Yours, —— ——.

101000 000020 300000 000004 000000 000600 070007 808000 000000

[This number describes the bearer to be BOLD, ARTFUL, TEMPERATE, IMPRUDENT, LARGE and TALL, of DARK COMPLEXION, by profession a MERCHANT; he is diseased with RHEUMATISM; his age from THIRTY to FORTY, hair DAPPLED.]

No. 8. Lexington, June 3, 1827.

Dear Brown,—I have at last arrived in this wealthy part of Kentucky, which I assure you is a treat for a man that has been so much exposed to the fatigues of travelling over cliffs, and swimming creeks, and all other inconveniences that man could imagine. I arrived at Winchester, Kentucky, where our old friend resides. It was two o'clock when I arrived, but I found him in his shop playing cards with a black journeyman old sledge, at twenty-five cents a game, and you ought to have seen him scrabble for the cards when I rapped upon the window. I left Winchester for Maysville, where I remained four days with our friend, the same old block of sociability; yet he tells me he does well in the stock trade. He says he sold forty odd horses in one year. Since he has lived in Kentucky, over two hundred, which you know is over fifty per year. From Maysville I crossed the river through the Sciota region, by the way of Portsmouth, then to Chillicothe; from there on to Zanesville, from there to Wheeling, and then to Washington, Pennsylvania; returned to Wheeling, then to Parkersburgh. I did not call at Marietta; there has some difficulty taken place in that region. From Parkersburgh to Charleston, Kanhaway, with but little delay. Our saline friends are great dealers in "coney." I met twenty-six in one day at the old "Col." He is doing his work clean, without any risk. There are, he tells me, upon an average, five horses sold per week from Sandy among the friends of the trade. I left Charleston; had a tedious journey to this city. Lexington is a humane place, but dangerous to move, unless you do it through some of the old wealthy friends of the trade. I must now say to you that I have done well in my small way. I have cleared over two hundred per month. I found our friend, of the Blue Lick region, who tells me the house trade is good along the road; that the coloured boys do it all, and are not suspected. (In speaking of the house trade, he had reference to the entering of houses by the slaves, pillaging, &c., which would be laid to white men.) Well, now, I am through with my travels for the present. Let me give you some little of the history of our Dearborn brother, which I assure you is novel. I told you he would never do, and I suppose, ere this, you have found I was right. I cannot be fooled easy. You thought that from the simple fact that he traded in horses well, (meaning that he stole horses well,) that he would not fail to be useful anywhere I wished to place him; but he returned home, I suppose you discover, without a dollar, and made sixty the first night we arrived in Cincinnati, off of a cheese trader that slept in the adjoining room. He wanted to return the next day to the burgh, but I prevailed upon him to stop, as suspicion rested not upon us. He remained according to my request, and I never have come across such an industrious man; but he had not much courage, less than any man of his age I ever met, and not one particle of judgment in human nature. When we arrived, I cautioned him about trading with any of the brethren of the city without my consent, knowing, as I did, the city brethren were "celish;" however, he assured me his trade was "bogus;" that you had supplied him with cut quarters, which no other person dare offer, and that he had done well even with them. (Cut money was, at an early date, used as change; one dollar cut in four pieces answered as twenty-five cents each.) I found he was bent on the "bogus" trade, and I told him to hold on a few days, and that I would assist him to some; that I had not the first dollar, but would find out through the brethren when I returned from our friend's in the country—nine miles. I then left him at the boarding-house, and promised to return the next day. I returned according to promise; called at our boarding-house, and upon inquiry learned he was out in the city. I took a stroll up to our friend's, the coffee-house keeper, in Market street. While I was passing through the market-house, I passed by a man with a large load upon his back. I could not discover what the bulk was. I passed on to the coffee-house, where three of the boys were dividing one hundred and sixty-five dollars, the proceeds of the day's work, which, they informed me, they had obtained from one of the soft-shell brethren. That in the course of the day they had met a countryman, and seeing he was apparently upon the look-out for speculation, they had finally entered into conversation with him, and had accidentally shown him some bright half dollars, and told him they were counterfeit. "What," said he, "bogus?" "Bogus, indeed," said one. "And do you know what, bogus is?" He said he ought to, and they then tried him, and found him one of the right kind of brethren to skin; and that they did in the following manner: Finding that he had money and wanted "bogus," they set upon a plan to deceive him; which they did by showing him the new half dollars, and telling him they were good coin; and that if he wished he could have them at fifteen dollars for a hundred dollars of "bogus." He agreed to purchase one hundred and sixty-five dollars' worth, which they were to supply that evening. That they were to meet him in the Fifth street market-house, and deliver his bogus in a tobacco keg headed up. He of course took it for granted that all was honest. They separated from him, purchased a tobacco keg, filled it with stone-coal cinders, within an inch of the top, packing them very hard to make them weigh heavy. They then put a false head one inch from the top, upon which they put two hundred copper cents. They then placed another head upon that, confining it tight with a hoop. After preparing it, they rolled it into the market-house where they had met. He had paid them the one hundred and sixty-five dollars for the cinders, which he supposed to be the most beautiful bogus, and when he lifted the keg he was satisfied all was right; and how could he doubt it, they were brethren! and they were then dividing the spoils. I suspected, from description, it was our Lawrenceburgh friend, but remained silent, and returned to my room where I knew I could ascertain. When I went, I discovered my friend just ascending the stairs, with a large keg upon his shoulder. "Halloo," said I, "what upon earth have you here?" He dropped the keg, as though he had been shot, making a crash to be heard a half mile distant, but fortunately no person about the house appeared much disturbed. The old lady came to the door, and wanted to know what was the matter. I told her my friend had fallen, but that no damage was done. She retired. As soon as he discovered it was me, he raised his burden once more, and carried it to the room. "Come in, sir," said he. "What have you here?" said I. "That I will show you, in a few minutes." I knew all the time, and though I was vexed, I could not refrain from laughter. "You laugh," said he, "and well you might, if you knew the speculation I had been making to-day." He soon got a hatchet to show me his treasure. I never saw a man so perfectly carried away at the prospect he had in store. He was nearly exhausted by carrying such a burden so far. The perspiration drops were oozing out of his forehead, and he effected the opening of the keg with no little trouble. "Now, sir," said he, "you may laugh, if you please; raise that head and see if there is not something in store to laugh at." I did as he bade. I lifted up the head which covered his treasure, when to his surprise a few black copper cents made their appearance. "Copper bogus," said I. "I believe in my soul they have mistaken; let's examine further." He soon discovered the false head, which he raised, and in a double surprise cried out, "My conscience, I won't trade. No, I will have my money back! I will sue them." "Who will you sue?" said I. He came to a stand, then remarked, "Really, I can't tell who they were. They gave me no name, but I will take them for swindling if they don't give it up. I will swear," said he—then he paused and I took the word from his mouth, and told him that I would swear that he was a fool, and had better return to Dearborn county and plough corn. He laid the coppers one side, being about two hundred, then carefully headed the keg up. We went to bed. During the night he arose. I heard him going downstairs. The next morning I discovered that both him and the keg were missing. I never heard from him afterwards, but hope, if he is at home, that you will hereafter keep him there.

