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[This describes the bearer to becunning, temperate, treacherous, imprudent; sizelowandheavy; by profession aphysicianand amerchant; diseaserheumatismandface disfigured; age fromfortytoforty-five; quick-spoken.]
Lawrenceburgh, April 9, 1827.
Friend Brown,—I am happy to have the extreme pleasure of introducing to your acquaintance one of my most intimate friends. He visits the city on business, which may require assistance; if so, you can confer no greater favour on your humble servant, than by serving him.
Yours, in haste,
The following was taken from the same sheet, having been interlined in fine hand in sympathetic ink, whichwas entirely a secret to the bearer, and read when warm, as follows:
In a side pocket made upon the inside of an old black velvet vest, you will find eighteen hundred dollars in United States money. In an old hair trunk, tied around with a rope, he carries twelve hundred dollars in silver. He is fond of spirits, and occasionally gets drunk, and when drunk, has no memory, and would not acknowledge the fact of being drunk for twice the amount. He is a man of wealth and of honour. Destroy this immediately.
The history connected with the above letters may be considered of great importance to explain the villanies of this band; and from the circumstances connected with this history, I have every reason to have full confidence that the same letters this note refers to, were the occasion of the bearer being robbed of some thirty-one hundred dollars. We will now give the foundation for our belief. During the examination of my original package of letters, I discovered a very familiar name attached to one of those apparent business letters, which caused me to examine the import, and upon so doing, I found that it contained the same which I have given, with a few omissions which I considered of importance to my personal safety, viz., the names of the parties, the place of residence of the man robbed, &c. When I found that I had a familiar name to so base an article, to satisfy myself that it was not a forgery, I examined the same person's signatures which had been written in the year 1827, and found they compared satisfactorily to my mind. I then set upon a plan to ascertain from the man who lost the money, without his having an idea of my intention, which I did asfollows. I wrote to a responsible man living in the same place, to know of him if such a man of his village had ever lost any money, and if so, what amount, the date he lost it, &c.; to which I received the following brief note: "Sir,—You have written me upon a subject which I was not familiar with at the time I received your letter, but have made inquiry, and found that in the spring of 1827, the person alluded to in your letter was robbed while in Wheeling, on his way to Philadelphia, out of rising three thousand dollars: which money he has never heard of. He is a man in good circumstances, and was at that time, in fact he has always been, considered wealthy. I conversed with him one time upon the subject, but he dislikes to have it mentioned to him. You likewise wished me to inquire if he received any letters of introduction or recommendation previous to his departure, on the date mentioned. He had several, and with one exception, they were all from his best friends. One he had given him by a man residing in Lawrenceburgh, Indiana, was for the purpose of introducing him to Daniel Brown, a merchant of Dearborn county, whom he met in Cincinnati, on his (Brown's) return, and had but a few moments' time to converse with him, after he gave him the letter. You, therefore, know all I can ascertain about your request." I could then see through the whole lead of his misfortunes, and it is about in this way. The letter which he bore to Brown, having the particulars concerning his temperament, likewise the amount of money, &c., enabled Brown to set the band upon him, who robbed him, and then divided with Brown and his Lawrenceburgh friend. These letters I had transcribed and put them up and lectured to the citizens of Lawrenceburgh concerning the horrible fact of their existence; and these are the letters spoken of, that made the pigeon's flutter, and likewise caused so many threats of my assassination; and all that prevented them was, that they feared whoever might have the handling of the papers hereafter might handle them with less mercy.
I have frequently, in the course of this work, had to notice the very intimate connection which those concerned in the administration of justice, or ostensibly in the suppression of crime, had with those who perpetrate it. In all of our large cities, this occasionally forces itself into public notice. Anxious as the authorities always are to conceal any thing of this kind, it accidentally leaks out. The opportunity for concealment, and the advantages afforded by official station, have not been overlooked by the Brothers, and the police of every city contains several of the fraternity. In all fairness, however, the great mass of crime connected with such establishments ought not to be laid to their charge. The very wish to be connected with the police, indicates a morbid disposition of the mind—a desire to be familiar with crime; for it is necessary to detect it successfully, to come in contact frequently with the criminal. In consequence, by familiarity, crime loses its enormity: the police officer sees how seldom the perpetrator is detected; how often, when detected, he escapes unwhipped of justice; he connives at some petty offence, in the hope of entrapping the criminal in some more flagrant act, and tampers with crime, till the little moral sensibility he had when he entered the service is destroyed. This is obviously a true picture of human nature; but I must proceed with the story, which suggested these remarks.
In no city of the Union has the depredations of the Band of Brothers been more extensive than in Cincinnati, Ohio, yet there seems to be a prevailing wish, entertained even by those who have witnessed their ravages, to doubt the existence of any such organization. Nor am I surprised at this incredulity—the thought that we are surrounded by hundreds of individuals, sworn to protect and assist one another in their ravages upon our lives and property, is no very pleasant prospect for contemplation. Sincerely I wish it were merely a dream of the night, but the unaccountable and sudden downfall of some of the most respectable and talented families of that city convince that it yet exists in all its awful realities. In confirmation of this I will introduce the history of one family, guarding myself as much as possible from saying any thing that might hurt the feelings of any of the relatives yet living. It consisted of five boys—at least that number is all that has come under my notice; the eldest, at the age of sixteen, connected himself with bad associates, was committed to the jail on a charge of theft, and convicted. In a short time the next brother followed in the same course, and shared the same fate. The remaining children were yet young, and to preserve them from the vicious habits of the elder ones, the father kept them at hard labour every day. We are not intimately acquainted with the character of the father, but we never heard any thing laid to his charge but that he was a dissipated, and so far an immoral man. He at least gave his children an example of industry, and could not be suspected of training them in dishonest practices. The eldest son was pardoned, or served his time out, we forget which, and came home to his father's house; butwas soon taken in another misdemeanour, and sentenced to ten years' confinement in the Kentucky State Prison. At the expiration of his term the second also returned, but fearfully depraved and abandoned. He seemed to take a delight in all manner of wickedness, and bore evidence that he came from a good school. After a few months of dissipation, supported by robbery, he was again taken, convicted the second time, and sent to the State Prison. From it he made his escape, and found his way to Vicksburg, but on attempting a robbery, he was detected, and shot through his left shoulder, the ball fracturing the bone very badly. One day while he was under arrest, several men visited him; he was alarmed when they first entered, but soon regained his self-possession. One of the party inquired why he seemed so much affrighted at their entrance; to which he replied, that at first sight he had taken one of them for a man of the name of Phelps. [A robber who was afterwards taken, and attempted to break from jail, but was shot down in the streets of Vicksburg. For particulars see "Gambling Unmasked."] A very friendly feeling was soon established between the robber and his visitors; in a few days he was taken from jail, and bent his way for New Orleans, where he was again detected in the very act of robbery, but in attempting to make his escape was shot down by the captain of the guard.
