an uncle put him in possession of about
two thousand dollars, with which he established himself in
the grocery business in Boston. This undertaking was far
from being profitable, and he was often under the necessity
of applying to his father for assistance, which was always
afforded, accompanied with good advice and his blessing
The stock was finally sold at auction, for about nine hundred
dollars, which he soon squandered in tippling houses and
among profligates. His father hearing of his dissipation,
wrote affectionately and earnestly to him to come home, but
he stubbornly refused, and went to sea again, in the ship John,
Captain Brown, bound for the Island of Margaretta.
After its arrival, he left the ship, and entered on board
the Colombian privateer Maria, Captain Bell.-They cruised
for about two months in the Gulf of Mexico, around Cuba,
but the crew becoming dissatisfied in consequence of the non-
payment of their prize-money, a mutiny arose, the crew took
possession of the schooner, and landed the officers near
Pensacola. A. number of days elapsed before it was finally
decided by them what course to pursue. Some advised that
they should cruise as before, under the Colombian commis-
sion; others proposed to hoist the Black Flag. They cruised
for a short time without success, and it was then unanimously
determined to hoist the black flag and declare war against all
nations. Their bloody purpose was not carried, however,
into immediate execution. They boarded a number of vessels,
and allowed them to pass unmolested, there being no spe-
cie on board, and their cargoes not being convertible into
anything valuable to themselves. At last one of the crew
named Antonio, suggested that an arrangement could be
made with a man in Havana, that would be mutually benefi-
cial;—that he would receive all their goods, sell them, and
divide the proceeds. This suggestion being favorably receiv-
ed, they ran up within two miles of Moro Castle, and sent
Antonio on shore to see the merchant and make a contract
with him. Previous to this, Gibbs was chosen to navigate
the vessel. Antonio succeeded in arranging everything ac-
cording to their wishes, and Cape Antonio was appointed as
the place of redezvous. The merchant was to furnish drogers
to transport the goods to Havana, which was done by him for
more than three years.'
THOMAS I. WANSLEY.
319
*
•
The Maria now put to sea, with a crew of about fifty
men, mostly Spaniards and Americans, with every hope of
success. The first vessel she fell in with was the Indispensa-
ble, an English ship, bound to Havana, which was taken and
carried to Cape Antonio. The crew were immediately ·
destroyed: those who resisted were hewed to pieces: those
who offered no resistence, were reserved to be shot and thrown
overboard. Such was the manner in which they proceeded
in all their subsequent captures. The unhappy being that
cried for mercy, in the hope that something like humanity was
to be found in the breasts even of the worst of men, shared
the same fate with him who resolved to sell his life at the
highest price. A French brig, with a valuable cargo of wine
and silk, was taken shortly after: the vessel was burnt and the
crew murdered.
The sanguinary scenes through which Gibbs had passe!
now effectually wrought up his desperation to the highest
pitch, and being as remarkable for his coolness and intrepidity
as he was for his skill in navigation, he was unanimously
chosen to be their leader in all future enterprises. To reap.
a golden harvest without the hazard of encountering living
witnesses of their crimes, it was unanimously resolved to
spare no lives, and to burn and plunder without mercy. They
knew that the principle inculcated by the old maxim that
"“dead men tell no tales," was the safe one for them, and
they scrupulously followed it.-Gibbs states that he never
had occasion to give orders to begin the work of death. The
Spaniards were eager to accomplish that object without delay,
and generally every unhappy victir disappeared in a very few
minutes after they had gained the deck of a vessel.
-
Some-
He now directed his course towards the Bahama Banks,
where they captured a brig, believed to be the William of New
York, from some port in Mexico, with a cargo of furniture,
destroyed the crew, took her to Cape Antonio, and sent the
furniture and other articles to their friend in Havana.
time during this cruise, the pirate was chased for nearly a
whole day by a United States ship, supposed to be the John
Adams; he hoisted Patriot colors, and finally escaped. In
the early part of the summer of eighteen hundred and seven-
teen, they took the Earl of Moira, an English ship from Lon-
don, with a cargo of dry goods. The crew were destroyed,
the vessel burnt, and the goods carried to the Cape. There
they had a settlement with their Havana friend, and the pro-
ceeds were divided according to agreement.