Yours, in haste,

P.S. I hope you will answer this immediately. Direct to Nashville, Tennessee. This Brother is a true blue.

100000 002020 000003 000400 500000 000600 070000 800088 000000

[This describes the bearer to be CUNNING, TEMPERATE, TREACHEROUS, IMPRUDENT; size LOW and HEAVY; by profession a PHYSICIAN and a MERCHANT; disease RHEUMATISM and FACE DISFIGURED; age from FORTY to FORTY-FIVE; QUICK-SPOKEN.]

No. 9. 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, which was 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 as follows. 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.



CHAPTER XIII.

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; but was 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, and received his sentence about the time the fourth regained his liberty.

The third brother, after serving the specified period in what is called the Penitentiary, 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, "Set a 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: to know that 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 deter the 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."



CHAPTER XIV.

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 my knowledge, 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 first stopping-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 guilty wretch 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 as one 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, the notorious 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 who would 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.



CHAPTER XV.

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.

No. 1. 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 and tricks 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 believed him 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 been here in chains, as you see me now." We wept together, and left his cell in silence.

Respectfully yours, &c., O.E. MORRILL, Chaplain.

No. 2. 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 the pride 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 me to 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.

No. 3. 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 see him, 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 felt heart-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.

No. 4.

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.]

No. 5. 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 is not 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.

No. 6. 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 that he (Wyatt) positively killed the man at St. Louis, for which an innocent man was hung—and that he (Wyatt) said he killed Tucker in 1839, between Natchez and New Orleans, is untrue to my certain knowledge.