This same year of his death the third brother got into difficulty, and was sentenced to the Penitentiary for three years. Before the expiration of his sentence, the fourth was convicted. The fifth boy at this time was about seventeen, and he too was caught stealing, convicted, andreceived his sentence about the time the fourth regained his liberty.
The third brother, after serving the specified period in what is called thePenitentiary, took his way south, where he was again committed for robbery, and sentenced to five years' confinement in the Louisiana State Prison. At the expiration of that period he started for home, but when near the island of Sixty-six, on the Mississippi, he concluded to take a trunk and jump overboard. This feat he accomplished successfully; but unluckily for him, it was in the same year in which so many outlaws were put to death by the citizens, and having connected himself with a band who were at that time flooding the river with counterfeit coin, negro-stealing, and indulging in all manner of villany, he was taken by a company, and with about forty others put to death, some being shot, and others tied up in sacks and thrown into the Mississippi.
The fifth brother was now in the Ohio Penitentiary, the fourth in the Indiana State Prison, but the eldest brother was released from confinement, and returned to Cincinnati. His long confinement, however, seems to have had no very beneficial effect, for in a few months he was again convicted of petit larceny, and sentenced to serve in the chain gang. Here he conducted himself so well as to gain the unqualified commendation of one of the drivers, who in consequence treated him indulgently. About this period, there was much excitement, caused by the frequency of night robberies, and no trace of the thieves could be found, by which they could be detected. The most vigilant means were used, and many were sent to the jails and penitentiary, but still the robberies went on. Among those committed at this period, was the fifth brother, who for a short period had enjoyed his liberty. The eldest brother served out his time in the chain gang, and after being liberated, suddenly disappeared; and, which surprised many, the driver of the chain gang disappeared at the same time. A day or two after their disappearance, a drover from Kentucky, who had been at Cincinnati, and was on his way home, was taken from his horse, robbed, his throat cut, and left for dead upon the road side. They had, however, merely severed the windpipe, and on being discovered, he was able to give such information as led to the detection of the driver and his friend, the convict. They were arrested, and identified by the mangled drover; and the citizens, knowing the desperate character of the elder brother, who had served an apprenticeship in their own State Prison, gave them a trial according to "Lynch" custom, and hung them both. Thus ended the life of the eldest of the brothers—the third who had suffered the penalty of death for their crimes.
The suspicions of the people were excited by this occurrence, and a train of investigation set on foot which left no doubt but that the recent robberies were committed by the chain driver and his gang. At night they were freed from their chains, allowed to prowl about and plunder, and brought their spoils to the prison, where it could easily be stowed away without suspicion. We believe that we are quite within the mark, if we attribute one-eighth of the robberies committed in large cities, to the police, or perpetrated with their connivance. Many, we hesitate not to say, are done by men whom the public believe to be in prison. It has become a proverb, "Seta thief to catch a thief," and the public seem to have acquiesced that thus it shall ever be. There is an allowed and constant connection between the criminal and the officer engaged in suppressing crime, but whether it be necessary and unavoidable, or the best disposition possible, deserves some consideration. The hangman is in general only a little more fortunate than his culprit. The leader of a band of Regulators is commonly more ferocious, and as lawless as the victim against whom his fury is directed. The lawyer unscrupulously pockets a fee, which he knows has been obtained by the plunder of the citizen. Not a few of them hang about our jails, prying into the means of the prisoners, and divide with them the spoil, sheltering themselves from communicating any disclosures they make under their judicial privileges. But if justice be the end of the law, why should the communications of a prisoner to his counsel be held sacred? If the case be undefensible otherwise, why should it be defended, unless it be to give a fee to the lawyer, at the expense of justice? With all deference to the legislators of our country, and to the gentlemen of the legal profession, this seems a privilege not to be envied: toknowthat you are assisting to defraud, but debarred by custom from disclosing it; to know that the culprit is guilty, and deserves punishment or restraint, but to send him forth again upon society to commit further crime.
Our readers may be anxious to know what became of the other two brothers, the fourth and fifth. At this moment we believe they are both in the State Prison. Now how was the ruin of this once respectable family accomplished? Why did the fate of the elder not deterthe younger from crime? Were they merely drawn along by the contagion of ill-example, or were there more potent influences at work in their destruction? And why did punishment and penitentiaries do so little in their reformation? The greater part of their lives were passed within their walls, cut off from the influence of evil, but we see no sanitory effect. We will not answer these questions directly, but in the course of this work will supply the reader with materials to answer them for himself. We have every reason to believe that the eldest and the second were entangled in the meshes of The Secret Band of Brothers, in a manner from which there was no escape. They are ever on the look-out for any individual who has forfeited his character, and who promises by his ingenuity or dexterity to be a fit tool for their purposes. Their agents are to be found in all the professions, in the magistracy, and in the prisons and penitentiaries; sometimes, under the vail of hypocrisy, assuming a fair exterior at the time they are engaged in all manner of villany; at other times, when their influence in any place is in the ascendency, openly showing their real character. Men can be found in many of our towns so notoriously profligate, that not one individual in the place could be found that would say they were honest men, yet through solicitation, party spirit, and sometimes through fear, they are elected to official stations. It is one of the leading objects of the Secret Band, to have as many of the brotherhood in the magistracy as possible, and neither money nor importunity are spared to effect their object. They know what they are about: they are too sagacious to suppose that a thief will catch a thief;that a gambler will suppress gambling, or a drunkard promote temperance; and it would be well that those who really desire any of these objects, were equally "wise in their generation."
The spring of 1833 found me travelling through the Choctaw nation, which, at that time, with the exception of the government posts, was a wilderness. Fort Towson, Duxborough, Jonesborough, Lost Prairie, Horse Prairie, Pecan Point, and several other places throughout this wild and newly settled country, were crowded with every kind and description of people from the states, from, the government agents and contractors to the wild and mysterious refugee—the latter being very numerous, and having settled upon the south side of Red river, to evade the pursuit of the United States' officer of justice, that portion then being considered within the boundaries of Texas. The whole region was one of peculiar debasement in all respects. As might be suspected, seasoned as it was with such a population, drunkenness, debauchery, and murder walked abroad, hand in hand, day and night. Human life was valued no higher than the life of an ox or a hog, and the heart of the settlement was cold, and palsied to the most remote touch of feeling, and hardened to the recital of brutalities and crimes of the most indescribable enormity. Men talked of their evil doings, their deep, revolting guilt, with the most impudent freedom, and laughed and chuckled over them as though they were the best jokes in the world!