320
CHARLES GIBBS AND
Gibbs then repaired to Havana, introduced himself to the
merchant, and made farther arrangements for the successful
prosecution of his piracies. While there, he became acquaint-
ed with many of the English and American naval officers,
inquired respecting the success. of their various expeditions
for the suppression of piracy, and all their intended move-
ments.
On return to Cape Antonio, he found his comrades in a
state of mutiny and rebellion, and that several of them had
been killed. His energy checked the disturbance, and all
agreed to submit to his orders, and put any one to death
who should dare to disobey them.
During the cruise which was made in the latter part of
eighteen hundred and seventeen, and the beginning of eighteen
hundred and eighteen, a Dutch ship from Curacoa was cap-
tured, with a cargo of West India goods, and a quantity of
silver plate. The passengers and crew, to the number of
thirty, were all destroyed, with the exception of a young
female about seventeen, who fell upon her knees and implored
Gibbs to save her life. The appeal was successful, and he
promised to save her, though he knew it would lead to danger-
ous consequences among his crew. She was carried to
Cape Antonio, and kept there about two months; but the dissatis-
faction increased until it broke out at last into open mutiny, and
one of the pirates was shot by Gibbs for daring to lay hold
of her with a view of beating out her brains. Gibbs was
compelled in the end to submit her fate to a council of war,
at which it was decided that the preservation of their own lives
made her sacrifice indispensable. He therefore acquiesced
in the decision, and gave orders to have her destroyed by
poison, which was immediately done.
The piratical schooner was shortly after driven ashore
near the Cape, and so much damaged that it was found
necessary to destroy her. A new sharp built schooner was in
consequence provided by their faithful friend in Havana,
called the Picciana, and despatched to their rendezvous. In
this vessel they cruised successfully for more than four years.
Among the vessels taken and destroyed with their crews,
were the Belvidere, Dido, a Dutch brig, the British barque
Larch, the other vessels enumerated in the list furnished
to Justice Hopson, and many others whose names are not
recollected. They had a very narrow escape at one time,
from the English man-of-war brig Coronation. In the early
part of October, eighteen hundred and twenty-one, they
THOMAS I. WANSLEY.
321
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.
Ans. 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?
Ans. 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,
whose crews had been murdered. One crew, he had spared
1
15
322
CHARLES GIBBS AND
because they were of Providence, and he could not 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 that 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
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
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 cup 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. (C
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 which 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; 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,
"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 "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, "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 nave 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 Lucius
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 I 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
here my breast will not be ruffed by the storm of sin,-for
326
CHARLES GIBBS AND
I was
It is the
the thing which I greatly feared has come upon me.
not in safety, neither had I rest; yet trouble came.
Lord, let him do what seemeth to him good. When I saw
you in Liverpool, and a peaceful calm wafted 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 lost, 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 lead 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 be 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.
•
2
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,
•
1
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 I 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 was
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
people of this nation."
¿
>
}
320
JESSE STRANG.
}
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 went 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 the 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 "The Doctor" in the
family. A few hours after the conversation above mentioned,
Mrs. Whipp. proved herself capable of making the first
?
15*
330
JESSE STRANG.
1
advances. She accosted him with, "Doctor, I want you to
write me a letter." Supposing that she could not write, he
exclaimed in astonishment, "What! I write you a letter?”
"Yes," she rejoined, “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 model 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 ^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 "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 be 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
1
subscribed herself Elsie D. Whipple, his true and affectionate
löver 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 and 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 start 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 her depended on the murder of an innocent man,
1
332
JESSE STRANG.
there was an end of the affair. In writing thus he still hoped
that her suggestion had not been serious.
1
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.
肇
​น
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 portions in sulphur, and asked if he thought
JESSE "STRANG.
333
He replied that he
it would operate taken in that manner.
thought it would, and they both impatiently waited for the
result.
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 hundı '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 paraniour,
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 injured
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.
1
roads. The expenses of this excursion, were defrayed by
Mrs. Whipple, with her husband's money.
w
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 had 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.