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.

Your obedient servant, O.E. MORRILL, Chaplain.

No. 7. Toledo, August 5, 1845.

To the Editor of the New York Tribune:

Dear sir,—I beg leave to introduce to your columns the following article, written for the purpose of satisfying the honest part of the community, that a letter written by the Rev. O.E. Morrill, on the 25th of July last, is an unprincipled misrepresentation of my purpose, in bringing to light the horrid deeds of murder committed by Wyatt, now in the Auburn State Prison.

I visited Wyatt four times, in company with Mr. Morrill, Chaplain of the Prison. The time I spent with him in all these visits was about five hours, during which we conversed about his former course of life. It is impossible for me to state in one article all that he revealed to me, but what I do remember, I published in my letters, relative to my visits to the cell of Wyatt. The second of these letters was dated April 7th, and the first about the 1st of April. I read both these letters to the reverend gentleman; the first before it went to press, and the second as soon as published, we being at both times together, with some officers of the institution, in the State Prison office.

I now call the attention of the reader to a letter, from the reverend gentleman, to the editor of the New York Tribune, of the date of April 7th, in which he speaks in the highest terms of my conduct. The reader will notice that this is after my first letter was published, and after he had heard them both read, and after he knew that I had given Wyatt's confessions, which he now, in his letter of July 25th, declares to be nothing more than "fabrications" of mine. If my statement of Wyatt's confession were known to Mr. Morrill to be false, why did he recommend me so highly in his letter of April 7th, and why has he not contradicted me before this? The reverend gentleman says, that he did not wish to injure me, and so addressed me a private note. If I could be so base as to put forth to the world such falsehoods as he accuses me of, in regard to a fellow-being, so soon to be launched into eternity, no fear of injury to me can excuse the gentleman for his not exposing me immediately to public scorn and detestation.

When at Auburn, after my visits to the cell, I spoke several times, in the presence of Mr. Morrill, and other gentlemen, of Wyatt's confessions to me; and yet Mr. Morrill, though present, never disputed one relation. I also lectured some fifty times, within fifty miles of Auburn, and, in nearly all, gave the same statements which he now contradicts. Why has not Mr. Morrill published, together with his contradiction, my reply to his note of July 10th? If he had, the community would have seen my reasons for not retracting my former statements.

I am truly sorry to have any difficulty with the reverend gentleman, on this subject or any other, but my duty in regard to this malicious slander, (the motives of which I am unable to fathom,) compels me to reply, and for no other purpose than to satisfy the community, that I could have no personal object in view, in casting a stigma upon the character of this unfortunate convict, by any statement he made to me, for I certainly could not be benefited in any manner by publishing falsehoods in relation to him.

I repeat again to the world, and ever will, that the unfortunate Wyatt did to me confess all I stated he did, and much more, which it is impossible for me to remember. If he stated falsehoods to me, I am not responsible. He told me that he was one of four that had received a thousand lashes at Vicksburg, in July, 1835; and I knew a young man, by the name of Henry North, to be about Vicksburg, and to be in the employment of North, the gambler, who was hung at Vicksburg, by the lynchers, in July, 1835. Henry, though of the same name, was not related to the other, as I understood. When I went to the south in the fall of 1835, I inquired about the gamblers of Vicksburg, and was told that Henry North, alias Wyatt, or Newell, was, with four others, whipped, tarred and feathered, hands bound, and set afloat, and the supposition was that he, and the others with him, existed no more. When Wyatt told me his real name, I was surprised at beholding him. He told me that he had set fire twice to Vicksburg, and once to Natchez, and that, during the conflagration, he murdered three men. He told me he killed Tucker in 1839. I talked with Mr. Morrill before several officers of the prison, in regard to what Wyatt said about cutting the entrails out of Tucker, and the confession which Mr. Morrill now has from Wyatt will show the main circumstances of this murder, perhaps not giving Tucker's name, but he speaks about the flat-boat murder, between Natchez and New Orleans, and I claim it, in justice to me, that the reverend gentleman should produce the confession Wyatt made, when he speaks of "speculation on the Mississippi."