It was in one of the Texan settlements, in this rude, wicked tract of country, that an incident came to myknowledge, quite by accident, which I will relate. The settlement contained some seventy to eighty people, men, women, and children, white and black. I was taking a stroll with one of the settlers among the cabins and huts, he being familiar with the occupants of each, their habits and history. When we passed a spot worth notice, he gave me the character of the owner, his wealth, &c., and although all about the settlement wore an appearance of the most abject poverty, I was surprised to find the wealth which many of the inhabitants of so desolate, dreary, and forbidding a place possessed. We finally came to a small log cabin, at the extreme end of the settlement, apparently about twenty feet in length by eighteen deep, a story and a half high.
"Who lives here?" said I.
"The widow ——," replied my guide, whose name was Edmonds—"the widow of ——, but—yes—the widow of Dr ——, who was killed a few days ago."
I was struck with my companion's pauses, and thought there was something singular in them, especially as his countenance at the time seemed to change slightly. I soon mustered resolution to ask him who were the murderers of Doctor ——, but his reply was simply that he did not know.
"I should like to see the widow," said I; "will you introduce me?"
He declined, stating that he must then leave me, and go along some half a mile further, where some men were at work, chopping down a bee-tree.
"Very well," said I; "I will step in and introduce myself. You have awakened some little curiosity in my mind to know more about the murder of this man."
He left me without making any reply, and I entered the cabin, the door of which was standing ajar. I found, seated near the fire on a rude bench, a female, perhaps thirty years old, whose countenance wore a look of deep dejection, but at the same time betrayed strong evidence of having been once quite attractive. A little girl sat in her lap—two boys of the ages of perhaps seven and eleven occupied a bench at her right—an infant of, I should think, three months old, slept in the cradle, which a little girl apparently about five years old stood rocking. The group was a very imposing one. As I entered, I gave a tap upon the door, which caused the mother to turn towards me; but she did not speak, waiting, it would seem, for me to introduce my business. I apologized for my unceremonious entrance, saying, that I had learned she was formerly a resident in the states; and that I being also from thence, felt some interest in her and her family. She beckoned me to a seat, and after some time, told me she was born in Philadelphia, but that, having married a Kentuckian, she moved there, and lived some eight or nine years in that state—that her husband, at the expiration of that time, had taken his family to Little Rock, Arkansas, where they resided one year, and that from thence they had come to the place where I found them.
Here there was a pause; in fact, I discovered that the poor woman's voice faltered the moment she approached the subject of her arrival at her present residence. The silence was broken by the child, who stood rocking the cradle, and who said, "This is a bad place, ain't it, Ma? Here the bad men live that killed Pa." At this the mother burst into tears. As she did so, she kindly told the child to hush.
After the mother's tears had partially subsided, I told her to talk to me without restraint; that I had visited the settlement on the other side of the river on government business, which I expected to transact, and leave in a very few days. I here was guilty of falsehood. I had not visited the settlement for government, of course, but to pursue my iniquitous course of gambling with the refugees.
The woman implored me to be watchful; that I was in the midst of the most abandoned description of men that could possibly be conceived of; and that they would make a victim of me the more readily, on account of my extreme youth. I told her that they could want nothing of me, for the simple reason that I had nothing valuable about me. She assured me that it was not always avarice which tempted these men to deeds of blood. They had butchered her poor husband in the very house where we were, within hearing of herself and children, and when all were imploring that his life might be spared. And yet money was not the temptation. She then gave me a history of the cruel murder of her husband, which was as follows:—
Doctor —— was educated a physician in the city of Philadelphia, though a native of Kentucky. He married his wife in that city; after which he went back to Kentucky, where he settled down in the practice of his profession. It was not many years after he took up his abode in his native place before he became involved, and subsequently being accused of committing a forgery, he concluded it was best to leave his native state. His firststopping-place, after leaving Kentucky, was Little Rock, Arkansas, where he remained until his brother-in-law joined him with his family. Becoming uneasy and unhappy there, he finally removed to the settlement, where an end was put to his earthly career by the band of assassins.
His wife, when she came to this portion of her husband's career, was again deeply affected; but she soon mustered composure enough to continue the story.
After my husband came here, he proceeded to build this house, and we all moved into it in a very short period after the first log was laid. He was a changed man, and my health had become impaired by the exposures which it was necessary to encounter, in travelling through this wilderness. Doctor —— was a changed man; most painfully was this the case. He was not only moody and sullen in his temperament, and at times unhappy to the last degree; but he did not seem to take that pleasure which he once did in the society of his wife and children. Now and then he would drink hard, and become intoxicated, in which case he abused me most shamefully, and I bore all for the sake of the children. Some few days before his death, he entered into a speculation with some bad fellows here, to smuggle spirits through the nation, which they succeeded in doing, and with great profit. About this time, or just after, when in a calm and subdued mood, he confessed to me, that he was not an honest man; that he was a refugee from justice, and a doomed man; that a trap had been laid for him a short time after he was married; that he fell into it; that he was a sworn member of a band of desperadoes and villains, and that he was doomed to be a guiltywretch so long as he lived. I thought he was crazy, but his assurance was in a few days fully verified.
Not long after my husband made this confession to me, he ran a partition across the cabin—making two rooms. In the other department he put two beds, and whenever any of his cronies called to see him, he would order myself and the children into the room. Here we remained while he and his companions drank and played cards—making sometimes such a noise that it seemed as if the very roof would be raised. They often kept it up all night long.
One morning, after one of these frolics, he said to me he wished I was at home with my father; that he never intended to return to Philadelphia himself; but he would see that I was safely taken there. I asked why he was so much inclined to part from me. He stated that that was his business; I must leave him. Only the night before, he had been accused of divulging secrets to me in regard to his companions; that he had promised them to send me home. He added, that I might take all the children but the two eldest boys. I protested against separating me and my children. His only reply was, that his determination on the point was fixed.
That night he ordered myself and the children into the room, in a more angry tone than ever, and barred us in. It was not long after this before his wicked companions arrived and planted themselves down at the table. I listened at the door, and while my husband had gone out of the cabin for some purpose, I heard them whispering busily together. As he entered the apartment, however, the whispering ceased, and one of them said, "Let's play for the liquor first, and decide that point afterwards."