He
When Mrs. Whipple returned from church she questioned
him touching his experiments, and asked to see the rifle.
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," 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 pron..sed
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 danger. 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, "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 Strang 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" 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
He then employed Calvin Pepper Esq. to whom he
So.
a
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.
Now
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.
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.
In eighteen hundred and twenty-three Mr. James Scott of.
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.
When 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.
341
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 her case was considered doubtful.
However, neither she nor her mother imputed the occurrence
o 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 procur
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 about 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
pack. 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, “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,
he 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
"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.
1
TO RACHEL.
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
}
骞
​1
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.
"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, 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 opserved, 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 from 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 thev
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 rear)
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, "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.
The 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 confèssion is to be
believed, she said to him, "George, why, in the name of
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 being 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
crse, se hat it might not be in her power to become a
1
GEORGE SWEARINgen.
347
K
witness against him. What follows depends on better authority
than the word of a convicted murderer.
They started before day, both riding on the same horse,
intending to flee into Canada. They avoided every one they
saw by turning into the woods, till they came to an old man,
of whom they were not afraid. He told them that the grand
jury had found an indictment against both, and that the
people of Cumberland were in quest of them.
He also told
them of a by-road to Springfield, by which he thought they
might escape, and they started again to gain it. In the
evening they were upon it. They soon arrived at a bridge
which they believed was watched, as indeed it was, but
avoided the danger by striking into the woods, where they
lost themselves in the darkness. After long trying in vain to
regain the road they let the horse take his own way, which
brought them in sight of Cumberland, which they passed un-
observed, and took a road leading to Hagerstown. At day-
light they turned into the woods, secured the horse, and lay
down to sleep on a blanket they had brought with them.
A minute detail of their adventures would be entirely un-.
interesting. They moved toward Kentucky, Swearingen
calling himself Campbell, and his companion passing for his
wife. They were often taken for persons running from their
friends to be married. When their horse gave out they
exchanged him for two mean ponies, and went on as fast as
they could. When they started they had but little money,
part of which was in eastern and part in western bills, the
latter not in very good repute. When their current money
was spent, they had much difficulty to pass the rest, and
whenever any dispute on the subject occurred, they were
always abused as runaways. But they were not suspected as
to what they were. At last they arrived in Kentucky, and at
Elizabethtown the sheriff was recognised by a man he had
known in Hagerstown. This person asked him if his name
were not Swearingen. He answered in the negative, and
succeeded in convincing the fellow (he was a slave-driver,)
that he was mistaken. He was again suspected in Owenville,
but finally arrived safe among his relations in the Green
River country. He told them the same story respecting his
wife's death that he had told his mistress, adding that as he
had been suspected of murder, he had judged it most prudent
to escape.
He told them, too, that he had since married
Rachel Cunningham. They believed, and pitied him, and he
remained some time with them, his concubine passing for his
348
GEORGE SWEARINGEN.
wife. He had land there, and thought of settling on it, and
probably would have done so, but for a piece of information
he received from home.
He had written to his father for money, and in due time a
friend came within fifteen miles of his place of abode, and
sent for him. This person gave Swearingen an hundred and
fifty dollars, and told him that the governor of Maryland had
issued a proclamation offering a great reward for his appre-
hension. He advised the fugitive to go to Texas with all
speed, and recommended, above all things, that he should not
take his soi disant wife with him. Swearingen could not
think of deserting her and would have preferred Canada as a
place of refuge, but his friend overruled him in both points.
When the criminal was about to depart, a scene took place
between him and the partner of his flight that affected his
friend to tears. They wept and embraced, and could not
tear themselves apart. At last he told her that as she could
not be happy without her child, his friend should go to Mary-
land for it and bring her and it after him. She replied that
the did not care for the child, but was willing to accompany
him without it. He objected that the danger of detection
·would be doubled should they travel together, bade her not
be uneasy, and promised not to forsake her entirely. He
gave her money, kissed her, and at last they parted, his friend
accompanying him to Shawneetown.