I also call on Mr. Morrill, in justice to myself and the public, to answer the following questions. 1st. Did not Wyatt confess in his presence the murder of individuals besides Tucker, on the Mississippi? 2d. Did he not say he cut the entrails out to prevent their rising? 3d. Did he not say he was tried at St. Louis under another name, (I think it was North,) and did I not turn to Mr. Morrill, and say, I knew some men had been tried at St. Louis, but knew none of the parties; and did not Wyatt then say that he was tried for murder at St. Louis, that he was convicted on his first trial, but acquitted on a new trial, and that an innocent man was hung? 4th. Did I not tell Mr. Morrill, that Wyatt informed me that he had been a convict in the Ohio Penitentiary; and does not Mr. Morrill recollect that upon my third visit to Wyatt's cell, I said to Wyatt, that it was reported he had been in the Ohio Penitentiary, at which Wyatt frowned, and I changed the tenor of my question by stating, that Gordon said he (Wyatt) had been there, and that Wyatt laughed, and said it was such d——d lies which occasioned Gordon's death; and did not Mr. Morrill say to me, he knew many of Wyatt's misfortunes, which he kept secret from the agent of the prison; and will Mr. Merrill deny that when we went into the office, after my last visit, that the clerk again repeated that Wyatt had been in the Ohio Prison, and did not I then decide with the clerk, the probability of such being the fact, and did not Mr. Morrill still insist that it was a false report?

In conclusion I will say, that whatever may be the reverend gentleman's intentions towards me, and in his own behalf the motives for which I am not able to penetrate; yet, although he brands my statements as false, and although the cell was but four by seven feet in size, I leave it to the community to decide, whether two men, who can speak the "flash language," in which one word can convey sentences, may not hold a conversation not easily understood by a third person, ignorant of its meaning—and can Mr. Morrill assert what meaning was conveyed by such language between Wyatt and myself? if so, he is the first man I ever knew that could interpret a language or tongue he never studied. At least one-fourth of the conversation between Wyatt and myself before Mr. Morrill, was of this kind. I do not think Mr. Morrill understood all he heard, yet the greater part of what I published in my letters was spoken in plain English, and Mr. Morrill, at the time, gave vent to his feelings over the dreadful disclosures.

I ask the papers of the day to publish this statement in justice to both parties, as well as the public at large.

J. H. GREEN.

No. 8. Correspondence of the New York Tribune.

Perrysburgh, Ohio, August 16, 1845.

Mr. Greeley,—I wish to introduce to the columns of your valuable paper the following. Though it may seem mysterious and out of date, it will be read with much interest by many, and may have a tendency to cast a light upon one of the most horrible murders ever committed in this or any other Christian land. There is not one shade of doubt remaining in my mind but that the murderers, as well as their victim or victims, long before the date of this article, might have been discovered, had there been sufficient effort made. True, efforts have at last been made, and the skeleton of one murdered victim found, and much search made for the other. The particulars which led to the but small effort which has already been made, are collected from circumstances as follows:—As near as we can learn, in September, 1844, a gentleman, by the name of Stephens, from the state of New York, made his appearance in Perrysburgh, remained in and near some days, left, sometime after returned. About the time of his departure from the second visit, he made known his business, that he had kept secret until the time near his departure. He then told that two men had been murdered, and their bodies concealed in the woods about one-half mile from the last turnpike gate, which is about four miles from Perrysburgh. His statements corroborating some previous signs of murder, induced the citizens to turn out and scout the swamp in search, knowing as they did that certain packages of clothes had been found in the Maumee river by a fisherman, on the 17th April, 1844. The clothes found were done up in parcels, coat, pantaloons, and vest, with a stone tied round each, with strips of handkerchiefs cut or torn for the purpose. Upon examination, the clothes were cut in a way to show they had been ripped off from the body. The pantaloon's legs cut open; the coat cut open from the back and sleeves; the vest also cut open from the back. The coat had many cuts in the left sleeve, also a hole about the lower button on the right side, which hole was in the pantaloons, cutting the lower suspender in two. The vest had several cuts in it, immediately back of the neck, through the collar, and two knife holes. The vest is a figured worsted piece of goods, of lilac colour, about half-worn. The coat is a black cloth frock, or surtout, but little worn, no velvet upon it, lined inside of the skirts with black silk or serge, the sleeve lining twilled linen. Inside of the left sleeve is a mark of the merchant, which is one cipher—nothing more. From the looks, I should have taken the coat to have cost twenty dollars. The pantaloons are rather of a blue colour, striped casinet, and have never been worn much. The suspender, which has been cut in two, is a common striped web. The two handkerchiefs are figured silk, half-worn. When they were found, it was evident they had not been long in the water. I have a piece of each garment, and persons who have missed any of their friends mysteriously perhaps might find, upon examination, that which would lead them to know their friend had suffered death from the hands of a murderer. A sample of each I will keep to exhibit through the country, hoping to solve the mystery.