After this, they played and swore, and one would have supposed the room to have been occupied by fiends incarnate rather than by men. At about twelve o'clock, one of the company said, "Well, boys, now is the time; what are we here for?" "Out with the light," said another. My husband now asked what they proposed doing, when, without giving him the slightest notice, the light was put out, and a heavy blow descended. I heard my husband cry out, "Do not murder me;" but the strokes fell heavy and fast, and spite of my screams and the screams of my children—spite of our efforts to beat the door in, the bloody work was kept up until I heard my husband's body fall upon the floor. In a short time his murderers left. I tried to burst the door open, but without success. At last, I raised my eldest boy to the window, and he crawled outside, and ran round, entering the door which led to the room containing his father's corpse. As the child moved towards the door of the room, for the purpose of unbarring it, he fell over the dead body of his father. The door was finally unbarred, and I rushed into the room where my murdered husband lay. Oh, sir, I cannot tell you what were then my feelings. The lights which the children brought into the room exposed the whole scene, and it was one which I could not describe if I would—my husband's body lying upon the floor, weltering in blood. I tried to lift it up to the bed, but could not. I then, with the assistance of the children, rolled it up in a counterpane, and we sat down and watched it till morning—fearing that, if we did not, it might be carried off by wolves—a large number of which howled about the house until day dawned. Oh, sir, it was a sorrowful night! The next morning several of the neighbours called in, and after expressing their horror at the deed of blood, assured me that they would aid in bringing the murderers to justice. That they knew them, and that they resided on the Sabine river. Would you believe it, sir? Two of the very sympathizers I knew to have been concerned in the murder of my husband.
A coffin was made, into which my poor husband's body was laid, and then the neighbours buried him, but in such a manner that he lay but a foot or two below the earth's surface. I have been afraid the beasts of prey which infest this region would get possession of his corpse; so, with my children, I build every night a fire near his grave.
"Now, sir," added the woman, "I have told you the painful story, and you will see in what a dreadful situation I am. I am here in this dreadful place, with perhaps one hundred dollars in money, and five children, nearly all of whom constantly require my watchful care. Can you not assist me in my wretchedness?"
I told the poor thing I would endeavour to do something for her. I had hardly done so, when Edmonds passed the door of the cabin on his way back from the choppers. Seeing me, he turned back and said, as I passed out to meet him, "Well, Green, what do you think of the widow?" My reply was, that she was so shy and distant that I could not learn much about her, one way or the other; that she appeared unwilling, or afraid to converse.
"It is well enough that she did," was Edmond's reply, "she does not know what she talks about. When she does choose to speak, I believe her to be either crazy or foolish, and d—n me if I know which."
Edmonds invited me to go with him to his home. So I went along. I found there a man, named Scoggins, with whom Edmonds got into a very free conversation. I heard him say, "We must send that woman away; she talks to somebody every day; she must be taken care of in one way or the other. She must, Scoggins, she must."
It was not long after this, before Scoggins took me aside, and in a friendly manner advised me not to go to the widow's again; that she was a bad and a meddlesome person withal. I did not visit her afterwards; indeed, I had no opportunity to do so, for the day following the incidents I here related, in company with Edmonds and Scoggins, I left the settlement for Fort Towson—about one hundred and fifty miles east. Our object was to play cards with the officers at the fort, and lighten them of some of their change. We also expected to fall in with some of the half-bred Choctaws, who are not inexpert in the shuffle. Edmonds and Scoggins were ordinary players, and depended on my skill. The former was a shrewd fellow, a Georgian by birth—aged about forty-five; the latter, a Canadian, was about the same age. They had served together during the war of 1812, and in the same company. Two more peculiar men could not be found. Like a pair of well-trained horses, I saw very soon, after we joined company, they pulled together. They had a negro with them, who was deaf and dumb; and he was one of the best servants I ever saw. He had been Edmonds' attendant for fifteen years, and was, I should think, about fifty years old. This old negro knew every route from Canada to Texas. He would stand and sleep, like a horse, for hours, and seemed to care much more for horses than he did for himself. I thought there was something more than at first appeared about the old darkey. While at the fort, he would, in our company, stand for hours, it seemed to me listening attentively to all that was said, and appearing to understand it. He was very submissive and polite to any one who noticed him, and, from the beginning, appeared to take a wonderful liking to me. At Fort Towson I tried to get rid of Edmonds and Scoggins, telling them I had resolved to leave them, and that I was going to cross the Nation to Fort Smith, about one hundred and fifty miles distant. They appeared to like the route I had chosen, and said they would accompany me. While at Fort Towson, I discovered that both of my companions had a large number of acquaintances there, mixed in among the Indians; and, likewise, that many of the slaves appeared to know them.
We finally left the fort, in company with ten Choctaws. I had purchased, while in the nation, twelve head of horses, two of which were quarter horses, that is, intended to run a quarter of a mile in singularly quick time. I obtained them of a half-bred Choctaw, and they were valued at five hundred dollars each.
We encamped, the first night after our departure, about thirty miles distant from Fort Towson. The next morning I found that my two valuable quarter horses, with six others of the drove, were missing. I said something about my chance of finding them again, but soon had every hope of the kind destroyed, by being informed that the Pawnee Indians were very numerous in the neighbourhood; that they were great horse thieves; and had undoubtedly appropriated to themselves my valuable beasts. We went fifty miles further, when we again encamped.Here the horses of the dumb negro and Scoggins were missing. They appeared to think their animals might be recovered, and turned back for that purpose, promising to overtake us, if possible, at Fort Smith.
When we arrived at the fort, I disposed of the horses I had left, and took passage on the steamboat Reindeer, for the mouth of White River. Edmonds insisted on accompanying me. I made no objection, of course, but was anxious to get rid of him. It was about the twentieth of May, when we arrived at Montgomery's Point, on the Mississippi. Edmonds, daring the passage, frequently sympathized with me on the loss of my horses. He also, now and then, spoke to me about the widow of Doctor ——, commiserated her forlorn situation, and stated that he had a strong desire, and in fact determination, to communicate intelligence of her deplorable condition to her friends in Philadelphia. He asked me, if I did not, myself, think of doing something of the kind. I told him that I had forgotten her name, and had I remembered it, I hardly thought that I should trouble myself about her or her affairs. He said, he, too, had forgotten the name, but he could procure it of Scoggins when he returned.
We remained at the Point several days, awaiting the arrival of a steamboat. Finally, the Chester came along, bound for St. Louis. I took passage in her, and left Edmonds behind, not a little to my gratification. We had not proceeded far from the Point, when the Chester broke down, and I was obliged to get on board of a down boat, and return to the Point. On arriving there, the first person I encountered was the dumb negro, who told me that Edmonds had died suddenly, since my departure, of the cholera, which was raging at that time on the Mississippi, and which cut men down almost without warning. On inquiry, I found the negro had told me the truth, and must confess I was not a little astonished at it. But a few hours previously, I had left Edmonds, apparently well; now he was a corpse! The thought gave me a shade of melancholy, especially as I knew and felt that he had been cut down in guilt; for that he was both a robber and a murderer I could not for a moment doubt.
I made some inquiry about the amount of money left by Edmonds, and discovered that after paying all the expenses of his funeral, the amount of nine hundred dollars would be left, which, according to his request just before his death, was to be sent to his friends in Savanna, Georgia.