At Shawneetown this person promised to take care of the
woman and to bring her child from Maryland. He was then
to take them to Swearingen, who would wait for them in New
Orleans. To give him more time to do this, the criminal
embarked in an ark or flat boat, and floated down stream
very slowly. He found on board this conveyance a newspaper
giving an account of the murder, but as his person was not
described, and as he had called himself Joseph Martin, he
did not fear discovery. By doing a little writing for the
owner of the boat he obtained his passage gratis.
Immediately on his arrival in New Orleans he was seen
and recognised, by one Ramsay, who, however, at first said
nothing to him. He might have escaped: a schooner was
ready to convey emigrants to Texas, and he had engaged his
passage, but could not bear to think of leaving Rachel
Cunningham. He preferred losing his passage. During this
time he saw Ramsay several times and recognised, him, but
did not suspect that he was himself known to the other.
Finally he became acquainted with a gentleman who had a
1
GEORGE SWEARINGEN.
349
son settled in Texas, and succeeded in getting into his good
graces. This person told him that he might get employment
as a schoolmaster and gave him a letter to his son; whereupon
he resolved to leave a letter directing his intended how to
follow him, and start alone.
He had taken lodgings on board a flat boat and was wait-
ing for an opportunity to depart, when one day he saw a
number of police officers approaching; Ramsay among them.
He saw them go on board another boat and converse with a
man on its deck. Something alarmed at this, Swearingen,
as soon as they left the boat, slipped down the bank, and
passed along the margin of the river to speak with the man
with whom they had been conversing. To a question what
their business had been, the boatman replied, "They are
looking for a man by the name of Martin. Is that your
name, sir?" The fugitive replied, "No sir; I thought they
wished to purchase some corn. We have some in our boat
to sell." With that he returned and began to get his effects
in readiness for immediate departure. While he was so doing
he looked through a crack and saw the officers coming. He
hastily threw himself into a corner and covered himself with
his cloak, desiring the owner of the conveyance to tell any
one who might inquire for him that he was not there. Scarce-
ly had he time to do this before the officers entered the boat.
One of them pulled the cloak off him, presented a pistol, and
bade him surrender on pain of death. He knew, he said,
that his name was Swearingen, and he had a warrant for him.
The other confessed his name and surrendered without re-
sistance. He expected thus to put them off their guard and
render escape easier after he should have left the boat. They
tcɔk from him a dirk, pistol and rifle. According to his own
story he had procured two of these weapons for very innocent
purposes. He had bought the pistol in Maryland to defend
himself and Rachel. The rifle he had gotten to hunt in
Texas, and he had obtained the dirk as a makeweight in
some trifling bargain on the river.
As the officers were taking him to the Mayor's office,
Swearingen suddenly attempted to break from them. There-
upon one of them struck him a severe blow over the eye, and
the wound bled freely. They then put him into a coach and
took him before the mayor without farther difficulty.
He admitted his name, and that he was the person indicated
by the proclamation before mentioned, and requested to be
sent immediately to Maryland for trial. He was committed
$
16*
350
GEORGE SWEARINGEN.
to jail and ironed, and remained there two months without
a change of raiment and covered with vermin. As he did
not hear anything of his paramour he for a long while thought
she must have been taken, but a man was at last confined in
the same cell with him who told him she was in New Orleans.
On hearing this, he sent for the jailor and advised him to
have her taken too, that they might be sent to Maryland
together. The officer informed the mayor of what he had
heard, and the city was searched for her, but she was not to
be found. The fact was that the very precaution taken by
Swearingen to insure a meeting had caused him to miss her
altogether. The friend before mentioned (his brother) had
kept his word. Finding it impracticable to return to Mary-
land for the child, he had immediately taken its mother to
New Orleans in a steam boat, and passed Swearingen on the
way. Waiting there a long while and hearing nothing of
our hero, who had not yet arrived, they returned to Louisville.
There they heard of his apprehension.
The reason that his brother was unable to bring the child
from Maryland was, that another brother opposed it; for
what reason does not appear.