Now for the mysterious visits of Mr. Stephens. About his departure from the second visit, he disclosed certain things, which I will give according to my information. He said he had been informed by certain convicts, then in the New York State Prison at Auburn, that they had murdered two men in the said swamp, and had concealed their bodies. One they had stripped; the other, left his clothing upon him. They stated that the murdered men were travelling in a buggy, and that they (the murderers) stopped the buggy, presented their pistols, forced them into the woods, where they shot one, and stabbed and butchered the other. Not far from the same place, a hat was found with a bullet-hole in it, but no sign was left upon the body found which would indicate that he had been brought to his death by a ball, which also goes farther to prove the probability of the murder of two men. They buried them, as they state, about one-half mile apart, strip ping the clothes off from one, which they took along with them in the buggy, and made their way to the Maumee river. Not thinking it politic to cross at the toll-bridge, they went up to the ford, near Fort Meigs, and found the river not in a fording state. They tied stones to the clothes and threw them in the river, where they were afterward found, and crossed the bridge to the north side of the river, went below Toledo, took the buggy to pieces, sank it and the harness in the river, and took the horse out back of Manhattan and killed it. In the early part of the summer following two men were arrested near Geneseo, New York, for committing burglary. Apprehension of another attack almost forbids me giving their names, while duty doubly nerves me to speak and let the public know that Wyatt, alias Newell, or North, and Head, his accomplice in the burglary at Geneseo, are the two murderers who gave Mr. Stephens his information, and caused his visit to ascertain the truth of such horrid deeds. Other circumstances leave no doubt resting with the people of this part that the same two men, Wyatt and Head, murdered John Parish, of Hancock county, while attempting to arrest them for horse-stealing. A small explanation of this fact I will make. It will be remembered by many that Wyatt attempted to make his escape from the Auburn prison, and when Gordon, the man he afterward murdered, told the keepers, he was searched, and upon his person a letter was found, which letter contained no names of men or places, nor was it directed; but from the purport, it was evidently written for the purpose of sending to Ohio, for it stated that he dare not venture back, as the people would recognise him as the murderer of a certain officer who had made an attempt to arrest him. The reader will also recollect that Wyatt, under the name of Newell, resided in Toledo in the commencement of 1844 until April 1st, 1844, when he left Toledo, and was not heard of until Mr. Stephens' revelation. I would say, in conclusion, so far as this statement may have a tendency to excite the citizens to their duties, relative to those mysterious murders, that I hope those concerned in ferreting out the particulars hereafter will not have a malignant feeling for any stranger who may come among them to assist, not for honour or profit, as, undoubtedly, so far as this mysterious affair is concerned, some of the principal workers have made the two latter-mentioned their object. I believe this, so far, to be the most correct account of those mysterious murders, and if it is thought by any concerned that a more able report can be given, come out and do your duty.