Not long after I got back to the Point, when walking out alone, the dumb negro joined me, and motioned me to follow him: I did so, without hesitation. We had not gone far out of the way, before he placed himself near me, and, to my surprise, spoke to me as plainly and distinctly as any one could. He said he knew he would surprise me when he talked like other folks; but he would give me a good reason for having seemed to be dumb. He then gave me a sketch of his chequered career. He was once a slave, but had been a free man between thirty and forty years. At the age of twenty, he was purchased from his master, at Petersburg, Virginia, to save his life, by a band of outlaws of which he became a member, in a servile capacity. These men had freed him, soon after they purchased him from his master, and in consideration he had taken the oath asone of their gang, and had sworn, with other things, to appear to be deaf and dumb, so long as he should live—the penalty for any forgetfulness, or otherwise, that should betray that he could either speak or hear, being death! That he had been educated to this end; that the band had men who could converse with him readily by signs, and that he had been so much accustomed to communicate his thoughts in that manner, that it had become second nature. He told me he was now determined to go to Canada, where he proposed remaining for the balance of his life. I asked him how he meant to go? His reply was, that he should make the journey by land; that he knew every foot of the route, and had hundreds of warm friends all the way along. He further said that he could communicate to me a secret, which he thought it would be better for me to keep—and this is the first time I have ever publicly revealed it.
The secret was, that he and Scoggins, after leaving Edmonds and myself, had retraced their steps to the skirts of Texas; that my horses had not been taken, as I supposed, by the Indians, but that hired tools of Edmonds and Scoggins had stolen them. That it was well for me I laid my money out in horses: had I not done so, they would have murdered me, to possess themselves of it. He further assured me, that I had been for three months in the most heartless and desperate region which the country affords, and among my worst enemies. The negro added, that he had heard hard letters read concerning me since I was in the country. That they were written a year before, by certain men belonging to the same band, whom I knew, but least suspected. One of them lived near Lawrenceburgh, Indiana; another was Goodrich, thenotorious villain to whom I have alluded in the preceding part of the work.
This negro also told me that Dr. ——, who had been murdered on the Texan frontier, was himself a member of the Secret Band, and that he was killed to save many a better man. That he and Scoggins had gone back to see that the widow and her family were removed; but they found, on reaching the settlement, she had left. We had learned, moreover, that when seventy or eighty miles on her journey to her friends', she was taken sick and died, and that she had lost her youngest child before she left the settlement. It was further stated that the remainder of her family were at Little Rock, with a friend of her husband's, who would provide for them till her family could either send for them, or give some directions in regard to their disposition.
The negro advised me never to divulge my opinions in relation to the doctor's death, nor to the history of his family out west. I told him I did not recollect their names, and therefore could not do so if I would. He assured me that it was well for me, perhaps, that it was so; and that it could do me no good if I did. I spoke to the negro about the lively sympathy which Edmonds had expressed for the family, a few days before I parted with him; that he had told me, in case he could procure the name and residence of their friends at the east, he would write them; and that he had asked me if I remembered them. I told him I did not.
The negro assured me that it was well for me I had been so ignorant on the subject; Edmonds was only trying me. Had I appeared to have known any thing, and betrayed any disposition to give publicity to what I knew,he would have prevented me, even if he had taken my life.
I discovered from the negro, that the secret band of outlaws, to whom I here alluded, had a large number of members scattered among the different tribes of Indians; that they are all about the western country, in fact, and that all are true to each other as steel itself. The negro assured me that he could find friends at every turn; yes, those whowould die for him!He was well off, however, without them, and had determined to pass the remainder of his days in living a life of honesty; hoping that, by so doing, God would forgive him, if man did not.
The negro told me much more in regard to himself and his companions. He said he had been deaf and dumb, in order to find out what was going on. He stood about and heard much said, which would not have been said had it been supposed he could hear, and much, too, that was at times extremely valuable to the band.
I told him that I had often noticed and pitied him. His reply was, that he saw I felt for him, and it was none the worse for me that I did. This very county where we were, was afterwards infested by Murrill and his gang; and it was here that, in 1841, the citizens turned out and put to death, by shooting and drowning, some forty or fifty villains.
But to return to the negro. I told him that his intelligence startled me. He assured me, that while with him I was not in danger; that, to tell the truth, where we then were was not a very bad tract of country. For, said he, the brethren of Arkansas and Mississippi are not "clear grit." That a few weeks preceding, a man by the name of Jeffries, who had passed counterfeit money,they permitted to be taken and put to death. He had, it seems, got off about one thousand dollars of the spurious money on some river boatmen and traders; who returned when they found the money was bad, pursued the counterfeiter to an island on the river; where, after having stripped him naked and tied him to a tree, they beat him to death! It was true this man was not a member of the secret fraternity; but he would have been had his life been spared.
At this point of my conversation with the negro, I discovered the steamboat HURON near by, so I shook hands with him and left him. Rejoicing that a boat had at last come along, I was soon on board her, bound for Louisville. We "wooded" some thirty miles distant from Montgomery's Point, and at the wood-yard, I overheard one of the workmen telling about the skeleton of a man which had been found on an island near by; that it was tied to a tree, and that it was the remains of a man who had been whipped to death for passing counterfeit money. The woodman added, that the poor victim's watch and clothes were found hanging near his skeleton. This story confirmed the statement of the dumb negro on this point, and gave me confidence in all he had told me.
In the first chapter of this work, I have spoken of various attacks upon my character; but not knowing from what motives they originated, I paid no attention to them, nor should I to the one I shall here attempt the exposition of, had it not been to satisfy the public that it was made through a motive which I have every reason to believe a sinister one. I will not offer through any remark intentionally to say such is the fact, in relation to the intention of my imprudent opposer in my lone work of mercy, for of the motives of a man no other man can judge; but will lay our correspondence before the public, that they may examine and judge for themselves.
State Prison, Auburn, April 7, 1845.
To the Editor of the Tribune:
We have had a recent visit from Mr. J. H. Green, the "Reformed Gambler," of whom you have previously spoken favourably in the editorial department of your paper. Many are highly pleased with the man, and think he should be sustained by public patronage and the press, inasmuch as he comes with good credentials of moral and Christian character from the church. Many think his course calculated to do much good, for this and coming generations. He appears admirably calculated and accomplished for exposing the deceptive marks andtricks of this heartless race of land-pirates, called Gamblers, alias "Sportsmen." His description of their infernal conduct and character cannot fail to put men on their guard in season to shun them as they would a deadly pestilence that walketh in darkness, and destruction that wasteth at noonday.
The grog-shop, the brothel, and the gambling-room, are three of the blackest fountains of human misery over which the devil presides. From these he gathers the bitterest waters of hellish destruction, and spreads them broad-cast over creation: of which eternity can only measure the full amount.