After having been confined three or four weeks Swearingen
became melancholy, and dropped some hints of an intention
to destroy himself. To prevent it the keeper put him into a
very small, close apartment, called the cache hole. Here he
was more uncomfortable than before, and when a ruffianly
convict was put into the cell with him for an assault on one
of the officers, he wrote to the keeper to remonstrate. He
was then taken out and lodged in the same room with the
chain gang convicts, who are permitted to work abroad in
the city every day. One of them told him that vessels often
lay many days in the river before the wind would suffer them
to depart, and offered him a saw to cut his irons in such an
interim, if it should occur. He might gain the shore, the
convict said, by swimming., But he thought his mistress was
in prison in Maryland, and the hope of seeing her overcame
the sense cf danger and the love of liberty: in a word, he
refused to accept the implements.
On the sixth of April he was conveyed on board the brig
Artic, bound for Baltimore. As the Artic was actually detain-
ed three days in the river, he might have escaped in the
way suggested by the convict. In due time he arrived in
Baltimore and was conveyed to Alleghany County, where he
was fully committed for trial.
GEORGE SWEARINGEN.
351
The principal facts disclosed in evidence on his trial beside
those we have related, were these. He had told different
tales respecting the manner of his wife's death, one of which
was that Rachel Cunningham- had struck Mrs. Swearingen
from her horse and killed her. This, he afterwards declared,
was false.
Another fact which endangered Rachel, was, that
a little before the murder, a woman, supposed to be her, pass-
ed through the drove before mentioned, in a direction that
would, apparently, bring her to the spot where the body was
found. As for a long time she could not be traced, she
was generally supposed to have been Rachel. Howbeit,
after Swearingen's conviction she was found, and proved to
be quite another person.
Several letters that had passed between the two principal
actors in the tragedy seemed to confirm the prisoner's guilt,
though by themselves, they would have done him little injury.
Blood was seen on his ruffles at the time of the murder. He
explained this circumstance by stating that it fell from his wife
as he lifted her up. Those who saw the body deposed that it
was bruised in several places, as if by biows. A fall might
have accounted for all this excepting the marks on her back,
as he had stated that she fell on her face. The women
deposed that she had received a severe internal injury. The
strongest circumstance was, that Swearingen's horse and that
of his wife were tracked into and out of a thicket close to the
spot where the body was found. In the thicket a spot was
trampled and stained with blood, and a club was found at hand.
When Swearingen was first committed he consulted several
persons learned in the law, who told him that no jury would
convict him on the evidence. He therefore felt easy during
the trial, and even wrote to his intended to come back, as the
trial had been favorable to him. He hoped, however, that she
had behaved well since their separation and requested her to
bring a certificate to that effect from the person with whom
she had been living. The verdict of " GUILTY OF MURDER
In the first DEGREE!" was as the shock of a thunderbolt to
him. He shuddered and wept aloud.
He wrote again to Rachel. We shall give her answer to
his first letter, as it was written, to a comma, to correct the
impression that she was well educated and accomplished.
MY DEAR.
Henderson, 5th September, 1829
I recieved your letter the first of September I was very
.nuch serpriseed for I never had heard A word of you And
352
GEORGE SWEARINGEN.
never expected to hear from you Again it relieved me very
much to hear from you I seen great eal of trouble since I
have seen you after you left me more than I could explain.
I have had a son since you left me, three or four months which
caused me a great eal of troubel I was A bout five miles from
the yellow banks in the country I am now at hinderson
I hired A boy and went out to see John I have been in louis-
ville all this summer at Mr. Dillers I am Afraid that letter
you wrote to Mr. diller will ruin me for I am Abliege to leave
there on the account of that if you had of putt it in crisup
town the would never been nothing mistrusted I was reseeved
by evry person and was taken in the first company between
Frankle (his brother) and your aunts famly the was part of
the money you left me taken from me Franklin treated me
scandleous and threatened my life and I believed if it had not
been for John he would of struck me I should he very glad
to see you I had got quite reconsiled but since I have heard
from you I am as unhappy as ever it my hope you will get
through all your troubles and come to me to be as happy as
ever you must know I must love you very much or I would
not have followed ofter you the day I left you I thought I
nevar should have got over it in the world for, it had like to
have killed me I am Afraid after you get cleare that you
never will think any more of me you mentioned in your letter
that I must come in there but god forbid I ever should for I
have seen troubel Anough without coming there to see more
I have caused my friends Anough trouble without my coming
in there stere to it Afresh Among them I would rather go three
thousand of miles further the other way I stand in need of
nothing at this time I have plenty of everything I have sufered
A great eal on the account of little James I have thought A-
thousand times I would go in there at the risk of everything I
expect he has seen hard times since I have left him I intend to
have him at the risk of my life let it cost what it will expect
the people blames me more than they did you you know and
god knows that I am not to blame that I am as clear as an angel
in heaven and now I am Agoing Away And I dont know where
I will go to yet Franklin is turned evry one of your friends
Against you so as they told evrything About you they ever
heard or knowed Abought you every body knows all About
at Johns My dear I neer can for get you know I have seen
hard times with you you still write to me you are the same but
I am not the same the has A great alteration took place since
vou seen me John will be in there soon I wish wish you all
GEORGE SWEARINGEN.