J. H. GREEN.

This article is introduced for several purposes—all of which we consider of importance to substantiate the facts we have laid before them. Those murders, near Perrysburgh, were committed by Wyatt and Head, his colleague, who is now in the State Prison at Auburn, New York. After the controversy had taken place, I availed myself of the opportunity to search into facts concerning Wyatt, and found, in addition to those set forth in the preceding letter, the following:—Wyatt, alias Robert Henry North, was hired as a stage-driver near Chillicothe, Ohio, in the latter part of 1838, but decamped in a short time afterwards with a horse belonging to another man, and made his way to Portsmouth, Ohio; where he was taken and carried back to Chillicothe, tried, and convicted to serve three years in the Ohio Penitentiary. In 1841 he was released. He then left for Missouri, where he again got into difficulty, which detained him until 1843. He told me he was tried for his life in St. Louis, convicted, got a new trial, and was acquitted. If he was, it was under a different name from any above mentioned, and the murder he was tried for must have been Major Floyd. But I do not believe he was one of those tried, and acquitted, as he professed to be. He then made his way across the country to Louisville, Kentucky. From there to a town called Mount Gilead, in Ashland county, Ohio, where he went to work at the business of tailoring, a trade he had learned in the Ohio State Prison. In a short time after he arrived there, he married a very respectable lady, with whom, for the short period they lived together, he led a very disagreeable life. In the latter part of 1843, or the beginning of 1844, he left for Toledo, Ohio, where he hired out, and lived up to the time spoken of in the preceding letter, and where he committed the crimes referred to in the same. After which, he made his escape to the state of New York, in company with the notorious villain, Head, where they committed a burglary, and were sentenced to the Auburn State Prison from Geneseo. When Wyatt arrived at the penitentiary, he was recognised by an old companion who had served in the Ohio Penitentiary, by the name of Gordon. Gordon gave information to the keepers, of Wyatt's having served a time in the penitentiary in Ohio. Wyatt became enraged, and despairing of any chance of a pardon, being sentenced, I think, for fourteen years, he tried to effect his escape, but was detected and severely punished. He then swore vengeance against Gordon, whose time was nearly expired; and on Saturday, the 15th of March, 1845, he secreted about his person one-half of a pair of shears, given him to work with in the tailor's shop, which he reserved until the next day, (Sabbath, the 16th,) and as the prisoners were marching to their cells from their dinners, stabbed Gordon in the right side, immediately below the ribs. The instrument passed towards his spine, through one of the main arteries, killing him almost instantly, and for this last deed he was hanged.

Finally, let me say to those who may be anxious to know more of the history of this unfortunate man, and of his crimes, that I have looked with great anxiety for the third letter, spoken of in my second to the Christian Advocate and Journal. That the mystery of their not appearing has been no fault of mine. I wrote four letters, and but two appeared. Whether they were detained by the false and garbled statements which have been set forth by the Rev. O.E. Morrill, or whether they have ever been received, I am unable to say. However, I have written twice to Dr. Bond, and, as yet, I have not been able to learn by what authority they have been detained. But should I have them returned, the public may be welcome to them for their worth.

Since the execution, we learned from those present, that Wyatt was taken from his cell, faint from the loss of blood he had shed a few days before, in his attempt to commit suicide. When seated in his chair, under the gallows, he made remarks like the following: "I have lived like a man, I will die like a man. I am not afraid to die. I am about to enter eternity, and appear before my God. My conduct has been misrepresented—men have sworn falsely against me—I cannot and will not forgive them—I am not the man I have been represented to be—I did not commit the murder charged upon me in Ohio. I am thankful to the sheriff and his family for their kindness." He manifested no religious penitence to the last. He died an unbeliever.

* * * * *

In conclusion, I would say to those who have perused this work, so full of strange and startling incidents, let not their mysterious and dark character cause you to doubt of their truth. Recollect that there are strange events in the life of every man, many of which he cannot fathom; and were the whole circumstances of your own life disclosed, it is not impossible that many of them would exceed belief. Horrible as is the picture of depravity here exhibited, the half has not been told, nor would I reveal one iota more than I deemed necessary to awaken the public attention to a sense of their danger, and a corresponding sense of their duty. Reader, you may be standing upon the edge of a precipice, though you know it not. Fathers, your sons may frequent these haunts of vice, and be entangled in the snares of the destroyer. Wives, mothers, sisters, daughters, lend us your aid to save those you love from destruction. You need not be ignorant, that around you are hundreds of individuals who live in affluence upon the spoils of their industry. It is not gamblers that support gaming. If the merchant, and lawyer, and tradesman, and the man of fortune did not supply them with the material, their profession would die. In all my works I have shown how gambling lends to, and is connected with, all other crimes; and I beseech you, as you love your families, yourselves, and our common country, that you lend your aid and influence to abate this evil. This vast conspiracy against your lives and fortunes, which I have here developed, is no chimera. Its workings are everywhere felt, though the machinery is unseen. I have no object but your good in making this disclosure; and should it meet the eye, as I have no doubt it will, of some one not a stranger to its crimes, I beseech him to consider his ways. Why should he live a curse to the earth—a destroyer of his kind—a blot upon creation—a dishonour to his Maker? Heaven and earth are equally ready to receive the returning prodigal. The only danger—the only disgrace is to continue where you are. In behalf of our Maker, in behalf of humanity, in behalf of all that is noble and virtuous, I beseech you to TURN, why will ye die?