The Temperance Cause has attacked one of those sinks of Satan; the Moral Reform enterprise has commenced upon another, and Mr. Green has now taken the third "bull by the horns." Money and talent, and the press, are enlisted against the two former, and shall we stand aloof, and leave Mr. Green to combat the dragon single-handed and alone? It is high time the whole community was aroused to the desolating evils of Gambling; and the press, too, in thunder-tones, should be made to speak out upon this, as upon other soul-destroying vices of the land.
Mr. Green has given five Lectures in our village: two in the Town Hall, two in the Methodist Church, and one in the State Prison. On Sabbath, sixth instant, at four o'clock,p.m., he addressed the children of the several Sabbath-schools of the town, in the Methodist Episcopal Church, to good effect; and in the evening, the same house was filled to a perfect jam. Here Mr. Green was listened to with the best possible attention; and I believe the great bulk of that immense throng, not only believedhim a reformed man, but also that he was doing a good and necessary work in this country.
At nine o'clock, Sabbath morning, Mr. Green spoke to the unfortunate inmates of this prison, numbering some eight hundred convicts, besides a large concourse of citizens, who flocked to hear him at the same place. His discourse was listened to in breathless silence by those men, and hundreds of them wept freely, while listening to a recital of the horrors of Gambling, as experienced during twelve wretched years of his own gambling life, and of his reformation and salvation by grace in Christ. A deep and powerful impression pervaded the vast concourse, while all was graced by beautiful strains of vocal music by the "Boston Quartet Club," and all passed off finely.
After Chapel service, Mr. Green and myself visited the cell of Henry Wyatt, the murderer of James Gordon, of which the papers have spoken. They readily recognised each other, as having been members of the same gambling fraternity in the south and west. More than fifty gamblers were named by them, whose doleful history was equally familiar to both.
Previous to this visit by Mr. Green, Wyatt had told me that gambling was the cause of his ruin. At the close of our visit of some two hours, Mr. Green gave Wyatt a pathetic exhortation to read his Bible, and pray much, to repent of sin, and believe in Christ, and to seek religion as the only thing which could prepare him for his approaching doom. Tears flowed freely, and Wyatt exclaimed, "What a pity it is that you had not come out in this way four years ago; then I should not have beenhere inchains, as you see me now." We wept together, and left his cell in silence.
Respectfully yours, &c.,O.E. MORRILL,Chaplain.
From the Christian Advocate and Journal.
GREEN'S FIRST VISIT TO AUBURN STATE PRISON.
Doctor Bond:—
Dear Sir,—I shall be happy to contribute to your valuable sheet the following communication:
I visited the Auburn State Prison, upon the morning of the 4th instant, accompanied by the Boston Quartet Club, better known in New York city than in this region for their valuable services in calling out so many thousands to hear the eloquence of John B. Gough, in behalf of temperance. We passed through the different workshops of the prison, where many hundreds are doing the different labours allotted to them by their agents. The health of the prisoners is as good, and spirits better than any institution I have ever visited. Though the gloom of the prisoner was not made manifest by his haggard countenance, yet I could not prevent the melancholy reflection, that every heart knew its own sorrow. I have seen much of human depravity in this wicked world—I have felt the sensitive nerve made like an ice-drop by the cold finger of scorn—I know how to sympathize with the child of circumstances—with the heart-broken parent, whose pale, care-worn cheek but too plainly speaks, "We feel trouble, but ye know it not." How many friends and relatives are now bemoaning the loss of that boy who was once thepride of all that knew him in the days of his affluence! Rising eight hundred souls are now confined in the Auburn State Prison; and as my thoughts expanded in their melancholy train, I asked myself, Who are to blame for all the crimes committed, and which have incarcerated so many human beings? I answered by referring to my own sad experience. By the carelessness of the parent or guardian, the bud is nipped before the blossom puts forth, and should it not scatter its leaves to the four winds, it cannot fail to produce evil fruit. With these sad feelings, I wended my way through the prison, which speaks well to the praise of the different agents placed there to conduct the working departments.
On my return to the prison office, I was introduced to the chaplain, Rev. O.E. Morrill, which reverend gentleman informed me that a man by the name of Wyatt, then confined in one of the cells for the murder of Gordon, on the 16th of March, in the Auburn State Prison, had confessed to him that he had lived a gambler several years in the south and west, and he would like I should call upon him. I accompanied him to the cell of the murderer. The door was thrown open upon its grating hinges, when the reverend gentleman introduced me as an acquaintance of his who had travelled south several years, and thought that he (Wyatt) would be glad to converse with him. He said he was happy to see me, and asked me to be seated. After a short discourse, relative to the different classes of men then in confinement, I asked him what he followed in his travels through the south. He told me gambling. I asked him how long he had been engaged in that nefarious business. He said twelve or thirteen years. I asked him if he knew many gamblers?He said he did. I asked him if he ever knew one by the name of Green? He said he did. I asked his name? He answered, "John;" said he knew him in 1832, 1833, 1834, and 1835, and saw him in 1842 in St. Louis. I asked him if he was intimate with Green? He said he knew him as one gambler knew another. I asked if I favoured him? He said if I would stand in the light he would tell me. I did so. He said I looked like the man. I told him I was the man, but that I never knew him by the name of Wyatt. He said I did not; that Wyatt was not his real name. He then told me another, which was not his real name, and asked me if I did not hear of a man being murdered near St. Louis in the year 1841, and of two men being arrested, both tried and convicted, one having a new trial granted him, the other being hung. I told him that I thought I had. He said he was the man that had the new trial granted, and was acquitted; "and," said he, "they hung the wrong man; he was innocent; I am the guilty man; but they hung him and cleared me." "But," says I, "you were under a different name still, at that time." He said, "Yes, by none of those names do you know me, but my real name you are familiar with. Your name," said he, "I knew in the year 1832; the gamblers called you John, but Jonathan is your real name." My curiosity was highly excited at the strange management of the murderer. But you may imagine the increase of it when he told me his real name. I looked at the murderer, and could scarcely believe my own eyes; yet he stood before me a living marvel. I have pledged secresy as to his real name until after his execution. I interrogated him on his first steps in vice, and how he became so hardened. He told meto remember the treatment he had received from the Lynchers' lash at Vicksburg. I did, but my eyes could scarcely credit reality. I had known him in 1832, 1833, 1834, and in the early part of 1835, as a bar-keeper in Vicksburg. He was never a shrewd card-player, but at that time was considered an inoffensive youth. The coffee-house he kept was owned by North, who, with four others, were executed on the 5th of July, 1835, by Lynch law. Wyatt and three others were taken on the morning of the 7th, stripped, and one thousand lashes given to the four, tarred and feathered, and put into a canoe and set adrift on the Mississippi river. It makes my blood curdle and my flesh quiver to think of the suffering condition of these unfortunate men, set adrift on the morning of the 7th of July, with the broiling sun upon their mangled bodies. Two died in about two hours after they were set afloat. Wyatt and another remained with their hands and feet bound forty hours, suffering more than tongue can tell or pen describe, when they were picked up by some slave negroes, who started with the two survivors to their quarters. His companion died before they arrived. Wyatt survives to tell the horrors of the Lyncher's lash. He told me seven murders had been occasioned by their unmerciful treatment to him, and one innocent man hung. I know his statements to be true, for I had known him before 1835, and his truth in other particulars cannot be doubted. He murdered his seventh man, for which crime he will be executed. I have another communication for your paper concerning the murderer, and his prospects in the world to come.