353
ހ
#
god bless
the luck this world can Afford I am glad I did not hear from
you sooner for believe it would have killed me.
you.
I remain your dearest until deth.
GEORGE SWEARINGEN.
Swearingen received this elegant epistle a week before his
execution. It had no signature but he knew at once whence
it came.
He slew his wife on the eighth of September, eighteen
hundred and twenty-eight, and received sentence of death on
the same day of the same month, in eighteen hundred and
twenty-nine. After his condemnation the clergy visited him
and offered him the pardon of our blessed Saviour, and a peace
the world cannot take away. His sin had been great-and
so, eventually, was his repentance. Perhaps wishing to un-
burden his conscience-perhaps wishing to leave as fair a
name behind him as might be, for the honor of his family, he
procured his life and confession to be written by a clergyman.
His account of the murder was as follows.
When he and his wife came near the road which turns off
from the main road to the Tevis Farm, she proposed that they
should go thither and see their tenants. He observed that
they had better call as they came back, but she insisted upon
going on the instant. Accordingly, when they came to the
turn, Swearingen, knowing that she must needs see his
paramour, again tried to dissuade her, but she would have
her own way, as women sometimes will. Her husband,
therefore, dismounted, and with well assumed indifference
began to pull down the bars. Finding that she was deter-
mined, he was compelled to thwart her, even at the risk of
her just displeasure. He put up, the rails again, saying it
would be as well to call at another time. Mrs. Swearingen
then said she had heard, and her mother had received a letter,
informing her that Rachel Cunningham was at Tevis Farm,
and that she was resolved to go there and see if it was so.
She believed it, because he refused to go with her. As he
persisted in his refusal, she gave him harsh words, which
soon brought on a hot quarrel, and she turned her horse into
the road, calling him a deceiver.
He took the child, mounted, and followed, while she con-
tinued to reproach him, taxing him with falsehood and broken
faith. At last, boiling with passion, he pushed his horse
toward her, dropped the reins, and struck her on the back of
354
GEORGE SWEARINGEN.
D
the head with his right hand with all his might. She was
just at the beginning of a steep declivity and fell forward on
her forehead in the hard, flinty road. The horses did not
stop, and whether they trod on her or not he could not say.
He dismounted, and saw with horror that she was dead.
The cries of the child increased his confusion. He knew.
not what to do, and was on the point of leaving the infant
beside the body and flying for life. Having at last recovered
his presence of mind, he bethought him that there was a
stony place a little farther, and that by taking the corpse
thither, and giving the alarm; he might give a stronger color
to the supposition that she had been killed by an accidental
fall. So he pacified the child and threw the corpse across the
horse to take it to the stony place. Before he got there he
saw the drove before mentioned, and was obliged to turn to avoid
being seen by its conductors. Ere he reached the place
where Kyle found him with the body, it fell off three times.
In order to corroborate the tale he intended to tell, he scarred
the knees of his wife's horse with his knife. He supposed
the bruises found on the body might have been occasioned
by the several falls, or by the rough motion of the cart that
conveyed it to Cresaptown. As to the appearances in the
wood he positively denied all knowledge of them, saying he
never left the road. The rest is already known to the reader.
Such was his story, and he persisted in it to his last breath.
We again repeat that such declarations are not entitled to
full credence, many having been proved false, but in so much
of this, we see nothing that may not, possibly, be reconciled
with the testimony.
He went firmly to the gallows, and sung a psalm upon it.
When asked if he had anything to say, he answered that he
wished to have it understood that he died in peace with God
and with all the world. He had no fears, ar 1 had no doubt
that his repentance would be accepted. The scene soon
closed.
The life of this felon presents one more warning to the
vicious—another proof of the adage that quem Deas vult per
dere, prius dementat. He came on the stage of life with
prospects more than commonly flattering, with fame as bright
as any of his young compatriots, but his career has given
the world a demonstration that, unless sustained by the grace
of God, no man can stand long. It has proved that the eye
of Providence watches the path of everyone, and that the
very wisdom of the wicked, their deep laid plans, their active
"
"
SETH HUDSON AND JOSHUA HOWE.
355
ineasures to avoid public justice, are often made the means
of divine vengeance. In this case, the tongue of a babbling
old woman proved more powerful than the verdict of a legal
tribunal, and so excited the popular indignation that a second
inquest was held. When the skilful were unable to judge
and gave such a verdict, as, probably, would have alone
cleared Swearingen, he fled though no man pursued, frighten-
ed by his own guilty conscience. Far in the west, and
almost beyond the reach of detection, his own brother was the,
instrument to bring him to justice. Swearingen wished to go to
Canada and take the accomplice of his sins with him. His
brother dissuaded him, and sent him where he was more like-
ly to be detected. Again, another brother disturbed arrange-
ments which would have insured his safety, and so managed
that he did not meet his harlot in New Orleans. He shifted
from place to place, waiting for her, till the avenger of blood
was upon him. Let the midnight marauder, the bloody
assassin read this, and remember, that while they fancy them-
selves most secure the all-seeing eye overlooks all, notes their
doings, while his arm is uplifted to strike.
We know not what became of Rachel Cunningham.
SETH HUDSON AND JOSHUA HOWE.
COMMUNICATED, BY JOSHUA COFFIN, ESQ
THESE men were brothers-in-law. Hudson was a man of
good education, and a physician by profession. They came
to Boston from New York, in the year seventeen hundred and
sixty—and began business in partnership. Nothing is «nown
of their previous history.
Being unsuccessful in their undertakings, they resolved to
obtain money enough to enable them to establish themselves
in business elsewhere, by undue means. Accordingly, they
forged an order on the treasury for a considerable sum, pre-
sented it, received the cash, and absconded. They were
pursued and apprehended, however, within the limits of
Massachusetts, and were indicted for forgery, tried, convicted,
7
i
356
SETH HUDSON AND JOSHUA HOWE.
and condemned; the one to a public whipping and the other
to exposure in the pillory.
The sentence was executed in State Street, in the presence
of the multitude. While Howe was having his back stripped,
Doctor Hudson delivered the following address to the spec-
tators.
}
"What means this rout, this noise, this roar?
Did ye ne'er see a rogue before?
Are villains, then, a sight so rare
Ye needs must press and gape and stare?
Come forward ye, who look so fine,
With gains as illy got as mine;
Step up you'll soon reverse the słow
The crowd above-the few below!
"Well, for my knavery here I stand
A spectacle to all the land,
High elevated on the stage,
The greatest rascal of this age,
And for the mischief I have done
Must put this wooden neckcloth on.
"There Howe his brawny back is stripping,
Quite callous grown by frequent whipping-
In vain ye wear your whipcord out,
You'll ne'er reform a rogue so stout;
To make him honest, take my word
You must apply a bigger cord.
"Now all that see this shameful sight,
That ye may get some profit by it,
Keep constantly in mind, I pray,
The few words that I have to say:
Follow my steps, and you may be
In time, perhaps, advanced like me ;
Or, like my fellow laborer Howe,
May get, perhaps, a Post below.
}
After the execution of the sentence the culprits were dis
charged, and what became of them afterwards is unknown.
THE END.


wils
UNIVERSITY OF MINNESOTA
339.5 Sa22
St. Clair, Henry, comp.
The United States criminal calendar;
3 1951 001 560 846 E
WILSON
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