Yours, truly,J. H. GREEN.
Auburn, April 10, 1845.
From the Christian Advocate and Journal.
GREEN'S SECOND VISIT TO AUBURN STATE PRISON.
Doctor Bond:
Dear Sir,—I made my second visit to the prison on Sabbath morning, the 6th instant, accompanied by the Boston Quartet Club. As we were winding our way through the halls and passing the gloomy cells, I felt sad and melancholy upon reflecting on the purpose of so large a prison. Is it possible, thought I, that our heaven-favoured land of freedom requires institutions of so extensive a character as this to keep down the vices of a people who boast of their morality? Yet, horrible as it appeared to me, I thought, if many of the foreign travellers, who are ever ready to criticise and condemn our institutions, were conducted through the Auburn State Prison, without any intimation of its design, they would put it down in their journals of travel as an institution to diffuse literary science and useful knowledge; and from what we have learned of institutions of the latter kind, under monarchical governments, we have little hesitation in saying, that they would not compare well with this prison. Nor would they be willing that some of their plans for the diffusion of useful knowledge, in the way of charity, should be compared, in respect to health and religious principles, with this institution, intended only for the punishment and prevention of crime, and the reformation of criminals. And if it be the fact, that our state's prison is better calculated than some foreign institutions designed to educate the poor of the land for this same purpose, it certainly will stand good that our land of liberty is comparatively the land of morality.
We entered the chapel, where were seated nearly eight hundred convicts, and something like one hundred citizens, who had been admitted for the purpose of hearing the sweet melody of the Boston Quartet Club, and to hear the reformed gambler speak upon a vice which had brought over one hundred within the gloomy walls of a state's prison. Service commenced with prayer by the chaplain, Rev. O.E. Morrill. The Boston Quartet Club then sung the beautiful sacred piece, "Hear my Prayer," during which breathless silence made manifest that the music was enjoyed. I was then introduced as the reformed gambler, Mr. J. H. Green. When I arose, there was profound silence throughout the chapel, to hear my sad experience. I felt perfectly incompetent to give satisfaction to an audience, partly composed of the most hardened wretches that infest our land—men who are steeped to the very lips in degradation, many of whom are men of talent, well-educated, and well acquainted with most of the leading topics of the day, knowing, too, as I did, that an error might be construed into an insult; and to such men an insult is unpardonable. I commenced by relating my sad experience, and in a few minutes there could scarcely be seen a dry cheek in that vast assembly of depraved men. My address being closed, the prisoners were marched in order to their dining-room.
The chaplain and myself visited the cell of Wyatt, the murderer. We found him sitting upon the straw which covered the floor. He seemed to be somewhat indifferent when the chaplain first spoke to him, but upon his second speech, telling that Mr. Green had again called to seehim, he sprung to his feet and shook hands with me—said he was glad I had called—that he had been fearful I had left the prison, after giving my address, without seeing him, and added, "Mr. Green, I would love to hear you give your experience." I told him of the attention the prisoners had given me, and the advice I had given them, about signing the anti-gambling pledge, so soon as they were released—to come out with their sad experience, and they would find the good and generous-hearted ever ready to receive them. He turned round to the chaplain and said, "How much good such a society as that would have done, had it been formed before I became a gambler!—How many men it would have saved from the dagger of the midnight murderer! But it is too late to save me." I changed the subject, by asking him about different gamblers of our country. We talked about many with whom we both had been intimate. Some, he tells me, now live in your empire city, and were leading men among the politicians in the last presidential contest. I knew them to be leading men. I knew them to be gamblers and swaggering bullies; and I knew them to be at one time connected with Wyatt, but did not know them to be murderers; yet they certainly are.
Wyatt asked me if they permitted such men to vote? I told him they did. Said he, "A gambler should not be entitled to a vote, nor to his oath." He spoke correctly; and said he, "The day is not far distant when the man, who is known to the world as a gambler, will not be countenanced." Neither his vote nor his oath would be taken at the present day, if the citizens, who are the bone and sinew of the country, would take into consideration his real principles. He said, "No man who bets upon elections should be entitled to his vote, nor to his oath; for a man who can be excited to bet upon an election, can be excited when upon oath to stretch the blanket; or, in plainer language, to swear to a lie. Such I believe to be facts." "And lotteries are another species of villany," said he; "the money goes to the vendor, and makes his victim poor and dishonest. Such I know to be facts." Pleased to hear a man, situated as Wyatt, the murderer, is, reason so candidly, I changed the subject, in order to learn more about the murders he had committed. I knew that a man, in the year 1839, was missing from Natchez, by the name of Tucker, and by the run of Wyatt's discourse, I found he was in that part about the same time.
I told Wyatt that a man by the name of Tucker was supposed to have been murdered about that date between Natchez and New Orleans. He laughed, and said he knew something about it. "Myself and three others," said he, "went to Natchez as produce speculators. Tucker owned a boat load of produce. We contracted for it, advanced him money sufficient to pay off his hands, telling him we had sufficient help; that he could go with us to New Orleans, and that on our arrival there, we would pay him the balance due. He did so. We paid him in a Mississippi bath. We murdered him, and then threw him overboard." I asked him if he ever was suspected. He said, not that he knew of. I asked him if he was not afraid, when he was committing such a murder, that the body might rise upon the water and be the means of their being suspected. "We cut their entrails out," said he, "then they never rise until resurrection-day." I feltheart-sick at his dreadful description of the murder of Tucker. I knew him. He was a good, honest man. I arose from my seat, took him by the hand, and bade him good day, promising him to call again. I will, in my next, inform you of the particulars of my third visit, which will lead you further into his dreadful history. I will in my next also speak of his views on the subject of religion.
Yours, truly,J. H. GREEN.
Auburn, April 17, 1845.
The following letter was written and published by the unanimous consent of every honest citizen of Cleveland, Ohio, of which place I can only speak in the language of commendation. It is one of the most virtuous cities in the state, according to its population; and from the interest two of the principal organs took in behalf of the anti-gambling cause, I am certain that no filthy sheet can ever pollute its moral principles.
To the Editor of the Cleveland Plaindealer:
Mr.Gray, Sir—The Herald of last evening contained a letter over the signature of O.E. Morrill, dated July 25th, 1845, charging J. H. Green, "the Reformed Gambler," with misrepresenting the confessions made to him by "Wyatt, the murderer." The Anti-Gambling Society of this city have requested me, as its President, to publish the following letter, in justice to Mr. Green, and in answer to Mr. Morrill. It was written on the 12th of July last, in reply to Mr. Morrill's "private note," referred to in his letter published last evening. A true copy was made, and the original forwarded to Mr. O.E. Morrill on the day of its date, by Dr. Cowles, of this city. Deeming this letter a complete refutation of the charges against Mr. Green, the Society have taken the liberty, without his knowledge, of requesting you to place it before the public.
Your obedient servant,John E. Cary.
Cleveland, August 5, 1845.
[This letter was written in reply to a letter addressed me by the Rev. O.E. Morrill, requesting my return to Auburn, fifteen days previous to his publishing my statements as false, and letter No. 7 will show in what manner I replied.]
Cleveland, July 12, 1845.
Mr. O.E. Morrill:
Dear sir,—I have just received yours of the 10th. Speaking in regard to Wyatt's case, you state that you was very much surprised at my letters. Why did you not tell me so before they were published? You also heard both the first and second letter before I left your section. Why did you not object to them before?
Again, you say, some parts are my own representations. This I deny. I will not say that I have given them verbatim, but this I do say, and will maintain, that I have not exaggerated in my statements.
Yet I do not wish to injure that poor doomed man. God forbid. I do not think as you do about Wyatt. I know him better than you do, or can. I know that he has been the child of circumstances. I know that he isnot a man who will strictly confine himself to the truth; and fear of death will make him do any thing that he is told to do. His denying what he told me, I care nothing for. In my statements, if they were not correct from him to me, I am not accountable; I believe them to be facts.
Now for a few questions to brighten your memory. When we entered his cell for the first time, you introduced me as a man who had lived in the south. I interrogated him on his past life. Did I not commence at Huntsville, in the year 1832, and trace him to November, 1835, at the mouth of the Ohio, with the Texas troops? When he told me that he had known me up to that date, that he also saw me at St. Louis, do you not recollect his asking me if I had not heard of a man being murdered in, or near St. Louis, one man hung, and the other acquitted? And do you not recollect I told him I thought I did; also, that at the same time I was informed, that the people thought that the guilty man was cleared, and the innocent one hung. He laughed, and said he was the guilty one, or something amounting to the same? Do you recollect, in your own letter to the Tribune, you stated that over fifty gamblers were recognised, with whose doleful history we were both familiar? Also, do you not recollect his telling about their lynching him; about the cords cutting his arms? Do you not recollect when I talked about the Tucker, or flat-boat murder, he told how they cut out the entrails, to prevent the body from rising? Do you not recollect that you and myself talked the same over at your house? You certainly cannot forget. He told me so much, I can think of but little, which I thought most essential to remember. I am willing to say nothing more about his case, until his execution; if I am satisfied it will be beneficial to the community, as well as Wyatt. But to retract one syllable, I cannot, unless I find myself mistaken, in which case I will make any acknowledgment necessary.
You ask, or say, that, if I come back, something may be done satisfactorily. I presume it can be done without my coming. You can write to me at this city; I shall remain here two weeks. I suppose the change of officers has made some in relation to the confession, of which I know nothing about, but there is no fabrication, as far as I am concerned, and the fact of a newspaper quarrel between you and I cannot fail to injure, or at least excite the people more against him. You say you will be forced into it. Do not be hasty. I do not fear any inconvenience from any act of mine, but, of course, if you contradict my statements, I have the same chance to support them; and, perhaps, there are some facts, which, when revealed, will make you better satisfied that the confession you have of Wyatt is not more than one-fourth true. His dates are almost every one incorrect. His crimes are enlarged in some places, diminished in others. You have the best right to his confessions, if he alters it, and you have the most truthful history. I told you when we parted, that I knew things relative to Wyatt, which he would never tell you, with which you should be benefited after the trial. They are in my possession, and I will not reveal them until he has been tried, unless it should be necessary to show the fact of his (Wyatt's) horrible character.
What has been said by me, cannot so far injure Wyatt, unless it is perverted. But what I have said are facts,which I will not retract, and they are of that nature which need no retractation. My memory is as good as yours. I am striving to do right, the same as yourself, and will contend that you are as liable to be mistaken as I am, especially when I knew him in different circumstances. I blame you not for doing every thing that is right to make Wyatt as happy as he can be, under his present circumstances, but be careful that you are right.
I leave this matter for your consideration, believing that you will do what is correct, so far as you are able. You can rest assured, that I will do any thing in my power to assist. You will find, however, that I am correct in my statements. Write me, and your letter shall have immediate attention.
Yours, with respect,J. H. GREEN.
From the Auburn Journal, July 30th.
State Prison, Auburn, N.Y., July 25, 1845.
Mr. Oliphant:—
Sir,—In justice to an unfortunate prisoner, now in chains awaiting his trial at the next sitting of the court in this place, I feel in duty bound to say to the public, that whatever Wyatt's character or conduct may have been, or however many murders he may have committed, and may ultimately be revealed to the public through the proper channels—yet all Mr. Green has said about Wyatt's having confided to him, that he, with three others, were whipped a thousand lashes at Vicksburg, which had been the cause of seven murders, and that Gordon was the seventh man that he (Wyatt) had killed, and thathe (Wyatt) positively killed the man at St. Louis, for which an innocent man was hung—and that he (Wyatt) saidhekilled Tucker in 1839, between Natchez and New Orleans, isuntrueto mycertainknowledge.
Mr. Green's visits were all made in my presence, while Wyatt was confined in his cell, a room some four by seven feet in size; hence, all that passed between them could be distinctly heard and known by all three of us.
I have no disposition to injure Mr. Green, but I should do violence to every principle of justice and humanity, were I to remain silent, and see a fellow-being tried for his life in the midst of that prejudice which has already condemned the criminal to a thousand deaths, by Mr. Green's published declarations of Wyatt's own confessions of bloody deeds and horrid murders, when, in reality, the prisoner has made no such confessions to him, to my certain knowledge.
To avoid this unpleasant task, I addressed a private note to Mr. Green, calling for a satisfactory explanation; but, in his reply, he utterly refuses a single retraction, and the only alternative left me is to let the prisoner suffer this great injustice, or disabuse the public mind from the wrong impressions made by fabrications of Mr. Green.
I hope to be spared the disagreeable necessity of resorting to the newspapers of the day to correct any further improprieties of Mr. Green on this subject. If I am not, I will give a specific catalogue of them in my next.
All editors of newspapers, whether political or religious, are requested to give the above an insertion in their columns, as an act of justice to an injured man, and very much oblige.